《The King of Desires》


 Prologue (Revised)

    <h1></a>Prologue: An Artist of Stupidity</h1>


    The wet binding tightened around Maria¡¯s wrists like a real sentient being, a scaly sea serpent of the depth. Its bristle texture dug into her golden skin like puncturing needles, causing her no end of pain but Maria knew it was just her imagination. As Maria tried to hold on to her fractured coolness, her head lightened, soon surrendering to the sway of the scorching haze of high sun. A bead of sweat rolled from her square shaped chin and fell on the baking sand, and soon, another one followed to disappear within the deep valley of her rich bosoms.


    How many hours have I been forced to kneel like this under this blazing sun and this scorching beach? How many more hours must I wait? Maria repeatedly asked herself such questions but she had no way of knowing the answer. But, I would endure, Maria told herself. Maria gulped to wet her parched throat. A strand of her long golden lock carried by a sudden gust and came into her view. Her once glossy hair, soft and shiny, prized and as beautiful as beaten gold, now badly burned, disheveled and damaged, but not by the sun, never the sun.


    That billowing inferno was still fresh in Maria¡¯s mind, its scalding touch that devoured everything Maria has tried to build for almost a decade, her greatest creation, her fortress, her only safe haven, and treasure. That red blazing inferno was a malevolent brand of fire in her mind. Another scalding wind blew by, this time, carrying with it the occasional painful moans of two thousand men and women who were bounded, gagged, kneeling in the scalding golden sand, accompanying by dozens of hundreds of blue scarves of the Blue Moon Kingdom¡¯s Marine standing next to them, armed with spears and crossbows.


    Maria could not care less about them, her subordinates and seadogs they were, badly burned and wounded, in worse shape than her. But, Maria could not care less about them. They were tools, they could always be replaced. However, Maria knew that she would regret losing them. It cost her many years to assemble such a force and many toiling years to train them. But, I can always start again. Maria knew that as long as she survived, she could always rebuild what she has lost today.


    Maria was more concerned about that execution platform made from large shipping crates that could easily be found at any trading port. Three flying masts nailed into the golden sand around that execution platform, a gray skull heading a swirling black storm. It was Maria¡¯s flag, her insignia, the symbol of terror in this southern sea once, but no longer.


    One day, one day¡­ Maria gritted her teeth. In the middle of the execution platform, a large chopping block and a rusty bucket branded into Maria¡¯s eyes. They struck a malevolent ill omen into Maria¡¯s heart. Slowly, a gripping white vice of fear that Maria had not tasted for over a decade tightened on her neck, but she refused to allow herself to be overwhelmed. Maria understood it was just a grand and elaborated illusion, an illusion conjured to make her weak and commit a mistake.


    Everything that has happened, is happening and will happen is just an illusion.


    Maria understood that she was made to wait in front of her execution ground for such length to make her realize the power that the other person had over her life. A common tactic, Maria assured herself, the simplest form of mind game, a trick, which Maria employed more than regularly. The mind of a person often works in a strange way. The longer she had to wait, the more fearful that Maria would feel toward her capturer. Never has she been at the receiving end of this mind trick, but Maria understood its design.


    This mind trick was designed to exploit the gaps of a person¡¯s mind, to force a person making dumb decisions. That was why Maria was confident of staying alive. If that person wanted to kill Maria, he would have no need to play this mind game. He would not bother displaying his power in front of her in such a tasteless manner. Maria understood that she was made to experience this mind trick so that her capturer could exploit her value with less effort.


    As her hazed mind was racing to come up with all the arguments in the world to elevate her values, the sand before Maria erupted in a violent explosion. Maria blinked her eyes, shielding them from the flying sand, only to see that a sofa has just landed from the sky. Regal red cushions with gilded crest rails and arm-tops adorned the sofa, making it looked like a throne worthy of a foreign king.


    Maria caught a glimpse of ten women in the regal red and white costume descended from the sky, riding on their strange looking brooms with birdlike gracefulness. Witches they were, these devils in white were there as well when those devils in black apprehended Maria and her seadogs. However, they stood from afar, watching with their lord from above. The witches fixed the sofa¡¯s posture, clamping its four golden legs into the sand until it looked neat and even. They lightly nodded their heads in satisfaction the moment they finished their job and quickly formed two rows on both sides of that golden throne, standing in attention.


    Maria instinctively craned her neck and bent her back into the shape of a drawn bow like a lowly slave.


    He came, the demon descended to the scorching southern beach with his laughter. His voice was beautiful to the ears, cultured and sweet, like a hymn to Niwdar, in fact too beautiful that it became chilling. His voice was neither that of a child nor a grown man but something else, something inhuman.


    If a peal of laughter could bring forth winter and storm to this southern land, it would be this one, the same voice branded the image of her defeat into Maria¡¯s consciousness. This laughter was her defeat and shame.


    Maria felt an invisible force crushing on her craned neck like someone has just put a large stone on it. Fire coursed through her veins, burning her from within. Her breath became shallow and her heartbeats were as loud as war drums. Maria could not help but fixed her eyes at her own trembling shade and the skin of her entire body crawled whilst the ten women in white started thumping the heavier end of their strange brooms to the ground in harmony, saluting their lord.


    The sand beneath that ornate throne shifted slightly, that¡¯s how Maria realized that the lord of chaos himself has sat on his throne. The laughter suddenly stopped, only to be replaced with wet smacking sounds, reminded Maria of the sounds she heard when her seadogs kissed the whores they captured. If Maria were not sure that this demon was indeed a debauched degenerate as rumors said, she believed now. Don¡¯t believe it, don¡¯t believe it, Maria inwardly warned herself, it was just another mind game. Maria knew that she was being mocked for her womanhood. The demon was hinting that there were worse fates for her other than death without voicing it aloud and Maria was completely aware of that. Men do not get raped, women do. It was one of her favorite mind tricks as well. Thus, she understood what the demon was implying through his action.


    Maria dared not looking up. She could only wait within that suffocating atmosphere and that sweltering heat. Eventually, those wet smacking sounds ended and substituted by playful giggles between lovebirds.


    Maria held her breath. Her skin curled. How could such playful giggles sound so terribly terrifying? Perhaps, because Maria only started to understand what kind of demon that her capturer was, that she felt such gripping terror.


    The long silence followed after that made Maria wanted to escape this strange place as far as possible. There was no noise, none but the erratic drums of her heartbeats. It was as if there were a thousand of millions of red ants crawled beneath her skin. That long silence was suffocating and dreadful, but the beats of the war drum inside her chest were even more agonizingly dreadful. Maria could not prevent her fear from leaking out. She felt the demon¡¯s gaze on her sunbaked nape.


    ¡°So, who is this fair lady that I am having the pleasure of admiring?¡±


    Suddenly that suspenseful silence was snapped by a deep and penetrating male voice.


    ¡°She¡¯s the leader of Black Storm pirate, Milord.¡± A most womanly voice responded.


    Instinctively, Maria felt the demon¡¯s gaze bore on her and his delight from her display of terror and submission.


    The demon¡¯s amused chuckle swept away the scorching haze around Maria, turning her body cold. ¡°So, you are Maria the Black Storm of Skull Island? Without the Black Mast, without your Black Hand, without your crossbow, you look like a normal woman to me, albeit the most beautiful woman I have seen in this land.¡±


    Flinched shortly, Maria drew a sharp breath, ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± she answered. The demon¡¯s voice dreaded her still. It was her trauma, shame, and defeat. She bit into the inner part of her lips to mask her own clattering teeth. As if it would help, she cursed herself. Her fear was making Maria a fool. Her entire body was trembling from her own cold sweats. Somehow, Maria managed to reply without betraying the quiver that dominated her body.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s my Lord this time and not a son of a bitch? Why the sudden change of heart, my dear?¡± The voice intoned, no longer deep and penetrating, just plain playfully and innocently, like that of a spoiled child who has just pulled off a prank.


    ¡°This lowly servant did not know any better back then, please be merciful, my lord,¡± Maria gritted her teeth to conquer her inner fear and fought the shake in her shoulders. Her fingernails dug into her palm to remind her that she should not falter here. As long as I keep my wit together, I could survive through this ordeal to turn things around, Maria kept telling herself.


    ¡°I can forgive you for such mistake. I especially have a soft spot for beautiful women like you,¡± The voice changed again into that of an adult, deep and sultry.


    ¡°You are mag¡­¡±


    ¡°My dear Maria, why did you insist on picking a fight with me? Were you drunk when you made that statement?¡± The voice became childlike again, innocent and holy, sending a chill to Maria¡¯s spine.


    Maria never had the chance to thank the demon and used that opportunity to turn the conversation around in the direction, which she desired. She was cut off. He meant to cut her off, purposely. He trapped her and trapped her good. Her hasty reply, eager for her pardon and safety has shown him just how terrified she was. She has prepared a fitting answer to this question. And yet, the way this demon asked her in his frivolousness made his question felt almost bizarre to her. ¡°No, my lord, I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± He cut her again, ¡°Anyone can make that kind of mistake. In fact, I do, all the time. The last time I was drunk, I declared war against the Great Temple. When I woke up with a horrible hangover, I was horrified to find that I have burned five hundred paladins and another three hundred inquisitors of the Great Temple alive. What I am trying to say is shit happens when we are drunk.¡± He cackled in a childlike innocent voice just like he was trying to tell Maria a joke.


    Maria felt the insidious vice of fear tightened around her chest. Her body went stiff. She would not mind if he was talking to her in a condescending manner of a captor to a captive, or threatening with torture or mocking her with a sarcastic voice. She would not be afraid if he threatened her with a loud booming voice like that of clapping thunders. Perhaps, she would not be afraid if he pointed a sword at her neck. It was this overwhelming playfulness and cheerfulness in his voice, that innocent childlike voice of his that made everything about him so dreadful. Everything about him felt so wrong and inhuman.


    Of course, Maria had heard of that rumor, that this man earned his title the Witch-King by setting fire on the very headquarter of the Inquisitors and paladins, the Great Temple of Sinintee on Lake Shore Isle. However, she had dismissed that as some nonsense, anyone would. Only a stupid person would do something so stupid like that. Only a madman would pick a fight with the Great God.


    ¡°I ask you once again. Were you drunk when you declare your intention to fight me or were you sober and awake when you make that funny statement?¡± The Witch-king readdressed his question, this time, less playful and childlike. His voice became more somber and deep, gentle and encouraging.


    The gentleness in the Witch-king¡¯s somber voice made Maria¡¯s blood curled.


    What was I thinking when I picked this fight? Why did I even think that I could win? Why did I believe that I would ever be safe from someone like this? Why did I pick a fight with this man? Why did I declare that I would fight such a terrifying devil? Maria wished that she could return to that time again. She would immediately surrender in a favorable term, let the other pirate lords of the southern sea laughed and mocked me for my cowardice all they want. Maria knew she would have the last laugh, had she surrendered.


    ¡°Forgive me, my lord, I was drunk,¡± Maria replied. Not an answer she wanted to give, not a smart answer either given her situation, but what choice did she have when the Witch-king framed his question in such a manner? If she replied that she was sober, Burned by the stake for sure, Maria did not have to guess her ending if she would make such stupid choice, assuming that the rumors of the Witch-king burned people for his entertainments. Would he tolerate me if I try to change the frame of this question, picking another answer out of the yes and no that I was given? No, the witch-king has cut her off twice, subtly showing his unwillingness for her to do that. What choice did I have? None.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I understand,¡± that mismatching playfulness returned to his voice, ¡°I can¡¯t blame you for being drunk and acting in such a manner. Shit happens when we are drunk. Suddenly, I feel like we can become friends with each other,¡± he cackled.


    Maria preferred the demon just outright threatened her with swords and fire than using that accursed artificial voice of his, but, she kept her thought a secret. ¡°This lowly servant would not dare,¡± Maria inadvertently prostrated, sinking her head deeper into the baking sand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that. Raise your head, my dear,¡± the demon whispered affectionately.


    ¡°My lord, I would not dare.¡±


    ¡°Raise your head!¡± The demon hissed, ¡°Show me your face,¡± his voice carried no cheerfulness and frivolousness this time. A commanding and resolute voice befitting to that of a king erupted and compelled Maria to raise her head in a hurry.


    There sat a man whose appearance was like the very darkness itself in the sweltering hazes of high noon. His hair was dark and long, glossy, tied into a ponytail. The color of his hair made Maria wondered if this man was even human, only a dark elf would possess such lustrous black hair. Yet, his ears were round, perhaps he was conceived from a rare union between a man and a dark elf, Maria thought. He was so beautiful that he appeared to be inhuman.


    His sharpened eyes were so dark that they were like the very reflection of a starless night, dark and hypnotic. Those dark orbs made Maria felt like she could lose herself within their hypnotic allure just like when she stared into a moonless night sea. Chiseled jawline on a regal feline face, his face was too beautiful for him to be a man, and yet, too handsome to be mistaken for a woman. Maria had seen a real prince once, charming and allure he was, but completely pale in comparison to this man. His skewed lips curved into an inviting smile, never Maria has seen a smile so beautiful, something to sigh over, something to die for, yet equally crawlingly terrifying.


    Had Maria never known his trickeries and demon-like laughter before, she would have fallen for this beautiful smile of his without a doubt, as any woman would.


    Lust sighs in her sleep.


    Mistress Death shall weep.


    Niwdar could only fume.


    Once, there were them.


    Now, there is only Fearless.


    It was not an exaggeration to put this man on the same caliber of the Beautiful Demon Lord, the Corpse Queen and the Goddess of Beauty herself. Whoever made that song know what they are singing, Maria thought as her back became cold. The Witch-king was so beautiful that he seemed unreal and chilling.


    The Witch-king wrapped himself in a strange looking leathery fabric, dark and glossy just like his own hair. Intricate words of unknown language were embroidered on his left chest in golden thread. A strange sigil that resembled a golden flower of five hands wove just above those strange letters. These detailed embroideries were vivid and seamless like nothing else Maria has seen. His costume added a mysterious alluring substance on the witch-king like it was created and meant to be worn by him alone. In his left hand, a contrasting white-feathered fan swaying.


    Standing on both sides of his throne were two beautiful women in the red and white costume of the witches. One was as beautiful as a treasured sword of an ancient hero, adorned but sharp and deadly while the other was like a flower on a treacherous mountaintop, gentle, elegant and dignified. Even for someone who took great pride in her beauty, Maria felt insecure and intimidated being in the presence of these women. They were without a doubt the most gorgeous looking women she had ever seen in her entire life. They both had a large canopy in their hands to shield that Witch King from the scorch of high noon.


    ¡°Come closer, dear,¡± the Witch King whispered affectionately. His inviting eyes bore down on Maria¡¯s prized assets. His hypnotic lips curved beautifully, delighted with what he saw.


    It was like a scene cropped out of a painting. Had Maria seen such a beautiful sight under normal circumstance, she would be swooned with feminine pride and ardent thought. She would suffer many sleepless nights. Her heart would probably race until it delivered itself to the Witch King and became lost to Maria. But now, all Maria could feel from it was sheer terror. Her stiffened legs betrayed Maria¡¯s secret pleas and willed themselves toward the Witch King.


    ¡°Closer dear,¡± music was his passionate whisper, soft, inviting and enchanting like the sound of a glass flute played by a high elf. Yet, darkness and insanity laced in his words.


    Maria¡¯s legs betrayed her heart and complied with the Witch King¡¯s command without fail. The closer was Maria to the Witch King, the more compelling that grip of terror inside her heart became.


    ¡°You are indeed as beautiful as the rumor said, my dear. Perhaps, even more beautiful than my companions here,¡± the witch-king joked, and all of a sudden, his own treasured sword of a woman turned and slapped him with a spine-breaking force.


    Maria forgot to breathe in that instance. She just stared at the surreal scene before her in suspenseful silence. It¡¯s not like that woman slapped that hard¡­ but¡­ What did that insane woman just do? A cold bead rolled down Maria¡¯s cheek.


    The Witch-king turned his sight on his treasured sword. His eyes rolled in disbelief, his hand palmed his reddened cheek. Then suddenly, he just giggled as the rest of his witches in red and white costume slowly broke into an infectious giggle fits. His treasured sword of a woman was the only person who could keep a straight face through that. The Witch-king pulled his treasure sword close and planted a playful kiss on her rosy lips, prompted a blushing smile on her face. The surreal scene before Maria unfolded as if it was a part of a play that was rehearsed by these actors and actresses over and over again until they were used to it.


    ¡°Now back to you, my dear Maria, I gave you the opportunity to surrender, did I not?¡± the Witch-king held himself back from his own giggle, fanning himself and his two ladies standing at his sides with his white feather fan.


    ¡°My Lord, you did,¡± Maria admitted.


    ¡°Twice, I had sent my envoys to give you the chance to surrender. Each time, you sent back their heads. I could understand with your reasoning for chopping the head of the first one. After all, he was too ugly for his own good. But the second one? I handpicked him. Common, he¡¯s not even that ugly. Or perhaps, you were drunk again the second time? Were you really that drunk when my men dropped off your island?¡± he asked, still smiling and weathering through his own incessant giggle.


    ¡°No, my lord¡­¡± Maria tried to reason and immediately, she was cut off again. However, this time, the Witch-king did not make so much of a noise. The smile on his face vanished without a trace, and so did his giggle, like a fistful of sand dissipated within a strong wind. That prompted Maria to rescind her answer out of sheer survival instinct, ¡°Yes, my lord.¡±


    ¡°You are such a bad girl, getting drunk all day long,¡± the Witch-king laughed, ¡°But, I like bad girls. Therefore, I can forgive you for being drunk like that. I feel like you would do just fine in my company.¡± Then all of a sudden, his voice became devoid of warmth, ¡°However, those two lives that you took were my men. I could not let that crime go unpunished. My dear Maria, there is nothing I want more at this moment than mount your pretty head on a pike and make an example out of that. The people of this southern continent would sing my name for a century for doing so. And even the kings and queens who you angered, they would soon send me letters and gifts to praise me for this achievement. What do you think?¡± He declared the most dreadful thing with the most charming smile on his face. His voice was soft and sultry just like he was welcoming Maria into his own court, and yet he has just announced his attention to behead her.


    It was this that Maria has finally understood what was so terrifying about this man. It was this mismatching smile and voice that he employed. Joy that was not joy and anger that was not anger. He did not sound like a human or act like one, but something out of this realm.


    Maria began to wonder if this man demonstrated so much of his power out of boredom and not out of his need to exploit her values. He gave her hope but, if this hope turned out to be false hope, that would be the worst thing that could happen to Maria, and she knew it.


    Maria stared at the man while gulping quietly. Her own head and the two thousands heads of her seadogs were resting on her shoulders. For a moment, Maria could see her life flashing before her eyes.


    She was Maria, the Black Storm of Skull Island. She gained notoriety for becoming a pirate lord that commanded the Black Mast- a marauding force of over two thousand pirates and regularly led them into many large raids across the eastern coastal area of the southern continent. She struck fear into the heart of every man and woman of the seven kingdoms of the southern continents, especially those who live in the coastal area.


    A great many times, the kings and queens of the seven kingdoms have formed a coalition, uniting their navy forces to assault Maria and her Black Mast in their main base at the Black Skull island, not once they were anywhere near achieving it. The geography of Black Skull Island made it so that it was extremely easier to defend than assault and those who were not familiar with the water would have their ship sunk by the shallow shoal and natural reef that surround the island. The mist that constantly surrounded the island also played a large role in its natural defensive prowess. The entire island was a natural fortress for Maria and her pirates.


    The coalition of kings tried to change their approach and decided to ambush Maria on many occasions, but she outsmarted them every time. And the other pirate lords who were bounded to the pact of the pirate king would come to Maria¡¯s rescue, raiding the undefended territories to lift the siege on her island. Maria and her allies would win every time.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    She was invincible. Her Black Mast was undefeatable, that was until this Witch-king whose appearance was darkness and whose voice was winter came. Maria was completely unprepared for his attack. Her intelligence told her that he was still partying in the capital city of the Blue Moon Kingdom with his women and army. Yet, on the very night that Maria chopped his messenger¡¯s head for the second time. He arrived with his army of witches, flying above the Black Skull Island on their strange fire-spitting brooms, and turning the entire Skull Island into a raging inferno. The thick fog, shallow shoal and the sharp reef did nothing against things that flew like birds. The Skull fortress built out wood and stone, it did little to stop things that breathe fire like dragons.


    Maria and her crews abandoned their burning fortress and ran for the beach, listening to a mysterious Saint-like voice inside their head for direction. Beautiful was that voice, like a whisper of a Valkyria, innocent and childlike, holy. That mysterious voice would direct Maria to avoid her fate of dying within her fiery grave. She listened to that voice, trusting her life to it. It was the most caring, the most childlike, innocent, and charming that she has ever heard. There would be no way that it would backfire on her. She followed it, hoping that she could reach her boats in time and that was where she was routed.


    A thousand pike-men and bowmen waited for Maria and her seadogs at the beach along with a hundred of witches hovering above the sky in their strange-looking brooms. That Saint-like voice inside her head broke into an insidious burst of demonic laughter, mocking Maria¡¯s stupidity for trusting it. Maria and her crew had to make their choice, to die in the flame or die at the pike or surrender, and most of them chose surrender wisely.


    So this is Fearless, Maria bitted her lips and swallowed the frustration of her shameful defeat.


    A man who dared to defy the Great temple and fought for the witches. A heretic among heretics, the slayers of paladins and priests and the witch king himself. Fearless was his name, the appointed Pacifying General of Blue Moon Kingdom. Maria has faced brave knights and nobles in battle before, she had fought against terrifying pirate lords whose faces disfigured with scars before to stand where she stood today, but none terrified her like this man. Even though, she was so sure that he would not kill her like he said, his words made Maria doubted her values. However, if he wanted to make an example of Maria, he would have done it by now. Maria knew she still had her uses while being alive. The fact that he asked Maria of her opinion was the best evidence.


    ¡°You would not kill me, wise lord,¡± Maria spoke adamantly despite her racing heart. She could not afford to dawdle in his mind game. She had to take the initiative to reframe this conversation to her advantage.


    ¡°Oh, I would not be so sure about that,¡± the witch-king smiled innocently, leaned backward and prompted Maria to continue.


    ¡°Nobody can read the water and wind of the nine seas in this entire southern continent better than me,¡± Maria boasted, ¡°If you allow me to live, you will gain a¡­ ¡°


    ¡°Naval commander? I have already had one. Why and how do you think that I have succeeded in locating your fortress and fell it this morning?¡± The Witch-king interrupted. His hypnotic eyes half closed. His lips curved into a wicked smile for the first time, ¡°I have already had one excellent naval commander. I don¡¯t need another, especially one with the level of infamy as you, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Wise Lord, surely you¡­¡± Maria shuddered and immediately tried to reason.


    ¡°Maria, my sweet Maria, I will let you know that I am an impatient person and worse, I¡¯m very exhausted at the moment. Make it fast so that I can go home and have my afternoon nap,¡± the Witch king once again interrupted Maria, ¡°Thanks to you, I was forced to party with a bunch of nobles for seven straight days without sleeping a single wink until now. Seven days, I repeat, seven days without sleeping once. Now, I am very sleepy and tired,¡± the Witch-king smiled a most saintly smile and then as if he forgot something, raising his brows, ¡°And PISSED!¡± He hissed. His face twisted in the redness of rage.


    Maria sweated and bit into her lips to stop her teeth from clattering. She did not expect such a clear rejection. She was the woman who commanded a bunch of lowlifes, uneducated foolish seadogs to outwit and outfight even the navy coalition of the seven kingdoms and yet the Witch-king did not even consider adding her to his service. ¡°My Black Mast would only listen to my command. Please, let me live and you will have a force of two thousand men at your service,¡± Maria humbly suggested an alternate.


    ¡°Those brainless worms you mean?" the Witch-king darkly pointed his white fan at the 2000 tied pirates under Maria¡¯s command, ¡°I don¡¯t need that many untrustworthy men under my command. In fact, I do not even want them in my army. Why would I want them?¡± He declared firmly and then suddenly clicked his tongue as if he was having a second thought.


    ¡°Though, you are right. Executing all of them is a waste. Therefore, what I am about to do, after I am done dealing with you, is culling their numbers. I will make them kill themselves, fighting among themselves and cutting their size into a number that I see fit.¡± The witch king darkly chuckled in his frosty voice as he waved his fan, ¡°I don¡¯t have the confidence to control 2000 rowdy and undisciplined seadogs by myself all at once. But, I can easily do that with three hundred or so, don¡¯t you think? And for the other 1700, I will put their head on pikes to appease the anger of all men and women of whom you people plundered, robbed, raped and killed.¡±


    What do you mean you don¡¯t have the confidence? You command Witches¡­. Maria bit her inner lips.


    The witch king smiled beautifully, his voice was still as inviting and alluring as ever, and yet, he had declared Maria useless for his cause, sealing her living routes, one route after another.


    ¡°Please, let me be your messenger, let me tell the other pirate lords and the pirate king to put down their arms and kneel to you, my lord,¡± Maria begged. ¡°I will tell them the story of your might and benevolence. I will convince them. I promise that you won¡¯t have to fight another battle.¡± Maria knew that she was clinging to a lie. The pirate king and the other pirate lords would not bow to this Witch-king. They would laugh at her for her defeat and they would unite to fight against him after that. But that¡¯s not a matter of concern to Maria. If she became the Witch-king¡¯s messenger, she gained the chance to escape him as far as possible.


    The Witch-king chuckled. He looked at Maria as if he found what she just said incredibly amusing. Slowly, laughter finally broke out of his throat and doubled his lanky body. Tears flowed down from his dark eyes as the Witch-king gasped for air, fighting back his laughter. Slowly, the laughter died. The Witch king brushed the tears in his eyes with his thumb, gasping, ¡°The reason I gave you a chance to surrender is that I heard that you were a beautiful woman. It has nothing to do with the number of your army or your laughable abilities. I was cursed to always give any beautiful woman a chance or a handicap regardless of whether they are my mortal enemy or not. Also, this army of mine, strong and trained they are, but very inexperienced. Those ignorant seadogs, friends and king of yours, I think they will provide a great experience for my army. Therefore, the more battle I can fight, the better.¡±


    Then, what else do you want from me? Maria could not help but cursed inwardly. A tear inadvertently rolled down her cheek when the realization that her ambition and quest for revenge has ended hit her. Maria relied on her tears for one more time in her life. She was aware that she looked the most beautiful when she led those tears flown. It¡¯s a rare sight for a strong and beautiful woman like her to show weakness. When all else failed, the tear is the only correct answer. There is no way that a pervert like him would not be able to feel a thing. Maria just hoped that she might be able to pull this trick once more time.


    The man sighed unwillingly. He promptly rose from his adorned throne and approached Maria. His witches alarmed and tried to prevent him from doing so but he casually shrugged them off by waving his fan.


    Tenderly, he combed Maria¡¯s disheveled lock and brushed away the sand on her forehead. His breath straddled her chin, smelling as sweet as honey. ¡°Maria, oh sweet Maria,¡± he gently brushed away the tears welled up in her eye corners with his thumb. His sweet whisper gave Maria chill. Her body suddenly felt cold like she has just been tossed into the night sea of the northern realm despite the scorch of high noon she felt until recently. Her knees went soft like jellyfishes and she weakly crumbled into the burning sand before her, or so she thought she would but instead found herself in the cold alluring embrace of winter and darkness.


    ¡°This is your last chance,¡± he whispered into Maria¡¯s ear as he slowly combed her damaged and burned golden hair with his slim fingers, ¡°Tell me, why else should I keep you alive?¡± And then he whispered sweet nothings into her ears.


    His two ladies quickly dragged him back to his luxurious chair and sat him down. They admonished him and then stared at Maria with angry eyes. The man broke into a burst of childlike laughter, playfully pulled the witches toward him and sat them down on his laps. He coltishly kissed the witches as they giggled, and flirtatiously planted a kiss on his cheeks in respond.


    As for Maria, she knew the answer, the man has told her. Of course, there would be no way that he would kill a beautiful woman like her. When all else has failed, tear is the answer.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Despite the number of praises that people of Blue Moon Kingdom gave me, I am completely aware of my stupidity. In fact, I would dare to say that there is no bigger moron in this entire world of Escana than I am. This world is full of incredibly stupid men and shockingly dumb women, but I am the only one who can take the word ¡°Stupidity¡± to the next level. After all, it takes more than just talent and ignorance to be stupid.


    ¡°Stupidity is an Art.¡±


    Whatever men label as ¡°an Art¡± shall be ¡°an Art.¡± Painting is an Art. Singing is an Art. Cooking is an Art. Farming is an Art. Trading is an Art. War is an Art and killing, too, is an Art, most unfortunately. If something like War and Killing is Art, as long as I recognize Stupidity is an Art, it is an Art. Stupidity is an Art, at least for an artist like me.


    A person does not automatically become the world most stupid man by being born stupid. It takes a great amount of commitment, strength, practice, discipline, research and study to become the most stupid man in the world. I dare to say that I am such a person. Otherwise, there should be no other reason for me to spare the life of the pirate woman who is kneeling before me. Sparing the life of this woman is an act of stupidity, I reminded myself again for the zenith time since I first decided to crush Maria and her pirates.


    Maria, the very Black Storm herself, she was one of the sixty-three playable warlords in the real-time strategy game Reign of Chaos (ROC for short). She can be also recruited as a vassal warlord upon the rout of her pirate group, at a great cost of raising the ire of all the seven rulers of the Southern continent of the kingdoms she and her armada constantly raided. Unless the players decided to create a state of total war and chaos in the southern continent of the world Escana, there is no advantage in recruiting Maria as a vassal warlord.


    Why would someone go through such trouble of recruiting her? Recruiting her means going to war with my allies, the other six kingdoms of the Southern Continent, all at the same time. Why should I recruit such a character? I carefully mulled on such crucial questions for weeks before I could explain the reason for my action with two questions.


    ¡°Why the fuck not?¡±


    ¡°I am stupid, remember?¡±


    Recruiting Maria from my current position meant declaring war against roughly half of the kingdoms in the southern continent. To make it worse, her loyalty rating is atrociously low in the 30s, which means she could easily turn her blade against me at any crucial moment. In addition, despite Maria being a very capable naval commander by making her way to the top 30 best naval commanders in a colossal roster of over 300 naval commanders in the game; there were many other characters with better stats and skills that can be recruited for that position. And the best naval commander in ROC can literally break the game with his skills and attributes.


    So why bother recruiting Maria?


    She was not even that smart, like seriously, what makes she think that I would spare her life in the first place? Do I look like a fool who use my crotch to think instead of using my fucking brain? Excuse me, I have a brain to think. It¡¯s just that I don¡¯t intend to use it smartly and I just happen to use my crotch as my bran from time to time. Does this woman really believe that her crocodile tears can deceive me? That¡¯s hilarious.


    I¡¯m sure that Maria would like to think that she is a smart person. However, when she speaks she sounds like my kind, the most stupid kind of people. Because I have pursued Stupidity as a form of Art and opened a school for stupid people to train them in the Art of Stupidity and because I am the leading artist in the Art of Stupidity, I can say for sure that Maria is a dumb woman. I can say for certain that history would agree with me. Future historians would deem Maria as nothing but a dumb bitch for losing against me in such a hilarious manner. People would remember her as a dumb bitch and not Maria the Black Storm, the terror of the Southern continent that she was, until now.


    However, above everything, Her Majesty the Queen gave me an Imperial decree to execute Maria the Black Storm at the capital in public upon her capture. She made that Imperial Decree because she understood the kind of pervert and stupid man who she has appointed as her general, me.


    The Queen understood my nature better than I am. And yet, I am her general, I fought back my urge to laugh at the absurdity of my situation and the future of the kingdom. With a queen and a general like this, who need enemy?


    Sparing Maria¡¯s life is the epitome of ill logic. There should be no logical reasoning to support the act of sparing her life. No man with a brain inside his head would spare her. That¡¯s why the kind of man with a brain inside his head and understood all the ill logic of his action, and yet still decide to spare her is the world biggest moron, a true pursuer of Stupidity.


    ¡°But look at her, the gods can be damned, seeing her in real life. Maria was drop-dead gorgeous, a thousand times prettier than her in-game pixels rendered self. Her tan skin was glossy and sweet like honey, stirring the desire to lick and savor every bit of flesh on her body. That cascaded golden hair even when disheveled and damaged by fire and ash did nothing to diminish her beauty if not erecting the darker desires of a man to own and dominate her.


    My god. It was as if a goddess had fallen from Heaven. This woman possessed a beauty that worth waging war against the world,¡± This is what the voice of ill logic sounds like to the ears of an artist of Stupidity.


    Her beauty could make a man say, ¡°Who cares if she was a psycho bitch who commanded 2000 pirates that looted, plundered, killed and terrorized an entire seven kingdoms. Who cares if she was the psycho bitch that slit the throat of her own husband in their wedding night to steal his troops? Who cares if she had a terrible personality? Who fucking cares if she would later stab me in the back or slit my throat?¡±


    The man who can say something like that is a hopelessly stupid man and a fucking pervert with no redeeming quality. Sadly, I am such a person.


    I am fully convinced that she would betray met at the first chance she had. Only that, I never doubt for a moment. However, as the world biggest moron, I would declare this to the world to defend my action, ¡°But she''s worth it. L¡¯oreal should seriously hire this woman to recast their ¡°Because I¡¯m worth it¡± commercial. Her beauty would make even the Helen of Troy in the Iliad hung her head in shame. Standing in front of such beauty, even the like of Diao Chan of the three kingdoms era would hang herself to death out of jealousy.¡±


    But, there is no reason to keep Maria alive. In fact, Google would agree with me. If I could access to Google at the moment and start searching for the reasons to keep Maria alive, I¡¯m sure that Google would answer with, ¡°404 Not found,¡± because, I merely used ill logic to defend the ill logic of my action.


    Logically, L¡¯oreal would never hire Maria to be their model due to her infamy, which would seriously hurt their branding image. Helen of Troy would not stab Paris in his back in the Iliad. Diao Chan would definitely convince Lu Bu to spilt Maria¡¯s head open to prove his love for her.


    The stubbornness to use ill logic to defend ill logic is a commitment to the art of Stupidity.


    ¡°My Lord, calm down and put those coins away,¡± a husky voice came to me in a ghostly whisper. I looked down at my right hand. It was indeed holding my magic coins since the gods knew when.


    This is bad, my longtime habit is resurfacing, I clicked my tongue and made a fist. I reopened my fist afterward and the coins have disappeared.


    ¡°When I told you to put them away, I did not mean for you to do it in that manner, my lord. It looks freaky, I have told you many times. And I have bought you that fan for this purpose,¡± Louise¡¯s admonishing voice rang inside my ears.


    ¡°My bad, old habit dies hard,¡± I raised my white feathered fan to cover my mouth and whispered right back to Louise. She used the spell ¡°Phantom echo¡± just in time to remind me to not lose my head over my own crotch.


    ¡°Recompose yourself, my Lord. Don¡¯t lose yourself in your desires and make irreversible mistakes.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Louise, I don¡¯t know if I can do this without you.¡±


    ¡°Of course you can, my Lord, you are my equal. And you can adore me later. Sir Eliot has been very discontented with your recent actions. Please, focus. This is a crucial moment.¡± Louise ended our short discussion like that.


    One is the wisest strategist in the world and the other is the biggest moron in the world, only that part makes us equal. Louise represents the epitome of logic while I am the champion of ill logic. I am actually even surprised that the two of us can coexist in an army, a general and his strategist. However, we coexisted just fine. This world is fucking strange, I mused and turned my attention at the Queen¡¯s Eye.


    Sir Eliot, one of the Queen¡¯s Eyes who silently stood in a corner to detail my every action to the Queen disapprovingly raised his eyebrows when I approached Maria. My royal guards had to pull me away from Maria to save me from myself. I earnestly apologized to them when they admonished me. Of course, I noticed his dissatisfaction. It¡¯s just that my mind was full of Maria that I could not care less about anything else. I¡¯m sorry for being a pervert. I¡¯m sorry that the general you admired is a massive pervert, I inwardly apologized to Sir Eliot. But, as an artist, I am not sorry for being stupid.


    Her Majesty the Queen knew my terrible habit, that¡¯s why she appointed Sir Eliot to watch me. Sir Eliot would never allow me to let Maria live because that was the Queen¡¯s decree. Maria must die under the Queen¡¯s watch to make sure that I would not conjure some tricks.


    Maria, you are the most unfortunate, I sighed inwardly.


    ¡°Wise Lord, please allow this lowly slave to live. I will forever be your slave and possession. I will be your woman, your bodyguard, your slave, your animal or whatever you desire me to be. Please spare me,¡± Maria prostrated flatly on the ground as she shamelessly begged for her life, exactly as I have told her.


    Bang, I inadvertently hit my palm full force against the chair¡¯s armrest and made the people around me flinched. Even Sir Eliot who stood at the corner of my vision flinched. I gritted my teeth, clutching my feathered fan tightly to keep my composure.


    It turned out that my composure was crumbling at the blinding speed as I spoke in a burst, ¡°Really? Are you for real? Are you for freaking real? You are supposed to appeal to me, but not for your fucking life. You should appeal for the lives of those two thousands seadogs of yours over there. You are their leader. You are supposed to plea to spare the lives of your dogs. If you at least that minimal amount of dignity, I could have spared you.¡±


    ¡°Lord, but you just promised me¡­¡±


    All the testosterone in my head vanished in this single instance like a popped water balloon only to be replaced by the pure coldness of the mind, a whirlwind of silver.


    ¡°Maria Black Storm of Skull Island, you are a major disappointment until the very last minute. For your crime of piracy and all the crimes you have committed against the people of the seven kingdoms, I sentence you to a most dishonored death. You shall die a dog¡¯s death. Witches, strip her and take her away. Executioner, get your blade ready,¡± I coldly waved my fan and a row of my witches moved forward to grab Maria.


    The witches immediately tore Maria¡¯s iconic black robe into shreds, replaced it with her birthday suit and dragged her away with force, ¡°My Lord, please, no¡­¡± Maria desperately begged, but she could do nothing against my witches.


    ¡°General, you can¡¯t kill her here. We have to bring her back to the capital for the queen to arrange her public execution," Sir Eliot ran over and kneeled before me as he advised with earnest.


    ¡°Sir Eliot. You good sir, I am sick of this woman. She''s cruel, shameless and disgusting. Public execution is too good for the like of her, that way, she would appear in another paragraph or two in the future history books. Worse, she would enter the annals of history by sharing the pages with me, with my name on them. That is undeserving of her. I cannot stand to watch such insanity to happen. I refuse to allow that to happen.¡± I waved my fan and coldly stated.


    Sir Eliot clutched his head. His expression betrayed utter confusion and dread due to the sudden change of plan. ¡°General, Her Majesty the Queen has decreed that the Black Storm is to be escorted and publicly executed in the capital. That is the royal decree.¡± Sir Eliot respectfully bowed as he looked back and forth between me and Maria, ¡°You can¡¯t do this General. The Queen would have your head this time. Please listen to me, general. This woman does not worth your life.¡±


    I sighed, pretending to be convinced by Sir Eliot¡¯s wise words for a moment, just giving him enough time to take a breath of relief. ¡°Sir Eliot. I¡¯m afraid that you will report to Her Majesty the Queen of what transpires today as follow. I, General Fearless has chopped off the Black Storm¡¯s head and put it on a stick despite the order I have received. That is it. I will not argue with you any further about this, good sir.¡±


    Sir Eliot sighed a weary sigh, with his sigh, Sir Eliot¡¯s hope was spent. The good Eliot was more afraid of me being killed by the Queen afterward than earning the Queen¡¯s displeasure himself.


    Knowing that defying the royal decree of the Her Majesty the Queen is stupid and still defying it, this is what it takes to be a stupid man. Even Death cannot make a stupid man smart.


    Maria struggled for her dear life as she was dragged away by the witches and I could not blame her for that. It¡¯s natural to be afraid of dying.


    She kept begging me, ¡°Lord Fearless, have mercy,¡± struggled mightily and desperately as the witches dragged her up to the execution platform and at one point, she won, miraculously, tumbled over the platform, dragging my witches with her.


    ¡°Knock the living out of that shameless woman for me. She keeps getting on my nerve,¡± with authority and anger, I shouted my order. The witches with their reinforced battle-brooms received the order, clubbing the daylight out of Maria Black Storm with the heavier end of their broom stick. The beating went on and on, showing no sign of stopping or mercy. Only when Maria became bloody, broken, tattered and immobile in a pool of blood, the witches would then resume dragging her naked body and tossing her over the chopping block.


    ¡°I will leave the remaining matters to your able hands, Sir Eliot. I find no stomach in watching how the head of such a shameless woman would roll. As for those 2000 seadogs, do away with them as we have discussed and prepared your reports accordingly,¡± I rose from my sofa, ¡°You can have this chair and the canopies. It¡¯s better for your health to work in the shade.¡± I smiled at Sir Eliot.


    ¡°I have received my order, general. And I wholeheartedly pray that Her Majesty would not cut your head, General.¡± Sir Eliot respectfully replied and added his concern in all honesty.


    ¡°Good, I will go back to my mansion now and have my afternoon nap. Once you are done, visit me at my mansion for the report.¡± I walked away while casually nodding my head to recognize Sir Eliot¡¯s good intention.


    As I strode toward my carriage, I looked at the lifeless and bloody figure of Maria the Black Storm on the chopping block for the last time. It retained none of her innate unearthly beauty. I sighed languidly and never looked back at her figure again. At the edge of my vision, the masked executioner darkly aligned the execution platform with a large execution blade hung heavily over his shoulders. As I was about ten steps away from my carriage, I can hear a clear thudding sound of the execution blade hitting against the chopping block. After that, the hollow ¡®Thunk¡¯ that echoed from within the metallic bucket entered my ears in the most sickening manner.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°This lowly servant has really thought that she was going to die.¡± Husky was her sensual purring. Gold cascading hair, honey skin, a goddess fell from heaven she was. She dressed in the adorned white and red uniform of my royal guards, adding a mysterious allure to her prized curves. She was like a sweltering fever that turned whoever touched her into ash. Yet they could not help but reach out for her, to feel the burn of passion as they turned into ashes. A bead of hot crystal rolled over her cheek and a hot sultry smile spread thinly on her lips as she snuggled into my chest, straddling my chest and seducing me with her womanly charms.


    However, Maria¡¯s charm lied beyond her physical appearance. She is treacherous, dangerous, and capable of backstabbing me, which was her most charming appeal.


    ¡°Maria The Black Storm died today,¡± I whispered amorously, ¡°From now on, you are Aria, my naval battle advisor, and concubine to be,¡± and wrapped my arms around her thin waist. I playfully planted my lips on her beautiful nape, allowing myself to be fully seduced by Aria. Aria giggled carelessly in response, not knowing the hidden barbs inside my words. Otherwise, she would have groveled on the carriage floor by now.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± The sound of a person clearing her throat entered my ears, ¡°My lord, you should have killed her, not sparing her like this.¡± A cold and emotionless voice resounded grimly, making the newborn Aria flinched away with teary eyes, ¡°I can¡¯t believe that you could pull that off.¡±


    I turned and sighed at the angry girl sitting next to me. The witch battle dress she wore exuded a different vibe compared Maria. She looked pretty, like a doll. Her skin was pale and satin like. Her hair was gold, not the gold of beaten gold like the other woman but platinum gold like that of sunlight. Her sapphire eyes reflected an azure flame of anger.


    I immediately tried to appease her, gently straddled her cheek, ¡°It¡¯s alright, Louise. The Queen is the only person in this world who could guess why I did this. It¡¯s fine. Her Majesty will punish me but I bet that all the kings and queens from the east coast area that this mischievous Aria has angered will write letters to appease Her Majesty and ask for my pardon,¡± I said, stroking both Louise¡¯s and Aria¡¯s head at the same time.


    If Louise wanted to kill Aria, there is nobody in my army could stop her. The only reason why Aria is still alive can be explained with a single sentence, ¡°She is allowed to live.¡±


    Louise agrees with my decision and allows Aria to live. That¡¯s the only reason.


    ¡°We will be fine,¡± I assured, initiating a kiss on Louise¡¯s curving lips.


    ¡°One day, you might be brought down by your lust, my lord,¡± the girl said her final pieces and resignedly accepted my affection. She had repeatedly told me the same thing for a thousand times. The words of my War Doll spelled like a prophecy, just another prophecy among many that I have already heard.


    Even though I understood that I could not help it, such was my accursed nature, and such was the cursed star that I was born into. The fault lied with my star, never mine.


    I looked at Aria, realizing that Aria was definitely thinking that she has won this gambit. I could already predict that she would definitely stab me when I was most vulnerable.


    This woman has pulled that tricks twice with her fianc¨¦e and husband, but I was neither a love-struck nobleman nor a stupid pirate. I am the world biggest moron.


    ¡°Aria, just in case you still have not heard the name of your husband, I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± I declared my warning to Aria in the most stupid manner. Of course, since Aria¡¯s level of stupidity has not reached my level, she could not understand it. She smiled and whispered into my ears that she would never forget my name in the sweetest of a whisper.


    Now, when she has lost everything, she was the closest to her goal than ever. She believes that the only thing she must do for the moment is bidding her time and waits for the right opportunity.


    It does not take a genius to guess what is inside Aria¡¯s head. With the right knowledge of the lore of ROC, a little bit of cold reading skill, and a bit of guessing, even a moron could perceive Aria¡¯s hidden thought and agenda.


    I wholeheartedly wish that you could successfully betray me. I kissed Aria and wished for her to upset my expectation. But then, there was still my sword, flower, and doll. They are less merciful than me, especially to a rival... Don¡¯t die... I would be very heartbroken if that happened. Good luck trying, Aria.


    I savored the taste of Aria¡¯s lips and pushed her down. Her eyes swimming and accepting. I already knew that keeping this troublemaker Aria would bring the Queen¡¯s sword to my neck. But, so what?


    If the Queen ever asked why I committed such stupidity and insanity of an action, ¡°I am Fearless,¡± I would reply.


    She should have predicted this result when she appointed me as her general. She got this coming for appointing me as her general.


    Lesson number one for any monarch with a fully functional brain inside their head, do not make an Artist of Stupidity a general of a kingdom.

 CHAPTER 1: A FUNERAL (Editted)

    CHAPTER 1: A FUNERAL (Editted)


    The gloomy grey of the smoke from the burning incense sticks covered the funeral hall like a thick thundercloud. Within the thickness of the thundercloud made of incense smoke, grieving cries were the rumbling of thunder and salty drops of tears were the boiling rain.


    That female to male ratio, FY unconsciously craned his head around and surveyed the endless waves of people before him, absolutely dumbfounded, Brother, you really¡­


    The funeral hall was tightly packed with endless rows of grieving people. Blinking his eyes, FY could see that the amount of female to male ratio in the attendance was a stark difference, which spoke of his best friend¡¯s character, a known womanizer. Though FY has been to another womanizer¡¯s funeral in the past, an acquaintance of his, FY almost mistook it for a male-only funeral, if only the phrase ¡°male-only funeral¡± actually made sense to people. A person, who lives his life chasing after many women, had no woman crying for him in death, that is the fate of a womanizer, FY has once thought.


    The anguished black was the predominant color among the sea of people in attendance. However, that was not all there for FY to see. There was the combination of a black blazer and a white shirt with black skirt composed the uniform of Yersin Junior College. There was also the white of traditional Vietnamese ao dai, vests, one-piece with jacket and more, so many that it was shocking for FY.


    Brother, they are like¡­ high school girls. You are insane. FY could only shake his head. There were a dozen of girls that looked like they belonged to the same university presently in stylish black attires, sobbing and crying within each other¡¯s arms.


    ¡°How could this happen to him? He is such a nice person,¡±


    FY listened to the girls and sank into deep thought.


    Nice? Fearless is anything but nice. A nice person would not date multiple women at the same time. A nice person is anyone but Fearless. A nice person would not do something of such insanity as Fearless. A nice person would not sleep with someone¡¯s mother for the sake of vengeance. A nice person is anyone but Fearless.


    FY understood that it was just a matter of perspective but in his mind, his best friend was not a nice person. Fearless is a great friend and a loyal friend but he was not a nice person. He¡¯s an asshole. He¡¯s a willful and free spirit. He does not care what people think of him. He does not care about the consequences. He¡¯s selfish and disagreeable most of the time, and for an incredibly smart person, he lives like an absolute moron more than often. Fearless is a complete stupid asshole.


    FY earnestly bent his back every time a person paid respect to Fearless in the place of his Fearless¡¯ family according to the old tradition. Each funeral attendee would bow thrice and lit one incense stick to paying their respect to the deceased and FY would return their bows with the exact amount.


    Fearless¡¯ father was not present. He was hospitalized since yesterday noon when he received the grave news of his son¡¯s death. He was the only blood-related family member that Fearless has left. FY has visited old man yesterday but the unfortunate man was in a coma since as if refusing to accept the hideous truth.


    FY did not know how the old man would live the rest of his days, alone without his wife and his son. FY silently swore an oath to himself that he would take care of the old man in the place of his best friend.


    There was that famous actress stood among the attendances, covering half of her tearful face with a dark hankie, her shoulders quivered uncontrollably. Behind her stood that familiar ESPORT newscaster whose face awash with tears, her red swollen eyes affixed to the coffin. There were the many ex-girlfriends and many currents ongoing and off-going girlfriends of Fearless standing among the attendances, FY did not think they would attend this funeral, but they did, with no exception, their eyes swollen red and filled with tears. Among the weeping crowd, FY saw the city widow club with their entire membership in the attendance, crying grievously.


    ¡°Ph¨²c, Ph¨²c, Ph¨²c,¡±


    Now I think about it. That was your real name. Of course, you didn¡¯t use your nickname when courting with them. I have been calling you by your nickname that I almost forgot your real name.


    Not all the mourners were lovers of Fearless. His friends, his bunch of strange cultists, and fans were also among the attendees, even more, heartbroken than Fearless¡¯ lovers were. They sobbed harder and cried harder. They brought bottles of brandy and spirits with them to the funeral hall and laid them at the side of the transparent coffin. Knowing Fearless¡¯ alcoholism issues, perhaps they were worried about Fearless would have no booze to accompany him in the land of the dead. Some brought large posters of Fearless covered in wreaths with them and laid them at the side of his coffin.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    FY stared into the portrait of his best friend that was placed behind the wispy smoke of lit incense sticks, the space packed with mourners.


    Fearless¡¯ corpse peacefully laid inside a reinforced glass coffin, his hands clutching at his chest and a familiar serviceable smile spreading on his lips. Even in death, he was still smiling. That smile on the other side of the coffin, pale as wax and cold as ice, an unanimated smile, a rigid smile, but it did little to diminish the princely beauty of Fearless. Once, that smile was an incarnation of passion, a host of a million suns. Once, it was an icon, a small waving flag braving amidst the darkest storms. It was the same smile when they were losing badly at that year Final. Once, it brought joys and hope, but no longer.


    Fearless had a princely face, a chiseled jawline on a feline face, a sight to be sighing over. His sharp wolf-like eyes, dark as a moonless night, yet bright and brimmed with energy, forever closed and never opened ever again. Laying next to Fearless, adornments of many colors from the white of roses and lilies, the scarlet of carnations, the vibrant red of tulips and poppies, the pink and purple of gladioli, all soaked in salty hot dews of the grievers arranged to accompany Fearless to the land of beyond. The usual sight of Fearless¡¯ light tanned skin, now, has turned pallid white, contrasting with the vibrant colors from adornments. Such sight brought an unknown pain to FY¡¯s heart.


    FY suddenly remembered that one time he asked Fearless, ¡°Why not become an actor, or a model and instead of a pro-gamer?¡± Fearless just laughed and questioned FY if he had a chance at hitting the reset button for his life, would he still become a pro-gamer?


    ¡°Of course,¡± FY replied, ¡°Yes¡±.


    Fearless just chuckled, casually shrugging his shoulders, ¡°That¡¯s also my answer.¡±


    Everyone in present was mourning and weeping for Fearless¡¯ premature death. Misery, Fantasy, and Merleon, too could not hold back their tears, sobbed quietly as they stood next to FY. They stood in a line, handling the incense sticks to the mourners. Misery sobbed the hardest, his face was a mess of snots and tears. Fantasy constantly used the sleeves of his white funeral cloth to dry his tears. Merleon, a giant stoic man that he was, stood a shoulder above everyone was quivering weakly as he lightened the incense sticks and delivered them to mourners.


    Their best friend just died, of course, they would cry. However, not FY, he was still in the state of shock, not really understand or accept the fact. Not yet, FY knew that. He really did not believe it. Yesterday morning, the two of them was planning for a fishing trip at the weekend. And now, one of them laid in a coffin while the other attended to his funeral. Who on Earth would actually die on April Fool? You goddamn moron! FY could not help but curse inwardly. It didn¡¯t seem real to FY. He thought the disagreeable bastard would suddenly rise from his transparent coffin with a bang and tell everyone that this was all but a prank in any second.


    ¡°You damn moron!¡±


    A sharp voice in the crowd interrupted FY¡¯s thought. Startled, he reflexively turned at the source. It was from Alice. She was Fearless¡¯ on again and off again lover for as long as FY could remember. Their relationship could only be described as truly complicated and rocky for the last eight years.


    Her long, dark hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore a mourning black vest over white shirt, standing in front of Fearless¡¯ mourning post. ¡°I have told you that this day would come. I have told you to quit it. This is Karma. You deserve it for being too much of a playboy. You deserve this for flirting with death,¡± Alice shouted and tightly clenched her fists as her entire body started to quiver in a swell of rage and contempt. Her large jaded eyes emitted a reddened aura of fury as she stared at Fearless¡¯ smiling portrait, but not for long. The eyes of contempt and fury soon surrendered to the waterworks.


    ¡°You damn moron,¡± Alice broke down in incensed tears, howling as her friends who stood next to her wrapped their arms around her into a tight hug. FY¡¯s wife ran over to comfort Alice.


    Incense¡¯s smoke, FY thought as his eyes began to boil. Until now, his eyes were completely parched like desert sand. His sight began to blur and the snot was coming out. Incense¡¯s smoke, FY inwardly told himself. He had to wipe his face with the sleeves of his funeral vest. However, that did nothing to stop the waterworks. He blamed it on the incense and the smoke. His vision blurred out on Fearless¡¯ smiling portrait.


    Fearless, you are such an asshole. Do you know that?


    FY fought to hold back his tears for the length of the funeral no matter how futile his effort may appear. He did not know why he would bother trying when nobody did.


    FY did not know when he lost his own spine, probably after the number of mourners hit triple digits, but he did not care. FY did not remember how many time has he bent his back since the ceremony started but he was determined to keep doing it until the end. His wife and brothers asked to switch place with him, but FY refused to listen. He told them to keep doing their jobs and he would do his until the ceremony was over. He was the closest to Fearless, closer than they ever were. This was his job, his responsibility. He was not going to give it to anyone else.


    Being unreasonable and selfish is supposed to be your role, not mine¡­


    FY cursed himself for acting like that. His wife, Misery, Fantasy, Merleon, and Alice was just as much a family member of Fearless as him. Yet, FY could not let them filling his role. His nails sank into the inner side of his palms for the whole time, refusing to let go. But, FY felt no pain. He could not feel the pain.


    It was raining heavily outside, still. It has been raining nonstop since yesterday when FY received the grave news. It was as if heaven wept for the tragic death of Fearless. It rained still. The rain outside of the funeral hall was cold but the rain inside was hot.


    Goodbye brother, I will miss you a lot.


    Choking on the saltiness of his own tears, FY bid farewell to his best friend as his world became misty in a boiling white steam.


    Goodbye, Fearless, goodbye.

 Chapter 2: A Princely Welcome (Editted)

    Dried woods cackled crisply within the red burning braziers. The red flame flickered and reflected the dancing shadows of over a hundred people on the ceiling of the dark catacomb.


    A drop of sweat rolled down on Makerth¡¯s wrinkly forehead and somehow managed to bypass his bushy gray brows and found its way into his right eye. It stung him more than he thought it would. However, Makerth refused to let it affect his concentration and interfere with his mission. He closed his right eyes shut, filled his lungs with the moldy stench of the catacomb¡¯s air, and flooded more mana into the forbidden artifact placed on the altar.


    On the altar of the Dark God placed the Eye of Magnamor, a remnant from the age of the First Divine War. The Eye of Magnamor seemed to laugh at the effort of Makerth and his 107 fellow magic casters to fill it with their mana. According to the old text, once the Eye of Magnamor was filled up with mana, it would burn like a sun. It would open a gateway to Kharigan, and invite one of the fifty reigning Demon Lords to the realm of mortals. However, Makerth and his magic casters had done nothing but filling the artifact with their mana for the last five hours and the accursed artifact, it showed no sign of any reaction. He wished that he had more time to prepare and gathered more magic casters for this ambitious project, at least another hundred or so within their organization to complete this ritual.


    It has to be today, Makerth begrudgingly gritted his teeth or he must try to outlive even the oldest rocks on Escana to redo this ritual. This was his only chance in this lifetime. On this day, the constellation arrangement was perfect. The nine moons of spirits lined up with Escana and the sun in a perfect straight while the red moon of Kharigan, the home of Demon Lord was at the closest distance to Escana. Thus, according to Makerth¡¯s calculation, the mana required to open the gateway to the red moon was at the minimum level. It was the perfect opportunity for Makerth to try this experiment.


    According to the old legend, each one of the fifty lords of Kharigan could wipe out a country of man on their own. However, destruction was not what Makerth and his fellow magic casters had in mind, nor chaos. Their goal was to summon and dominate the Demon Lord and experiment on him or her. Of course, they would not participate in such a dangerous experiment had they have no countermeasure against the Demon Lord. The legendary sword of seal Enferm¨¦ was hidden beneath the altar, the moment the Demon Lord appeared, he would be stabbed by the sword and thus placed under the domination of Makerth and his fellow magic casters.


    As time drifted ahead second by second, the inkling premonition that he would not succeed grew larger inside Makerth¡¯s heart. He felt drained. His mana capacity was reaching the bottom level, his fellow magic casters, not so much different, in fact worse. They would reach their limit very soon. Makerth kept his mouth shut and just concentrated on supplying mana to the artifact. He wanted to see the end of his magic experiment. He wanted to study what kind of a creature that a Demon Lord was.


    Demon Lords were strange beings. For millennia, nobody has ever seen a Demon Lord and yet everyone knew what a Demon Lord is. Demon Lords were said to be created from the corpse of the Dark God. They sided with the Titans in the First Divine War. But, they only existed in the old texts and hearth stories, and most people only knew these Demon Lords through stories told by their elders.


    Makerth wanted to see if a man could dominate a demon lord. He wanted to go down in history as one of the first of mortal to dominate a Demon Lord. After that, he would start asking the Demon Lord questions, finding out the missing links in the history of the world.


    Mana left his body like a raging river in the flood season. Makerth gritted his teeth in frustration, realizing that the hour of the great eclipse was about to pass. However, the damned artifact showed no reaction at all. I¡¯m going to fail, Makerth could smell his impending failure, Just bit more, please, just a little bit more, he refused to give up just yet.


    Slowly, the alignment of the moons started to come apart and Makerth could feel it. The mana demanded the ritual enlarged. Makerth turned at his fellow magic casters. He was about to tell them that he was sorry and that this experiment was going to fail anyway.


    As the feeble words were struggling to escape Makerth¡¯s throat, a light shone through the dimly lit room. Makerth turned back at the artifact. The Eye of Magnamor has finally opened. It did not just open. It was shining in heated orange light. The Eye rapidly rearranged its structure, spinning in the air as the light came from within its core started to focus in one place. The space where the light shone started to distort and Makerth unknowingly smiled. He was about to succeed.


    More mana, Makerth tightened the grip on his magic cane. He eagerly pumped more mana into the artifact while staring into the darkness of distorted space.


    A scream echoed and Makerth turned. A fellow magic caster crumbled to the floor and doubled in spasms. His facial veins bulged visibly in purple and green like worms. His skin quickly turned into a bluish purple as the magic caster twitched haplessly on the ground. That poor fellow was completely drained of mana. The only way Makerth could save him was stopping the experiment, telling the rest of the magic casters to stop channeling their mana into the artifact. Then, they have to circulate their mana in an orderly manner to stop the channeling process. However, the experiment, an unknown force compelled Makerth¡¯s sight to turn back at the distorted space. He was so close.


    Blame your bad luck and lack of mana, Makerth ignored the scream of the magic caster on the ground and refocused at the artifact. Light poured out of the artifact as it rotated in the air faster and faster, the distort space also grew larger.


    ¡°We have to stop this Makerth.¡± Makerth heard more screams behind him.


    The fools, they complained without an inkling of understanding of what was going here. Can¡¯t they see that just a little bit more¡­ Makerth cursed inwardly, ¡°Just a little bit more,¡± he shouted, ¡°We would be the first of mortals to ever dominate a demon lord.¡± Makerth paid no further attention to the screaming from behind. He just wanted this experiment to succeed.


    ¡°Stop this Makerth. They are dying. We are dying. We have to stop¡±


    Screw you all, I¡¯m this close to success, Makerth gritted his teeth and continued to pump his mana into the artifact. Then, all of a sudden, Makerth was inside a world of pain. He finally realized that he has already reached his limit, completely drained of mana. Yet, the forbidden artifact did not stop spinning around. It did not stop draining mana from Makerth and his fellow magic caster either. They had no mana in their body. Still, the artifact did not stop. It kept draining something, demanding something else other than their depleted mana. It took Makerth a second to realize that it was their vitality and soul. Their own life force was being drained to compensate for the lack of mana, with their life force their souls. It is too late, Makerth could not stop the experiment even if he wanted to.


    Makerth felt his knees hit against the cold and wet floor, hard. His trusty magic cane slipped out of his grip, rolling on the floor, clanking. His bony body started to twitch violently against his will by an insidious force. The experiment¡­ That was Makerth¡¯s final thought as he departed from the world of Escana.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The moment, when the Sun, Escana the Material Plane and all the nine planes of spirits became a perfect straight for the 14<sup>th</sup> time, a strange race began, unbeknown to the mortals of Escana.


    Gods, Goddesses, and Demon Lords alike, their eyes flickered through the fabric of reality and dream to search for a single soul. Everyone knew when that soul would appear but none knew where he would appear or how he would appear. Therefore, they searched desperately for that special soul with all of their divine powers and authority, for that soul was prophesized to upset the natural ordinance.


    Lust, the Beautiful Demon Lord, the Queen of the Succubi leaped from one dream to another as she commanded her legions of dream demons to advance her mission, ¡°Search for that child.¡±


    Pride, the Perfect Demon Lord bestowed his prophecies to his followers and wing demons, commanding them to search for ¡°That child.¡± Searching was not his domain or strength, but he too was diving from one dream to another, not as fast and successful as Lust or her dream demons. But, that was his most reliable method just like the other immortals.


    Sanguine, the Demon Lord of Madness tethered the millions of his spectral feelers, jumping at all the leads that he gained in a maddened blur.


    Niwdar, the merciful Goddess of Nature and Beauty spoke her true intention. The trees and animals of Escana answered to her command.


    Every immortal who has entered their name in the Great Game desperately searched for that special soul in a fervent effort, everyone but the God of War himself. Yet, when the moment of the great eclipse passed, only three have succeeded in locating that soul by sheer dumb luck. They would not tell the other immortals about their success for there was no reason to do that.


    Quietly, they observed that soul. All three shivered when they saw him.


    One of them shivered with ecstasy for that soul was the perfect lover whom she has sought for so long.


    One of them was shaken to the core, for that soul was the darkest answer to the millions of questions that she has been mulling through the eons of time. He was her darkest hope.


    The final one was simply fearful. Of all the reigning Demon Lords, he alone was the only one who understood the emotion of fear. The fearful one was so shaken that he decided to detonate all of his special eyes, which he left in the material plane Escana, preventing that soul from ever reaching him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I woke up asking myself a very familiar question, ¡°Okay, where am I?¡± I have no idea how often a person could ask himself or herself this question. However, I know that I have constantly asked myself this ¡°Okay, where am I?¡± more than the number of time that I greet people with ¡°Good Morning.¡± And I am the type of moron who would go around greeting people with ¡°Good morning,¡± even if I woke up at night time when the stars were out.


    As a usual routine, I started touching myself in a hurry, not sexually of course. Pants, check. Boxer, check Shirt, check. Jacket, check. It was the kind of compulsory ritual performed to check whether I was wearing clothes or not. Some people slept with their clothes on them, some without, as for me, I did not truly care. However, for once, I was glad that I have slept with a full uniform of The Alliance on me.


    I started looking around, seriously searching for a clue. A stony ceiling illuminated in an orange glow greeted my eyes. ¡°Okay, seriously, where am I?¡± I sighed and started sitting up. For a brief moment, my hands contacted with a cold and wet substance as I was trying to rise from my bed. I was jolted wide-awake in a quick hurry.


    My eyes started flickered around, a room made out of stone and a scorched hot brazier at each corner of the room. My bedding too was made of stone. It was cold, damp and stained black with old mold and dust. This was no bedding, I reflexively rose up, standing on my feet to have a better look. It was like an altar or something similar. There was even a sinister looking statue of a humanoid creature standing at the end of the altar staring at me. The creature resembled a human due to its humanoid shape, but even a moron like me could never mistake it for a human. It had a pair of wings, one bat-like leather wing, and one feather bird-like wing. It held a sword in one hand and a long spear in the other. My foggy memory seemed to recall seeing the creature from somewhere, but ¡°foggy¡± is called ¡°foggy¡± for a damn reason.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Okay, seriously, where the hell am I?¡± I started clutching my head and digging up my latest memory to find a clue. I was listening to one of my exes¡¯ sob story at a local bar. In a tearful voice, she told me that her current boyfriend has secretly cheated on her with her best friend.


    ¡°That¡¯s the worst!¡± I shouted and my ex nodded her head ¡°A man should openly admit that he was two-timing or three-timing. Secretly cheating on a woman was the worst thing a man could do to his lover,¡± I gave her my consolation, making her cried even louder and started flailing at me in my chest. Sometimes, in order to get people to vent out their emotions, saying dumb things is the best option. However, I had no memory afterward, which was slightly troubling.


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    I climbed down the altar, my eyes still transfixed at the sinister looking creature, hoping to find a clue from it. In all honesty, I was not nervous, somehow, I have developed an immunity to situations like this.


    After all, there is just no way that a person who kept asking himself the, ¡°Okay, seriously, where am I?¡± question would be surprised at the fact that he has woke up in a strange place.


    There was that one time where I was drinking with my teammates to celebrate our second championship victory only to find myself waking up all alone on an unknown tropical island. There was that morning where I woke up only to discover that I have been tied to a bed and surrounded by a handful of unfamiliar women equipped in S&M costumes. There was a time that I woke up only to realize that I was already in a foreign country. There was that time I woke up finding himself on a king-sized bed with a handful of unfamiliar naked men and a freaking Bengal tiger.


    Though, most of the time, alcohol plays the biggest role in leading to those strange events.


    It would be weirder if I did not get used to waking up in strange places, bizarre situations, and not knowing how I got there. After experienced living years with countless moments like that, even the most fretful and anxious soul would gain some level of immunity against being drugged and kidnapped, let alone waking up on a random altar without knives or gun pointing at me.


    The lack of the usual head-splitting hangover after waking up troubled me. That was a sign that alcohol was not the reason why I was brought to this place. Of course, nobody has ever been brought down by a single glass of cocktail while listening to the sob story of his ex. Neither did I felt lethargic and the extreme grogginess like those times that I was drugged, which alarmed me even further.


    I felt completely normal, in fact, so normal and well that it was baffling as for how I arrived at this strange place. I stared and scrutinized the familiar looking statue for many minutes until I realized that the sinister statue would not give me a single clue. I then swept through the stony room with my eyes, more careful this time and stumbled on a figure lying flatly on the floor.


    I immediately leaped off the altar and approached the lying figure. It was a beardy old man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. The old man wore a gray hooded robe that reminded me of the uniform of the Greyscale Magic Research Academy, a fictional association featured in the game ¡°Reign of Chaos¡±.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you too old for cosplaying, old man? Hey, wake up. Man, you are wasted.¡± I supported the sleeping geezer and tried to wake him up by lightly slapping across his cheeks. Suddenly, I was astonished by the coldness that I felt with the tips of my fingers. I almost dropped the old man to the ground. Only by sheer reflex, I caught the old man by his collar just before the old man hit the floor with his face, somehow in the final moment.


    ¡°My bad, sorry,¡± I apologized. The old man was rigid and cold as a statue. Gently, I tried to lay the geezer to the ground facing up. For a brief moment, I almost mistook the old man for a wax sculpture until I decided to touch the old man¡¯s face again. It was cold and inelastic, but it was real skin. The old man was a real human, not a wax sculpture. Then, a premonition hit me due to the rigidness and unresponsiveness of the old geezer.


    ¡°Oy, old man, wake up. Don¡¯t scare me,¡± I shook the unresponsive body of the old man and started training my ears. I did not hear any breathing sound or heartbeats. My heart immediately quickened, ¡°Oy, don¡¯t scare me, please,¡± I placed my palm on the old man¡¯s chest, just to confirm my understanding of the situation first. There was no movement, beating, or anything. Actually, my ears have already confirmed that. It¡¯s just that I wanted to run from reality for a little bit longer.


    It took me a full second before I could assume action. I reflexively tried to apply the chest compression on the old man despite my abysmal minimal knowledge of modern healthcare. My hands were unnaturally clumsy, gel-like, weak and flaccid. It was as if there was an invisible someone choking me, I suddenly found myself unable to breathe. My heart felt like it was violently balled up by an invisible vice.


    Calm down, I took a deep breath while performing the chest compression for the old geezer, trying to calm my clattering teeth and myself. Fuck, I would like to see a bastard who can remain calm after waking up to find a corpse lying in the same room with him. I inwardly cursed myself. ¡°Don¡¯t die. Don¡¯t die,¡± I begged in a rattled voice, desperately putting more power into my weak arms while adding my weight to perform the chest compression correctly. Then, a crisp cracking sound burst forth from within the geezer¡¯s unresponsive body.


    I instinctively bounced backward, separating myself from the corpse.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry,¡± I realized that I must have cracked the old geezer¡¯s ribcage, using too much strength on the chest compression. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry¡­ Ambulance, I have to call an ambulance,¡± I searched for my phone within my pant pocket, there was nothing. I tapped around my leathery jacket and subsequently found my phone. I tried to unlock the phone but the damn thing did not respond to my sweaty and shaking finger. I blame it on the phone designers. I forcefully wiped my sweaty palm on my pants and tried to unlock the phone again. The stupid phone responded this time, Ambulance, I started entering the number to call an ambulance.


    What was the number again? 113, 000, or 911? Damn it, which one of them was the ambulance again? Crap, was it 113 or 000 or 911? Oh, yeah, FY told me that there was a new emergency service line that provided an improved overall service, better-looking ambulances, faster response time and more handsome drivers.


    ¡°0118 999 881 999 119 7253,¡± I sang that strangely catchy song that FY was singing from time to time while tapping the number on my phone. It was out of service area, Stupid phone, I cursed and immediately searched for an exit to get a better signal. I followed the corridor behind the corpse of the old geezer to another dimly lit room, wider, bigger, and littered with more people wearing the same uniform of the Greyscale magic lying on the ground. There must be at least a hundred of them.


    I froze on the spot. My stomach boiled. My legs started rooting on the spot. ¡°Can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on?¡± I tried to navigate through the room to find an exit. As I was walking through the room, I stumbled on something, a man, ¡°Sorry,¡± I sprawled up and apologized with my clapping hands. For better or for worse, that unfamiliar man was looking straight at me. His eyes were agonizingly big, the size of marbles, soullessly staring straight into my eyes, transpiring the horror and suffering that he went through in the moment of his death. The man¡¯s face was purple and riddled with bloated greenish veins. His mouth frothed and agape, his hands clutched at his neck. His nails left red clawing marks on his neck.


    My stomach tightened and I felt something rose through my chest. I tried to swallow it down, whatever that something was, but I could not win against the inevitable. I could taste it at the end of my tongue, bitter like pills and sour like vinegar, that clouded, hot and smelly liquid shot out from my mouth and splashed on the cold stone floor as I doubled, retching.


    I was never a fan of graphic horror or gory things. I might be fine with violent things, but gory things made me horribly sick every time. That man was dead, like clearly dead, more dead than the old geezer for sure, I gathered my thought, No shit Sherlock, the voice of logical reasoning inside me cursed, Don¡¯t state the obvious. My thought became a mess.


    The rest, those cosplayers on the ground were probably not in a better spot, either dead or super dead as well. The moment that thought hit me, I ran. I ran as if I have never truly run before, like that time when one of my more crazy exes decided to break up with me with a motored chainsaw on her hands or that one time when that wife beater asshole chased after me with a machete in his hand just because his wife ditched him for me.


    I ran, almost slipped and stumbled by the damp floor. I ran through that corpses littered room to another dimly lit corridor to another room and yet another corridor. I kept running and running, following my instincts rather than reason. Fuck reason, my hands kept redialing the new emergency service line and my damn phone kept telling me ¡°Out of the service area.¡±


    I truly did not know what happened yesterday but I knew I was already a foot inside a crappy situation. I ran through a series of dark rooms and claustrophobic corridors, turning left and right randomly as I ran. Finally, I saw natural light, light that was not the flickering glow of burning charcoal in braziers and torches.


    I ran toward that natural light through the dark corridor. A howling wind brushed by, bringing a welcoming fresh air to my nose as I ran. I was sick of that nauseous moldy smell. I was truly sick of seeing corpses. I told myself that I would call an ambulance and then police to deal with this crappy situation. And after that, I would call Alice, asking if she would allow me to come to her place for the night. I would not want to be alone after experiencing something like this.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± I stood at the end of the corridor, stunned and speechless. I was up high, probably forties to thirties meters above the ground, standing on a moldy and grassy stone deck. A green forest before my eyes spread toward the horizontal and a long mountain range to my right.


    I stared into my phone, still, no signal, damn you phone. I started to wonder if I were already in a foreign country and checked the GPS.


    ¡°NO SIGNAL, fuck you. You cannot possibly tell me that I am on Mar right now. What the fuck do you mean by NO SIGNAL?¡± I started to curse my phone. This situation reminded me of that time I woke up on that inhabited tropical island all alone. I had to stay on that island for two full days with no food or water until my friends came for me. However, that time, there was no corpse or ¡°CORPSES.¡±


    I clutched my head, could not connect the dot between drinking a glass of cocktail with my ex to wake up in a strange place full of corpses. ¡°This makes no sense.¡±


    It was not like she was one of my many crazy exes, she was like... normal? Normal?


    I started redefining the definition of ¡°Normal¡± inside my head while walking around the deck to explore. I walked and reached the edge of the deck to find a long stair formed by hundreds of huge stones stacked on each other, each at the size of a grown man. This structure immediately made me thought of a pyramid until my eyes rolled on the two rows of weathered statues standing on both sides of the stairs, which immediately gave me a conclusive answer. This structure was indeed a pyramid, a pyramid, and a tomb.


    It should not be. Did people decide to make a ROC theme park or something? This giant structure could not be found on Earth. It was not a Mesoamerican pyramid and definitely not one of the Egyptian pyramids. The two rows of statues, angelic creatures on the left and devil-like monsters on the right, they were the conclusive evidence for me to identify this pyramid structure. This place was the Tomb of the Dark God Naharis, a famous landmark of the Northern continent inside the game ¡°Reign of Chaos.¡±


    However, that made no sense. That made zero sense. Drinking a glass of cocktail should not bring someone to a different world. I started feeling the magic coins spinning and folding within my palm. ¡°This makes no sense. This has to be one of Fantasy¡¯s pranks. Fantasy, if you don¡¯t come out right now, I AM going kick your sorry ass.¡± I shouted while knowing that this was neither a dream nor a prank.


    There were three trains of thought running inside my head in three different directions, the ¡°This is a prank¡± train, ¡°This is a dream¡± train and finally the ¡°This is the reality¡± train. While the first two trains had a break and thus can slow down, there was no break to the ¡°This is the reality¡± train.


    I have touched that old geezer¡¯s corpse. It was cold and rigid, extremely realistic, that was no dream. The disgusting sourness and bitterness aftertaste of stomach acid inside my mouth, too, could not be a byproduct of a dream. This is real.


    If someone pointed a gun at my face and told me to describe my current situation as concisely as possible, ¡°Fuck¡± is the magical word and the only answer. ¡°FUCK,¡± I uttered the magical word. I would call the word ¡°Fuck¡± a magical word because the moment I uttered such word in the face of the person who pointed a gun at my face, he would blow my brain off, and I really wished for something like that to happen to me now. The word ¡°FUCK¡± is a magical word because I would get my brain blown off as I have wished and the person who pulled the trigger would not have to live the rest of his life in the terror of being revenge by me. That¡¯s a win-win.


    I am inside the world of Reign of Chaos, the same game that brought me to stardom, the same game that changed my life once. This time, it changed my life again, forever.


    ¡°FUCKERS. If you wanted to transport me to another world, Bring me a Fucking Truck,¡± I cursed whoever thought that it was funny to bring me to the world of ROC.

 Chapter 3: AN UNPRINCELY WELCOME

    Chapter 3: An Uprincely Welcome (editted)


    According to the lore of Reign of Chaos, the tomb of the dark god Naharis located in the depth of the Mangora forest in the eastern frontier of the kingdom of Zard. It was one of the many surviving ancient structures belonged to the titan, an extinct race and ancient civilization. In the game Reign of Chaos, it served many purposes, a landmark, a place to hide thousands of troops and a place to perform a sacrificial ritual to summon one of the many demon lords of the underworld. However, what Fearless did not know from the lore of Reign of Chaos, This could be used as a motel, perhaps? He asked himself inwardly. Fearless decided to spend the night in this eerie place with no other option available to him.


    Fearless was deep in his world of thought, clutching his head with one hand while playing with his magic coin and cards in the other. It was a habit of Fearless, one that accidentally became an iconic image of his among his fan base. He was called the Magician because he could not help but fidget with his magic coins and cards every time he needed to work out a strategy with his team in between matches. He quickly became anguished, realizing that no matter how much he thought, it would change nothing, Fearless stomped the ground with the sole of his shoes, spouting all kind of profanities in all sort of languages. Then came the state of denial, this could not be real, he told himself, pinching his cheek really hard, yup, it¡¯s real.


    But surely, this must be an elaborate prank, if I search hard enough, I might see a hidden camera, Fearless began to laugh with confident as he searched, yup, nothing, this was no prank. Finally, he sighed woefully in resignation, sitting down on the grassy stone deck and watched the copper colored sky turned darker and darker. The golden Rolex on his left wrist told him that he has spent five hours on that stone deck, doing nothing meaningful. As Fearless was exploring the four stage of enlightening in Buddhism, the world did not stop and wait for him. The sun glowed red like a giant egg yolk as it sank into the sea of trees. Twilight came and robbed the world of its colors until the world in Fearless¡¯ eyes looked like an old pencil sketched painting of black and white.


    Fearless told himself that he had no choice but to stay in the sinister tomb for the night, at least until he found a clue to improve his situation.


    Fearless picked a less windy room near the tomb entrance to stay for the night. He plucked off a burning torch hanging on a corridor wall instead of using his phone as a light source. He did not know how his phone could be useful in the world of Reign of Chaos but just by having it in his hands gave him some measure of peace. He switched it to battery saving mode and left it in his pocket.


    The room Fearless chose to stay the night was small and almost claustrophobic. There was no hint of any furniture was ever being placed inside the room. He could not tell the purpose of the room from its design. Had Fearless seen this room through his PC screen, he would have written a lengthy complaint letter to the game developers for being lazy with their design.


    While dusting off the cobwebbed wall to prepare his bedding, Fearless accidentally discovered a carved picture on the wall depicted the dark god Naharis planting the World Tree to save the titans from the Great Flood.


    It was that moment, Fearless realized that he should not sit down in this room and being contented with his situation. I need clues, that should be his number one priority for the moment. While he was not a person of action like Alice or even FY, Fearless took pride in being a stupidly adapting person. Of course, after all of those experiences when he woke up only to discover himself in a strange places and bizarre situations from time to time, he learned a few lessons.


    Staying in this one room would not provide him the clue he needed. Thus, Fearless tried to navigate his way back to that room with the dark good Naharis¡¯ altar, the place where he first woke up in this world. May be if he was lucky, he would find a way to return to Earth immediately, Yeah right, that¡¯s not how that kind of ¡®transfer to another world¡¯ fiction works, Fearless lamented.


    Fearless got lost more than ten times within the maze as soon as he began his exploration. As he navigated through the tomb, he discovered more pictures depicting stories about the dark god Naharis on the walls. What he learned through the picture was nothing new. He had known the lore of Reign of Chaos like the back of his hands, as any devoted fans of game should.


    The dark god Naharis in those pictures was depicted as a kind and benevolent god to the titans and a cruel and merciless god to their enemies. Naharis would appear and give divine providence to the titans in catastrophic events or rained down divine wrath on their enemies. That knowledge was nothing new to Fearless.


    Fearless was not aware of the layout inside of the tomb of the dark god. In the game, he only need to order his troops to enter it and hide with a single click of a mouse button. There was no option for the players to go inside and explore the layout of the tomb. It took Fearless about half an hour before he finally returned to that corpse-littered room. Fearless felt like throwing up again. He gingerly walked across the room, trying not to stumble on anything this time while chanting Buddhism mantra for salvation in his mouth for the whole time, not for himself but for all the morons who died of unknown causes, and I am not even a Buddhist devotee, Fearless gritted his teeth and navigated through the room.


    Fearless was back to where he came from, the altar of the dark god, Yup, it was still the same. That old geezer was as dead as ever and that sinister looking statue of the dark god Naharis still look as intimidating as ever. Fearless began to walk around the room, hoping for something to appear. Yup, no clue.


    A silver glint blinded him for a moment while Fearless examined the altar, making him squinted his eyes out of reflex. There was something metallic hidden underneath a stone panel next to the mouldy altar which irked Fearless¡¯ curiosity. He immediately decided to investigate the object. He walked toward it, torch leading. Something exploded, a white glimmer ripped through the inky darkness momentarily like a lightning bolt and projected a booming sound on the wall behind Fearless.


    Fearless was frozen in place. He did not react, heck no, he could not react to that; maybe he could if he was Merleon¡­ but he was just Fearless, himself. Fearless held his breath. His body was spiked with adrenaline. His heart felt like it was beating the war drums, What the fuck was the that? Whatever that thing was, it missed Fearless head by a few centimeters. Fearless gingerly turned around and trained his eyes on the object imbedded firmly on the wall.


    A metallic object stuck out of the wall. With a closer observation, the object looked like a handle of a blade.


    ¡°This could not be the real thing, could it?¡± Fearless wondered and started pulling the blade out of the stony wall. It was harder than he initially thought. Fearless grabbed the hilt of the blade and cranked the it up and down. It stuck, still. He planted one foot on the wall and used his entire body strength to give it a good yank. The thing came out, a blade just like Fearless¡¯ suspicion.


    A blade, however, its blade was too short to be a sword and too long for a knife, about twenty centimeter in length. The weapon had a shape that resembled a lengthened and stretched arrowhead. This strange looking blade had no guard, just a short one-handed grip and a sharpened pommel. The metal that composed of this strange looking blade formed wave pattern within itself, which reminded Fearless of a Damascus sword that he once saw. A name suddenly flashed inside Fearless¡¯ head, Enferm¨¦ the sealing sword.


    It really was Enferm¨¦ or at least an extremely lookalike replica version of it but Fearless leaned on the former. The sword was incredibly sharp and sturdy. It managed to pierce through stone like a blob of frozen lard without being damaged. It was the real thing, the sword of seal Enferm¨¦, Fearless waved the blade around as anyone would have. It was then Fearless became seriously confused. Why is Enferm¨¦ in this place? Enferm¨¦ had no business in the tomb of the dark god Naharis. It should be enshrined in the crystal vault of the scared temple Hemyscria of the elves as a divine relic.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Fearless asked while admiring the sword. Of course, Enferm¨¦ being a sword, it could not give him any reply, Fearless didn¡¯t even expect the sword to answer him. He merely vocalized his thought. It was something like a bad habit that he developed over the years.


    A sound came to Fearless¡¯ sharp ears. While Enferm¨¦ has made no attempt to reply to Fearless¡¯ question. The unknown lying geezer on the ground did. Fearless was startled by the sudden noise, he immediately turned at the old geezer.


    The old geezer as if trying to tell Fearless something, made the same noise again.


    ¡°You are alive, old man,¡± Fearless was so surprise that he just tossed Enferm¨¦ aside. The sword clanked off the floor disapprovingly.


    The old geezer made the same noise twice again as if affirming. It was that very moment, Fearless felt that there was hope for humanity as a whole. He felt like he was Albert Einstein when he first discovered E = mc2 from his theory of relativity. He felt like he was Sima Yi when he learned that Zhuge Liang has finally passed away. He felt like he was the incredibly homesick Odysseus who managed to return home after so many years. He has never been happier to listen to the farting sound of a person.


    Fearless ran toward the old man, placing the torch in his hand on the altar. His head was full of thought. He thought about trying to support the old geezer, making him lie in a more comfortable position, maybe? Or put the old man on the altar, maybe that will give him more warmth or started a fire in this room. However, the moment Fearless touched the old man, the geezer was dreadfully cold and rigid, so rigid that Fearless could not even bend the old man¡¯s body over to carry him. Fearless checked the old man¡¯s chest again, no beat.


    ¡°Can you not toy with my expectation like that? I was so happy that I thought I¡¯m finally not alone anymore,¡± Fearless let loose of his suppressed anger, stomping on the cold floor as he began to tear up.


    The old geezer farted again.


    ¡°Fuck you. How can a person be so rude?¡±


    Again, the geezer farted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking to you anymore. Fuck you,¡± Fearless swore at the old geezer as he stomped out of the room in frustration.


    And the geezer farted boomingly without any sense of modesty as if triumphed.


    That day, Fearless earned his first verbal argument defeat in the world of Reign of Chaos ever, handed by a farting corpse no less.


    Fearless took pride in his ability to stay positive for as long as he could in the worst hours. Being defeated in a verbal argument with a farting corpse is not the worst experience I had, Fearless told himself, trying to be as positive as he possibly could be. To fight a negative thought, a person can always dwell on a positive memory or cling to a worst kind of memories. The worst experience he had was not even that dark memory when his The Alliance got swept in the final by an underdog team. It was not even the time when his sex tapes with an up and rising gravure idol got leaked to public media. Or that time, or that time¡­


    If Fearless was to sit and thought of the worst experience he had ever had, that one time he woke up butt naked on a king-sized bed with a handful of naked dudes and a freaking Bengal tiger was easily one of his worst experiences. In addition, it didn¡¯t even come from the fact that when he woke up, he was holding the tiny shriveled penis of that one dude in his hand. It was those questions that kept popping up inside his head at that time.


    Question like ¡°Did I ¡­?¡± made him immediately touched his own magnum to check for the evidence that he wholeheartedly wished do not exist. It did not, great, Fearless was beside himself with sheer exaltation. But the followed-up question ¡°Did they ¡­?¡± completely terrified him. He checked his ass, groping his own ass with his fingers but he had no idea how to examine for the evidence this time. He had no knowledge of how that stuff even worked. Then, before he could even calm himself, he saw that Bengal tiger was also on the bed. He immediately told himself that it was a really big stuff toy despite the creature breathed soundly in front of him. Its tail waved left and right, its chest up and down. That¡¯s a really realistic stuff toy, Fearless assured himself, got up from the bed as discreetly as he could possibly be. The giant stuff toy woke up all of the sudden.


    While the rest of the dudes belonged to the naked dudes association were snoring soundly, completely unmoving as if they pretended to play dead. The beast woke up. Its triangular ears perked up like a guard dog observing a stranger came close to its territory. The tiger stared and looked into Fearless¡¯ eyes with its hypnotic amber eyes. Fearless froze up, right on the spot, without moving a single muscle. He just stayed where he was, one foot still on the bed, one foot almost touch the floor while entering a staring contest with the beast. Fearless could almost swore that he heard Lionel Richie¡¯s suave voice singing Hello inside the back of his head while locking eyes with the tiger, except there was no such thing, that was the sound of his racing heart. Fearless did not know how long the staring contest would last but he instinctively felt that he must not break the eye contact with the beast. Somehow, he came out wining in the contest. The beast suddenly broke the eye contact and yawned, its reddened toothy mouth opened wide. However, Fearless had no time to celebrate. The beast got up, licking its lips with its big red tongue and approached Fearless.


    The tiger was huge and heavy. Its paw sunk deep into the mattress with each step it took. Fearless desperately tried to reestablish eye contact with the tiger, hoping that he could stop it, and it did, staring into his eyes with its hypnotic amber eyes but it did not slow down. One of the dude slept near the edge of the gargantuan mattress flopped out of the bed because of the beast¡¯s movement and hit the ground with a thud. That halted the beast. It trained its eyes at that one naked dude. The bastard somehow could still sleep some more despite just hit the floor. He produced some small unintelligible noises within his mouth, then scratched his bushy crotch and rolled over to sleep again.


    The tiger wore that, ¡°Meh, not interested,¡± looked on its face, turned and reengaged eye contact with Fearless and approached him again. By this time, Fearless swore that this tiger must be a monster or something. It had a gorgon look that completely petrified him. He had decided to run, to scream, to wake up all of those naked dudes, but he could do nothing. He could neither move his legs nor arms. He could make no sound. He just stood, staring right into the feline¡¯s eyes, doing nothing until he could feel its hot and damp breath on his face.


    Fearless breathed as quietly as he could. He was surprise by the soapy smell exuded from the tiger''s body and was secretly hoping that the big cat was completely domesticized. And, It hurt, Fearless did not know what prompted the tiger to do what it has done, to lick his baby magnum with its barbed red tongue. It hurt. It hurt, like really hurt, like really bad. It hurt so much. Fearless could not even move a muscle despite the pain he experienced at that moment.


    The tiger licked, and licked and it licked some more.


    It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad, like real bad, like really bad, like really really bad, like his baby magnum would be torn off, Fearless thought.


    Fearless was terrified. He was completely terrified by the thought that he could be attacked and killed if he stopped the beast from licking his baby magnum or his baby magnum would be eaten by the beast or worse.


    In that instance, for reasons that only Gods knew, his baby magnum suddenly decided that enough was enough. It demanded its right of freedom and independency out of nowhere and grew to size to combat the aggressor.


    ¡°To fight the evil colonizer, the boy grew into the man in a hurry, he knew he had to, his people needed him.¡±


    What the fuck are you doing?


    Fearless silently screamed at his baby magnum, his eyes blurred up because of pain. However, the brainless bastard, the brain dead bastard, it refused to revoke its right for freedom and independent, and fought back against the aggressor without a single plan.


    A single shot broke the stillness of the oppressed. War has arrived. War has begun.


    ¡°Freedom, independence, dead to the invader, dead to the agressor, dead to the enemy, dead.¡±


    The tiger ran away like a giant pussy it was. The war was fought and won with a single shot. The brain dead baby magnum had won the day. It fucking did it.


    Fearless silently cheered for the victory of the oppressed people, making a gusto pose. The oppressed people had won against the evil colonizer. Justice has been served. Only then, Fearless had the luxury to comprehend of what just happened, the implication of that victory. The tiger was defeated. It was a victory for his baby magnum but it was not a victory for him. He got done in by a tiger.


    Fearless has thought that dark page of his history would improve his mood because that it was the worst experience he had ever had, therefore, it could only be better. But he ended up crushed instead.


    He got owned by a farting corpse and got done in by a tiger.

 Chapter 4: AN UNPRINCELY DEPARTURE

    Chapter 4: AN UNPRINCELY DEPARTURE


    Fearless heaved like a deflated balloon for the zenith times of the day. His mood began to curve downward toward the lightless pit of depression for a variety of reasons. Fearless sighed again, That¡¯s the last one, he inwardly told himself, desperately fighting against his desire to keep sighing.


    He could find nothing during his first and second exploration attempt around the pyramid. He found nothing that could possibly allow him to go home, not that he knew of one from his vast knowledge of the lore of ROC. That was the biggest contributing reason for his depression. Secondly, he was alone with a bunch of corpses in an eerie tomb. Thirdly, he has just carefully considered of his long-term prospect in the case that he could not return home for a long time or ever. The future was as dark as a dark hole. Fourthly, he started hearing voices inside his head.


    Fearless wished that his phone at least had an internet connection. He could at least tweet with his fans to alleviate his depression, or chatting with Alice or playing online games to improve the condition of his current mental health. Or perhaps, trying to do something more meaningful like googling a method to return home.


    Now, that¡¯s some high-level escapism. There was a limit to how much positive he could be and he thought that he was approaching his limit. Fearless sighed again and immediately swore that would be the last one of the day. What he was about to do was something like a class change in a tabletop RPG game, he sighed inwardly.


    The reason why he decided to have a class change after he realized that he could not remain in the tomb of the dark god forever. He cannot just scavenge for food and water in the tomb and live his day with a bunch of corpses forever.


    The great Aristotle has stated, ¡°Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god.¡±


    FY and Fearless were devotees of such belief. The only difference between the two of them was that FY understood and appreciated the philosophical aspect of that wisdom whereas Fearless, he fell in love with the practicality of those wise words.


    Fearless knew how lonely and miserable a man can be, being separated from society. He remembered what it felt like when he was left behind on that tropical island. It was easily made its way to being one of the worst experiences he has ever had¡­ had it not for that damn Bengal tigress¡­.


    Fearless remembered how miserable he felt on that island. He did not know how to search for fresh water. He did not know how to hunt the damn fishes for food. He ate the wrong kind of fruits and ended up buying a one-way ticket to a diarrhea dystopia. He could not make a proper bedding to save his life. He could not start the damn fire. It was miserable beyond any measurement of misery. He was not a prince on that island. He was a no god as well, and thus he could only become a beast.


    His friends were extremely apologetic about that incident, especially FY and Fantasy. The knowledge that they had left Fearless on that inhibited tropical island haunted them for the rest of their lives even after Fearless told them that he forgave them. As for Fearless, he was not even salty about that. He felt no anger or resentment for them or any kind of ill will toward his friends. He understood the fact that once people get drunk, shit happened. And he went through shitty situations like that more than often due to the nature of his decadent life. Besides, that experience taught him many things. One of the many things that he learned from that terrible experience was that ¡°Man will degenerate into a beast the moment he is isolated from society.¡±


    Thus, Fearless made his second most important priority to return to civilization.


    The nearest town from the tomb was in the kingdom of Silver Snow, lying beyond the great mountain range of the Spine. To go there, Fearless must go through the Mangora forest and climb over the Spine. Not a great plan, Fearless inwardly admitted, especially for someone who was extremely terrible at sports and made a career out of gaming and partying.


    The second nearest town was the frontier city of Madukat, technically it was still within the kingdom of Zard. Madukat locates in the golden triangle region where the border of the three kingdoms of Zard, Silver Snow, and White Winter intersected. Now, that is a feasible choice, maybe?


    According to his mental calculation, Fearless believed that he could make it to Madukat as long as his will to return to civilization remained true. However, to reach Madukat, Fearless must first head North through the Mangora Forest and crossed the Bison Prairie, quite a distance. He needed to seriously planned and prepared for that trip.


    Fearless remembered that he has undergone many class changes in the past. He took the first class change from being a pianist to a magician when his mom passed away from cancer. Then, he took another class change from being a magician to pro-gamer after he met FY. And now, after thinking of his prospect in the world of Reign of Chaos, he decided to take another class change into a hybrid class between an undertaker and looter¡­ so Underlooter perhaps? Yeah, let¡¯s not go with that. That¡¯s a terrible naming sense¡­


    Fearless swapped his leathery uniform for a Greyscale hooded robe that he found. He wasn¡¯t sure if the robe belonged to a male or female. It smells like old people¡­


    The sour odor of the robe made Fearless could not help but pinch his nose. He had no desire to wear it either. However, Fearless thought that it¡¯s better than allowing his clothes to enveloped in the smell of corpses.


    Hang on, it was that moment, Fearless became somewhat confused. The clothes he wore to this world of Reign of Chaos were not the same thing that he wore to meet with his ex. He brought with him The Alliance¡¯s uniform instead of the pink shirt and white jeans he wore when he listened to his ex¡¯s sob story.


    Oh, well, who cares? Fearless quickly dismissed the many questions popped up within the head, realizing that he had no way of explaining them.


    Fearless began to move and rearrange the corpses of those magic casters in order to perform a mass funeral for them. At the same time, he was searching their body for valuable items. According to the lore of ROC, Mistress Death, the goddess who governs the aspect of destruction would welcome the deceases with open arms as their queen to be. She would not discriminate them regarding whomever they were in life, king or slave, saint or criminal. She would not charge them gold coins like Charon, Anubis or the Jade Emperor, not that they could bring their wealth with them to the beyond.


    In his mind, Fearless told himself that, It¡¯s a service fee, since he made a lot of effort into rearranging their bodies to prepare for their funeral. As Fearless was moving the corpses, he chanted the Buddhism mantra for salvation, prayed to the Christian god, the Norse gods, the Greek gods, the gods who ruled Escana and Mistress Death herself for the salvation of the deceases.


    In his mind, Fearless would send off the magic casters to wherever they wanted to go in their afterlife. If they wanted to go to Valhalla, good, if they decided to go to heaven, great, if they made a decision to enter Samsara or Nirvana, excellent, or the Great Hall of Death, marvelous. As long as they would not haunt him in the future, anywhere is fine.


    Fearless doubled and retched too many times for him to remember. It was until his stomach was but empty that he could begin doing his job properly. It was far from being the prettiest and sunshine kind of profession, that, Fearless has already predicted in his mind, This is literally the worst, he told himself as the corpse he was touching began to excrete on its own. Despite the piece of rag wrapping around his face like a mask, Fearless swore that he could still smell that sickening mushy smell of decay. It¡¯s hard work but after repeating the process from one corpse to another, somehow Fearless got used to that.


    The future looked bleak. It was like yesterday I was at the top of the world and today, I could not get anywhere lower than this SHIT. Once again, Fearless sighed. He thought of doing something funny to bright up his mood and thus brought out his phone to take a selfie with the pile of corpses behind him. He opened his Tweet account and started typing ¡°#Classchange, #in another world,¡± of course, he could not upload it, but he did it anyway, because¡­ why the heck not?


    ¡°What the fuck am I doing here?¡± Fearless sighed and lamented, became even more depressed than before. He felt like he would go crazy if he had to stay in this forsaken place longer. He felt a morbid need to converse with someone, someone that is not himself. He put his phone back in his pocket and resumed working. It did not take long for Fearless to decide that he was done for the day. He was tired, physically and mentally. He just wanted to lie down and rest. Fearless scanned the room and quickly examined his work, ¡°Geh,¡± and an odd sound escaped his mouth. He thought he has finished moving at least fifty corpses or so. However, in reality, he only managed a meager twenty-seven. Fearless wished that he had listened to Merleon¡¯s advice and exercised more.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Fearless left the corpses-filled room and moved another room, the one that the Greyscale magic casters have been converted into their sleeping quarter. Whilst exploring the temple, Fearless has discovered a collective seven rooms that was clear of cobwebs and dust.


    Four rooms were obviously used as sleeping quarters, filled with makeshift beddings of animal hides and thick rugs. One room was converted to a makeshift mess hall, having piles of unwashed and washed dishes and food leftovers. The last two rooms were used as storage, containing provisions and supply. The four sleeping quarters were filled with dozens of dark colored sheets, rugs and hides spreading on the floor like packed sardines. There were also sachets and numbers of personal items lying around in the rooms. From the way it looked, Fearless deducted that this group of Greyscales must have lived in this tomb for days or possibly weeks.


    The more clues Fearless gathered, the more confused he became. He was a bag full of questions. His mind filled with things like:


    ¡°What are these people doing here?¡±


    ¡°Were they trying to summon a demon lord?¡±


    ¡°Why would the Greyscale decide to summon a demon lord?¡±


    ¡°Were these people really a part of the Greyscale academy?¡±


    ¡°Are they allying with the occultists of the dark god?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t their number too little to summon a demon lord? Did they die because their summon ritual went wrong?¡±


    ¡°Did they steal Enferm¨¦ from the elves or did they borrow it?¡±


    ¡°What timeline is this?¡± ¡°Whose campaign is this?¡±


    Fearless could come up with a least a sounding theory to explain over half of the questions popped up inside his head. However, he has gained no conclusive evidence to support his theories.


    ¡°Am I summoned to this place as a demon lord? Nah¡­ That sounds edgy as hell¡­ Please don¡¯t let it be true.¡± Fearless chuckled as his consciousness started drifting to the flickering flame in the brazier. ¡°Why am I here?¡± He inquired the flickering flame.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Each of our members of The Alliance was in a sense the image of masculinity itself.


    Starting off with FY, he is the very image of masculinity because he was a true gentleman. He walks like a gentleman, talks like a gentleman and behaves like gentleman. It is like FY strived to be the embodiment of gentleman and become one himself. That¡¯s aside, FY is an incredibly charismatic person, easily one of the most charismatic people I have ever met and I got to meet a lot of charismatic people ranging from movie stars to show hosts due to my partying habit. The way FY talks and behaves makes people drawn to him, makes them wanted to talk to him more and stays by his side. The first time I met FY, I instantly thought that I wanted to grow up like that. I tried to emulate how FY talked, how he walked, how he behaved and to an extent, I could say that I have succeeded to do so. However, I could never be FY. FY is FY, nobody could be him.


    Merleon is very different to FY or anyone of us. He is a 215 centimeters giant, obviously. He is tanned and muscular and looks nothing like a pro-gamer. If Merleon was to introduce himself to a bunch of people who do not know him that he is a pro-gamer, they would instantly think that he was bullshitting or trying to make a joke. If Merleon was to strip down to his triangle pants and walked on a street, people would instantly mistake him for one of those three hundred in Zack Snyder¡¯s movie that somehow has traveled into the modern day society. More than often, Merleon was halted by the securities as he walks into the contestant area because of his physicality.


    One time, there was a Reign of Chaos major tournament held in the Twin arena, I and the rest of my team were sitting inside our reserved area and wondering what took Merleon so long to get there. We waited for Merleon and at one point we started to feel extremely nervous, wondering if Merleon got into some sort of accidents. And then, Merleon¡¯s SMS came, ¡°Help, I can¡¯t convince the security to let me go in.¡±


    The security was like, ¡°Dude, you are in the wrong area.¡±


    And Merleon answered, ¡°I am a contestant mate¡± in his thick Brisbane accent.


    ¡°I know. But you are in the wrong area. This area is reserved for Esport pro-gamer. Your area is in the opposite direction. Go back to the main hall and take the left turn.¡±


    ¡°But I am a pro-gamer mate.¡±


    ¡°Mate, very funny, but I am very serious here. Stop making troubles for me. Go back to the main hall and turn left or I will call my mates here to escort you there, mate,¡± the security ended the discussion while mimicking Merleon¡¯s Brisbane accent.


    There was a heavyweight boxing tournament hosted in the same arena that day and the security was so convinced that Merleon was supposed to enter that tournament instead due to the latter¡¯s sheer size and muscle.


    Fantasy, Fantasy is the most fashionable person that I have ever known. Fantasy was aspired to be a fashion designer like his mother when he was young but life has a different plan for him. Somehow, while Fantasy was on a fast track to becoming a successful fashion designer, he met FY and got converted to a pro-gamer. It¡¯s like one of those weirdest stories ever. However, what makes Fantasy the image of masculinity was his absolute confidence in his own fashion.


    Sometimes, Fantasy just wore the most controversial, the most hideous, the most bizarre, and the most unthinkable costumes that anyone has ever seen. It was the kind of costumes that make me asked, ¡°Dude, you are really going to the party with me wearing that?¡±


    And Fantasy had that surprised expression on his face, ¡°Why not? What¡¯s wrong?¡± as if everyone else is the weird one, not him.


    And Misery, Misery, o Misery. How do I begin with Misery? Misery is like an edgelord, no he is an edgelord and the only edgelord that make me think that being an edge lord is cool. Even his nickname comes off like an edgelord. Misery is the type of people who would casually stroll the street with his over the top edgelord torn-up trench coat, his edgy worn-out pants, and boots, with his edgy shirt and sunglasses just to buy just a pack of cigarette and is not afraid of what people think of him. He is unapologetic if he ever comes across as an edgelord to most people. He is just being himself, minding his own business and listening to his own inner voice rather than listen to what people telling to him to be. If that¡¯s not what masculinity is, I don¡¯t know what.


    ¡°And how about you? I think that you are quite an image of masculinity yourself¡±


    Hahahaha, thank you, thank you.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless woke up in a state of total darkness. He was able to get proper sleep, not a good sleep, but a proper one. He even got to dream of that one time he was invited to the talk show of Jimmy Holland, one of Alice¡¯s biggest talk show rival because FY was so busy and could not attend it.


    The torch that he placed in the room has burnt out and the one next door was probably in the same state. He used his phone as the light source to navigate his way around the room. He remembered seeing stacks of unburned torches and sacks of firewood stored in the room next door during his exploration. It was this kind of moment that made Fearless regretted that he was not a smoker like Misery. He had no lighter or matches to start a fire. He cursed himself for his carelessness thinking that the fire would burn ¡­.like forever. Luckily for Fearless, the braziers in the big room that littered of corpses was not burnt out. He used the brazier¡¯s flame to kindle the unburned torch and decided to walk outside of the tomb to have some fresh air. He got lost twice as he navigated to the tomb entrance.


    It¡¯s dawn. The sun hid within the vast shadow of the Spine, peeking at Fearless like a shy girl who was having a mental battle between her shyness and curiosity. Fearless took his time to synch his Rolex with the time in this world, assuming that it was about six or seven in the morning from the height of the sun. He took a deep breath, lamenting the fact that he had neither a toothbrush with him nor coffee nor toast for breakfast. In the end, he resignedly sighed and resumed with his arduous work.


    At this point, Fearless could smell that odor with his nose, the odor of rotting flesh, like that package of chicken breasts that he thawed but forgot to cook and left it in his kitchen sink for two days. He retched. Nothing came out, just gluey and smelly stomach acid. Fearless had not to drink or eat anything since the moment he came to this world. He willed himself to stick to his work before the corpses became smellier. Food and water can wait. He wrapped his handkerchief around his face like a mask, refueled the braziers with firewood and started working.


    Fearless kept willing himself for the job, repeating his mantra that ¡°This is necessary¡± for his survival and mental health. He had no wish to degenerate into a beast like that time. He wanted to be back to civilization as soon as he could even if it was a very different civilization.


    The Rolex pointed two when Fearless was done with his task. Eight hours have passed since he started to work in the morning. He has managed to rearrange the corpses into three giant piles to prepare for their mass funeral. He gathered the loots and divided them into three categories, using three hooded robes as makeshift wrappings to transport the loots to the storage room.


    He felt the gnawing of his stomach but he had no appetite after the kind of work he just did. The parch inside his throat compelled Fearless to search for a drink. Fearless returned to the sleeping quarter, the mess hall was too far for his tired legs. He remembered seeing a number of water sacks lying around the sleeping room. He took one at random and gulped down the entire sack. It felt good. This was the second time in his life that he was able to experience how good, how tasty plain water can be, he can even forgive that leathery smell. It¡¯s good to be alive.


    Fearless had no idea how much of the firewood he would need to cremate 108 corpses. He ransacked the storages for firewood and other combustible materials. He was in luck. He found four barrels of wine. Out of pure curiosity, this is for researching purpose, Fearless decided to savor the first taste of alcohol in the world of Reign of Chaos¡­ taste like inferior product¡­ It was like the thing was brewed for sake of brewing alone, without effort or desire of mastery.


    After making a quick mental calculation, Fearless decided to fill five water sacks with wine and used the rest for cremation purpose. Inferior product is still better than nothing¡­


    It took Fearless several trips before he could transport all the firewood sacks and the four wine barrels to that big room. He arranged the firewood evenly on the three piles and then poured the wine on them.


    Three torches fell down, three pyres went up and a sentimental man drew the symbol of a hugging skull, honestly praying for the 108 souls to find salvation.


    On the fourth morning after being transported to a new world, Fearless has completely packed the stuff he wanted to take with him. He said goodbye to the eerie tomb of the dark god, heading North with the determination of reaching the frontier city of Madukat.

 Chapter 5: BRIDE OF THE WARDEN (editted)

    Moira could never get use to the soreness accumulated from her long trip. But she could live with it. But boredom. Boredom was a different of enemy, an insidious killer and the worst kind of enemy that Moira has ever faced, always.


    Moira sighed exasperatedly, yielding herself to the mercy of her worst enemy. Her elbow solidly clamped down on the oaken armrest of her seat and Moira let the weight of her chin rested against her bony knuckles. Probably out of similarity to her current situation, the grey haze of Moira¡¯s memories slowly returned to Itos, that prison.


    As a girl, Moira was always running around father¡¯s cobbled garden in Itos with her wet-nurses and matron mothers chasing after her. Just like any child would, Moira loved imagining herself to be the Great Craxus, the Dragonslayer himself, waving a long stick in her hands and fighting off imaginary battles with the Last Dragon Karijard. She could not remember much of anything else.


    Adolescence could not forgive or condone Moira of such unladylike pleasures for she was a noble born girl. Since, she had been confined inside the women¡¯s quarters of the castle with her eldest sister Rosalia, her mother and matron mothers, locked behind oppressive closed doors and towering high walls. She lived under the stern guidance of the elderly matrons and disciplinary of her own mother. Moira remembered that she rebelled against the matrons and her mother for three straight unrelenting years until her willful spirit broke and lost its glimmer. She had succumbed to her boredom and stopped watching her brothers killing their own imaginary dragons with sticks through open gaps in the towering walls.


    "At last," cheered the elderly matrons and her own mother in celebration as Moira resigned her fate to live in the uneventful and languorous days, slowly dying in her jail-like surroundings as boredom fell upon her with its dreadful poison.


    In Moira¡¯s memory, Rosalia was always the most beautiful person in the world and she could do everything the matron mothers taught her perfectly. Moira could never contest her sister on anything except when it came down to magic. Rosalia inherited all the great parts that made their mother earned the title the Pearl of the North, and even more. It was as if Rosalia were molded by the pure genius of the Goddess of Beauty Niwdar herself. Rosalia¡¯s beauty made all those rich man¡¯s daughters that were invited to her mother¡¯s tea parties green with envy despite they have never shown that to her. In front of Rosalia, they lavished her with praises, all smile, and admiration but behind her back, they were cursing her for being prettier than they were and lived in a luxury that their father could never provide them. Nevertheless, the pure and good Rosalia would never know that.


    There has been no lack of prospective suitors for Rosalia, always, the constant flows of messengers, the mountains of mails, the back-and-forth birds, and the piles of the gifts that were sent to Moira¡¯s father almost became a nuisance to him, until one day it suddenly stopped. On one special evening, Rosalia was invited to a night ball, and there, she met the very Crown Prince of the kingdom himself. Immediately after the party, the prince proposed to Rosalia and what happened after that was history. It took him one dance to make such a decision. Rosalia wedded the prince and Moira¡¯s father was elevated to the rank of Marquis.


    Unlike Rosalia, the gods have not been kind to Moira. She could never learn to stitch properly. Hers have been always ugly and crooked, not that Moira has spent as much effort as Rosalia to master them. The slow dance of the night balls bore Moira to tears. The draining notes that accompanied such dance killed her with yawns. But the angry barking sounds that Moira¡¯s dancing teacher made would resurrect her only for the slow dance to kill her again. Moira could not make great poetry like her sister either. Unlike Rosalia, Moira found no source of inspiration, no spark of ingenuity, no love for wordplay while being trapped inside the shadow of the walls of the woman quarter. But at least, the lessons of history, the recounting of myth and everything else in the between of the dancing and etiquette lessons kept Moira alive, just for a short while before she was again murdered by the dancing lessons, the stitching lessons and etiquette lessons.


    Then, Moira was introduced to magic. The only thing Moira could take pride in herself was magic, civilization magic.


    Moira could vividly recall the memories of her first magic lesson like yesterday since it has always tasted as sweet as honey. That was the day when Moira was free from the gripping shackle of needlework duty, the draining lessons of ball etiquettes and the shadow of the towering walls of the woman quarter.


    ¡°Magic is a special gift from the gods themselves,¡± as Moira¡¯s magic tutor explained to her in their first lesson, ¡°It¡¯s not hereditary. You either receive this gift at the moment of your birth or you don¡¯t, little lady.¡± Neither Moira¡¯s father nor her mother a magic caster themselves, Moira was the odd one of her family, always for one reason after another. However, for the first time, Moira was extremely fine with that.


    ¡°To use a magic spell, my little lady, you need to have the gift for it. Your gift of magic comes from the Great Sinintee. Mine, I was lucky to receive my gifts from both the Great Sinintee and the Mighty Wonten. These gifts are given to you at birth, my little lady. However, I have heard stories of people suddenly gained them¡­ but those stories do not concern you. To use this gift of yours, you are required to offer your mana to your gifter, in your case, my little lady, the Great Sinintee himself. The amount of mana you are required to offer to him must be equal to the size of the miracle you ask. Also, this, a magic medium is required,¡± showing off her oaken magic cane, Moira¡¯s tutor kept talking in that manner for hours.


    The old woman then started talking about how the ancient magic casters must also pledge their services to the gods to conjure a magic spell properly for thousands of years until Cipher appeared two hundred years ago. She told how Cipher managed to remove that part about pledging service to the gods by successfully creating a special magic medium. That special magic medium was today¡¯s magic scepters and magic canes.


    ¡°Today, most of us hailed Cipher as a hero. Thanks to his discovery, a person did not have to be deeply involved with a Temple to use magic correctly. But, at the time, he was considered an avatar of the demon lords and thus executed for his discovery¡­ I¡¯m sorry for losing you, my little lady.¡± It was around then the old woman realized she has started to bore Moira with her incessant rambling. That was how Moira was introduced to one of her greatest gifts, even though it was not hereditary.


    Speaking of hereditary, Moira herself, was lucky enough to inherit a few of her mother¡¯s features, her rich and full bosoms, her shiny golden hair, her square jawline, and her lush lips, not much of anything else. Her mother told her that her fingers were too big, unladylike, not slim and long like her or her sister. Her father used to tell Moira that she was too tall, her shoulder was too wide and intimidating as a girl. He repeatedly told Moira that her piercing and forbidding amber eyes would instantly douse any flame of passion in the heart of any man who was ill-fated enough to wed her. He repeatedly wept that he felt sorry if such fate to fall on the head of any good man.


    Her father has made plans for Moira to become the lady in waiting for the kingdom¡¯s future queen or made her pledged herself to the service of the Great Temple after considering her aptitude for civilization magic. However, one day, without telling her any reason, her father sent Moira to his vacation house in the Broken Shore of Neirra with a handful of his most trusted knights, her magic tutor and a dozen of servants. Since she has lived in the Broken Shore for years without really questioned her father''s decision.


    Moira sighed.


    No longer could she bear her depression, Moira opened the small window of her suffocating carriage to vent out the bad air in her carriage. A tiny snowflake playfully invited itself into Moira¡¯s carriage and she caught it between her hands. It was autumn still. And yet, Moira saw snow.


    So, it was true, they said that the snow of the kingdom of Zard was warm. That little discovery brought a small smile to Moira¡¯s full lips.


    ¡°Wherever the warm snow touches, the Golden Dragon of Zard reigns,¡± the first king of Zard once declared, establishing his rightful territory when the War of Dragons concluded. After that, his children and grandchildren repeated the same words as their vow every time a new king of Zard was coronated. Despite knowing that story, Moira still found it was hard to believe that the snow could be warm until she experienced the phenomenon herself.


    A gust of silver suddenly blew into Moira¡¯s carriage, with it, the strangeness of the warm snowflakes drifting amidst the cool air and returned Moira to her brightest days on the Broken Shore of Neirra.


    Moira missed The Broken Shore of Neirra dearly, everything about it. She missed the strong lapping sound when the icily silver waves of the North Sea crashing against the jaggy shore of Neirra. She missed the picturesque sight of the red dawn and twilight of the Broken Shore when the sun rose and retreated into the silver sea and painted the world in copper color. She missed that biting coldness of the winds and water of Neirra. Above all, Moira missed her sisterhood, the only people in this who could understand her and accept her.


    In the Broken Shore of Neirra, Moira had not a single dull moment. She did not just live in the Broken Shore. She thrived like a dragon that has found its sky. She was the master of the villa and thus there is nobody to tell her what to do and what not. Moira had not known such freedom since the moment her confinement in the woman quarter.


    Moira quickly befriended herself with the local priestesses of Essence Temple. The priestesses of the Essence Temple were a strange bunch by the normal people¡¯s standard, and that¡¯s what people often said about the Goddess Niwdar herself. Moira has been to an Essence Temple located in Itos, her father¡¯s fiefdom before, when a great fever struck her. If the priestesses of the Essence Temple in Itos made men raise their brows and rounded their eyes, the worshippers of Niwdar who lived in the Broken Shore would make even the most accomplished horsemen in the north fell off their horses at their sighting.


    Niwdar¡¯s worshippers are a strange bunch, that¡¯s what people have always said.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The local priestesses taught Moira how to hunt with a bow, to fight with a spear and a shield in formation, to dance with a scimitar in her hand like an elf. They taught Moira to ride a horse, to swim on a moonlit night beach under that freezing water of the Broken Shore, to get drunk with strong wine, to give praise to Niwdar the benevolent Goddess of Nature and Beauty, and to freely speak her ideal like an elven woman. They taught Moira to speak in the elven tongue and to understand the philosophical aspect of the elven tongue.


    The knight leader, who traveled with Moira to the Broken Shore, more than often criticized her for her unladylike behavior but Moira could care less. There was no elderly matron there, her mother, or her father to really make Moira stop being herself. In the Broken Shore, Moira was the master of the house, not her matron mothers, her mother nor her father. And the old knight could only lament how he has failed her father, but Moira did not care. In the Broken Shore, Moira was as free as a dragon flying on the sky.


    Every month when the three moons became full on the night sky, the priestesses would host a feast among their sisterhood to offer tributes to their patron Goddess Niwdar. The ceremony started at dawn, the priestesses would dress in the saffron and green of their ceremonial dress. They would arrange their tributes, vegetables and fruits and herbs, homegrown completely unaided by magic, and sing their praises to Niwdar, dancing in tune with scimitars, spear, bows, and arrows in their hands.


    And when the three moons reached their highest point on the sky and when the strong spirits were served among the sisterhood, Moira and the women danced, this time without weapons in their arms. A secret elven dance, a naked dance of passion and spirit between the sisterhoods, a dance that last until the next morning.


    The benevolent Mother of Nature, Beauty and Mercy only condemned intersexual sex, but not homosexual sex. Such was the way of the elves, the self-proclaimed <Children of Niwdar>.


    The priestess of Niwdar in Neirra, they were like the real sisters that Moira has never had. Moira has intended to pledge herself to the service of Niwdar and joined the sisterhood as one of their priestesses. However, Moira did not pass their test, she had no aptitude for nature magic and in order to be a priestess of the Essence Temple, one had to service their goddess with prayers and one had to serve the people of the realm with their healing nature magic. Niwdar did not gave Moira such gift. That saddened Moira, and she was so confident in her aptitude as a magic caster.


    But that did not deter Moira from becoming friends with the priestesses¡­ until the day Moira received the news of her father¡¯s death, her oldest brother has inherited the title of the Marquis and wedded her to the Warden of Golden Triangle Region. All at the same time.


    Moira was beside herself with a seething flame of anger when she read that letter. That flame almost consumed her. No, it did. Moira tore the letter apart without a single thought. In her mind, she has made plans to sell all of the furniture and valuables in her father¡¯ vacation house. She intended to hire mercenaries and free riders to fight her way back to Itos and denounced her stupid brother of his title of a Marquis. Then, she would pummel his stupid face until he cried for their mother¡¯s name. And then she would lock him up in that woman quarter for the rest of his life. Had it not for her wet nurse¡¯s words and her mother¡¯s letter, Moira would have probably turned that horribly stupid plan of hers into reality.


    Slowly, that all-consuming flame of anger inside her heart subsided. It took a long time but it did. Slowly, that flame turned cold for the lucidity of reasoning to enter her mind and for Moira to think for herself.


    To be a priestess of the Essence temple, one must able to service the people with their healing magic through their prayer to Niwdar. To be the daughter of a nobleman, one had to become the breeding mare of powerful noble houses and items to be traded for treaties and alliances. A nobleman¡¯s duty was to make treaties and alliances to protect and manage his land. A noblewoman¡¯s duty was to be the adhesive to solid those treaties and alliances that the nobleman made.


    And Moira, she was not a priestess of the Niwdar. She was Moira Farrington, a daughter of a Marquis. She understood that was her role in this world whether she liked or not. Besides, Rosalia was a queen-to-be, thus, all the eyes and ears within the Kingdom of Silver Snow would point at her and her family. Moira did not want to create troubles for her sister and family.


    The Warden of the Golden Triangle region was widely known for his warlike temperament, the Great Bear of Madukat himself. It would not be good for the people of her kingdom if Moira was to break this marriage on her own avocation. Thus, Moira bade farewell to her beloved companions and set south to the foreign land of Madukat to wed a man she has never met.


    A sudden jolted dragged Moira back from her fondest memories of the Broken Shore, her carriage suddenly halted. Moira leaned out of her carriage window, intended to see what¡¯s going on.


    ¡°Bandits, bandits, form lines, protect the lady,¡± the old knight leader shouted, Moira did not have to ask. He saw Moira looking at him through the open window, he rode his horse next to her carriage, ¡°Stay inside my lady,¡± and violently closed the window.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared, my lady,¡± Iffy, the handmaiden handpicked by Moira¡¯s oldest brother to travel with her to Madukat grabbed Moira¡¯s hand, reassuring her. Moira was not scared. She was startled, probably nervous, but not scared. The scared one was Iffy. Her cold and sweaty hands were shaking miserably while holding to Moira¡¯s hands, and her face was pale white.


    Staying inside the carriage was a bad idea. It did not bring the feeling of safeness to Moira or at least alleviated her anxiety. In fact, it only fed into her anxiety of being not able to understand anything that happened on the outside and being not able to protect herself. Inside the carriage, it was a chaotic echoing mess of everything unholy, the sound of horses neighing, the screams of people, the screeching noises of the clashing of steels, the thuds of arrows hitting against the carriage. Somehow, staying behind the closed door of her suffocating and jail-like carriage just fed on to that gripping fear inside Moira¡¯s heart instead. With a sharp breath, Moira dutifully obeyed her nature, shrugging off the sweaty hand of the trembling girl.


    ¡°My lady,¡± the girl gasped.


    ¡°Stay inside,¡± Moira grabbed her decorated magic scepter and jumped out of the carriage.


    The sound became real to Moira, no longer a chaotic mess of a bunch of phantom echo inside her head. Silver snowflakes swirled in the wind, carrying with them the stench of blood and the songs of clashing steel to Moira¡¯s ears.


    Moira could see at least a hundred of bandits surrounding her convoy with an inspecting glimpse. She saw her old knight leader jumped off his horse and fought back three spear-wielding opponents by himself to keep the circle formation from being breached.


    ¡°May Sinintee smiles upon our future,¡± Moira prayed to the Great Sinintee himself, a simple benediction, not a mana infused chant asking for miracle.


    Training her eyes on her target, Moira then pumped her mana into her magic scepter, offering her mana to the Great Sinintee, ¡°Sinintee, o mighty father, please heed the call of your daughter, what I seek is the eye of civilization.¡±


    A red-hot flaming orb appeared at the heavier end of Moira¡¯s ornate magic scepter. She adjusted her aim and launched the orb at a bandit that was circling around her knight leader. Her aim was true. The orb burst like water bubble when it crashed against that man¡¯s beardy face, and the man screamed as he turned into a walking pyre.


    The old knight leader glanced back at Moira by reflex for a moment before knocking off the spear of one of his opponents with his tower shield to dive in and impaled the startled bandit with a fine thrust from his long sword. He ignored the human pyre, glared at the other terrified spear wielding opponent and retreated back into the formation with the rest of the knights and the guards.


    ¡°Shields, form an inner circle, protect the lady. If she is hit by an arrow I will kill all of you myself.¡±


    The old knight knew Moira¡¯s riotous nature so well through the years he served her at the holiday villa. He understood that he would definitely fail to reason with her anyway, thus acted accordingly.


    Immediately, three guards formed a defensive line around Moira with their tower shield holding high.


    ¡°Sinintee, o mighty father, please heed the call of your daughter, what I seek is the eye of civilization.¡±


    Moira again prayed to Sinintee, the patron god of the Great Temple and the Great God of Destruction and Civilization. She conjured yet another fire orb at the tip of her magic scepter. She raised her magic scepter high, above the head of her guards and discharged the red orb at another bandit. It hit home this time as well, latched to a self-important looking bandit who was shouting orders to the other bandits. The burly bandit immediately dropped his sword and doubled on the snow, howled like a wounded beast, trying to douse the flame on his body in the warm snow. But the more he howled, the closer to Death he was. The viscous burning water entered his lungs burning him from the inside and took him to the afterlife.


    Moira cast her magic again and landed her horrific fire orb on another ill-fated target. He shrieked like a dying pig as the flame melted his face all the way to his lungs. Some bandits have finally noticed Moira. They tried to break through the rank of knights to get to her. However, the knights and guardsmen stood strong. Arrows started aiming at Moira, but the loyal guards and their shield stood in between. Moira spotted a bandit crouched on a tree with his bow drawn. She prayed to Sinintee again and unleashed a world of fire on that single bandit. He howled and dropped to the ground in a sickening crack. He screamed. His scream was so loud and terrible that it almost suppressed the noises of clashing steel and the barking orders of the knight leader.


    The bandits slowly felt the effect of Moira¡¯s spell. The agonizing scream of their fellow bandits started to get into their head. In the midst of battle, they conflicted and yelled at each other, argued with each other, some still wanted to fight while the other just wanted to run.


    After Moira turned another fifteen bandits into living pyres, the rest of the bandits all ran into the wood without turning back. It was this moment that Moira remembered her magic tutor''s words.


    ¡°The spell <Eye of Civilization> was not a spell designed and crafted to kill a human target. It was a spell initially created to dissuade combats,¡± lectured Moira¡¯s magic tutor once.


    Moira could never understand that. Those fire orbs were easily the most devastating thing she has ever known. They stick to the subject and they burnt. They were horrible. How something like that could be created to dissuade combat?


    Moira never understood that reasoning until today.


    A sword, or a spear, or an ax, or an arrow could do a better job than the orb of fire, quicker, and with more efficiency. The <Eye of civilization> can mortally wound the target. However, its main purpose in warfare was to by inflicting a maximum level of pain to the target whilst they were still alive.


    The horrific screams and the haunting image of the walking pyres were all it took to demoralize an army and dissuade them from fighting a battle. Because its effectiveness in demoralizing and dissuading targets to combat, <Eye of Civilization> had ironically become a beloved spell for war, something that went against the reason for its creation.


    ¡°My lady, are you unharmed?¡± the knight leader quickly approached Moira in his bloodied armor, stained with the blood of the bandits.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Moira waved her hand, intending to check the casualty of her convoy herself.


    ¡°How could you be fine my lady? You fired off more than thirty of those fireballs. You must be exhausted by now. Please get into the carriage and rest,¡± the old knight opened the carriage door and tried to support Moira as if she was a sickly patient or something.


    ¡°I¡¯m totally fine,¡± Moira assured.


    ¡°No, you are not. Please get inside and rest. Leave the rest of the business to me.¡±


    The old knight¡¯s insistence made Moira gave up. She climbed into her carriage and right into the open arms of her scared handmaiden.


    ¡°My lady,¡± the girl hugged Moira with a stuffy hug, sobbing.


    Moira could never get used to this, being a lady.


    That day, 19 of the guards were wounded, 7 dead, none of the knights was hurt and the bandits did not make away with the gifts that Moira¡¯s brother sent to the Warden. After a quick burial ceremony, Moira and her convoy head south to Madukat again.

 Chapter 6: THE FORT CITY OF MADUKAT (Editted)

    Chapter 6: The Fort City of Madukat


    Moira¡¯s long trip to Madukat was nothing but arduous and drilling. However, what made the trip became a living nightmare for her had little to do with the length it took to travel from the beautiful Broken Shore of Neirra to the foreign land of Madukat. It was the suffocating small carriage that she was jailed inside and the companies around her.


    Iffy, the young girl who Moira¡¯s oldest brother handpicked to be her handmaiden, to live with her in the foreign land of Zard, she bore Moira to tears with her attempts to engage in small ladylike pleasantries. Moira was reminded the deadening time when she spent her days behind the closed door and high wall of the woman quarter in Itos.


    Iffy reminded Moira of those rich man¡¯s daughters, who were invited to her father garden for the tea party. They bore Moira with their talks about stitches, about the weather, about their pale white skin, about the jewels and decorations that they wore, about the look and wealth of those prospective males that would breed them, about everything that made life turned dreadfully gray and utterly boring to Moira. Moira only remembered repeating ¡°Uh huh,¡± ¡°Yes,¡± and ¡°No,¡± to Iffy repeatedly throughout the majority of their conversations. Moira had to admire Iffy for not being bored with her and still had the energy and excitement to keep talking to someone as bored as Moira every day for the three months that they traveled from the Broken Shore together.


    Moira did not want to stay behind the blind and shade of her carriage. She wanted to ride a horse, to feel the wind whipped against her face, to feel the sun shone on her hair. The ever-so-faithful old knight leader sir Erik would deny Moira of such simple pleasure.


    ¡°It¡¯s unladylike and bad for your image with my men, my Lady,¡± he adamantly reasoned.


    It was a time like this that made Moira dearly missed the villa at the Broken Shore. She missed the unforgiving frosty water that she swam with the local priestesses under the moonlit night all-naked. She missed the exhilaration she felt after drawing her bowstring to her cheek and watched the loosed shaft flew true to her targets. She missed the competitions, the laughter, and the fruity taste of strong wine on her most beloved sisters¡¯ breasts and lips under the three moons.


    Moira wished that she could turn back time, and rescinded her decision to be wedded to the Warden, and carried out her most stupid plan. She would laugh and savor the tears in her brother¡¯s eyes as he called for their mother¡¯s name to save him from Moira¡¯s wrath. She wished she could do that without a single thought of her kingdom or people. Sometimes, she wished that she was just that thoughtless. Sometimes, she wished that she was a person who could embrace her thoughtlessness and stupidity.


    Thankfully, there were moments, few, that her long and arduous and worn-out trip was not boring.


    Her convoy was attacked by bandits, twice, after Moira has crossed the border. It was not pretty, it was gruesome and haunting, but Moira welcomed it with open arms. It was only at the time like this that Moira felt that she could be herself. She did not want to stay in the shade, expecting to be protected by her knights and guards. She wanted to fight, protecting herself with her own strength.


    These bandits, it seemed that their mother did not teach them to not pick a fight with the users of civilization magic.


    Moira unleashed her scorching fireballs on the bandits, being guards behind walls of shields of her guards and the watchful eyes of the worrisome knight leader. The second time the bandits attacked, it appeared that they had expected Moira¡¯s horrific fireballs. They came with round shields, bucklers, and hide shields in their hands while being extremely mindful of her presence. Once Moira set loose her magic, they would do their best to evade or block them with their soaked wet shields and discarded their lighted shield once it caught fire. It appeared that they were the same group that previously attacked Moira¡¯s convoy.


    The bandits surrounded the convoy and rushed in like locust, this time with greater numbers.


    <Eye of civilization> was not a spell created for war and combat. It was a spell initially created to dissuade combats. Moira gritted her teeth and ignored the taunting smirks on the beardy face of the bandits, depositing an enormous chunk of her mana into her magic scepter.


    ¡°Sinintee, o mighty father, your daughter implores your mighty Providence, what I seek is the


    ¡±


    It was like the ancient priests and priestesses of the Great temple thought that the ¡°Eye of Civilization¡± was not horrible enough. They decided to craft a miracle that was even more horrifying, more destructive, something that would inspire more fear and terror to become a more fitting tool to use in war.


    And the ¡°Breath of civilization¡± came to be, just like that.


    In an instant, a dozen of the bandit was engulfed in a stream of bluish orange flame. They screamed and howled as the fire ravenously devoured their entire bodies whilst they were still alive.


    <Eye of civilization> was an advanced magic but the


    was an entirely different beast. It was one of the most destructive magic spells belonged to the civilization magic branch, only a few people were capable of wielding such a terrible spell. It was crafted from the image of the fire breathing mythical dragon.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Nothing could terrify men than dragons.


    Moira turned the dragon¡¯s head at another group of flanking bandits. She took a deep breath, pumping a river of her mana into the spell. From the dragon¡¯s opened mouth, bluish orange fire streamed in a gruesome arc, sweeping across the plain and consigning everything that it touched into a fiery fate.


    That flame greedily devoured those bandits whole, thirty men or so at once. They howled and danced within the horrid fire, experiencing one of the most horrifying and most painful deaths that could befall on a person.


    Witnessing such terrible image, the remained bandits ran for their dear lives, leaving their shields and weapons behind. This time, Moira knew they would not come back for more.


    When Moira ended her spell, her head started swaying and her legs softened. She slumped like a bird got hit by an arrow. She felt drained due to the enormous mana she has offered for the spell. The knight leader caught her just in time. He made a giant fuss, cursing Moira¡¯s magic tutor for teaching her such a terrible spell.


    Most of the time, the users of


    ended up killing themselves due to extreme mana exhaustion as they cast the spell. The old knight escorted Moira into her carriage in his pale white teary face as if he believed that Moira was about to die, but she didn¡¯t.


    Her shortly recovery afterward made the old knight held his head in disbelief. He kept telling her to stop acting strong and just rest properly. However, she didn¡¯t. She did not pretend to recover from her exhaustion. She was fine, always, her magic tutor told her that her aptitude with civilization magic was unprecedented, even if she could only wield fire spells among the civilization magic branch.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Then, that day finally came.


    ¡°My lady, we have arrived,¡± the old knight¡¯s light knocks on the carriage door filled Moira¡¯s with brimming expectation. She opened the carriage window and leaned out. While she was not keen on meeting her husband to be, Moira has looked forward to witnessing the high wall of the legendary city Madukat for a long time.


    This is the golden fort? It was a huge disappointment. Moira was thoroughly heartbroken. The fort city of Madukat, one of the biggest cities in the northern realm, the same fort city that has once repelled an army of ten thousands of Silver Snow soldiers during the Hundred Years war that Moira has learned from her elderly matrons, it was a big disappointment for Moira.


    The Fort city Madukat, also known as the golden city and the impenetrable fortress of the kingdom of Zard, was something of a legend even for people of the country of Silver Snow who fought on the opposite side during the Hundred Year War. It belonged to the Bellmore, the Warden of the Golden Triangle Region for generations, one of the wealthiest families in the north due to the large gold mine underneath Madukat. Or so Moira has heard from the tales of her mother.


    The Fort city of Madukat in front of her looked nothing like the tales and poetries or like the Madukat inside her imagination. It had towering walls and a deep moat that filled with water during summer time to make the city look like it was built on an Isle and surrounded by a lake. But the towering walls of Madukat in Moira¡¯s eyes felt like they could fall apart at any moment. They looked worn out and damaged.


    ¡°Was this city under a siege recently?¡± Moira asked her old knight.


    ¡°Not that I am aware of, my lady. But I see no smoke or dead bodies. So it could have happened some time ago,¡± the old knight replied, viewed the fort city with intrigued eyes.


    The old knight has sent a messenger to ride half a day ahead of the convoy to inform the Lord of Fort city Madukat regarding Moira¡¯s arrival, and yet he did not see the Warden¡¯s rider or any reception from the Lord of Madukat to receive his bride to be. And the old knight inaudibly complaint of how rude the Warden was under his breath.


    Only when Moira and her envoy approached the city gate, a bald and skinny man approached her envoy, introducing himself as Girout, housekeeper and the right hand of the lord and welcoming Moira to the city of Madukat.


    ¡°Master Girout, pray tell me what happened to the city?¡± Moira could not contain her curiosity any longer and asked the bald man through her carriage window.


    ¡°My lady, please, just Girout, my lady,¡± the bald man respectfully bent his body to Moira, ¡°Last month, there was a siege to the city, my lady.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s strange, I have not heard of any news about war,¡± the old knight chimed in, surprised by the news.


    ¡°No, there was no war, good sir. It¡¯s a bandit attack,¡± Girout replied.


    ¡°Bandit? This is Madukat, is it not? What kind of bandits has the nerve to lay siege to this city?¡± Moira was beside herself with surprise, ¡°What was Lord Bellmore doing?¡± and let slip of her inner thought.


    Girout had that surprised look on his face due to the criticized words of his master¡¯s bride to be. A woman would dare to criticize the lord of Madukat, inconceivable. But he instantly wiped any trace of such thought on his face, and bowed, ¡°My lady, you don¡¯t understand. There was a devil calling himself Scarface Bloodbeard live within the ruins of Bundor Bastion to the South of Madukat. He has won over all the bandit lords in this Golden Triangle Region and put them under his command. It is said that he had at least four thousand bandits serving him.¡±


    ¡°And¡­¡± Moira was cut off from her word, the old knight leader has forcefully closed her carriage window just in time to prevent her from questioning the Lord of Madukat¡¯s authority over his land in front of his servants.


    ¡°My lady had an arduous and long trip. She is tired.¡± the old knight said.


    ¡°Please forgive me for not able to provide better reception. Please follow me, this way. We have prepared the accommodation for the lady and the rest of you, good sir.¡±


    Moira could imagine Girout saying that while shaking his head with a fake hospitable smile on his face.


    As her convoy traveled through the large gate of Madukat, Moira secretly peeked out of the gap of her carriage window. She saw a city devoid of warmth with streets that were full of beggars and haggard looking people staring at her convoy with curious eyes. It looked worse than the slum Moira once saw in Itos and this was the main street of the Golden city Madukat. In her mind, she told herself to not expect too much of her husband-to-be, some descendant of great heroes he might be, but his land was afflicted of bandits running rampant and his city was like this, she knew what to expect. She knew where her expectation should be placed, at which height.


    Moira soon realized that she could not be more mistaken about that.

 Chapter 7: PRINCE OR MAGICIAN, WHO AM I?

    Chapter 7: Prince or Magician, who am I?


    The Mangora forest was named after one of its most dreadful inhabitants, the giant golden back Mangora spider. The Mangora spiders on earth were small, about the size of human¡¯s thumbnail, and yet it could inflict so much terror to a man. But, the Mangora spiders in Reign of Chaos, they were at the size of a grown English Mastiff, big and intimidating. They could kill any man with Arachnophobia with their appearance alone.


    The Mangora spiders of Reign of Chaos weaved webs, but not the kind of normal cobwebs like that of the city spiders in Earth spun to wait for any unfortunate preys to get stuck and trapped in them.


    The golden back Mangora spider on the planet Escana, they actively searched for their prey, moving among the thick branches of overgrowth trees with a ghostly silence. Only when they found a target, they spun an orb of sticky web, then soundlessly crept in, slowly stalked down their prey one-step at a time, and dropped the orb of web on the unaware creature, trapping it inside the sticky orb and completely sealed its fate.


    I still remembered vividly of that one scene from a Reign of Chaos game trailer where a small unit of elven scouts was ambushed by the golden back Mangora spiders along with the dramatic music and eerie noises in the background. I understood that getting out of the Mangora forest alone by myself would not be easy, especially for a city dweller like me.


    The first thing came to my mind was magic. Maybe I can use magic?


    I had never thought about that during the entire time I prepared the funeral service to those 108 souls. I grabbed a magic cane, tried and failed magnificently.


    I prayed to Sinintee, the God of Destruction and Civilization, that warmonger. I prayed to Wonten, the Faceless God who ruled over strength and justice, that blind dude. I prayed to Eogaill, the Goddess of Truth and Wisdom, that shut-in, and I felt like I was an adult with a serious mental disorder. I knew that I would fail, but still, I tried anyway.


    Then, I hoped, maybe, just maybe, Niwdar the goddess of nature and freedom would aid him. I hoped that I was special like the-Chosen-One-kind of special. Niwdar did not answer my prayer. Niwdar only answer to the prayers of women, Of course, she would not aid me, I should have known better. Then, for a brief moment, a truly strange, random and bizarre question popped up inside my head like an annoying internet-advertising window, If I allow that tigress to chew off my dick back then, is there a chance that Niwdar would bestow me her magic?


    I had no desire to test that theory or ever seen that thought resurfacing my head again, blocking it out of existence.


    In the world of Reign of Chaos, there was no teleportation magic, only rare divine relics that granted that effect on a very limited range. From that knowledge, I have deducted that the deceased Greyscale mages must have traveled to the tomb of the dark god on foot since I found no horse or wagon around the tomb¡­, which is a strange thing on its own. Why wouldn¡¯t they use horse or wagon to travel? Most of those Greyscale folks whom I had cremated were old and middle-aged people, their kind should not be able to travel far with that amount of luggage¡­ Fuck that, who care? Not my problem¡­


    I asked myself a single question, "How did these magic casters manage to reach this tomb without being attacked by the spiders?" I speculated that the answer to that question had something to do with the stacks of bronze gongs with a carving of the Goddess Niwdar on both sides stored in a storage room. In the lore, there was a myth telling a story of Niwdar being involved with a spider-like being. Maybe those gongs had something to do with the spiders¡­ Why don¡¯t we have something like this in the game?


    Never before had I had such a strong urge to make a phone call to the Mythbusters to clarify a myth for me. I pondered and pondered and came up with no better answer and eventually I said, ¡°Fuck it,¡± like I always does when making a risky gamble, except this time, FY is not here to stop me.


    Thus, I headed North with a magic cane on my left hand, a gong tied to my belly and Enferm¨¦ on my right and a bulky backpack behind me. I entered that sea of trees. The trees of the Mangora forest were as tall as a sacred cathedral, with branches spread wide and thick like massive canopies made of leaves. I carefully walked using the magic cane as a travel stick while striking Enferm¨¦ at the gong tied to my belly nonstop. My eyes darted around, my sharp ears trained, hoping to spot any of those stealthy spiders before it was too late.


    Soon, I got what I wished for. My sharp ears caught them first before my eyes did. I managed to spot ¡°a cluster fuck¡± of those fuzzy creepers moving from tree to tree, stalking after me.


    I sounded the gong, hard and fast. They halted, keeping their distance from me. Then, one of the buggers decided to break away from its cluster and approached me with unbelievably nimble footsteps. I bang the gong for all it was worth and the bugger bounced away, retreated with creaking footsteps, shrieking as if suffering from intense pain.


    I had never been happier since the moment I woke up in the world of Reign of Chaos. In the moment of sheer exaltation and happiness when adrenaline got the better of reasons, I yelled and chased after that one giant spider, striking at my gong louder and faster than ever. The bugger left its web sack behind and ran along with the rest of its kind.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± I laughed and vented my stress on the runaway spiders. I laughed like I had never got the chance to laugh before. I gambled with my life on the line and won.


    When night fell, I decided to camp. While I learned how to make a fire in the wild, I have never become good at it, using the hand drill, the bow drill or fire plow method. I was terrible at those methods. I tried those methods before, trying to impress Alice during one of our camping trips with my questionable self-proclaimed man-of-the-wild-skill sets. After two hours, Alice had enough of her insistent laughter of watching me failed hard. She decided to use her lighter to start the damn fire instead.


    Learning from my past failures, I am no longer the Fearless of yore, I entered the forest prepared. A great man once said, ¡°With great challenge comes great innovation.¡± I found a flint stone back in the tomb. With Enferm¨¦ , I then chipped and damaged the edge of a knife, which I looted from the Greyscale mages, and transformed the damaged knife into my makeshift firestone. I put aside Enferm¨¦ and his gong, striking the chipped edge of the knife against the flint stone together to create sparks.


    My ears picked up a soft creaking noise, a small inaudible snapping of dried leaves from a distance. I immediately stopped striking the knives and held my breath, training my ears toward the source. There was nothing, no sound. The forest was dead silence, without a soft rustle of leaves or a faint chirping of insects. A dark chill invaded my body when I started to realize just how bizarre this silence was. There was certainly something lurking behind this unbreakable veil of darkness like a ghost.


    My quick flickering eyes could hardly register anything aside from the shapes and shadows of the overgrowth trees. My instinct told me that there was something out there watching me and yet, my exceptionally sharp ears suggested otherwise. They could not pick up any more sound from the surrounding. I have trusted them with my own life thus far, yet I doubted them now.


    A chill surged as if there were an army of red ant crawling up my back. I quitted thinking and dove for Enferm¨¦ by a sheer force of instinct, hitting the damn gong with Enferm¨¦ as if my entire life depended on it.


    The gong went twang inside my hands and with that twang, an explosion of noises and chaos. The entire Mangora forest erupted with loud piercing screeches of wailing agony. It was as if I have just foolishly woken a giant monster from its long slumber with the sound of my gong and I was right inside the belly of the monster. Thick branches, twigs and leaves snapped dryly and plummeted on the ground as if the forest was hit by a tropical storm.


    The spiders were here even if my eyes could not see them through the thick veil of darkness. The spiders never truly gave up. They stayed in the shadow and waited for their moment, and still waiting.


    I sounded the gong for the whole night, without stopping once, or taking a moment to rest. I lit up half of the torches, which I brought with me in the end.


    When the first ray of morning sun pierced through the forest, I started walking with the pace of a man being possessed. I slowly became comfortable with the rupturing pain on my two temples and the scorching pain in my drying up eyes. My jaws exhausted, as soft as blocks of tofu because I have gritted my teeth for the length of an entire night while sounding the gong. My neck bones were on fire due to the number of time that I turned my head around in a 360 angle to check for an invisible enemy.


    I still felt that haunting chill on my nape, with it, the vivid presence of a thousand of starving eyes trained on my back, always, refusing to let go.


    Pick something else to eat, I cursed the spiders inwardly and forged ahead.


    My legs hurt but it was a good thing. It was a kind of prickling pain that kept a person wide-awake, and I welcomed that pain into my system like a cup of hot cappuccino. My arms, I was confused if the twitching feelings that I felt from them was pain or not. They felt almost alien to me. I kept switching Enferm¨¦ from my right to my left and left to right repeatedly while sounding the gong with the flat of the blade. I have become so used to the task that I could probably sound the gong in my sleep like a robot, not that I have the stupidity to test such stupid theory.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I had no idea how long I could keep going on like this. However, one thing became clear to me, if I stopped sounding the gong while still being inside this accursed forest, I would become spider¡¯s food.


    Occasionally, I heard a familiar phantom whisper among the rustles of the leaves. "Get it done," I did not turn around to search, knowing whose voice that was. I kept walking without taking a minute off to rest.


    My ROC knowledge told me that the Mangora forest was a vast forest. The place where I began my journey was right within the depth of the forest. I knew it was huge, but I did not know how huge it was, simply because I had no reason to care about it, until now. Unlike Misery and FY, I played ROC solely for the competition, challenge, fanfare, and above everything, I was needed.


    I started to regret not using my time to invest more on the lore of ROC like Misery and FY.


    Fuck that, how on Earth could I predict that I would be tossed into this world? If you have to toss someone into this world, toss Misery or some ROC lore nerds¡­ why me? I cursed whomever or whatever beings held responsible for the reason that I was tossed into the world of ROC. The more I tried to think of positive thoughts to motivate myself out of the current situation, the larger the weltering cloud of anger inside my heart became.


    I had no idea since when that spider was no longer bothered about masking their presence. They crept through the thick branches of the trees with bold grace and screeching chatters, announcing their numbers and presence to my sharp ears from a hundred meters away. Either they have become bolder and careless with their steps or my ears have gotten used to pick up their noise.


    Let¡¯s see how long you can keep following me, I cursed the spider inwardly, devoting to save my energy to outrunning them. Millions years of evolution have granted us, human with the ability to outrun most beasts in a long run. My tenacity or your patience, let¡¯s see which will run out first?


    I kept forging ahead with an even pace, knowing that with every step that I took, I had a chance of dissuading the spiders to turn their head on an easier target. While I cannot negotiate with a bunch of dumb spiders, I can dissuade them with my action.


    I was grateful for the South pointing compass that I found. It helped me navigating through the forest without losing my bearing. Occasionally, I heard daring creaking noises of the fuzzy creepers¡¯ legs approaching my back. I sounded the gong with all of my strength. Most of the time, it was just paranoia. However, once in a while, there was a giant spider testing its luck, willing its body through the pain to approach me until the sound of the gong made it changed its mind.


    Around three in the afternoon, I started losing most of the spiders, most. I carefully trained my ears while holding my breath, picking up a twenty of dozens piercing screeches trailing after my back. I kept walking, determined to lose the rest of the persistent creepers by nightfall.


    I thought that I had this trip carefully planned out. My plan was full of holes from the beginning. This was not supposed to be a trip for a single person.


    When the sun sunk beneath the sea of trees, I trained my ears to listen. The moment my ears could no longer pick up the noises of the creepers, I dropped flat on the ground, heaving a sigh of relief.


    Nighttime, it was the moment where fear and paranoia become dormant inside a person¡¯s heart. However, this time, I was a little braver and more experienced than the night before. I used my limited stock of torches sparingly, making do with dried twigs and tree leaves to fuel the campfire. I chewed on the moldy and hard-as-a-brick bread, while keeping sounding the gong on occasions for safety. I wetted my parched throat sparingly with my stock of water supply, and I realized that I had depleted a fifth of my entire stock.


    In my original plan, if I have succeeded to chase away the spiders with the gong, I would have the luxury to forage for food and water as I traveled through this accursed wood. I did not expect that I had to keep sounding the gong without stopping even when I ate, drank, or made a campfire.


    As I stared into the campfire, exhaustion overcame me and slowly, my concentration faded into the red flying embers and the billowing orange fire. Then, within the blurriness of exhaustion, a sudden chill on my back jolted me wide-awake and I struck Enferm¨¦ against the gong as if it was my second nature.


    The world drowned within an insidious cacophony of shrieks and creaks. Leaves fell and twigs dropped. Again, I sounded the gong for my dear life in a rush of adrenaline, listening to the sound of the spiders backing off into distant shadows.


    I desperately sounded the gong as my entire body broke into cold sweats and my erratic heart spiked my entire body with adrenaline in a rushing hurry. Then, slowly, realization hit me like a truck, I nearly die while dozing off. The spiders¡¯ shrill clicking and shrieking noises from the distance entered my ears like laughter.


    I cursed and banged the gong in frustration, no longer holding myself back from the vulgarity and profanity. I shredded off my princely shell, cursed and swore at the stalking creepers in all sort of language, starting from my mother tongue Vietnamese, to Mandarin, French, Russian, English and back to Vietnamese again when my foreign vocab ran out.


    I wished that I brought enough fuel and alchemical poison with me to burn down the entire forest, with it the god damned spiders. I broke into tears as I banged the gong louder than ever.


    Fuck you, persistent bastards, I felt extremely miserable. I did not have a moment of respite to think of Alice or my best friends or my dad or any of my fondest memories to keep myself positive. It took me everything to keep myself alive from these creepers.


    The sun went up once more time and I set north. My legs were heavy as lead, my arms a bundle of wet shoddy noodle, and my eyes were balls of molten leads. The only thing that kept me going was my tenacity, and I realized it when that familiar phantom whisper, ¡°Get it done,¡± became louder and more recognizable inside my ear canal. I repeatedly told myself that I would crush these persistent spiders with the sheer force of will power alone. I would make you all give up.


    I walked, never slowed down to rest, never stop unless my legs stumbled on their own. There were moments when I could not even feel his legs anymore like they belonged to someone else. I could not even feel the pain, and yet, I was still heading north. I could still hear the occasional clicking and creaking noises came from behind me.


    Then, a question dawned on me, ¡°Why are they so adamant on eating me?¡± It was like a trigger. This question was the beginning of everything. I immediately realized that I did not just underestimate the spiders.


    I did not understand them. There is a world apart between underestimating something and completely not understand something. That was the decisive difference between losing and winning, death or alive.


    This kind of persistence was extremely abnormal for low intelligent animals like spiders.


    They kept following me, waiting for a perfect opportunity while they could just give up and search for different preys, something much easier, something less persistent.


    This kind of persistence is a human-like, like an obsession.


    All of a sudden, the biggest knot inside my head in the regard of these spiders became unbound. I started spinning my thought while pretending the spiders were human instead.


    These fuckers were not just all about size. They were definitely smart. They were definitely not stupid from the way they constantly had me surrounded.


    I trained my ears again, this time trying to listen to the noises rather than hear. The clicking noises and shrieking, which these creepers produced within their chitinous mouth, started to feel less like just some meaningless sounds. This is a language, my ears confirmed to me of the patterns within the cacophony of seemingly meaningless sounds. These spiders are conversing and exchanging information with each other. Since when spiders were social animals?


    With that discovery, a door of hope appeared and I could not help but smiling.


    These golden back Mangora spiders do not just travel together as a cluster of spiders and use their sheer numbers to overwhelm their prey. This is a pack of intelligent spiders, Yes, a pack like a pack of wolves, not a cluster like dumb earthling spiders. If they were smart enough to develop such a hunting strategy and their own language, they must have a leader, a very strong and smart leader to unite this many of them.


    The curve on my lips started to get out of my control, slowly widening. If there is truly a leader among these spiders, I don¡¯t have to kill as many spider as I can to dissuade these intelligent spiders that I am beyond them. One spider¡¯s life is all I need. Without the head, the entire body cannot function.


    I felt lucky to be alive even after making such a stupidly elementary mistake, ¡°War is all about preparation, deception, and execution,¡± Those were the words of my favorite lecturer when I attended college for a Bachelor in history.


    You should have capitalized on my mistakes and ended me while you could.


    I had screwed up two out of those three important aspects. I was ill prepared for this conflict. I was deceived by his opponents¡¯ appearance, believing that they were just stupid spiders. It is just dumb luck that I managed to survive thus far.


    I had no need to look through a mirror to see how wide my grin has become. I am already grinning from ear to ear.


    This discovery made I realized that my understanding of this world of Reign of Chaos was too little and incomplete even after playing it for over a decade. The world changed entirely within my mind, no longer ¡°Just a game.¡±


    It was like that moment when Galileo rediscovered that ¡®the Earth is not flat¡¯. Unconsciously, I stopped walking. I stuck my walking stick to the ground and searched for the familiar touch of my magic coins.


    The spiders they spun their web, I spun my thought. The magic coins disappeared and reappeared within my palm in repetitive cycles. They were folded into two and then returned whole again without fail. My mind became cold and quiet like a surface of a tranquil frozen lake, peaceful and calming, devoid of the hapless fear that haunted me for the last two days.


    You really should have capitalized on my mistakes and ended me while you could.


    The magic coins into the air, rotated and the moment they reentered my grasp. They disappeared into thin air, this time, never to be seen again.


    It was high noon and I decided to camp. I took out the apothecary sachet that was packed full of lifesaving salves, deadly alchemical poisons, and expensive concoctions.


    Then, I unloaded the bag with the cheap enchanted items and the one bag that was full of essential items. I sounded the gong every once in a while in between my tasks, just enough to remind the spiders that I have not forgotten about them. I heard their morbid clicking voices from the distance and smiled once again.


    ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen. I¡¯m thankful for the lessons you have taught me during the last two days. Let me return a favor by showing you a magic trick as a token of gratitude. I promise it will be spectacular and memorable. Please, if you can be patient for a moment. I promise that you will not be disappointed.¡± I spoke boomingly with the help of my diaphragm muscle. I stood and bowed with class and style like a performing magician.


    With my sharp ears, I heard a stir among the spiders. I smiled contently and returned to my unfinished work, preparing the stage for a magic show. I could not care less if they understood my words. I have given them my only warning, if they could not understand that, they could always blame themselves.


    When the golden Rolex on my wrist pointed four, I have completed my preparation for the grand stage. On my belt, a bandolier of deadly alchemical poisons and alchemical concoctions, which I understood their use from reading titan runes with my limited knowledge of Titan¡¯s writing, readied. On my dominant hand, Enferm¨¦.


    I wiped the sweats on my face and stopped sounding the gong completely. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, I, Fearless, The Prince of The Alliance am very thankful for your patient, without any further ado, let¡¯s the magic show begins.¡± The Magician within me grandiosely announced and bowed to his spectators, dropping two clay jars in his hands to the ground and faded into the smoke that the exploded jars created.


    My turn. If you can still follow me after this, I truly deserve to die.

 Chapter 8: PRINCE AND THE SPIDER QUEEN (Editted)

    Chapter 8: Prince and the Spider Queen


    Within the biggest and greenest canopy of leaves, hidden the master of the Mangora forest. Discreetly, she observed the situation with prudent eyes whilst her little children chattered noisily. The foolish boys asked for her permission to attack, as always the thoughtless fools they were, the Spider Queen sighed internally, and the smarts girls would tell them to shut up, waiting for her order.


    Strange, thought the Spider Queen. That lowly and foolish human male that was so full of fear and so little of strength suddenly metamorphosed into something incomprehensible for the queen of spiders. There was no fear in his voice, only confidence, extreme arrogance perhaps.


    Had he gone insane from the fear? Or was the fear and misery that personified him in the past days a masterful act?


    The Spider Queen leaned on the former. She could clearly smell the hapless fear trailing behind his footsteps, on the tree trunks he touched and the dried twigs on the ground that he stepped on.


    The pathetic human male has disappeared into the yellow smoke. His accursed instrument sounded no more.


    What was he planning? Did he think he could win against us all? Have to be careful of his magic. He did not use the power of his gods once. Or was this a ploy for him to run? The Spider Queen clicked her sharp teeth.


    Inconceivable. Foolish male, you will not escape my children. You will never make it out of this forest. Before long, you will succumb to exhaustion and became nourishment for my good children.


    The Spider Queen clicked her tongue, ordering her children to tighten the circle and like the good children that they always were. They did.


    Suddenly, within the yellow smoke, something flew out. A small object, spinning, it hit a tree root and exploded in a fiery ball of iridescent flame. The strange flame greedily licked the tree as black smoke billowed. Another explosion, much bigger, the iridescent flame turned red, like a normal flame, and became weaker and weaker as if being extinguished.


    What is this meaningless action? Lowly human, do you think you could stop us with a fire so small? Had we driven you to insanity o pitiful human? Poor human, let my children put an end to your misery life and your pitiful struggle. I will be kind. Even though you had tortured my ears with that abominable noises of your deplored instrument, I will be kind. I¡¯m the queen of this forest after all. I will show you mercy. I will tell my good children to give you a painless death, and you will feel nothing, no pain, no suffering, foolish and pitiable human male.


    The Spider Queen ignored the small fire and turned her eyes at the fading smoke the human created. It was fading quickly but the queen could make out the shape of some strange object in the midst of the smoke. She told her children to stop their slow advance and observed the situation.


    A hut? The human male pitched a hut in the middle of the smoke with his magic stick. What are you trying to accomplish inside that hut pitiful human? Did you use your only weapon to pitch a hut? O pitiful pitiful human, let my children undo your insanity and end your misery.


    A sudden noise, loud, the master of the forest instinctively covered her ears. Her children had the same jerking reaction, bracing their entire body to accept the pain to come.


    It was that accursed instrument again, pitiful human, you don¡¯t know when to give up.


    The Spider Queen gritted her teeth to endure the pain, and she discovered, there was no pain. She could not feel the hateful pain that grated her entire body as if tearing her soul asunder. That pitiful human was playing his damnable instrument and yet there was no pain. The queen suddenly realized that and so did her children.


    ¡°O pitiful human male. Has your only hope abandoned you? Has your accursed goddess forsaken you? Bemoan your fate, not us. Pitiful human, you are truly pitiful until the end,¡± the master of the forest cackled in ill humor and her children laughed accordingly.


    The human as if he understood that his goddess had forsaken him, stop playing his instrument, quietly giving in to his inevitable fate.


    ¡°Good children, end the human, be quick and merciful,¡± the queen commanded. Her children leaped out from their hidden places with their web orbs. They pounded their webs over the hut, spinning it around and around before sinking their venomous fangs into the giant orb of spider web. Then, strangely, they turned at the Spider Queen looking confused.


    ¡°There is no human,¡± the boys said and the girls repeated.


    ¡°What do you mean there is no human? He is inside the hut,¡± the Spider Queen became confused in turn.


    ¡°The human is not here,¡± the girls replied and the boys reaffirmed.


    ¡°He is inside that hut,¡± the Spider Queen shouted, breaking off her calm and majestic queen-like demeanor.


    ¡°O queen, there is no human,¡± the boys laid flatly to the ground, groveling in their timid voices.


    ¡°O queen, the hut is empty,¡± the girls kneeled with tearful eyes.


    The Spider Queen was beside herself with utter confusion. She crawled out of her hidden place, swung her tethered web strings and landed herself to the ground. Her powerful spider legs creaked as she walked toward the giant web orb her children weaved. She could still smell the thick scent of fear of that pitiful human male¡¯s sweat inside the hut. She stabbed her powerful foreleg into the ball of web and felt nothing. The queen could not understand. Thus, ¡°Unbind your web,¡± she ordered.


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    Hiding within the veil of the Multi-scales camouflaging mantle, an enchanted item that I took from the Greyscale magic casters as funeral service fee, I observed the situation. My left hand was already guarding my mouth, preventing my quiet breath from being heard. I started sweating when that creature appeared.


    What the fuck is an Arachne doing here? I wordlessly screamed the moment that I saw that creature swung down from the trees. It was not supposed to be in this place, I internally put my knowledge of the lore of ROC under an intense interrogation. You are on the wrong side of the world. What are you doing here?


    The leader of these golden back Mangora spiders was not a Mangora spider as I thought. She was an Arachne. In the lore of Reign of Chaos, the creature known as Arachne was a race of monster dwelt in a secret settlement on the Long Continent.


    According to the lore, the dark elves passed down a famous story from generation to generation, the story about the progenitor of the Arachne, who was a beautiful female dark elf, the noble Arachne. She was famous for her talent to weave the most beautiful tapestries and carpets in the world. In her arrogance, she looked down on the four great patron deities of Escana and criticized their worship. She claimed that not even the gods and goddesses could match her talent and create something better than hers.


    The gods and goddesses of Reign of Chaos took offense to that, and they sent Eogaill, the goddess of truth and wisdom to challenge Arachne, teaching the dark elf the meaning of humility. Arachne and Eogaill had their little contest. As the competed with each other, they found themselves equal until Eogaill fell short in the end. In their contest, the two found that talent and experience had triumph wisdom.


    The gods were outraged. They sent Niwdar next, the very Goddess of Nature and Beauty herself. Arachne found herself unable to match Niwdar¡¯s creativity and ever-changing tapestries, no matter how many times she tried. As Arachne groveled in her defeat, Niwdar placed a powerful curse on Arachne and transformed her into a hideous monstrosity to live the rest of her life in that form as well as her descendants. URLOX, the developer of ROC modeled this story after the Greek¡¯s Mythology that centered on Athena and Arachne.


    The Arachne in ROC was depicted as a race of monster with a body of a dark elf stitched to the torso of a giant spider from its tailbone. Thus, the Arachne retained the complete humanoid form and characteristic of a dark elf as well as the arachnid torso and eight long and slender arachnid legs.


    I stared at the Arachne and became lost in thought.


    While playing ROC the single-mode, players can play a total worth of 63 character-campaigns, which correlated to 63 playable warlords in the multiplayer mode, and a story campaign, which lead to the real events taking place in the canon history of the ROC universe. While events in the story campaign are fixed according to the script, the 63 character campaigns are not. Players can lead the faction of their warlord against the wheel of history, forging their own path and story through their strategies, tactics and decisions.


    I have been playing this game for over thirteen years, and as far as my knowledge of the lore can support me, there should not be an Arachne inside the Mangora forest in all of the campaigns and scenarios.


    The appearance of this Arachne had thrown my plan out of the window on many levels. I have hoped for a large Mangora spider to appear, not this. In the game, each individual Arachne unit is considerably stronger than the average human, dwarven and elven unit is. Merleon might be able to put this Arachne down, somehow, probably through a submission choke. But, unlike Merleon, I was not a fighter nor will I ever be one in the future. Besides, this Arachne posed a serious challenge to my principle of, Give warning to the enemy once, a beautiful woman twice.


    My eyes affixed to the glorious figure of that Arachne and my thought scattered like bubbles in the ocean.


    The female Arachne who led the Mangora spiders to attack me, her appearance was completely out of the world. She did not have the flowing dark hair, the tanned skin, or the silver eyes of a usual dark elf or Arachne. Her hair was a cascade of silver wind flowing to her waist. Her skin so fair and pale that she appeared to be a statue crafted out the purest of pristine snow. Her eyes shone like rubies lodged within and her spider body were covered in milky white fur. She was so fair and otherworldly that she did not seem real, even though I was admiring her figure with my eyes. It was almost as if she were the manifestation of a man¡¯s most beautiful fantasy.


    Before I knew it, my magic coins were already spinning within my left palm.


    In the game, the Arachnes could not be recruited as ally units under any circumstance. They were coded as monsters, unplayable. Monsters were coded to be recognized as hostile targets from all intelligent races inhibiting the Escana planet. They can perform political actions and form alliances with other monster races like kobolds, fauns, harpy, etc¡­ but not with the intelligent races. Sadly, the Arachne race existed within the game only to provide a common enemy and a reason for warlords of different races to join hand, similarly to the existence of the other monster races.


    The lore explained that the Arachne despite their innate intelligence was not recognized as one of the intelligent races of Escana. This happened due to their racial curse, the very curse that they inherited from their progenitor, compelled the other races to attack them on sight.


    And yet, I questioned my lack of desire to attack this beautiful creature. So, the curse does not affect me, I wondered.


    Her children did as they were commanded under the Spider Queen¡¯s order, unrolled and unspun the giant web-ball with great haste. A strange object fell off the ball and clanked on the ground, the Spider Queen picked it up.


    What is this strange object? The Spider Queen held the strange object in her hand and pondered. It was not an enchanted item. There was no trace of mana inside it. A metal tablet? It was gilded with silver on one side whereas the other side was black like obsidian but glossier and smoother. It was so smooth of a surface that the spider could see her clear reflection inside that darkness. The Spider Queen touched the smooth surface of the strange tablet and it suddenly flashed up.


    Instinctively, the Spider Queen let go of the strange object and leaped away. Nothing happened. The strange object did not explode or conjure any strange and harmful effect. It bounced off the ground and stayed right there. Its previously blackened side lit up. Slowly and carefully, the Spider Queen walked toward that strange object. She gingerly poked it lightly with her foreleg to test its reaction. There was no heat despite its brightness suggested. It made her looked ridiculously foolish in front of her children. The queen picked up the strange object once more time.


    On the brightened surface of the tablet, there was a painting depicting that pitiful human male with four other males, all smiling.


    What kind of magical artifact is this? Why can¡¯t I sense any trace of mana imbued inside it?


    The Spider Queen touched the bright surface of the strange tablet again with her hand. The painting disappeared to be replaced by a different picture this time. The picture contained nine rings of circles and the strange word ¡°Password,¡± which she could not read.


    What is this strange thing? The queen pondered.


    ¡°O queen,¡± the children said, bowing, signaling that they have completed their given task.


    The Spider Queen turned her sight on the opened web-ball, there was nothing but an empty hut. The queen stood without making any movement. Her mind was a tangled web of confusion. She could not understand how the human male was not inside the hut. He was supposed to be inside the hut, the Spider Queen told herself inwardly. He was playing that damn instrument of his until her children immobilized him with their webs. The tablet on her hand flashed again, the picture of that human male, smiling and faded to black.


    ¡°Are you mocking me human? Is this your idea of mocking me human?¡± The queen began to laugh in a hollow tone. Her snow-white face dyed in the color of shame and anger. Escaped her he did, that human male, mocking her he also did.


    Such a humiliation.


    The Arachne laughed manically as her children all knelt flatly to the ground, prostrating in utter fear.


    ¡°Find him, catch him and deliver him to me alive. I shall make him suffer,¡± the Spider Queen hissed and her children, they scampered away in all directions in the hope of finding that accursed human male, leaving the Spider Queen behind, along with her anger and shame.


    ¡°I shall make you suffer human,¡± the Spider Queen gritted her teeth in the seething flame of anger, the strange tablet completely crumbled into pieces in her hand.


    ¡°Oy, what the heck? That¡¯s my phone.¡±


    The master of the Mangora forest jerked in surprise, turned to the direction of that voice, and she immediately discovered that she was held at knifepoint.


    ¡°No, what have you done?¡± the human bellowed in a sorrowful voice as his strange looking sword placed on her neck.


    The Spider Queen stiffened. In her head, there were thousands of questions to be answer, and yet, the white glint from the blade held at her neck froze her on the spot. Her sharp elven sensory allowed her to realize that the blade was a powerful artifact, a divine relic, and not the average enchanted item.


    The amount of mana and magic that was compressed and soaked inside the blade was unprecedented. The Spider Queen felt as if she was staring at an entire planet of Escana being compressed into the shape of a small blade.


    ¡°Stay still. I would advise you against doing anything foolish. This sword in my hand, even though, it does not look like it, it was made in the First Age by one of the greatest Titan swordsmith ever. It cut through steel like nothing. I only need to flick my wrist lightly and your pretty neck will say goodbye to your pretty body. And I would really hate myself if I were to do that,¡± warned the accursed lowly human male, ¡°Do we understand each other?¡± and he asked with a toothy arrogant smile.


    ¡°How? How did you escape from that hut?¡± the Spider Queen asked. Her thought kept coming back to that question.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Is that a yes or a no?¡± the human raised his brows, ¡°I don¡¯t really understand Arachnid tongue. It sounded like you are just clicking your tongue and grinding your teeth to me. If you could be so willing, please lend me your Pearl of Universal Wisdom. All of the Arachne had one, right? It would make our conversation become more meaningful.¡±


    ¡°How? How do you know about that? That is a secret among our people only,¡± the Spider Queen became outrageously bewildered.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s a piece of common knowledge, don¡¯t be surprised about something so trivial,¡± the human male arrogantly replied. He should not understand what she was talking about and yet he did, somehow, ¡°Now, would you rather part with your pearl of universal wisdom or your neck? And please don¡¯t tell me that you have lost it or given that to someone else already because I would hate to cut open your throat to verify the truth,¡± said the human as he pressed the point of his razor-sharp blade against her neck.


    The Spider Queen felt a sharp pain on her neck where the point of blade dug into her neck. A hot liquid rolled down her neck and smeared her chest in a red stream. Her entire body broke into cold sweat. She was extremely reluctant to part with the pearl. The pearl of universal wisdom is something of extreme importance to any Arachne. It allowed the Arachne to immediately learn any kind of language they listen to for the first time and become fluent with it. However, the pearl held a deep-seated and utmost sacred meaning to the Arachne than anything kind of wealth that they could possess in their life for many other reasons.


    ¡°Pearl or neck, pick one,¡± the human hissed coldly, pressing his wicked sword into the Spider Queen¡¯s neck. Her neck felt like it was branded by fire.


    The Spider Queen gritted her teeth in seething anger. She took a deep breath and swallowed her pride. Her spider legs were stronger than iron, but they can¡¯t be faster than the sword pressing against her neck.


    Thus, she can only wait. In her mind, the moment her children come back for her, they would turn this situation around. She would take back her pearl and tear this lowly human apart after making him suffered the most excruciating pain that a human could taste. She opened her mouth and showed the human pearl at the tip of her tongue.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the despicable human male said, taking away her most precious treasure just like that. He put it inside his mouth, ¡°Great, now we can have a real conversation going,¡± nonchalantly said without an idea of what it would mean for her to separate from her pearl, without an inkling understanding of what that thoughtless act meant to an Arachne.


    The pearl of universal wisdom was a gift from the goddess Eogaill to the progenitor of the Arachne out of respect for her talent according to the oldest Arachne minstrels. Every Arachne was born with a pearl of universal wisdom hidden within their secret sack inside their throat. When a male Arachne fell in love with a female Arachne, he would bow to her, giving her his pearl and asked for her pearl in exchange if the female Arachne deemed the male worthy of courting her.


    The Spider Queen felt extremely humiliated. Never in her life had she tasted such humiliation. Worse, it came from a lowly male human. It was like adding salt to injury. The Spider Queen felt her anger rose and welcomed it like an old friend. However, she contained it, bottled it deep down to wait for her moment of victory to present itself.


    ¡°Ah, before that, kneel,¡± casually said the human.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I said KNEEL¡± The human hissed sharply, ¡°I am your captor and you are my captive. That¡¯s our current relationship. A captive should never look at the captor from a higher position or equal, that is common sense. So KNEEL.¡± He scoffed arrogantly.


    The Spider Queen glared at the insolent human male with indignant eyes. No female Arachne had ever bowed to a human or a male of any species under any kind of circumstance.


    ¡°Kneel or die. Your pride or your life. Think carefully and pick one. You have already given me your precious pearl. What¡¯s so difficult about kneeling?¡± the human chattered.


    Still, she would not bend her knees to a human. An outcast among her kin she was, but she was still an Arachne in shape and heart. Her pride as an Arachne would not allow that. Kneeling to a human would be where she drew the line. The Spider Queen clenched her fists and prepared to accept death with her pride as an Arachne.


    ¡°If you choose death, it would mean your precious pearl would forever be in my possession. However, if you are able to keep your life intact for the moment, maybe, you could have an opportunity to take revenge on me in the future and take back both your pride and your pearl,¡± the human reasoned, ¡°Think and choose wisely. It¡¯s not that hard to kneel to a human.¡±


    She had never been so humiliated, the Spider Queen thought. She closed her eyes, imagining the satisfaction when she reversed the situation and unleashed an endless world of pain on this lowly male. And so, the Spider Queen bit the inner part of her lips and bent her knees to the hateful lowly human male.


    ¡°Really, you make me feel like I¡¯m a villain here. Stop looking at me like that. It makes me feel bad,¡± said the human male in the most affectionate voice as if he tried to console her. He rummaged his cloth with his free hand and produced a small bottle. He popped its cap with his thumb and a strong smell emanated from the bottle, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, this is a healing salve. it¡¯s not a poison. If I want to kill you, I would have done that with my sword instead,¡± the human male explained as if he noticed her discomfort. He slathered the cold and sticky substance on her neck where he wounded her with his blade.


    The human male then produced a beautiful piece of fabric out of nowhere with his free hand which really surprised her, How did he do that? Magic? What God allowed a human to do that? To create something from nothing, and even without any invocation and mana, that¡¯s unfair.


    As the Spider Queen was still beside herself with surprise, the human male used that gorgeous looking piece of fabric to wipe away the blood trail on her body, starting with the dripping blood on her navel and up to her neck. As he wiped her blood, his hand accidentally touched against her breasts, which made her entire body quivered to an unknown feeling.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t move. My sword is still placed on your neck,¡± the human male warned and focused on his job completion, wiped her clean of the bloodstain. Once he was done with that, he stashed the stained red fabric into his pocket like an item of extreme importance.


    The Spider Queen wondered if the human ordered her to bend the knee so he could tend her wound and wiped her. That would not make her lightened his punishment and when her children got back. Maybe she would spare him from a torturous and painful death as she has initially planned, just maybe.


    ¡°You have humiliated me like this, lowly human. So now what? What do you want to talk about?¡± the Spider Queen taunted.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    The Spider Queen frowned, ¡°You put me through all of these kinds of humiliations just to asking me my name?¡± She did not expect such a question.


    ¡°No, I just want to know your name before we can start a proper conversation. What is your name?¡± The human male insisted.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± the Spider Queen stared into the insolent human male¡¯s eyes and clicked her tongue.


    ¡°It¡¯s very important to me,¡± the human male replied in the most earnest voice.


    ¡°Ilivardary Kront''tarr. Queen of the Mangora forest. I will allow you to call me Queen Kront''tarr,¡± she regally declared her name with pride.


    ¡°Iliva, then,¡± the insolent human male nodded his head and affirmed. The earnestness in his voice completely disappeared like it was never there, to be replaced with pure arrogance and insolence alone.


    ¡°How dare you?¡± the Spider Queen angrily hissed, ¡°That¡¯s a name only for the closest people to my heart to call me, not you,¡±


    ¡°Look around us, there is nobody but you and me here. Who else but I stand the closest to your heart in this very moment? Me,¡± he retorted as if she has said something strange, ¡°Are you blind or what?¡±


    ¡°Foolish male. Don¡¯t you know what a metaphorical expression is?¡± Iliva seethed. Her anger seemed to originate from the fact that somehow, the human male¡¯s argument got a point.


    ¡°I understand perfectly what a metaphorical expression is. Thank you, you don¡¯t have to explain it to me. So, Iliva, can you tell me why you are completely naked like this? Don¡¯t Arachne weave their own cloth? Why are you naked like this? Don¡¯t you feel embarrassed?¡± the human male asked, staring intently at her voluminous perky breasts.


    ¡°Why should I be embarrassed?¡± the Spider Queen indignantly scoffed. The question was beneath her regal stature.


    ¡°Are you telling me that you feel nothing at all even when I¡¯m staring at your tits right now?¡± said the human male as if he was shocked to his very core.


    ¡°Do you human get embarrassed being naked in front of insects?¡± Iliva sneered mockingly. A regal prideful smile floated on her lips.


    ¡°So you are telling me that you consider those spiders of yours as nothing but insects?¡± the human male tilted his head, confused.


    ¡°I¡¯m obviously talking about you. The only insect here is you. Are you so stupid to not realize that?¡± Iliva was beside herself with anger and she roared. This human male kept getting on her nerves. He just had that talent to pull all the wrong nerves every time.


    ¡°If I¡¯m just that stupid according to you, what does it make you then? You were fooled by me into revealing yourself and then were miserably captured by me as well. I was prepared to gamble with my life on the line to capture you and hold you hostage in front of your spiders. I did not even expect you to be so stupid that you would tell your spiders to leave you here all alone to look for me. That is like the dumbest decision a person could have ever made,¡± the human scowled his dark eyes as if he had a hard time accepting Iliva''s comment.


    ¡°¡­¡± Iliva gritted her teeth in unrepressed frustration and could not come up with any counter to that. She was thoroughly shamed by this lowly human male, again. She has decided on the torture once she reversed the situation. Until Death takes you away, you shall live in pain, Iliva swore inwardly.


    ¡°Cat got your tongue huh? You dumb exhibitionist. Okay, Iliva, next question. You are obviously very far away from home. You are not supposed to be here. Your home should be in the Long Continent. Why are you here?¡± he asked


    ¡°Why are you asking me this kind of question? What does it have anything to do with you? If you have something you want to ask, ask away, and stop wasting my time.¡± Iliva flared up. Her fists clenched tight and her arachnid legs dug into the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I must have touched a sensitive topic to you huh? Were you banished by your own kin?¡± The human male apologized.


    ¡°How do you¡­?¡± Iliva gasped and looked at the human male with newfound surprise and anger.


    ¡°Really? Damn, I got it right with the first guess. This must be my day or something.¡± The human male scoffed.


    ¡°¡­¡± Never before had Iliva felt such stupefying anger.


    ¡°So Iliva, can you tell me why you were banished?¡± the human asked in a voice full of concerned but of course, Iliva knew that he merely pretended.


    ¡°¡­¡± Iliva gritted her teeth and spoke no further.


    ¡°Oh, playing the silence game now. Okay, let me guess. Did you murder someone important from the settlement?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°Wrong huh? Okay, did you rob someone or steal something important from someone?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not like you lowly inferior human with no principle and pride.¡± Iliva exploded, ¡°We Arachne had our own pride. The reason I was banished from my village is because of my appearance,¡± Iliva, the Spider Queen bellowed.


    ¡°Your appearance?¡± the human male examined her figure carefully with his eyes that was as dark as obsidian, from her hair to her chest and down to her secret garden.


    ¡°Hah, if you want to mock me, mock me,¡± she snorted.


    ¡°Okay, Allow me to get this fact straight. So, you are banished from your settlement because you are too beautiful?¡± he asked, his head tilted, confused.


    ¡°Are you mocking me human?¡± Iliva flared up. Her face felt hot with anger and shame. The longer she talked with the human male, the angrier she became.


    ¡°Did I get anything wrong?¡± the human looked at Iliva as if he did not understand her question.


    ¡°You call this sickly pale white skin beautiful? You call this chalky white hair beautiful? You call these blood red eyes beautiful?¡± Iliva challenged and looked into the human male¡¯s eyes, allowing no falsehood. Her shoulders quivered uncontrollably


    ¡°¡­yeah¡­ am I wrong?¡± and he asked, looking confused as if he wholeheartedly agreed to what Iliva has just said.


    ¡°I am beautiful?¡± It was Iliva¡¯s turn to be confused this time.


    ¡°Easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen¡­ As long as you are not shoving your spider parts to my face.¡±


    ¡°Are you mocking me human?¡± Iliva asked the human again. This time, her voice was completely devoid of anger or shame, just plain confusion, and uncertainty.


    ¡°Do I look like I¡¯m mocking you?¡± the human male pointed at himself, deadpanned.


    ¡°¡­No¡­but ¡­ hmph¡­you are just a lowly human, what do you know about beauty?¡± Iliva suddenly found herself flustered, her voice rasped. Her face still felt hot like it was burning, but not with anger or shame this time. Her face burned but the fire was fueled by some kind of emotion that was unknown to Iliva.


    ¡°Oh, I beg your pardon. My ability to appreciate beauty is better than most people and definitely better than your entire fucking Arachne race. In fact, after talking with you, I believe that they should all start gouging their eyes out because if they cannot appreciate beauty for what beauty is when they see it. They don¡¯t need their eyes inside their eye holes. You are the very personification of beauty, well, minus that spider parts of yours because I don¡¯t have any spider part on me so I can¡¯t really appreciate them with my atheist sense. But I think I can live with that with time,¡± the human male animatedly jabbered, anger emanated from his body.


    ¡°You are just an inferior human¡­ Hmph¡­ you will get nothing from flattering me,¡± Iliva hummed and broken the established eye contact with the human male.


    It was that time, Iliva saw the human male flared up for the first time, for real.


    ¡°Are you fucking stupid or what?" He shouted, "You and your fucking god damn spiders chased after me for TWO FUCKING DAYS without giving me a moment to rest. Who does that? You bunch make me cry like a bitch. Who does that? That was the first time I have ever felt so humiliated. And you just broke my phone. Who does that? Even the most extreme paparazzi that I have met did not do anything like that. Even my most crazy girlfriends did not do that, and when I meant crazy, I meant batshit insane, and still, they did not do that. You made me go through that kind of craps. Why do I have to flatter you? What the fuck?¡±


    ¡°¡­Sorry?¡± daunted by the sudden temperamental shifted, Iliva let it slipped in form of a question, unsure if that was the correct answer.


    ¡°You better be,¡± and the human male took it as Iliva has just apologized to him.


    It was then, Iliva heard the distant rustles of tree branches, and she grinned widely, ¡°Do you hear that human? My children are returning to me. Return my pearl, put your sword down, grovel to me, beg for my forgiveness and I will let you walk out of this forest alive.¡±


    ¡°You are a really fucking moron if you think that the situation will improve for you once your spiders get back here. Are you just a pretty face and no brain?¡± the human fired back.


    ¡°Are you complimenting me or are you insulting me?¡±


    ¡°I am obviously insulting you, you dumb exhibitionist. You have already lost this battle. Don¡¯t you understand?¡± the human male exasperated.


    ¡°You are just bluffing. Grovel to me and beg. I will be kind and forgive your insolence.¡± Iliva advised.


    ¡°Okay, dumb woman, you call this bluffing?¡± The human male sighed dejectedly. He then moved on to do something Iliva had not expected. He retracted his blade and daringly moved away from Iliva.


    It took a full two second for the utterly confused Iliva to comprehend the implication of the human male¡¯s action.


    ¡°Hah, you are really stupid. I give you the chance to live and you don¡¯t even know how to take it. Now die,¡± Iliva raised her powerful arachnid foreleg like a blade and pounced at the human male.


    However, her arcing blade suddenly froze in midair and so was Iliva¡¯s entire body.


    ¡°What? Who is stupid? What are you doing? Hit me, come on, hit me." The human male dared, "What? You can¡¯t hit me? No, don¡¯t be too scared. You are a big girl. Hit me. Hit me. I won¡¯t hit back. I promise,¡± The human male was full of opening, his arms spread wide and inviting. He patted his own chest, daring Iliva to strike her powerful leg through his rib cage, ¡°Hit me. Come on."


    Then he snickered like a devil, "Oh, now, you have finally realized you can¡¯t hit me. Took you long enough, you dumb woman,¡± he taunted, showing Iliva¡¯s pearl in between his jaws, threatened to crush it, ¡°The very moment you give me your pearl, you got no chance of winning this. Why else did you think I use this sword to nick your pretty neck and make it bleed? It makes me feels so bad when I thought I might have scarred your pretty neck. But you know what? My life is more important. As long as I managed to make you give me your pearl, I can get out of this forest alive whenever I want. Hphm,¡± the human sarcastically hummed at the end.


    ¡°You coward¡­despicable human male, you don¡¯t play fair.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s the best compliment a schemer like me could receive from someone he has just defeated. And since you have just compliment me, I will do you a favor now.¡±


    ¡°What? You are going to return my pearl?¡± Iliva brightened up.


    ¡°Are you really that fucking stupid?¡± the human male mocked, ¡°No, I¡¯m talking about your spiders. I will let you save some dignity and face in front of them. Tell them that you will let me leave this forest alive, and tell them to be good kids and stay right here and do not follow me. You get to decide the story however you want. Also, you will stick with me until I get out of this forest like a good girl and I might consider returning your pearl.¡±


    Iliva mulled for several seconds and asked, ¡°Do you promise that?¡± She had no other option but to trust the human male.


    ¡°I promise,¡± the human male replied.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="7"></td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td></td>


    <td></td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    And that¡¯s how the Spider Queen ended up following a human male to the edge of the forest.


    Some times after Iliva managed to convince her spiders to stay back, I made a small discovery.


    I noticed a hallucinating screen of some sort inside my head, invisible to everyone else but me. It was the familiar level up menu in Reign of Chaos. Immediately, I identified my previous conflict with the spiders as a military conflict, and my pact with the Spider Queen as a military negotiation. By resolving them, I gained EXP and leveled up.


    It took a while before I understood how to access to that menu without using a mouse and keyboard. I managed to access to my character sheet. the first page was the character Biography like it always was in Reign of Chaos.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Fearless, Ph¨²c ?. B?ch, August 21, 2045- April 1, 2072


    A tribute to the greatest Reign of Chaos player of his generation, the greatest Ender and perhaps the greatest Reign of Chaos player to ever picks up a mouse and keyboard. He has inspired a generation of people to fall in love with ROC with his love for the game, his great personality, his work ethic, his love for the community and his unique play style. For that, he will forever have a special place in our hearts.


    A seven times World Champion, five times MVP, four times Final MVP, and twelve times All-Star, and holder of numerous individual awards, a champion among champions. He is one of the main driving factors that leads to the Greatest ROC dynasty The Alliance¡¯s unshakable dominance for over a decade.


    People grow old, but Fearless, his achievement and legend are timeless.


    It¡¯s the only justice that he had a place in a world where he has devoted his entire life.


    For that, with unanimous votes from players all around the world and all members of the developing team of Reign of Chaos, he will be immortalized within the planet of Escana as one of its inhabitant.


    May he continues to live, finds happiness and inspires people as he did to all of us.¡±</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    What is the meaning of this? What the fuck is this? This can¡¯t be real.I turned the next page. It displayed a table:


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Fearless/Human/Male/ Warlord <Level 2>


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    MIGHT?? 18 (+20)


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    LEADERSHIP 84


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    POLITIC 75


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    CHARISMA 90 (+10)


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    INTELLIGENT 87


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    WISDOM 101


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    What is it? This cannot be true. I¡¯m dead. Stop joking. What the fuck is this? People don¡¯t die from a glass of cocktail. People died when they are killed. AgainI turned the next page.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="638">


    Perks:


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="638">


    -Champion of champions: Eligible for any military or civil position to gain EXP


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="638">


    -Philanderer: Can engage with multiple opposite sex characters at the same time. Can reverse the <Marriage> status of any opposite sex character to <Single> to form marriage pact.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="638">


    -Harem Prince: Can form marriage pact with multiple warlords of opposite sex regardless of races.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    This cannot be true. Please tell me that this is a dream. I can''t die. I did not die. I could not bring myself to turn the last page of the character sheet.

 Chapter 9: PRINCE AND THE TRIP TO THE FOREST EDGE (1)

    Chapter 9: Prince and the trip to the forest edge (1)


    The heat from the camp fire melted away the frigid air on his frozen hand. Fearless exhaled a long sigh, tossing the fatigue and soreness out of his system with that long sigh. He added more firewood into the camp fire and poked them with a stick them with a stick, the fire danced and cackled. From the dancing orange flame tiny embers flew up, twirling in the air like fireflies before drifting and disappearing into the cold night.


    Finally, he had a moment to take a breath, to fully appreciate the warmth of a camp fire, the tepid pungent smell of grass and mud and the chirping orchestra of insects. No more fear and spiders and the need to bang the bronze gong. He wet his throat with a large gulping sip of wine from the one of the wine sacks he brought with him.


    This is life


    It tasted heavenly. The wine brewed by the mythical harvest fairies in Vietnamese folklore could not be better than this. The wine that served to the Einherjar in the hall of Valhalla can only be so good. I¡¯m sorry for calling you an inferior product before, I was a know-nothing-bastard. How could you be an inferior product, you are Ambrosia that the gods of Olympian feast and drunk on their tables, o sweet nectar, how wonderful.


    Fearless almost smiled to tears as he took another sip and yet another sip. It¡¯s good, he thought, truly tasted great. Then he noticed the spider queen Iliva swung her queen-size handmade hammock created from hers strings at the edge of his vision.


    ¡°Iliva,¡± he called.


    What are you doing in that place o beautiful Arachne? All alone by yourself without fire to warm you or wine to wet your parched throat. Come here and share the camp fire with me, it¡¯s warm. Come here and share the wine with me, it¡¯s good.


    ¡°What?¡± She asked with an annoyed inclination to her voice, finally resigning to let him calling her by that name and not bother to correct him.


    O beautiful Arachne, you are gorgeous even when you are angry and sulking.


    ¡°Oh, so you are not ignoring me anymore,¡± he could not help but want to tease her more.


    ¡°Because you keep pestering me,¡± she grunted, staring at him with grudging eyes.


    ¡°You are so beautiful that it was a sin, you know that?¡± Fearless smiled and honestly praised her look.


    ¡°Your compliment don¡¯t make me feel happy or anything,¡± she replied in a vexed voice, turning away, accidentally showing him her beet red pointy ear.


    ¡°No, that was not exactly a compliment or anything, just stating the truth. Also, you are the dumbest person I have ever talked to,¡± Fearless laughed, broke his harder-than-a-rock rye bread into two pieces. The damn thing was so hard that Fearless could imagine himself using it as a weapon to kill a bison with it, just drop the damn bread on a bison head and it would probably die. He crunched on the stone-like bread and wetted his lips with his heavenly nectar again.


    ¡°I will kill you,¡± the spider queen warned in a low and threatened voice.


    How could a person be this cute even when she¡¯s angry? You look just like Alice when I pretended to forget her birthday to tease her. Or that stabby stabby girlfriend when I was joking about being gay for FY and had no real interest in a woman.


    ¡°I¡¯m merely telling you the truth. I have talked to a lot of smart women, I know what a smart woman sounded like. You don¡¯t sound like a smart woman and you don¡¯t even sound like a dumb woman. You might probably be the dumbest woman ever if you come to my world,¡± Fearless cackled, admiring at the wonderful curvatures of the Arachne¡¯s body and the golden glow of his campfire casted on her white hair.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. You are dead,¡± the spider queen leapt off her hammock. Her eight arachnid legs made a sharp sound when contacted with the ground. Her divine and amorous perky breasts jiggled as she landed.


    Fearless thanked the gods for sculpturing such a masterpiece that worthy to call an epitome of beauty and whoever or whatever it was that lead such beautiful woman into the deviant path of an exhibitionist.


    This must be the holy land of Canaan, the golden land of Avalon or the heavenly garden of God. Everything that I have ever wanted are all in this place, great wine to drink and an unworldly beautiful woman to admire, how can it get any better than that?


    ¡°But you know what? You will do just fine in my world, my people would adore you, and they would love you to dead. You are just that beautiful,¡± Fearless smiled, raised his wine sack to a toast.


    ¡°Hphm,¡± the spider queen flustered and hummed away, tossing her murderous air into the darkness of the night.


    O beautiful Arachne, how unworldly you are, both your beauty and your na?vet¨¦. I can¡¯t imagine that kind of praises would work on the modern day women.


    ¡°Iliva,¡± he tenderly called her name.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Nothing, I just want to call your name,¡± Fearless replied, grinned from ear to ear and savored the seething stare that the queen of spiders shot at him.


    Iliva, I think that was a beautiful sounding name.


    ¡°Iliva,¡± he called her name again.


    ¡°Can you stop pestering me human?¡± the spider queened hissed.


    ¡°What do you do in this forest for fun?¡± Fearless asked.


    ¡°What?¡± The spider queen scowled her weary ruby eyes.


    ¡°You told that you have been in this forest for fifteen years. I can¡¯t imagine that you can stay in this forest for so long if it was really boring. So what¡¯s so fun about this forest?¡± Fearless explained, chucking another large gulp of the heavenly nectar down is throat.


    ¡°A lowly human like you could never understand,¡± she replied mysteriously.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking you, am I not?¡± Fearless sealed the leathered wine sack and asked in his most sobering voice.


    His face felt hot. He wasn¡¯t too sure if it was the work of the camp fire or the wine or the lust he accumulated for that angry Arachne.


    ¡°You are just a lowly human. Don¡¯t be so conceited,¡± she snarled angrily and returned to her hammock.


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to get sick of the word lowly human from your mouth. I have told you did I not, my name is¡­¡± Fearless sighed tiredly.


    ¡°You are just a lowly human,¡± and the spider queen cut him off.


    ¡°I see,¡± Fearless tossed another piece of firewood into the fire and watched it cracked by the flame to wash away his rising anger. Iliva was not the only prideful one. ¡°On what basis that you think that this human is lowly? Do you think that I¡¯m lowly because I am a human and a male? That¡¯s laughable. Or do you think that I am lowly because that is what the other Arachnes told you? That is even more laughable. They are blind and stupid and superstitious, obviously, they fail to see how beautiful you truly are and expelled you. That is the most stupid thing... like ever¡±


    ¡°Hphm don¡¯t think for a second that my opinion of you has improved because you keep showering me with compliments, you are just a lowly human,¡± the spider queen quipped and started to swing her hammock.


    For whatever reasons, Iliva thought that Fearless was complimented her beauty with that kind language. He was baffled. ¡°Well, maybe they actually had a point since you are the dumbest woman I have ever known. That might warrant your exile,¡± Fearless sneered.


    ¡°Stop calling me dumb,¡± the spider queen hollered angrily.


    Fearless clicked his tongue and licked his lips. His thought was divided between his desire to stay sober and the desire to drink more wine. In the end, he unsealed the wine sack and had another gulp. The battle between the angel and the devil inside his head concluded quicker than he had anticipated. It¡¯s like thedevil has always won in the end, somehow.


    He had an agreement with Iliva that she would not attack him while he was sleeping, and drunk. The female Arachne with her ballooned pride would keep her word. Either that or he would die, Fearless was completely fine with both endings.


    ¡°Anyway, back to the topic, why do you think I¡¯m lowly?¡± he turned his sight at the spider queen, staring into her red forbidding eyes.


    ¡°Is it not obvious? Your kind is stupid and weak,¡± the spider queen scoffed, shrugging her shoulders.


    ¡°Iliva, my dear, you are a really funny person, you know that? You shouldbecome a standup comedian,¡± Fearless cackled, almost choked on his wine, ¡°I have turned the situation against you. I have captured you, took your pearl hostage and made you escorting me to the forest edge. And still, you think that I ammore stupid than you are?¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen again next time,¡± the spider queen snapped. Her fist swinging, effotlessly peeling the nearest tree within her vicinity of its bark .


    ¡°That answer just confirms how dumb you are, my dear Iliva. But I will forgive you because you are beautiful,¡± Fearless sighed and drained his wine sack empty.


    His head felt slightly funny, somewhat heavy and spinning. Iliva started to multiply herself in front of his eyes. How marvelous! You can¡¯t never have enough of such gorgeous looking person. One is too little, such a lonely number, two, that¡¯s better, so much better, please makes it three, three, that¡¯s awesome.


    ¡°Insult me or compliment me, pick one,¡± the spider queen snapped.


    So, you actually like it when I compliment your look, Fearless grinned and tried his hardest not to laugh.


    ¡°There would be no next time. That was a real battle and I have expected to kill the leader of the spiders, you my dear Iliva, but I did not expect you to show up. I was expecting a Mangora spider. I intended to kill the leader of the pack and walked away with that. Do you know what this is? Iliva,¡± Fearless produced an cyclical metallic tube of fifteen centimeter length from his belt and showed it to the spider queen


    ¡°What¡¯s inside that?¡± the Arachne watched the tube with curious eyes.


    ¡°Dragon bane, the deadliest poison that man has ever concocted with alchemy, it is very hard to get one of this because not many people know the recipe and the method to create it. Coated it on an arrowhead, find an arbalest that was powerful enough to penetrate the dragon¡¯s scale and you could potentially kill an ancient dragon with a single arrow. Even the like of demon lords make little different, just a few hundreds of arrows coated with this deadly poison would be enough to kill any demon lord,¡± Fearless explained and tucked the tube back to his belt.


    Those Grayscale magic caster must have intended to use this concoction on the demon lord that they were supposed to summon in the case they failed to seal him with Enferm¨¦ alone.¡±


    ¡°¡­Your kind is dreadful human,¡± Iliva commented.


    Fearless was unsure what sort of feeling she had when she said that. Was it fear? Was it hatred? He could not tell. But he knew she meant what she said.


    ¡°Was you a Mangora Spider or a male Arachne or anything else, you would have died without even knowing who or what killed you. The only reason that you are still alive right now, and have this conversation with me is because you are one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I can¡¯t stress that enough. I feel stupid when standing in front of you like this. I should have better vocab to praise your beauty and yet this is all I can manage.


    At least. be thankful that you are a woman and you are beautiful. That is the only reason you are still alive.¡±


    ¡°..¡± Iliva was silent.


    And Fearless had intended to leave the matter like that. But he remember her previous comment about mankind being stupid and weak, ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, I think I heard you calling me weak,¡± he questioned. He left no stone unturned.


    ¡°What? Do you dare to claim that you are not?¡± The spider queen indignantly challenged.


    ¡°I cannot ignore that. Let¡¯s have a contest of strength to see which one of us is the stronger one. You or me? Arachne or human,¡± Fearless tossed away his empty wine sack and smiled a toothy smile.


    ¡°Oh, and you would not threaten to crush my pearl during the contest to make me admitting defeat, would you?¡± she taunted, still swinging her hammock.


    ¡°Wow, you suddenly become smarter." Fearless theatrically clapped his hands, "That sounds like an excellent idea. But, no, I would not do that. If I win against you using trickery, that only prove that I¡¯m a lot smarter you, not stronger than you. A contest have to be fair. Also, there must be a prize. That¡¯s why, if you win, I will return you your pearl and give in myself to you. If you win you could do whatever you want with me, be it takes me in as your eternal husband or whatsoever,¡± Fearless cackled, putting a hand on his mouth to prevent the burping sound from reaching Iliva¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Why would I want a lowly man like you as my husband?¡± the spider queen angrily retorted. She immediately sat up from her hammock when Fearless mentioned about returning her pearl, brimming with expectation.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you? Even though it sounds a little bit shameless to say this myself but I¡¯m handsome, smart, understanding, and very adept in bedding matters, if you have me as your husband, you will instantly become a winner in life.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want you. Just return me my pearl,¡± said the spider queen, descended from her hammock one more time, and Fearless again feasted his eyes on the jiggled divine mounds.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Well, your loss. So, what are you going to wager?¡± Fearless asked


    ¡°Me? I would wager¡­¡± The spider queen thought, mulling over her option and came up with nothing, ¡°Shameless human, you are after my body,¡± and finally noticed Fearless¡¯ lustful heated gaze. It took her long enough. And yet, she made no attempt of covering up her body. She made him questioned if Arachne was so different from human.


    ¡°I do desire your body,¡± Fearless honestly admitted, ¡°But, not that badly,¡± followed with a white lie and shook his head with toothy smile, ¡°Also, don¡¯t you think that it is very unfair of you to put your body as a prize? I¡¯m waging your precious pearl and myself here in this contest,¡± he targeted the Arachne¡¯s pride.


    ¡°You can never defeat me in a contest of strength so why does it matter?¡± the spider queen replied.


    ¡°You have a point however, this is a contest and as I have said, a contest have to be fair,¡± Fearless stressed the part about being fair while to stand up to face Iliva with wobbling footsteps.


    ¡°Withdraw yourself, I don''t even need your annoying existence in my life. Beside, I don¡¯t have anything else. You have already taken my most precious item,¡± she reasoned.


    ¡°Oh, but you do. My dear Iliva, I will now name my prize. If I win this contest, I will walk away with your heart,¡± and Fearless pointed his finger at the Arachne¡¯s bare chest where her heart located.


    She tilted her head as if confused. And then realization hit her like a thunderbolt, her face went beet red instantly, ¡°In your dream,¡± she yelled.


    Fearless wasn¡¯t even sure if this was his own idea or the wine which he drank that came up with this insanely stupid and crazy contest. But one thing he can be sure, if wine has voice, it would say something like this, ¡°I takethat as you have agreed to wager your heart for this contest, let¡¯s begin our contest of strength now,¡± and the wine laughed grandiosely.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The human approaches me with shaky footsteps. His breath smells like wine. His face red as if it was burned by the fire.


    ¡°You are drunk human,¡± I warn. There is no glory in defeating a weakened opponent in a fair contest.


    ¡°Consider this as a handicap, it would not be fair for you otherwise,¡± the human arrogantly replies. He is just as insolent as ever.


    ¡°You can surely talk human. But talking is all that you are good at. Start explaining the rule of this contest and be done with this quickly. I¡¯m taking back my pearl,¡± I shout. I do not lose to a human in a contest of strength, never, especially this one.


    He has little muscles on his lanky body, just a disgustingly pretty face for a mere human, nothing else worth mentioning.


    ¡°May I have your hands, beautiful Iliva,¡± the human asks while raising his hands up as if surrendering.


    I show the human my hand and he grabbed them, entwining our fingers together as if he is trying to weave a tapestry with our fingers alone. His fingers are thin, long and uncalloused like that of a woman, like the hateful girl whomevery male in the settlement adored and lavished her with gifts and praises.


    What human? Why are you staring at my fingers like that? Have you never seen any woman¡¯s fingers as calloused and rough as mine before? Do you think they are ugly as well? And why are we holding hands like this? Is this a pushing contest or an arm-wrestling contest? Do you think you could win against me like this human? No, Iliva, that cannot be. This human has a devil for a mind. He will try to trick you.


    ¡°Your precious pearl is still inside my mouth. Use your tongue to take it back. If you can take it back, it¡¯s your win. We will have this contest for as long as you can continue¡± the human grinned dastardly, showing my pearl on the tip of his tongue.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I ask, genuinely surprise because it is not as terrible as I have imagined.


    And the arrogant grin on the lips of the human crumbles instantly, his eyes widen in utter shock.


    ¡°Is there something wrong with my question?¡± I ask, strangely satisfied to see that mocking grin completely wiped from the human¡¯s face.


    ¡°You are not repulsed of doing this with me?¡± the human asks.


    Is that so much a shock for you human? Oh -¡°Oh, so that¡¯s the reason why you drink so much wine. You are trying to make me repulse because of the smell of the wine and make me forfeit it. In your dream,¡± I sneer.


    Does he think the odor of wine is enough to prevent me taking back my precious pearl? Human you have severely underestimated my resolve.


    ¡°Yeah, I think I must be dreaming right now. This is too good to be true. How could a person be this unworldly?¡± the human staggers backward and I have to hold him still, his dark eyes show an expression as if he didn¡¯t believe it.


    ¡°So are we going to stand here like this all day or have this contest going?¡±


    I cannot contain my eagerness to defeat this human. I want to see his face when he realizes he has been thoroughly defeated. I want to see him humiliated. I want to see him suffer. I want to see him groveled in front of me, kissing my feet and asking for my forgiveness.


    ¡°You can start any time you want,¡± he smiles, sticking his tongue out with my pearl on it.


    And the contest begin.


    I make a swift attack, hoping to destroy my opponent with the first attack. But the accursed human has expected that, he promptly retreats along with my pearl.


    Not yet, human, I pursue, chasing after my precious pearl. His tongue it smells like wine and it tastes like wine. It¡¯s hot and wet and it makes me feel weird. I feel his hot breath on me as well as his arrogant chuckle when my teeth clumsily hit against his white and even teeth and bar myself away from my target.


    ¡°You are really bad at this, my dear Iliva,¡± the human teases.


    His arrogant voice is just as infuriating as ever. And I can immediately feel my anger flares up. I bend my eight spider legs to stand on my elven feet. I¡¯m now exactly at the same height as the arrogant human. We look at each other eye to eye from the same level for the first time. I tilt my head and commence my invasion again. This time, my teeth will not hinder my own attack.


    Our lips meet. I explore his gums, his upper jaw and his lower jaw to confirm if he has hidden my pearl there. And once I have confirmed it, I press my attack, wrestling with his tongue to get back my precious pearl. His tongue is relentless, it entwine and sticks to mine, a weak moan reverberates inside my head. What kind of sound is that human? That¡¯s weak. I inwardly mock the arrogant human until I hear that moan again only to realize that it is not his, its mine.


    I immediately sound the retreat. My breath becomes erratic. My heart misses it beat. My mind confused. I don¡¯t understand what just happen. The human¡¯s teasing smile is the only thing inside my mind.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my dear Iliva. It should have been me who took the lead. I should have showed you how it¡¯s done,¡± An apologetic smile, a tender smile and an arrogant smile.


    His tongue is in my mouth, it¡¯s wriggling and coiling as if it has a will of its own, as if it is a living thing. He sucks the air out of my mouth. His tongue is wrapping around mine, coiling, entwining and sucking greedily, making that wet sound. The sound, it¡¯s reverberating, it¡¯s ringing in my head and whisking away my brain.


    Our tongues go astray for a moment, and I take the chance to fill my lungs with air.


    What is with this terrible human? I instinctively feel scare, trying build some time for regrouping. But he recommences his attack, sealing my lips with his. His tongue stimulates mine once more time, entwining and sucking. My legs give and he catch me, holding me back through our locking hands. He continues to scrap away what left of my dignity, whisking away my strength and reason with that terrifying tongue of his. And suddenly the world turns white.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I overdid it.¡±


    The man¡¯s gloating voice gives my weak body a reason to move. I glare at him from the ground.


    ¡°Sorry I did not think you would climax from a deep kiss,¡± he says.


    I follow his heated gaze. What is this liquid? I touch the viscous liquid, my hand accidentally brushes against my secret garden, it''s dripping wet. My face instantly flushes red with shame and anger for reasons that I don¡¯t really understand.


    ¡°I will kill you then take back my pearl and then kill myself,¡± I laugh manically and walk toward the hateful human.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless ran but he felt flat on the ground. Iliva got him, one of her spider threads bound his legs, chained him to her.


    ¡°¡±Don¡¯t come here. I¡¯m sorry. Don¡¯t come here. I was wrong,¡± he apologized to the manically laughing Arachne but she did not stop her advance.


    She mumbled the same phrase from her mouth over and over again, ¡°Kill you, take back the pearl, kill myself¡±, her red eyes swirled and added to the horror that has been gnawing at his heart.


    Fearless tried to pry the binding on his legs with his shaking fingers. The sticky web was strong and unrelenting, showing him no chance. Fearless pointed at his own mouth, showing Iliva his jaws and her pearl, ¡°Don¡¯t come or I will crush your¡­¡± and was cut off by a ball of web flew right into his mouth.


    ¡°Kill you, take back the pearl, kill myself¡±


    And Fearless can only scream, but his scream could not form words, just muffled sounds. He tried to crawl himself out of the situation and wiggled with his bounded legs. His mind suddenly sobered. The wine was no longer the master of his mind, the fucking coward bastard left him alone by himself in the time of trouble, what kind of friend was that?


    He got himself drunk while flirting with death, and now he got what he deserved.


    Eight powerful arachnid legs plowed the ground, kicking up dirt and entrapping Fearless within their encirclement like jail bars. The situation reminded Fearless of that one time FY and his wife sent him to a mental institution to help Fearless with his alcoholism and philanderer nature. Little did the kindhearted FY and his wife knew the horror when Fearless discovered the psychiatrist in charge of him was one of his exes, and she wasn¡¯t just his ex-lover, she was the most insane woman he has ever dated.


    ¡°Kill you, take back the pearl, kill myself,¡± the spider queen said. Her bloodshot eyes glowed like flame lodged within. Her dripping secret garden was in front of him, leaking viscous substance to his chest. She then grabbed him by his chin and hauled him up to the air with her vice like grip. Fearless screamed for his dear life, apologized to the Arachne who dignity was damaged by him, but only unintelligible muffled sounds echoed.


    ¡°You have shamed me thoroughly human. I commend you for doing that, no Arachne or human or elf has managed to put me to such shameful state. I will kill you and then kill myself afterward¡± the spider queen said, her murderous eye awash with tears.


    Fearless could only scream muffled scream, wiggling his body around.He tried everything to stop the carnage.


    ¡°Do you have any last word human?¡± the spider queen asked, her head tilted as if she just got SHAFT. Head tilt has never been scarier than this.


    Fearless vigorously nodded his head while making muffled sound. The spider queen extracted her ball of web out of his mouth with her left hand and held his jaws in place with her right to prevent him from crushing her pearl.


    ¡°This is bad. I have swallowed your pearl,¡± Fearless confessed, choking, and gagging. This was what he has been trying to tell her all along.


    It took two seconds for the spider queen to digest that fact, she hauled him closer to her, yanked his head around, screaming, ¡°Why on Escana and the nine spirit planes would you do that?¡± the Arachne knew men did not have a secret pouch inside their throat.


    ¡°Let me down. I have to get it out before my stomach acid liquefies your pearl,¡± Fearless begged urgently, if his stomach acid would really do something like that, he will be killed.


    ¡°Do it,¡± the spider queen dropped Fearless to the ground, shouting.


    And Fearless hopped on the ground, rolling to widen the distance to the spider queen, ¡°Fool you,¡± he produced her pearl, showing it being placed between his powerful jaws.


    He was meant to do that while apologizing to Iliva, not adding fuel to her anger. Damn it, Fearless cursed, he was still drunk as a skunk, ¡°Sorry, it was the wine saying that. It was not me,¡±


    ¡°What wine? Accursed human, you shameless, despicable ¡­ coward,¡° the spider rampantly plowed the ground around her with her arachnid legs and cursed Fearless with her red swollen eyes, tear overflowing.


    It took Fearless three hours to calm her hellfire anger and put their relationship back to status quo.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The accursed human snored loudly as soon as his back met the ground. It was as if the thought that Iliva would attack him in his sleep to get back her pearl has never crossed his mind, not that Iliva¡¯s pride would allow her to do that.


    What¡¯s with this accursed him? Are all humans in this world like him? No, the humans which Iliva has met were always soaked wet in their terror the moment they saw her. They would bare their weapons, hunting hounds and spells against her. None have the audacity to humiliate her and put her to such great shame only to sleep peacefully like that with her in the vicinity. It was as if this accursed human has no fear.


    Her kind called her ugly and an ill-omen, expelling her from their land. The elves she met on her exile called her an abomination, chased her with their horses, lances, curved swords and arrows. The humans who saw her figure called her the accursed demon, set their dogs on her and drove her away with pitchforks and hoe.


    What do they know? She did not wish to be born with this hideous figure either. If only she was born to the world with a glossy dark hair like all Arachne, and skin that did not burn in the sun, and eyes that casted the glint of silver, she would never be subjected to such fate, her mother would not be killed either.


    Only her spiders accepted her for who she was. They would never tell her that she was ugly or cursed her. They worshipped her like their goddess and queen for imparting them with her wisdom. But even they would not tell her that she was beautiful.


    So why did this accursed human call her beautiful? Only he would call Iliva beautiful.


    Why did he see her differently from everyone else? Why would he look at her in the eyes and unabashedly told her he desired her body? Why would he toy with her emotion and make her seethed with anger all the time? Why would he always have that smile on his face when talking to her as if he enjoyed their conversation?


    ¡°Why are you so different, accursed human?¡± Iliva quietly whispered, staring at his back.


    ¡°Hahahaha¡­¡± the human suddenly broke into a loud laughter, surprised Iliva.


    ¡°So you did not sleep human. You almost fool me,¡± Iliva clicked her teeth, annoyed.


    ¡°Hahaha¡­.¡± The human did not reply to her nor would he turn to face her and showered her with his eyes that were full of admiration and lust. He just laid there next to his camp fire and laughed.


    ¡°I told you, did I not, guys? I will beat them. See that? See that FY? I told you I would. And you people, the joke is on you. Five superstar caliber players on the same team, undefeated through the whole tournament, it means nothing if youmorons don¡¯t win the Final,¡± the accursed human cackled energetically and before long, his loud and steady snoring sound returned shortly.


    ¡°Sleep or talk, pick one foolish human,¡± Iliva inadvertently chuckled. The accursed human was sleep-talking in his foreign tongue which Iliva has heard during the second night when her spiders intended to attack him in his sleep. In that single night, Iliva learned a whole lot of languages thanks to the effect of her pearl.


    ¡°What now FY? I have more Final MVP than you now. Kakaka. Who is the best ROC player in the world now? Kakaka. You know what? I will win it next year and the year after as well. Kakaka. Everyone will acknowledge me as the Michael Jordon of this game, not you, kakaka,¡± the human animatedly cackled again in his sleep.


    ¡°Guys, wait, I¡¯m only joking, guys. What? What are you talking about? I¡¯m not dead. We are doing this together next year and the years after that. Wait, where are you going? Wait for me. Stop joking guys. Guys, I¡¯m not dead. Guys. FY, stop joking, this is not funny at all.¡±


    The human¡¯s laughter abruptly turned somber. His voice filled with dread and urgency. A smell of fear emanated from his body.


    ¡°No, no, no, no, no, what happened to you dad? No, what happened to you? Nurse, what happened to my dad? What? No, I¡¯m not dead. I¡¯m still alive. Please dad, wake up, I¡¯m still alive. These people are just making mean joke. See? It¡¯s April Fool day. Who would die on a day like that? Dad, you have to wake up. We have made plan to see mom¡¯s grave at the end of the month. Dad, you have to wake up.¡±


    And the accursed human suddenly broke into a sobbing fit, crying and begging, ¡°Dad, wake up, this is stupid. I¡¯m not dead. Wake up please. We have promised to see mom¡¯s grave together. Please don¡¯t do this to me,¡± his shoulders quivered as the dancing orange flame cackled.


    Iliva quietly landed from her swinging hammock. Silently, she crept near the accursed human who was sobbing in his sleep. He was stunk of wine. His voice rattled and ill-at-ease. He was vulnerable and weak. None of his arrogance, overwhelming confidence and insolence remained. The strong and devious human that put Iliva to shame again and again was nowhere to be seen, as if he has never existed in the first place. It was as if he was an illusion created by her mind.


    ¡°Alice,¡± suddenly the human broke out of his sobbing shell and called, his arms thrashed around, grabbing as if he was trying to reach out for something, ¡°Alice, Alice, Alice, please wait for me.¡±


    Alice, he tenderly called that name with so much warmth and attention, as if it was something he held dear to his heart, ¡°Alice, please don¡¯t leave me Alice. They say I¡¯m dead but I¡¯m not Alice. I love you Alice. Don¡¯t leave me,¡± the human cried.


    Iliva inadvertently stepped back, suddenly felt a small tingling pain inside her chest. She placed a hand on her chest to ease the pain but it did not go away. She held her breath and listened to the sleep-talking human.


    As soon as the human called out for that name, he stopped sobbing. He jabbered vibrantly in his sleep, a wide smile spread on his lips, ¡°Next month is your birthday, I have not forgotten. I have prepared your present since last year. I asked the manager of yourcondo for her permission to allow me renovating the top floor into an orchid pavilion. I plant the orchid flower that you love, I got it right this time I swear. They are the ¡°queen of orchid¡± that you love and not the spider orchid. I got it right this time. It¡¯s very difficult but I made them bloom Alice, even the manager praised me. I intended to wait until your birthday and showed them to you Alice. Yes, I will change. I will take this psychiatric therapy thing seriously this time. No, I¡¯m not fooling around with you this time. No, i''m not bullshitting¡± and all of sudden, the human began to weep, ¡°I will put an end to my messy relationship and be with you. So please, don¡¯t look at me like that. Please don¡¯t cry. I beg you. I¡¯m not dead Alice. Don¡¯t tell me that I¡¯m dead, Alice,¡± he sobbed. It was the kind of desolate sobbing that drained a person of their hope. His breath was ragged, gasped in between of his sobbing fit and strength left his thrashing arms. He grabbed a night wind blew by and held it to his chest while sobbing, ¡°Alice, please. Don¡¯t leave me Alice, please. I¡¯m cold Alice. Would you hug me Alice?¡±


    His tears wet his face and drenched his cloak and the ground where he slept on.


    ¡°You are pitiful, human,¡± Iliva whispered and weaved a thick blanket with her spider thread and tossed it over the sobbing human. She went back to her hammock, her thought a crooked and tangled cobweb. Her eyes never truly left the quivering figure of that pitiful human until darkness enveloped her consciousness with the sobbing sound of that pitiful human.

 Chapter 10: FATE IS A FICKLE MISTRESS

    Chapter 10: Fate is a fickle mistress


    Fate is a cruel and sadistic mistress.


    Moira immediately lamented her fate the moment she set her sight on her husband to be when she walked into the lord manor.


    On the biggest golden throne Moira has ever seen, sat the fattest man she had ever known.


    The man he wore a skimpy knee-length black robe and a golden belt tied around his hip as if to emphasize his bloated belly. The man¡¯s eyes were tiny, and his eye lids drooped over, creating an impression that he was closing his eyes until Moira could see from up close. His hair was greasily gray. His face red and bloated just like his wine barrel shaped belly. His skin was sickly white, greased in his own sweat. His large ears were sagged, stretched by the weight of his large golden ear rings. Standing next to the Warden were his women, slaves, all four of them barely wore any clothes, and yet were decorated in golden anklets and bangles, and each had a giant feathered fan in their hands to fan the man of his heat despite everyone else in the room wearing a coat.


    That¡¯s whom I¡¯m going to wed? Moira stared at that bloated sorry sight of a man who resembled a monster pig of the Underworld more than a man, trying not to show any sight of weakness. Is that thing is even human? I would rather wed a hairy dwarf than being in the same room as this thing, Moira thought, felt like she throw up just by staring at him.


    ¡°Girout, is that my bride who I am seeing right now?¡± The Warden asked in his rasped and unpleasant voice.


    ¡°Yes, sire,¡± the bald headed Girout kneeled and replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m Moira, Moira Farrington, daughter of the late Fergusson Farrington, and the sister of Heiman Farrington the current Marquis of Itos,¡± Moira held the hem of her long dress into a curtsy whereas her knight leader bowed his head to pay respect to the Warden.


    ¡°Girout, I thought lady Rosalia is the most beautiful woman in the Northern Realm who the crown prince of Silver Snow was lucky enough to ask for her hand in marriage,¡± the Warden nodded his head, turn at the bald headed Girout with his tiny eyes and sighed.


    ¡°It is indeed, sire,¡± Girout confirmed, smiling.


    ¡°Then explain to me why her sister is like that? What¡¯s with that skin color? Is she a half-breed dark elf or something? Even a beggar in my city has fairer skin than that,¡± The Warden pointed his bloated finger at Moira.


    ¡°Sire, you can¡¯t talk like that to a lady,¡± Girout flustered. His smile disappeared. He must have thought that the warden was about to praise the beauty of his bride to be despite how she might look on the outside. He did not expect his lord to openly belittle a noble lady like that.


    Moira smiled to the Warden. She just stood there and smiled away her anger, gritting her teeth. In her mind, she was telling the lord of Madukat to find himself a polished mirror and looked at himself. Of couse, she was aware that her figure was undesirable to men, but to be told that by a demon pig, that was the limit.


    ¡°And what¡¯s with that? Are the Farrington so poor that they cannot afford a jewel to decorate their woman? Even my slaves look better than that. If she can¡¯t afford something like that, she could at least put up some make up to please me,¡± The Warden pointed out the utter lack of decoration Moira had with her.


    And Moira snapped.


    She turned to Iffy, her hand maiden, the person who possessed Moira¡¯s decorated magic scepter according to the knight leader¡¯s order, fearing of mishap like this might happen. He might need to consider becoming a soothsayer when he retired his sword.


    Moira did not say anything, just smiled at Iffy with her hand extended, signaling Iffy to give her the scepter. The young girl shook her head vigorously, terrified, tears in her eyes.


    Give it to me, Moira silently formed the words with her mouth while showing her hand maiden a threatening smile.


    The golden hall suddenly echoed with a loud banging noise. It was Sir Erik, the old knight leader who has followed Moira ever since she was young. He loudly banged his gauntlet against his plate mail to form a knight salute and said, ¡°Lord Bellmore, please take back those words, that kind of language is unbecoming for a man of your stature and my noble lady, lacking as she might be, but she does not have to be put in the same sentence as such unbecoming words,¡± the old knight leader Sir Erik said in a threateningly low but loud voice, as if he would not back down in the face of the Warden of golden triangle region himself.


    It was obvious that the Warden was intimidated by the old knight leader¡¯s voice.


    ¡°And you are?¡± he asked, taken aback. His vocie rattled.


    ¡°Lord Bellmore, I¡¯m Sir Erik Griffinclaw, Chief Knight of house Farrington and the protector of my noble lady,¡± the old knight replied with a booming voice


    ¡°I see,¡± the fat man fretted, he squirmed back on his golden throne, then uncomfortably cleared his throat, ¡°Then, Sir Erik, please escort your lady back to house Farrington. I don¡¯t think I am fit to marry her. Don¡¯t worry, I will return the gifts and pay the remuneration for that, Oh, you don¡¯t have to go back so soon. You are welcome to stay and rest in my city for as long as you need as my guests of honor. You must be wary after such a long trip.¡±


    ¡°This is an outrage,¡± said the knight leader growled with his gruff voice, ¡°The house¡­¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Moira however cut her knight leader off. Her voice was strangely loud and alive, ¡°How wonderful! Lord Bellmore, I¡¯m grateful for your generosity. Your kindness truly has no bound. I will return to my house as soon as my knights and servants regain their strength. And the gift I bring with me, please kindly receive them, think of them as my gratitude for your kindness and hospitality. As soon as I return to my house, I will inform my brother of your generosity and kindness for hosting us so that he could prepare an adequate gift in return,¡± and she pulled the hem of her long dress into a curtsy again, this time with all the joy in her heart.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°My lady, you can¡¯t just¡­¡± the old knight was bewildered, he turned and looked at her, then admonished Moira in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Shut up Erik,¡± and Moira ended the discussion within three words and her kngiht leader could only stare.


    ¡°I can see that you are at least a sensible woman, lady Farrington, please be my guest and enjoy your stay here. Girout, provide whatever lady Farrington and her company need and entertain them in my stead,¡± the warden cackled, his golden throne shook with him.


    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Girout bowed, received the order while shaking his head.


    Fate is a cruel and sadistic mistress, but she can be surprisingly generous, Moira thought, brimming with happiness.


    Sir Erik complained and admonished Moira for what she has done during the day. However, lalala, she could not stop herself from singing, lalalala, Moira blocke her ears which infuriated the old knight even further. He cried of how he failed the previous lord and even thehouse Farrington then returned to his room.


    I''m not gonig to marry that pig, lalalala


    That night, Moira dreamt of the Broken Shore of Neirra and her many spiritual sisters whom she loved dearly. Soon, she would return to them. But first, she would see her brother in Itos first. She would enjoy that reunion so much more than she has ever expected. That bastard would pay the price for marrying Moira to that creature that resembled a monster pig more than a man. She would not stop, not even her mother interfere, not until her anger subsided.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The golden city of Madukat was built by the Bellmore on the Madukat hill, hence the name. It was served as a fortress to protect the kingdom of Zard from any potential invasion from the kingdom of White Winter and the kingdom of Silver Snow. Also, it was a city that was one of the centers of trade in the northern continent.


    While Moira could not see the part about the center of trade in the destitute main streets that were full of poor people and beggars, she realized that Madukat really earned its reputation as an impenetrable fortress. There were only two main gates at the outermost wall, the North gate and the South Gate. Behind the outermost wall, there was the Inner wall with four great gates that lead to the civilian and business area. It was built higher than the outermost wall with a sophisticated layout, so that it could serve as another line of defense in the case the first wall was lost despite how unlikely it would be. Finally, the Great wall that separated the Lord residence from the peasants and businessmen area. The Great wall again, was built to be higher than the Inner wall with the intention to serve as the last line of defense against the invasion or against the potential rebellions of the peasants.


    When the dawn came, Moira noticed Girout that she wanted to see the city of Madukat from up close and her guards would walk with her down the street. Girout insisted that he would arrange a carriage for her instead but Moira declined, saying that she wanted to discover this city on her own feet.


    Sir Erik has become used to her antic, dispatched eight of his men to guard with Moira along his side. He did not dare to leave her alone with the guards, "They have no ball to talk back to you," he said, giving himself a reason to walk with Moira.


    What sort of insanity has he imagined Moira to pull? No, Moira was not stupid to suddenly ditch her guards and ran off. That''s insane.


    ¡°My lady, you should wear more cloth. It¡¯s cold here. Please wait, I will get Iffy to bring you your black swan coat,¡± Sir Erik advised.


    ¡°Are you kidding me Erik? You have seen me swimming under the frozen water of the Broken Shore and you are worried about me catching a cold under this weather? This strange landscape and this strangely warmth snow are the only thing that prevent me from mistaking that it is the summer time in the Broken Shore,¡± Moira laughed, barely remembered to cover her mouth to present herself as ladylike before skipping down the street of Madukat.


    Moira could see the Sandanphon River from within the Great Wall that separate the Lord residence and the peasants¡¯ area. The river Sandanphon looked like a great snake that slithered from the great mountain range the Spine to the Bison Prairie, hugging the contour of Eastern side of Madukat¡¯s outermost wall before heading northwest to the kingdom of White Winter. Moira could see dozens of boats of different size unloading their cargos at the dock outside of Madukat and people loading them on carts, pulling them into the city.


    To the eastern side of outermost wall of Madukat was the farming area, with small isolated houses and huts of farmers and farm owners in between, surrounded by fields of red potato or ice corn.


    The architecture of Madukat came as a surprise to Moira despite the destitute state of its main street and the residence area of the peasants. There was no street within the city that was not cobbled, it was something of an achievement that only the King City of Silver Snow has ever achieved as far as Moira knew. The layout within the Inner Wall was designed to be complex, which added to the challenge for any invader who made through both walls.


    Moira was delighted to discover that the street lead to the business area was clean and pretty, unlike the destitute main street of Madukat. The great market of Madukat sold everything that the Golden Triangle region and neighbor regions had to offer, horses, cows, red potatoes, ice corn, meats, fishes, animal hides, leathers, slaves, and so much more. The people went around the streets of the business area were mostly traders from outside of Madukat. The clothes they wore were colorful and unique to Moira¡¯s eyes. Some of them were obviously very rich or came from powerful families within the neighboring area, wearing expensive clothing with the glitter of silver and gold shone at every neck and arm, which came as a big contrast to the poor people Moira saw on the main street.


    As Moira joyously skipped through the business area of Madukat to the central plaza, she came across a witch execution.


    An old woman was tied to a stake with pyre arrange beneath her feet by a group of inquisitors and paladins of the White Winter Kingdom. She was condemned for the crime of practicing witchcraft and sacrilege against Sinintee by the inquisitors. After that came public lashing, the chief inquisitor lashed at the woman, peeled her flesh and skin away with his jagged whip while whipping the watching crowd into a frenzy mob that chanted to burn the witch.


    As the pyre caught fire, the woman screamed, her horrific scream reminded Moira of the bandits she consented to the fate of walking pyres.


    That evening, Moira¡¯s mind was still occupied by the image of that execution. She did not return to the Warden¡¯s residence for dinner and experienced the cuisines of Madukat from a well-known bar opened by a wandered elf within the business area. Of course, Sir Erik sent a guard back to the manor to inform Girout of that decision.


    Moira returned to her room late, excited to share her story with Iffy. She promised that she would take Iffy with her in the day after that. Suddenly, the lord residence shook. Moira¡¯s magic scepter which she put on the edge of her bed rolled down on the wooden floor. Moira heard an echoing crash sound from the Western wall, small, she was not sure. Then, the house shook again, this time, that crashing sound was a bit clearer. Moira grabbed her magic scepter, pointed at Iffy, ¡°Stay here,¡± and ran out of her room. She asked the guards outside but they were just as clueless as Moira was. She looked for her knight leader but he came for her instead with his guards gathered.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Moira inquired.


    ¡°I am afraid that this city is under sieged my lady,¡± Sir Erik replied grimly, guessing from the sound.


    Moira walked toward the lord''s quarter, searching for Girout or anyone who knew what these crashing sound and shaking mean. Then, she spotted Girout wearing his sleeping costume, accompanied by dozen of guards, was running through the garden that separate the guest¡¯s area to the lord quarter.


    ¡°Girout, what¡¯s happening?¡± Moira asked, feeling another vibration beneath her feet. That crashing sound on the Western wall became more apparent when she was outside of her room.


    ¡°My lady, please head inside of your room and close the door. Leave this matter to the guards,¡± Girout replied, his face pale white had no blood.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening? I won¡¯t ask again,¡± Moira asked in a more commanding tone.


    ¡°They say that it was a siege, my lady. Bloodbeard and his bandits are back,¡± Girout replied, startled by another vibration that shook the entire manor.

 Chapter 11: THE SIEGE OF MADUKAT

    Chapter 11: The siege of Madukat


    Morning came, Moira woke up early and decided to call her knight leader to accompany her for a quick inspection on the western wall of Madukat. It has been on her mind for the entire night.


    The siege last night did not last very long. In fact, it lasted only about half an hour or more and before long, the peace within Madukat was restored. However, that extremely short siege left a lasting uneasiness inside Moira¡¯s heart. It was eerily unsettling.


    Contrasting to Moira, Girout and even her supposed-to-be-wed husband the Warden of Madukat seemed to be well at ease when they learned that the bandits have decided to retreat after testing the wall of Madukat for half an hour with their siege engine. And the Warden, for better or worse, he managed to sleep through the night without even realizing that his city was besieged last night.


    These men, Moira could not understand them. It was as if they had an absolute faith in the invincibility of the walls of Madukat.


    As soon as Moira went down to the Inner wall, she immediately saw the terrible state of the outermost wall with her own eyes, and still could not quite believe it.


    ¡°What in the gods¡¯ name could do that?¡± Sir Erik asked. His eyes literally bulged out of their wrinkled sockets.


    What could cause such destruction?


    Moira had no answer. She stood and stared at the large portion of the wall that had been carved out. It appeared as if the giants from the mythical stories that Moira used to hear from her wet nurse decided to make an enemy out of the wall of Madukat. Before long, she decided to go down to the outermost wall and see the evidence from up close.


    As Moira walked through the battlement of the outermost wall, she heard the guards complained how they did not even see the shape of the besiegers within the night. She also saw a group of guards hurried a team of masons and peasants to mend the part of the damaged wall.


    ¡°Did the bandit somehow acquire a dwarven trebuchet or something? I can¡¯t imagine how they could tear and do this much damage to a wall this thick and high?¡± Sir Erik mulled as he inspected the damage after factoring the guards¡¯ experience of last night siege.


    He then went to befriend with the guards, asking them question regarding the previous siege of Bloodbeard to see if the bandits really did possessed dwarven trebuchets or at least catapults. And he came back to Moira without a define answer. The guards only saw some magic casters siding with Bloodbeard during the siege last month but no major siege engine.


    This has to be the work of magic, Moira did not vocalize her thought, just trying to search for evidences that support her claim. Moira didn¡¯t see any burning damage done to the wall, and she crossed user of civilization magic from her list of suspects. Civilization magic users wrought damage on the battlefield with fire, wind, light and on the rare occasions, thunder, and the damage incurred on the wall looked like it had nothing to do with those four.


    ¡°Could this be the strong arm of Wonten that I have hearing about? Or even the mighty hammer?¡± Moira asked her knight captain, picking up a piece of rubble on the ground and playing with it inside her palm.


    ¡°No my lady, even if the entire temple of the Faceless God was to take part in this siege, they could not tear down this wall like that within half an hour,¡± Sir Erik replied, ¡°And the guards would have spotted them.¡±


    The old knight was no stranger to warfare and combat. He served Moira¡¯s father as his personal guard and knight captain through the last years of the Hundred Year war. The old knight had fought through two of the most disastrous battles at the end of the Hundred Year war and lived to tell the tale. He was like an ancient relic of the past. It¡¯s time like this that the old knight really shone, unlikely his usual nagging and rambling self which Moira could not bear to watch.


    ¡°Do you think that this is the work of a new magic? Or an ancient artifact or divine relic of some kind are responsible for this?¡± Moira pressed, staring at the part of the collapsing wall and battlement.


    ¡°I hope not, my lady, I truly do,¡± the old knight looked at Moira grimly, ¡°Because if it does, I¡¯m afraid that even this impenetrable Fortress will definitely fall. My lady, you are not safe here. Let¡¯s go back to the manor and pack your stuff. We are leaving today,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°Today? I have not seen the entire city yet. And since the warden has provide us with that much hospitality, don¡¯t you think that we should help him or something?¡± Moira asked, dropping the piece of rubbles she was holding inside her palm.


    ¡°If you are still his bride to be, I would have agreed to that. However, my lady, you are no longer his bride and thus you owe him nothing. Even if you left him to his demise, the people would not blame you. It was he who broke this marriage,¡± the knight captain said, knowing that Moira¡¯s insistence with remaining at Madukat had little to do with her thought for the warden but rather her curiosity and thrill for battle.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°No but my lady. I will not allow you to partake in this battle that is not even yours,¡± the old knight adamantly decided.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Moira dejectedly conceded with the old man for once.


    When Moira and her knight captain returned to the lord manor, expecting to bid him farewell, the Warden was holding an audience to the group of inquisitors and paladins of the Kingdom of White Winter in his hall.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    It¡¯s appeared that they were lending their service to the Warden, hoping to rid his land of bandits as a payment for his hospitality. The Warden was truly delighted by such offer. He planned to host a party to welcome them to his rank, however, the men of White Winter declined, saying that they would only lend him their aid out of good faith and they had no wish to serve anyone else other than their gods.


    The Warden was disappointed but he insisted them to partake in the party he hosted. In the end, the men of White Winter could only accept the Warden¡¯s will.


    As soon as the inquisitors and paladins left, Moira and her knight captain entered the hall. They bid the Warden farewell and hoped his campaign against the bandit would yield good result. The Warden laughed and apologized for the sorry state of his city, though Moira really doubted that he meant it. She asked if he has gone out and inspected the damage on the western wall and the fat man just laughed it off.


    ¡°This Fortress city of Madukat has stood tall for a thousand years. If it has stood for a thousand years, there is no reason for it to fall to some lowly bandit attack.¡±


    And he laughed, stating that with the aid of the inquisitors and paladin, it would not be long until he could capture Bloodbeard and put his head on a stick for public to see.


    The Warden insisted that Moira and her people would partake in the party he hosted for the inquisitors and paladins. Despite the knight captain adamantly refusal, in the end, they could not refuse the Warden¡¯s insistence.


    Moira wondered if the unsightly figure of the Warden was the result of his excessively wining and partying habit.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The jocund flutes sounded and the drums pounded as the sun set. The hall of the Warden filled with the joyous sound of instruments and the fluttering steps of his dancing female slaves. The hall was packed with the guests of the Warden, men and women came from rich and powerful family from the neighboring region, Moira and her men as well the men from the kingdom of White Winter.


    While she could not find any appetite with the greasy food displayed on the table, Moira was interested in the wine the Warden served, it was red and fruity, sweet, too tamed and demurred for her taste. She preferred the strong wine that served at the Serene Temple, it was strong and wild, it burned her throat every time she drained it down her lips.


    The old knight Erik was not too thrilled of this party. He expected to head North with Moira and returned to Itos this evening, before the situation could turn for worse. He sat next to Moira, munching on the strings of beef fillet with a mouthful of onion ice corn soup. He did not touch the wine, not once through the length of the party. The man was such a party pooper, always. He hated wine, detested even the smell of it.


    Then, the wine in Moira¡¯s cup spilled. The bowls and dishes on her table were clanking and rattling. A dancing slave screamed, stopped the dance. The hall suddenly became silent.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Why are you stopping? You are embarrassing me before my guests. Play the damn music and start dancing,¡± the Warden commanded in his reddened face. He threw his golden goblet at the female slave who stopped the dance with her screaming.


    Everybody at the party was alarmed by the shaking, everybody except the Warden. And then, that apparent crashing sounded came, filling the hall as it shook the entire building.


    ¡°The bandits come back for more,¡± said the old knight Erik, standing up from his seat and walking out of the hall.


    ¡°Wait Erik, I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Moira quietly called to her knight captain, left her seat in a hurry as well before anyone noticing her absence.


    ¡°It is dangerous, my lady,¡± the old knight reluctantly said.


    ¡°You know what my answer is, so let¡¯s not waste our time,¡± Moira replied and walked out the hall.


    Those pounding noises came from the western wall. Moira crawled up to the battlement of the Great Wall to have a better look. The day was fading and the entire city was enveloping in the color of dusk, but Moira could still see for herself of how the outermost wall of Madukat was smashed into splinters and rubbles.


    Boulders, that were at the size of a bison sailed through the air and smashed into the wall with such great force. Every time a boulder landed on the wall, a piece of the wall exploded on impact and crumbled apart.


    ¡°How did they shoot such large boulder? And at such length¡­¡±


    Moira turned at Erik whose face darkened, his hand pinched his chin.


    ¡°Did you see where these boulders come from Erik?¡± Moira asked, her voice was almost drown by the pounding and exploding noises that overwhelmed the entire city of Madukat.


    ¡°Behind those hills, my lady,¡± Erik pointed his finger at the sea of hills to the western side of Madukat.


    Moira trained her eyes to the direction Erik pointed her to and eventually, she caught the shapes of those boulders flying from beyond the shadows of the sea of hills.


    ¡°That has to be at least five hundred steps. What on Escana could shoot such boulders with such length?¡± Moira asked, a sweat flowed down her cheek.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know my lady. Either some new dwarven trebuchets or worse¡­¡± Erik groaned, his fist clenched tightly.


    After almost half an hour, that part of the wall where those boulders landed were complexly pried opened. Any army could walk through that without any trouble, assumed that they must swim through that deep moat that has been filled with water from the Sadanphon River this morning first.


    The siege stopped, but Moira¡¯s entire body was still shaking. She was not sure if it was the effect from the nonstop shaking she has experienced


    From within the sea of hills, an army emerged, the setting sun behind them. They did not stand in formation but instead spreading their forces through the length of the western hills.


    ¡°That¡¯s not four thousands like that bald fool Girout has said. This is twice that number,¡± Erik gritted his teeth and said.


    What kind of bandit lord command as much as eight thousand men under him? How is it even possible for a bandit to be allowed to have an army this large?


    ¡°How do you know Erik?¡± Moira looked back and forth between her knight and the emerging army standing on the western side of Madukat. She wished that the old knight was wrong, that his eyes had grown dull with his years or his math had a serious problem.


    ¡°Do you doubt me, my lady?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± Moira shook her head, cursing herself for agreeing to the party hosted by the Warden. She has doomed her men.


    Fate is a cruel and sadistic mistress. She can be surprisingly generous but that is only to lure you into a false sense of assurance and fulfilling in life.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    As soon as Bloodbeard spread his army of bandit around the city of Madukat, sealed off the north and south entrances, he sent riders to deliver his message to the lord of Madukat. One of them was a magic user who received the blessing of the goddess of wisdom and truth, Eogaill. The man conjured the spell ¡°Echo,¡± loudening his voice to transmit Bloodbeard¡¯s will to every man and woman inside the city of Madukat.


    ¡°Master Bloodbeard has a command for this city¡¯s lord. Surrendering yourself and everything you own in this city by mid-day tomorrow, tell your guards to open the gate and allow Master Bloodbeard¡¯s men to walk through. If you don¡¯t comply to that, we will lay siege to your city again. And this time, we shall show no mercy. We will kill every man in this city, your women we will take as slaves and your head, my lord, we will put on the wall of this city for everyone to see what it means to incur the wrath of Master Blood Beard.¡±


    Moira and her men were trapped within the wall of Madukat and the besieging bandits.

 Chapter 12: PRINCE AND THE TRIP TO THE FOREST EDGE (2)

    Chapter 12: Prince and the trip to the forest edge (2)


    The people around Fearless were thrill seekers in one way or another. FY had his darts and the world map. He would throw his dart on the world map while blindfolded and wherever the dart landed, he would pack his stuffs to travel there. He really enjoyed that kind of thrilling experiences with all the mishaps and stupid troubles he came across in those adventures except those two times when he landed the dart on Antarctica and North Korea.


    Merleon was also a thrill seeker, and his style of thrill seeking always had to do with adrenaline pumping into his blood. His father was a career UFC fighter and Merleon was aspired to be one as well until an injury robbed him of that future. While Merleon has quitted his mix martial art fighting career for his pro-gamer career, he often frequented a sword school in Melbourne. That sword school had many branches around the world in which they aimed to teach a mixture of both ancient Eastern and Western combat to people. And that ancient combat was not as safe as fencing or kendo, those people attended the school, they fought with great sword, rapier, dao, long sword, katana, scimitar, falchion and a large array of other cold weapons. While the fighter used blunted weapon, they could still cause horrific injury during their sparring session despite being armored to teeth like medieval knight.


    Alice was even more of a daredevil. Whenever she was stressed, either from the result of her works or her relationship with Fearless or whichever, she would took out her monster 2000cc Yamaha VMAX for a ride. It¡¯s a blessing from gods that she did not get into any horrific incident with that monster motor bike for the last eight years.


    And Fearless, whether he liked it or not, he was also a thrill seeker, however, his version of thrill ride always went hand in hand with alcohol or woman or often both. He¡¯s a party-goer and depended on the people attended that party, he could party hard or really really hard which resulting in the strange situations he often found himself in after waking up with a banging hangover. That one time with the Bengal tiger was already bad, that one time orgy was worse. He woke up wondering which rod went into which hole, did his rod enter the right hole or the wrong hole, which pairing went with which pairing, was it female to male or male to male and female to female, did he put on the rubber and all sort of questions while having absolutely no memory of how he got there. However, those questions did not pose as a problem immediately. The real problem was the anxiety came after that.


    What if one of the guys had STD? What if I knock up one of the girls if not all? What if there was an underage among the group? What if¡­ what if¡­what if¡­ It was that kind of reality that a person had to face after partaking in such crazy shit without a sliver of memory of partaking it that really dreaded them.


    Also, the moment when he waited for his private doctor to announce the result of his monthly blood tests, negative or positive, it was incredibly nerve-wracking, a different kind of nerve-wracking compare to when he played ROC on a biggest stage with fans watching him, and when the doctor told him that it was negative, exhalation, it was like a moment of sheer exaltation like he has just won a gamble.


    ¡°You should really stop doing that kind of shit. Then, we would not have this kind of test every damn month,¡± his private doctor would tell Fearless the same thing every single month and they felt into deaf ear every time. Fearless would laugh them off, so one time, the annoyed doctor decided to play along, announced the test to be positive.


    It was like an ¡°Oh fuck¡± moment for him. Cold sweats oozed out of his body and Fearless asked his private doctor again, ¡°Doc, are you bullshitting me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am. So please, start taking my advice seriously. One day, one day, it might be true,¡± the doctor said, slapping Fearless¡¯ test result on his face.


    Still, Fearless had that same conversation with his doctor every single month since.


    And for whatever reason, Fearless really dug insane women. He was thrilled at the thought of what sort of insanity they would explode on him at any given moment and how should he prepare himself for that.


    Even without his father, Alice, FY and FY¡¯s wife Su Ming the person who Fearless called sister in law told him again and again, Fearless realized that the stuffs he did were the image of insanity itself. He realized that without having told by anyone, and yet, he could not stop, and yet, he could not remove himself from those acts of insanity. It became a part of him.


    And the night before proved that, that Fearless himself could not be anything but an insane bastard. He got himself drunk and flirted with death, almost got himself involved in a double suicide in the end; not that it was something new to him. Fearless went through too many failed lover suicide attempts to even count, except that one time last night, he has not become the lover of Iliva yet.


    ¡°Iliva,¡± he called to the spider queen who walked next to him.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, immediately taking a defensive stance with her icy cold voice. She folded her arms and glared daggers at him.


    What Iliva did not realize was her folding arms displayed to Fearless a sign of her inner insecurity, making her incredibly adorable and they emphasized her perky and divine chest which only fanned the flame of lust that Fearless had for her.


    ¡°Thanks for the blanket. It¡¯s very soft and warm. That¡¯s very kind of you. Thank you,¡± Fearless thanked her. He woke up in the morning with the most comfortable and pleasant sleep he has ever had after being transported to the world of Reign of Chaos. He reasoned that it was because of the exhaustion and fatigue built up during the two days he tried to escape from the spiders until he discovered the warm blanket wrapped over him. The spider thread blanket was incredibly warm like a sheepskin blanket and came with a smooth texture that rivaled silk satin. And contrasting to its thickness, the blanket was very light.


    Iliva had a stunned look on her face for a moment as if she never has expected him to thank her for that. Then, in an instant, her pristine white face changed its color to that of embarrassment and she flung her head away, humming discontentedly, ¡°Hmph. Don¡¯t thank me. I just thought that you was pitiful. That thing is something I made on a moment of impulse, it¡¯s garbage, feel free to throw it away at any moment.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I will treasure it for the rest of my life,¡± Fearless could not help but smile.


    ¡°Did you not listen to what I have just said?¡± the spider queen growled. Her arachnid legs angrily dug into the ground.


    Fearless immediately changed the topic to spare the spider queen from further embarrassment, which might prompt her to take back or destroy his new found SSR rated treasure. He might consider trade away Enferm¨¦ when the situation called for it, but this blanket, never, ¡°Iliva, how long would it take for us to reach the forest edge if we are travelling at this rate?¡± he asked.


    ¡°At least six more days. You walk like a snail human,¡± she replied.


    ¡°So I can only see you for another six or seven days. That makes me feel very sad,¡± Fearless sighed dejectedly. The thought that he could no longer marvel such wonderful masterpiece in the days to come saddened him.


    ¡°And I could not be happier to get rid of an annoying bug like you and get back my pearl,¡± Iliva snorted.


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s very mean. You know you like it when I look at you,¡± Fearless commented, while thinking to himself that it was very strange that this beautiful Arachne did not feel creeped out toward his normal type of longing gaze and even welcomed his lustful gaze openly.


    Normally, women were not like that, even the like of swim suit models, porn stars and strippers that Fearless has met were not like that. Women were creatures that were wired to be creeped out when a man looked at them for too long or too short. Eye contact too, too long, creepy, too short, creepy, staring at their chest or legs, creepy, their sense of creepiness was vastly different from that of a man. They have a broader range of what define as creepiness compare to men.


    Creepy was all about the uncertainty of threat, which was vastly different from fear or revulsion, in both of those emotional states, the person experiencing them usually felt no confusion about how to respond. But when a person being creeped out, that person¡¯s brain and body would tell him/her that something were not quite right to better pay attention for something that could potentially hurt him/her. It¡¯s that kind of feeling. It was concluded that this kind of responses made sense from an evolutionary psychology perspective, throughout the history, women faced a much wider range of threats compare to men, including sexual threats.


    Does this beautiful Arachne feel no creepiness from my gaze due to her special heritage? Or she was like this because she was exiled from her people? In the Arachne society, female Arachne is considered superior to male, is that what it is? So would a male in the Arachne society experience that kind of creepy feeling when being stared by a female? Fearless mulled over the reason that might explain Iliva¡¯s strange acceptance of being stared by him.


    Fearless was very intrigued by Iliva, was he a psychiatrist he would love to study her as a subject, but as himself, he was merely interest to know more about her as a potential love interest.


    ¡°Hmph, nobody enjoy anything being looked at by an annoying bug like you,¡± Iliva gritted her teeth, her face could not get redder than it has already been.


    ¡°So now, you stop calling me lowly human and start calling me an annoying bug instead. Is this something Arachne do to show affection to a person they like?¡± Fearless cackled.


    ¡°Are you too stupid to see that I¡¯m insulting you human?¡± the spider queen growled.


    ¡°Just keep it in mind that you was defeated and capture by the annoying bug, me, and got bested in a contest of strength by the same annoying bug?¡± and Fearless smiled, reminding Iliva of her defeat.


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen again,¡± the spider queen clenched her fists and adopted a threatening tone, her bloodshot eyes radiated anger and shame from the memory of last night defeat.


    At this point, Fearless started to consider if he should quit adding fuel to the fire.


    ¡°Challenge me again in the same contest of strength if you wish to avenge that lost,¡± somehow, his lust got the better of his better judgment and Fearless lamented inwardly the moment he realized what he has just said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get full of yourself. I will defeat you next time. I was merely careless last night,¡± Iliva declared her intention with a genuine determined look on her beautiful face.


    So there will be a next time, Fearless wholeheartedly resisted his urge to immediately start dancing on the spot to express the overwhelming joy in his heart, logical reasoning and better judgment can be damned, o joy.


    When it¡¯s high noon, Fearless stopped, taking a short rest beneath the shade of a giant tree. He knee-kicked his rock hard rye bread into two and soaked them in wine and water, then added a piece of jerky into the bow to soften them. The horrible mismatching taste of his self-invented dish almost put him into tears. It reminded Fearless of his mom¡¯s homemade cooking, she was never a good cook, and even his dad had to admit that.


    Unlike Fearless, Iliva had a great time with her meal. She managed to catch herself a forest badger, before long, she skinned, gutted it and turned it into a toasty piece of lunch with a small touch of ancient magic. A gloating smile spread on her red lips when she discovered Fearless¡¯ mouthwatering and envious gaze directed at her food. She merrily enjoyed her lunch while watching Fearless agonizingly chowed down his unappetizing meal.


    Looking at that scene made Fearless realized that he really knew nothing about this world of Escana, the world of the Reign of Chaos that he was familiar with for more than a decade. He knew the lore, the events that happened in the past and the future of this world, but he really knew nothing about it.


    He has never asked himself how the Arachne would have their meal, would they turn their meal into liquid and suck them like spiders do or they would have their meal like human do. Or do they had fangs that can inject venoms inside their mouth? That was something the nerdiest fans of the game would ask, people like Misery and his fan base. Until this day, in Fearless¡¯ mind, magic was magic, lore was lore and he just accepted them as how the game developers tried to justify their game mechanics and trying to hook the players with the narrative. He has never truly questioned them. If only Fearless could share this piece of knowledge with Misery¡­


    ¡°Iliva, have you never ask yourself why is that I can turn the situation around and captured you?¡±


    Fearless decided to change the topic inside his head. It made him really depressed.


    ¡°Are you mocking me, annoying bug?¡± Iliva immediately provided Fearless the entertainment he desired with her scowling look.


    ¡°I am trying to tell you the reason why you lost in that battle and got yourself captured so that you would never make the same mistake again,¡± Fearless reasoned.


    ¡°And why would you do that?¡± She asked doubtfully. Her alerted and defensive stance was incredibly beautiful to Fearless and he could not help but admired.


    ¡°I can¡¯t bear the thought of you might get yourself captured by a man other than myself,¡± he said, smiling.


    ¡°Hmph,¡± Iliva said nothing, just hummed and wiped her greasy mouth with a napkin she made with her spider thread.


    ¡°You can kill me with your spiders in the first two nights. But you didn¡¯t. You prolonged the battle unnecessarily and I was able to recompose myself to learn about your tactic and turn it against you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t kid yourself. You got that annoying instrument of your accursed goddess protecting you. Otherwise, we would have killed you the very moment we spotted you, annoying bug,¡± Iliva scoffed.


    ¡°Oh, so that was what it is. Then, you should try to think outside the box,¡± Fearless made a fist and struck it against his palm after discovered the biggest question he had for himself regarding of how he managed to survive the first two nights.


    ¡°Outside the box?¡± Iliva repeated. The term must have come as alien to her, even if she knew each word, she was not able to understand the terminology without anyone explain it to her.


    ¡°I mean you should be more creative with your thinking. Why didn¡¯t you order your spiders to spin webs ahead of my path to block or prevent me going straight and drain me of my strength even further for example? You could have created a maze of web within this wood with that many spiders under your command. Or making traps with your webs, placing heavy boulders and rocks at the end of the string and swinging those terrible things at me from the top of the branches. Also, if that instrument of mine was a problem, why didn¡¯t you think of any method to separate me from it? I can think of countless methods for that. If I was you and you was me, you would have fallen prey to the spiders during the first night.¡± Fearless told her.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    And Iliva just had a look of shock and cautious on her face for the very first time. She stared at Fearless and asked, ¡°How do you live your life until now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you ask that question. That was the first time you show any real interest toward myself,¡± Fearless smiled ear to ear.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about you,¡± Iliva clicked her teeth and flustered, ¡°I only wonder what kind of a man you are, to come up those kind of insane strategies on the spot,¡±


    His eyes closed, he reassessed to the illusionary character sheet inside his head for the second time. The biography on the first page confirmed to Fearless that he was dead and he was a part of the game. But it did not explain to him how he was able to develop his consciousness in this world if he was just a combined pieces of codes. He still had the memories and the skills that only himself and the people that are closest to him know. There was no way the game developers could code them into his character. Fearless quickly scrolled to the third page of his character sheet, the very page that displayed his unique perks. This page proved that this very character of his, the supposed to be a bunch of codes that the game developer patched together to recreate Fearless himself inside this game, was merely his public image. This was not himself. But even so, there was one thing that the description wasn¡¯t wrong.


    ¡°I¡¯m a pro-gamer,¡± replied Fearless.


    The reason behind people started calling him a cuckolding bastard and a motherfucker was due to that incident where a pro-gamer of another pro-team attack Misery publicly after accidentally discovered that Misery had dyslexia. That asshole, who Fearless never bother to remember the name, verbally attacked Misery on public media and it did not stop at the level of mere trash-talking inside the game to get into the head of Misery and disrupted his performance. It was extremely malicious, completely unwarranted and over the top. Both FY and Fearless had to step up to file a complaint to the head of ROC pro-league organization. However, despite the warning and the fine incurred to him, that asshole did not stop what he has done, he wholeheartedly escalated them further, dragging his fans and his entire team fan base into the battle.


    The thing with Misery was that his edginess was merely a protective reflex of his to hide his inner insecurity and complexes. He was never as headstrong and confident as his public image appeared. He was the most emotional guy among the team and everyone in the team knew that. During that time, Misery had the worst time of his life and Fearless wasn¡¯t even talking about his gaming performance, even the owner of The Alliance was thinking about trading Misery for another player at one point had it not the entire team¡¯s effort to make him reconsidered that decision.


    FY did what he did best, rallying the entire fan base of The Alliance to support Misery. Merleon and Fantasy did what they could on their media platforms. And Fearless, when he saw Misery chewing on a bunch of anti-depression pills day in and day out, he only thought of destroying the asshole¡¯s life and making an example of that asshole to anyone who dared to hurt his friend like that. He did not even know he had it in him to commit such atrocity. Up until that point, he thought of himself as a nice and easy going person. He did not think that he could ever come up with something so nasty and dark.


    And he just went and did it after five months.


    The Internet started to call Fearless as that asshole¡¯s father and they made a meme out of that. That asshole disappeared completely after that, nobody in his pro-team could find or contact him ever again. His entire fan base disappeared with him. And Fearless, he gained his just notoriety after that. Half of his fan base ditched him and a large number of fans of ROC community labeled him as a villain after that.


    Misery looked for him after that. He decked him, asking him why he would commit such insanity.


    ¡°That¡¯s not who you are. Why did you do something like that? I would rather being mocked like that for my entire life than seeing you did something like that,¡± Misery yelled at him while crying. That was the first and the only time Fearless saw Misery cried.


    And Fearless, he was changed man to after that event. He was never the same again.


    ¡°Pro-gamer?¡±


    Iliva¡¯s question snapped Fearless out of his short trip to his memory.


    ¡°Someone who play game to make a living. Think of me as a performer like musician or story tellers for example,¡± Fearless explained, not really sure if Iliva could understand that.


    ¡°That¡¯s still does not answer my question,¡± Iliva scowled.


    ¡°Well, it does actually. The game I play is known to most people of this world as war though. However, it was very different from the kind of normal war. Iliva, try to imagine that the gods decide to cast a magic on my perception, making me feel like fighting a thirty years war as short as an hour and give me all the wars and enemies for me to fight with all the soldiers I need to wage my war,¡± Fearless smiled and made an attempt to describe his job to Iliva.


    ¡°What kind of gods could do that?¡± Iliva immediately prompted a question.


    ¡°The true creators of this world, I think¡­ but that is not what I intend to discuss with you here so don¡¯t bother yourself with that. You see, that magic they cast on me allow me to fight and perceive a thirty years war within an hour. And I have kept going to wars nonstop for over fourteen years of my life to please those gods and even the gods of those gods. How many war and how many battle do you think I have fought?¡± Fearless asked while fidgeting with the illusionary screens inside his head, meaninglessly turning the pages back and forth.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible to count,¡± Iliva grimaced.


    ¡°That should make you feel somewhat better to lose in a battle against someone like me, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Fearless cackled and asked.


    ¡°You said that the gods give you all the wars and enemies for you to fight for fourteen years. So who else did they cast that magic on to fight against you in all those wars?¡± Iliva did not reply and prompted yet another question.


    ¡°You are surprisingly smart Iliva,¡± Fearless was genuinely surprise by that question. He looked at Iliva with new found respect.


    ¡°I will kill you,¡± Iliva just gritted her teeth in a threatening voice as usual.


    ¡°About sixty millions people, though the only people who were as good as me number about one thousands,¡° Fearless casually gave Iliva the number of the people who played ROC and the number of pro-gamers inside the league.


    ¡°That¡¯s absurd,¡± Iliva exclaimed. Her face twisted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the only one of my kind you would ever meet is me,¡± Fearless comforted her, imaging what she must have been thinking inside her beautiful head, she was telling herself not to make enemy out of that many human, ¡±Though, I don¡¯t know which is more absurd, my story or the fact that you would believe my story.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have any reason to trick me on that anyway,¡± Iliva replied innocently.


    ¡°Pardon me, but I do,¡± Iliva¡¯s surprising answer made Fearless wanted to tease her and so he did.


    ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°To make me look better in front of you¡±


    ¡°And what good would that do?¡±


    ¡°I thought that maybe you would really start considering me as a potential target for marriage partner,¡± Fearless joked.


    ¡°In your dream,¡± Iliva flustered and tossed the forest badger¡¯s bones at her feet toward Fearless, her face beet red.


    ¡°I¡¯m already dreaming,¡± Fearless mumbled and avoided the projectiles.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The sun rose again, signaling the third morning after she was forced to company the annoying bug to the forest edge.


    ¡°What are you doing, annoying bug?¡± Iliva clicked her tongue and asked. That annoying little bug was up to something no good again. He immediately went for a groveling stance on the ground in front of Iliva the very moment he woke up.


    ¡°Worshipping,¡± he replied, still groveling in front of Iliva.


    ¡°Who are you worshiping?¡± Iliva asked, a thousand of questions spun within her head like she was threading a tapestry with a thousand colorful threads to give reason to that annoying bug¡¯s strange behavior.


    ¡°Goddess,¡± he said, still refused to raise his head.


    ¡°Which goddess? Eogaill or that accursed Niwdar?¡± Iliva turned her head around to look for the sign of the human¡¯s goddess existence or their idol within the camp and could not see anything.


    ¡°There is only one goddess a man like me would worship. Her name is beauty,¡± replied the annoying bug.


    ¡°Are you mocking me, annoying bug?¡± Iliva asked.


    ¡°Sacrilege. How could you call ¡®this tears¡¯ mocking?¡± the annoying bug immediately raised his head, pointing at his own tears drenched face and his bloodshot eyes.


    ¡°Sorry?¡± pressured by the annoying bug¡¯s bloodshot eyes, somehow a strange word Iliva didn¡¯t want to vocal actually slipped out of her lips.


    ¡°You should be,¡± the annoying bug took that as an apology and went back grovel again.


    ¡°So, am I beautiful?¡± Iliva examined her body once again and asked.


    ¡°Sacrilege. How dare you doubt the destructive power of high knee stockings combined with the Victorian¡¯s Mystic Dream Demon Floral Lace & Stripe babydoll set?¡± the annoying bug raised his head again, screaming at Iliva.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you human?¡± and Iliva could not help but screamed right back at him.


    ¡°No, what¡¯s wrong with you? I taught you about the divine proportion last night, did I not? I told you these divine garments are the epitome of the divine proportion. Is that not why you recreated them with your threads and put them on?¡± The annoying bug screamed with tears in his eyes. His face red, his breathing wild and erratic and he was meaninglessly swinging his arms around as if he was still drunk from the wine he drank last night.


    It was indeed that he was talking to Iliva about the Greek perfect section proportion and some number or something similar last night but she could not understand. He told Iliva that she would be a hundred times more beautiful if she wore clothes that followed that divine proportion something and Iliva disagreed with him, telling that it was impossible.


    The annoying bug angrily scratched his head and cursed before producing a small painting from his strange looking leather box and gave it to Iliva. It was a very realistically drawn painting, perhaps it was created by the ingenious hands of the most talented painter in the world to capture the totality of such beauty. The human inside that painting was a very beautiful female even in the Arachne¡¯s standard. Her waist length hair was dark and glossy, her hair was so beautiful that no female Arachne could ever hold a contest against. Her skin was light tanned, looking extremely soft and glossy that even the most pretty female Arachne Iliva saw in the settlement would die to have such skin. Her eyes was colored in hazel and the faint smile on her cherry lips said it all, that she had the absolute confidence in her beautiful look. This hateful female human was everything Iliva wished that she was. She was the most beautiful female Iliva has ever seen.


    ¡°Why are you showing me this painting, annoying bug? To mock me?¡± Iliva angrily demanded while sinking her teeth into her inner lips to prevent herself from being teared up in front of the annoying bug. Her chest felt like it was stabbed by invisible spears. She was full of jealousy and hatred.


    ¡°No, why do you think that, stupid? Look, do you see the garments she wore? These are the divine garments, they highlight everything that¡¯s beautiful about her,¡± the annoying bug pointed at the woman in the painting he gave Iliva, ¡°She¡¯s absolutely stunning but these garments transformed her into a goddess. If only I could give you these¡­¡± he said and immediately passed out from the wine he drank.


    After that, he showed no response to Iliva no matter what she did to him, whether stepping on his face with her elven feet, poking his chest with her arachnid legs, pinching his nose with her fingers or slapping his face with her hands, the annoying bug slept through all of that, snoring loudly.


    Iliva went back to her handmade hammock and stared at the painting of that hateful female woman. Why would the gods create this female human looking like that and her despite being an Arachne looking like this? This world is full of unfairness. This world is full of hate. And the painting of that female woman blurred out on Iliva, the tears of anger and jealousy welled up her eyes.


    Only the shouting and screaming of that pitiful human stopped Iliva from her hateful jealousy toward that female human. He was at it again, talking in his sleep, crying and begging, screaming and crying. And that strange name escaped his mouth again, Alice, he called and cried miserably, clawing the ground with his fingers as if trying to prevent that person in his dream from leaving him.


    And Iliva dropped from her swinging hammock. It¡¯s not like she cared about him or anything, she just thought that he was pitiful and she could not stand seeing someone who defeated her like that being so pitiful. She brought him to his camp fire and dropped the blanket she made for him over his trembling body. He was truly pitiful.


    Alice, he still called that name, thank you, he said in his sleep, his lips curved into a grateful smile.


    And Iliva furiously stomped away. Her mood worsen and her chest was full of pain and misery. That name stuck inside her head like a sore wooden stake. Then she looked at the painting he gave her, is this hateful female human Alice? Must be, Iliva could not imagine another female being prettier than this. No wonder the annoying bug was so infatuated with her.


    The annoying bug has lied to her all along. He told her she was beautiful, how she could be when comparing to this hateful female woman. He told her that she was the most beautiful woman he has seen, how could it be? That hateful female human in the painting was just that beautiful. Even the like of Niwdar and Eogaill would cry bloody tears, hanging their head in shame and jealousy toward this human female, let alone an abomination like her, a hideous looking abomination that belonged to nowhere. Her heart was full of anger and pain. She looked at that annoying and lying bug, he was sleeping peacefully now, no sleep-talking, no screaming, no sobbing, no begging or anything else. He was so much at peace now just because he mistook Iliva for this hateful Alice. How dare he? After tricking her and lying to her, showing this hateful female human to her, making her full of pain and jealousy, how dare he?


    She glared at him with her eyes full of hatred. Iliva thought of crushing the heart of that annoying and lying bug with her powerful arachnid leg then took back her pearl afterward. The annoying bug will never get to see his hateful female human ever again. And this hateful female woman with her accursed confident smile, Iliva imagined that her smile would die faster than wisps of smoke dissipated after a red ember has been snuffed out when she found her man has been killed.


    That was what he deserved for lying to her. That was what that accursed female human deserved for that smug look on her face.


    Iliva was about to throw that painting into the orange flame of the camp fire and carried out the deed afterward. Then, she remembered his words, that those strange garments that his hateful female human wore, they were divine garments that elevated and highlight her beauty. Iliva quickly shook her head, ¡°No way, it¡¯s not possible,¡± she thought, and yet, the uncertainty thought of ¡°maybe¡± changed everything.


    Unlike her spiders, Iliva was an Arachne, she could create threads of many colors other than white. It was a trait she inherited from her mother and her ancestor. Thus, Iliva began by spinning a black thread, dark as a moonless night sky and the color of that annoying bug¡¯s hair. Then, she stopped and changed her mind. Black reminded her of the hair color of her kind, the color that gave her so much grief and pain. Black was the color of that hateful female human¡¯s hair in the picture.


    Iliva had no love for weaving and recreating these garment in that hateful color. Then, what color should she used to create these garments? Iliva pondered and suddenly, the cracking camping fire that annoying bug made gave Iliva the answer. Red, it had to be red, the fiery red of her eyes, the red of anger, hatred and jealousy inside her wounded heart, red, it had to be red.


    And Iliva spun a thread that was just as red as her ugly eyes, using it to recreate the strange garments in the painting. She followed the painting to the minute details, recreating the strange pattern and the smoothness of each part of the garments that were depicted vividly in the painting. She even detailed the almost transparent net that cascaded from the chest piece of the garment by tearing her red thread into thinner and slimmer threads only to weave them together in the end. It took Iliva an entire night to recreate those strange garments in the painting with her threads. She thought of that annoying bug for the entire night whilst recreating those strange garments. And even when she was satisfied with her final creation andtossed those failure pieces into the orange flame, she still thought of that annoying bug, wondering how would he looked at her, what kind of praises he would lavish at her.


    And yet, he groveled on the ground, lying to her that he was worshipping to a goddess. There was no goddess or the idol of any goddess around here. Is he trying to tell Iliva that he rather look at the ground than an abomination like her?


    ¡°Stand up, look at me in the eyes and tell me that I¡¯m beautiful,¡± she angrily demanded, her fist clenched tight, she felt like she would be at least satisfy if he told her a lie.


    The annoying and lying bug stood up just as he was told. He walked toward Iliva, tenderly held her hand, planted his lips on the back of her hand and looked at her in the eyes, ¡°In this very moment, you are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, my dear Iliva. You are as gorgeous and otherworldly as any divine goddess. And even if a goddess was to descend right now, I would not look at her, I would only look at you,¡± he said and sealed her lips with his own.


    Just like that, the flame of anger and hatred that the lying bug sowed inside her heart dissipated and doused within those lips of his.


    And yet, the pain never went away. She walked by his side for that entire day, listening to his praises, secretly basking in his lustful gaze over her body, and yet, she could not bring herself to ask him the questions she really wanted to ask.


    ¡°If that female human inside the painting was here right now, who would you look at? Me or her?¡±


    ¡°Is she Alice? Who is Alice? Is Alice even prettier than that female human?¡±


    ¡°Why are you still calling for Alice at night when I¡¯m right next to you?¡±


    ¡°Why are you so different from everyone else?¡±


    ¡°Why is it so painful to be around you, annoying bug?¡±


    She could not get those question off her chest. And yet, she could not bring herself to ask him either. Somehow, she could never do that. And, the sun set again, made way for dusk and night time.


    She wanted to get rid of the pain inside her chest, yet she had no idea how to do that. When the annoying bug called for his Alice, she felt like she would cry. Her heart felt like it was burst by hundreds of thousands spears. She had not felt such misery after making a home in this forest for fifteen years.


    ¡°What should I do with you to rid myself of this pain, annoying bug?¡± she asked, gazed at his screaming and thrashing body next to the cracking camp fire.


    ¡°If I kill you myself, would this pain go away?¡± she asked to the pitiful crying and screaming human, knowing that he would never give her the answer to that question.

 Chapter 13: PRINCE AND THE TRIP TO THE FOREST EDGE (3)

    Chapter 13: Prince and the trip to the forest edge (3)


    Iliva woke up to the floral fragrance of the elven tears that filled her nostril canals. She stretched her limbs and quickly found a bouquet of white elven tears and red Cyclamens placed inside her hammock, must have been the work of that liar bug.


    What is this? Does that liar bug intend to propose to her with this bouquet? The fool, this is the elf¡¯s and the dark elf¡¯s way of proposal, not Arachne¡¯s. Yet, he just has to pick the elven tears to make this bouquet, this is the flower Iliva hates the most, its color reminds her of her chalky hair and her whitish skin. And on top of that, the Cyclamen of all the flowers he could pick in this forest, it makes her skin red and itchy when she contacts with it spores. It was as if this bouquet was made to mock her appearance.


    Iliva put down the bouquet and scanned the camp. She should have killed him last night and rid herself of this lingering pain inside her chest. And yet, she found herself unable to do that. She just stood next to him, watching his sleeping face and could not stab her powerful arachnid leg through his chest. Every time the word ¡°Alice¡± formed from his lips, she felt like she could do it, raising her scythe-like arachnid leg high, and yet, it came down without touching the liar bug¡¯s chest every single time. In the end, Iliva thought of committing the deed in yet another the day.


    After scanning the camp with her eyes, she could not find the liar bug¡¯s presence around the camp. His stuffs were still placed next to the camp fire and he was cooking something inside his cauldron. This was the first time in this trip that the liar bug woke up earlier than Iliva, she mulled and wondered if the lack of wine in his yesterday supper was the reason. She approached the camp fire only to discover that the liar bug was cooking something truly bizarre, his socks and small pants along with all sort of flowers and aromatic herbs inside the cauldron.


    Iliva could not comprehend this unholy concoction that the liar bug brewing regarding its nature or purpose. Would the liar bug drink the water from this unholy concoction or did he intend to boil his clothes and eat them afterward? Iliva could not imagine. The liar bug was without a doubt the most bizarre creature Iliva has ever seen.


    Where is that liar bug anyway?


    Since his stuffs were all here, he could not be far from the camp. Iliva perked her elven ears and trained them for the sound of the liar bug, and she picked up his location without any trouble. Quietly, she walked without stepping on the dried leaves or dead branches on the ground.


    He was singing a strange song. Iliva could hear the sound of water from that direction as well. She has guessed that the liar bug was refilling his water supply for the trip from a nearby stream. However, the liar bug was taking a bath in the stream. He was naked, down to his birthday suit, prancing and dancing around in the middle of the flowing stream and singing as he scrubbed the dirt off his body.


    It¡¯s only now that Iliva remembered that the liar bug has asked why she smelled so good and yet he never saw her taking bath or anything.


    Human and other creatures in this world would develop a bad body odor if they don¡¯t regularly wash themselves. However, Arachne did not have to experience that kind of problem due to side effect of the powerful curse that Niwdar placed on their ancestor.


    Her body would heal as long as she lived. Even if her arms were chopped off by the sharpened blades of the elves, even if her legs were bitten off by beasts, even if a spear tore a hole through her stomach, even if her back riddled with arrows, she would heal and eventually she would become whole again, spotless and taintless of scars. Her body would not have dead skin, unless it was burned by the sun or wounded. Her sweat would not smell like any other creatures.


    The liar bug just apologized to her after he heard her answer, without explaining why and began to complain that he needed to take a bath as soon as he could.


    So this was where he found the elven tears, these flowers would only grow near areas of abundant water like ponds, lakes or streams.


    The liar bug was not aware of Iliva¡¯s fervent gaze from afar nor the starving stare of that Menace constrictor approaching him. The liar bug was defenseless and unaware of the danger around him, his strange looking sword laid on the shore of the stream where he hung his clothes.


    That Menace constrictor slithered quietly and stealthily, without making a noise or raising any alarm. Its camouflaging scales constantly changed colors to match with the surroundings background as the Menace constrictor approached the liar bug. There was no way that weak liar bug could fend off this giant serpent. The Menace constrictor was the apex predator in this wood, only behind Iliva¡¯s spiders and herself. Its singular combat strength was however greater than even the strongest female spider under Iliva¡¯s command, its hardened scales could fend off the venomous fangs of her spiders and its blood completely neutralized most poisons and venoms. The reason Iliva¡¯s spiders could win against such powerful creatures because they traveled in packs, and they were more intelligent than the serpent.


    Iliva tensed her powerful arachnid legs, intended to jump in and intercepted the large serpent. And yet, the question ¡°Why should I?¡± appeared inside her head. She could not bring herself to kill that liar bug, so why not let that serpent do the job? Let the serpent squeezed and snuffed the life out of that liar bug. After that, she could kill the serpent and took back her pearl from the liar bug.


    And Iliva stood, watching the Menace constrictor closed in to the unaware liar bug who was still dancing and singing in the middle of the silver stream. Her heart beat slowed down and Iliva held her breath. It was as if there was a boulder lodged and resided inside her chest, painfully heavy. She did not move, she would not move, why should she move to save that liar bug? He took her most cherished treasure hostage. He lied to her. He made her chest felt like it was stabbed by a thousands of spears every time he muttered the name of his woman. Why should she save someone like that?


    Suddenly, the liar bug stopped singing. He grabbed his nape as if he just got a chill. He turned around and scanned his surroundings. His instinct was good for a human, but his senses were not good enough. He looked at the Menace constrictor for more than a second, than turned away, looking at a different direction, searching for something else, he couldn¡¯t distinguish the camouflaged serpent¡¯s figure from those bushy elven tears and forest reed. Unlike Iliva¡¯s excellent elven eyes, the liar bug could not see the serpent with his terrible vision. And that¡¯s why the serpent got the better of him.


    It pounced down on the liar bug, swashed him down to the splashing silver stream and coiled its massive body around him to seal off his movement. He shouted and struggled, but that would do nothing to the giant serpent. The serpent overpowered the liar bug, increased the coils it wrapped around his body and just squeezed the life out of him. He struggled with his clawing finger nails and his unsharpened teeth on the constrictor¡¯s body. What was he thinking? Even the venomous fangs of Iliva¡¯s spider could not tear through those scales. The serpent coiled its powerful muscles even further, the liar bug wheezed, he could not even breath now. His face turned red and purple, the veins on his face popped up and he just wheezed for any bit of air to prolong his suffering.


    ¡°Mom, dad, FY, Alice,¡± he just rasped for air, all the blood rushed into his head, and the liar bug ceased to struggle, he resigned himself to the Menace constrictor. Every time the liar bug wheezed, he was a step closer to death.


    That scene of the liar bug dying began to blur on Iliva, her eyes scalded hot as if someone has just poured boiling water into her eye sockets and the spears that tearing through her chest only made it worse for her. She gasped for air, her hands clutched at the invisible pain inside her chest as she watched the liar bug breathing his lasts.


    And Iliva launched herself into the air with a powerful leap. She bounced toward the liar bug with great strides, her arching powerful spider legs readied to kill the serpent within a single strike.


    ¡°What you can do, I can do better,¡± the liar bug inaudibly wheezed and all of the sudden, Iliva was staring at two Menace constrictors. Iliva could not find the liar bug anywhere.


    And the battle began anew, this time serpent pitting against serpent. One tried to lock up the other with its coiling body, the other tried to slither away. And the one that slithered away won, it reached the shore and grabbed hold of the liar bug¡¯s strange sword inside its mouth, coiled its body and came back for the other serpent. That wicked blade flashed. A serpent head rolled through the air and hit the ground, still rolling, dyeing everything it touched in the color of its red gooey blood. Its headless body uncoiled around the sword holding serpent and convulsed, slithered to a stop within the redden stream.


    As for the sword holding serpent, it slithered back to the shore and transformed into the liar bug. The liar bug was holding his strange blade inside his mouth. He dropped the blade, buckled to his knees and gasped for air. As he gasped for air, he started to curse.


    ¡°Fuck you devs, you either get your sorry ass down here or I will go up and stick Enferm¨¦ right up your asses. Get down here. What did you have against me? First corpses, then spiders now snake? Are you out of your fucking mind? This kind of bullcrap is not supposed to be in this game. Get your ugly asses down here or I will sue you,¡± and he went on cursing, pointing his middle finger up at the sky and did not stop.


    He did not see Iliva. She did not think he did either. He went on cursing all the gods and goddesses of Escana and once he was done with that, he moved to the gods whose name Iliva has never heard of like Thor, Odin, Zeus, Morgan Freemon, etc¡­ to name a few. He exhausted himself by cursing. And then when he stopped cursing, he rest and sat down on the shore, staring at the body of the headless serpent. Then his anger flared right up, he cursed the dead serpent until he exhausted himself again.


    Iliva decided to approach him. The sound of her footstep made the liar bug scrambled for his blade to take a defensive stance. When he realized that it was her, he dropped the blade. His face flushed red. He wiped away his tears in a hurry and showed Iliva his toothy smile, ¡°Iliva, if only you have come here sooner, I would get to show you my heroic figure when I fought that giant serpent,¡± the liar bug pointed his thumb at the serpent corpse behind him.


    And Iliva could not help but break into a laughing fit, the liar bug was indeed a liar bug. This was the first time and the only time she thought his joke was funny.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    As soon as he returned to the camp, Fearless realized that his socks and trousers have caught fire inside the cauldron. He tried to salvage the situation but what¡¯s done was done, his socks and trousers had turned into the ashes along with the aromatic herbs and flowers he used to erase the smell of his sweat.


    Fearless¡¯ anger began to consume him whole. That¡¯s damn snake, he cursed inwardly, stood up and went back to the stream where he left that snake corpse behind.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Iliva asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m bringing back that stupid snake. I will have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner today,¡± Fearless replied and left with Enferm¨¦ in hand. Now that he has learned that in this wood there were creatures that equally terrifying as the Mangora spiders, he would not let his guard down.


    Fearless stood where he last saw the serpent and could only shuddered. That damn thing had to be at least fifteen meters in length. Fearless entered the stream and put the dead serpent¡¯s tail on his shoulder, dragging it to the shore or trying to, at least. He immediately found out that he could barely move it. This stupid thing had to be at least over one hundred fifty kilo, or perhaps even two hundreds. In the end, Fearless could never move the damn thing to the shore. He decided to chop it into two with Enferm¨¦ and brought back half of the serpent. Even after liberated himself from half of the total weight, Fearless felt completely drained the moment he flopped down next to his camp fire.


    ¡°Iliva, I think I¡¯m done for the day. I can¡¯t walk anymore. We are resting today. Are you cool with that?¡±


    ¡°Cool?¡± Iliva asked, it seemed that that context of the word cool was too modern for the people of this world.


    ¡°Do you agree or disagree with me?¡± and Fearless explained.


    ¡°Suit yourself, liar bug,¡± surprisingly, Iliva agreed with Fearless. He thought she would scream at him and told him to not delay her from getting her pearl back.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Now, you just give me another strange name,¡± Fearless sighed. Iliva kept giving him all sort of offensive nicknames, starting with lowly human, then annoying bug and now liar bug. He wondered how many more offensive nicknames he would earn until the day they parted way.


    Fearless then turned his attention at the snake, ¡°Iliva, do you have any idea how to cook this snake?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I do,¡± Iliva regally affirmed in her high and mighty tone.


    ¡°Teach me,¡± and Fearless begged. He had never caught himself a snake, let alone one as big as this. He had no idea how to prepare this thing for a meal.


    ¡°Why should I?¡± Iliva gave an answer that Fearless has half expected.


    ¡°I will share the meal with you,¡± Fearless smiled and offered.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to eat that. It¡¯s stink,¡± Iliva turned away as if she tried to put an end to the discussion.


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s a fair,¡± Fearless said while thinking, so it¡¯s stink. He decided to eat the damn snake anyway to sate his anger, ¡°How about you get to give me one command, whatever it is I will obey you,¡± he coaxed.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    And Iliva had that look in her face which immediately prompted Fearless to put more clause to that offer.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t tell me to return you the pearl. Or tell me to stop talking to you or stop staring at your sexy body or stop making pass at you¡­ damn it, am I leaving anything else important out?¡± Fearless considered all of his priorities while scratching the skin on his head.


    Iliva closed her ruby eyes, deep in thought and then asked ¡°Who is A¡­¡± she never completed that question.


    ¡°Who is A?¡± Fearless repeated that unfinished question, prompting Iliva to finish it.


    ¡°Ignore that one. How did you transform into that serpent?¡± Iliva¡¯s face suddenly turned beet red and she yelled, pointing her finger at Fearless.


    ¡°Damn it, you caught me at my most embarrassing moment. No wonder you were laughing so hard back then,¡± this time, it was Fearless who felt his face heated up. And yet, ¡°Wait, calm down, what are you doing?¡±


    Iliva was using her powerful arachnid legs to chop down the tree stood nearest to her. ¡°None of your concern. Just give me the answer,¡± she commanded.


    ¡°Do you remember that I have told you that the gods have casted a spell on me and I have served them for fourteen years of my life?¡± Fearless sat down next to the camp fire and asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡±


    ¡°They rewarded me for my service, bestowing me with a couple of tricks. Each of those tricks has one thing in common, they were based on my achievement and exploit or some random thing that I was known to do, basically what make me famous,¡± Fearless sighed, connecting to the illusionary character sheet inside his head again and showing Iliva his right wrist, ¡°Okay, you see this bangle on my right wrist? Can you read the word?¡±


    ¡°What you can do, I can do better.¡± Iliva read, ¡°What¡¯s about it?¡±


    ¡°I got this bangle by participating in a war against one of the worst opponent I had to face throughout my career. And these words, they are his catch phrase. He was an ultimate being createdfor war.Also, this opponent I fought is not a human nor he is an elf nor dark elf nor dwarf, he is an AI,¡± Fearless flicked the platinum bangle with his fore finger as he explained.


    ¡°Ay Ai?¡±


    Unsurprisingly, Iliva did not get that word either.


    ¡°AI, Artificial Intelligent, damn it, how do I even begin to explain this shit? Oh, Iliva, do you know what¡¯s a golem is?¡±


    ¡°Those magic puppets that the titans in the first age created to battle for them, right?¡± Iliva confirmed.


    ¡°Yes, thank gods that you know what they were. Otherwise, I don¡¯t even know how to explain this. Okay, AI are very similar to golem. This AI that I fought, its name was Heavennet. It was created by three AI engineer geniuses, just think these three nerds as someone who were ten or a hundred times smarter than even Niwdar that goddess of nature. And this Heavennet they created was a monster of the like that I have never seen. I really hate it,¡± Fearless began to tell his story while flicking his finger against the platinum bangle nonstop.


    Heavennet was an AI bot that created with the purpose of pioneering the future generations of advance AI bots to use in video games. It was so smart that it could learn and master every mechanical movement, technique, and even strategy that a ROC pro-gamer like Fearless himself learn through a decade within five months. Heavennet was uniqueto all the AI bots created before itbecause it was not programmed to understand the rules of ROC. It was created to playone versus one againstitself over and over again while being coached by 20 of the best ROC pro-gamers in the world. Becausse ROC was such a complex game, it took a lot of time for Heavennet to develop to be completed.However, as long as it was a one on one battle and all the specific conditions required for it to stand on the same ground as a ROC pro-gamer are fulfilled, no pro-gamer has ever defeated it after its one year birthday. Heavennet was developed and improved day by day by studying Fearless and the top ROC pro-gamers playing their games. It learned their technique and strategy, copied them and developed a different version of its own, better and more efficient.


    After a year of development, it was so powerful that it completely obliterated all of the top twenty ROC players in a one on one match up. Even the like of FY, Superior, and Nightmare, the only threewho Fearless acknowledged as his equal in the game got their asses kicked by this AI. And Fearless himself was no exception. It was very frustrating to admit that something like that AI was able to do what Fearless and all the top pro-gamers have paid a decade of their life to learn and master.


    Though, at that point, that piece of information only circulated among the top 20 ROC pro-gamers circle and kept secret from everyone else who weren¡¯t involved in the project. There were just about 30 people in that project. People who was uninvolved with the project at this point could only hear the rumor of a super advance AI bot was in development with the help of all the top 20 players of ROC pro-league.


    And yet, Fearless could only curse that mean spirited person who thought that it would be awesome to show the defeat of the top twenty ROC pro-gamer at the hands of Heavennet, the hands of their very own creation during an All-star weekend, yet, on the biggest stage the Golden Era Arena where all the finals of ROC World Cup were held for 60 million fans and players of ROC to see.


    And that was fifteen day after the third birthday of Heavennet. That monster was already three years old. There was no focking way that anyone can beat that thing on its term in a one on one battle.


    And one by one, the fans learned the horror of witnessing their idols got completely crushed by an AI bot on the biggest stage of ROC. The stake was high and it kept rising as higher ranking pro-gamers were being defeated by this AI. By the time, the top five pro-gamer entered the stage for this unwinable battle, the crowd almost went numbed to the horror.


    Superior, Nightmare, FY, they held on the longest and did their best but eventually, Heavennet defeated them.


    Before he knew it, it was his turn. Fearless stepped on the platform and entered the game booth whilst the entire Golden Era Arena died down in ghostly silence. He has never knew that the Golden Era Arena could be so quiet during an All-star event, so quiet that he could even hear his erratic breathing sound.


    Fearless tried to be very aggressive early on. He did not have a concrete strategy to defeat Heavennet when he sat down on his chair to pick up the mouse and keyboard. Hewas never able to defeat the damn thing for a single time after its one year birthday. It was a very unsettled feeling to enter a fight without a winning strategy or even the slightest hope of winning.


    Heavennet responded to every move Fearless made and no matter how aggressive Fearless was, it never back down. It actually managed to keep the flow of the match balance despite being under constant pressure. After the thirty minute mark, the damn thing knew that Fearless has truly exhausted his options and began to counterattack. And it backed him down to his final frontier. Somehow, he managed to defend himself with everything he had and prolonged the match to the one hour and thirty minute mark.


    At this point, Fearless knew he could not beat the damn thing. The military power between his kingdom and its kingdom was already very distant. But he prolonged the match anyway, tired and exhausted as he was but it was not in him to quit. The name of The Alliance was on his back, the names of the top twenty world class ROC pro-gamer were on his two shoulders. He could not call a quit on them. He played the game for pride.


    So he just played the damn match without any idea how to beat that monster. And slowly, Heavennet advanced its massive army. Fearless tried to maneuver his army around that, splitting his army, trying to do random stuffs, trying to deny the damn AI of a final conclusive battle. If he faced it on an open field, he would be defeated without a doubt. Its army was larger than his, and the composition of its army was built to counter his troops.After deducting Fearless'' intention,Heavennet baited him and all of sudden, it ignored Fearless¡¯ running and hiding army and went straight for his final fortress with his war lord inside. It was a monster.


    It was that very moment, Fearless said ¡°Fuck it,¡± on an internationalbroadcasted match which got himself fined $8000 for that afterward by the international pro-league of ROC. But he said the word and launched his entire army straight at the final fortress of Heavennet, completely relinquishing the defense of his final fortress.


    Suddenly, it became a fortress-race scenario, the one that put down his opponent¡¯s final fortress first would win the war.


    Neither Fearless nor Heavennet withdrew their troops to defend their final fortress, they focused on besieging each other¡¯s final fortress instead. And yet, after just one minutes, Heavennet withdrew two third of its army and sent them back to defend its final fortress whilst the other one third continued to siege the objective. It has calculated that Fearless would put down its fortress earlier than its massive army. Heavennet managed to calculate that Fearless would have won the fortress-race by a mere three seconds and opted for an alternative solution. Fearless had thrice as many witches in his army than it did. And witches, they were siege-specialized troops, second to none in ROC in term of laying siege to a fortress. Heavennet built its army solely to counter Fearless'' army while Fearless built this strange mismatched army of his based on his natural habit and instinct. Somehow, his built up mistakes and habits gave Fearless an edge in this battle.


    At this point, Fearless once again said the damn word, thankfully, the league mercifully counted it as one occasion with the earlier breaching of rules and did not fine him another $8000. He sent half of his army to die to slow down Heavennet¡¯s returning army while keeping his witches to fan the flames on its final fortress.


    And after another five minute, Fearless ran out of his game booth with the world top twenty ROC players pounced over him, grabbed his body and tossed him into the air. The Golden Era Arena erupted in a manner that even Fearless and all the ROC pro-gamers had never seen. Even when they won the ROC World Cup, it did not explode like that. It was like the air and gravity were sucked out of that building. There was only a cacophony of screams and even more screams.


    Fearless has beaten that damn monster on the biggest stage of ROC ever. And his award for beating that monster? A platinum bangle with the nano AI processing chip of that version of Heavennet he battled that day embedded in it. It made Fearless felt like he was Hercules who after defeated the Nemea lion, he skinned it and wore its skin as a trophy.


    ¡°And for that the gods decided to reward me with the skill, ¡®What you can do, I can do better,¡¯ which allowed me to transform myself into any target I desire, to possess the same skills, magic and strength as them. Just like how Heavennet can copied mine and everyone else¡¯s fighting style and strategy.¡±


    Fearless explained as he read the description explaining the skill from the fourth page of his character sheet.


    ¡°So you can turn yourself into anyone?¡± Iliva asked.


    ¡°What you can do, I can do better,¡± Fearless chanted the spell to prove it to Iliva. Immediately, he turned into Iliva in front of her eyes. The illusionary character sheet inside his head changed as well.


    He could not access to the biography page of Iliva and thus turned the page into the second page which showed Iliva¡¯s attributes.


    Ilivadary Kron¡¯tarr/Arachne/Female/Warlord <Level 10>


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    MIGHT


    </td>


    <td>


    89


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    LEADERSHIP


    </td>


    <td>


    60


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    POLITIC


    </td>


    <td>


    15


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    CHARISMA


    </td>


    <td>


    40


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    INTELLIGENT


    </td>


    <td>


    60


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    WISDOM


    </td>


    <td>


    50


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    After reading that table, Fearless lamented how Iliva was more of a muscle brain than he has expected. Her MIGHT attribute was reasonably high for an Arachne, normally warlords or officers Arachne had about 70 MIGHT at level 10. If Iliva reached the cap level at 30, she might become a one man army with her MIGHT over 100 at any rate. He also thought that her POLITIC need to improve since she¡¯s a warlord. This attribute was one of the most important stat for a warlord after all.


    Fearless turned the next page.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    Perks:


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Niwdar¡¯s perpetual curse: Designed as monster to be attacked by all intelligent races. (Medium) Regeneration over time.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Albino: Taking burn damage over time under sunlight.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Blessing of Naharis: Can access to ancient magic skill


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Spider queen: Provide large boost to strength and morale of ally Mangora spiders under control.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Elven sense: Provide boost to personal scouting ability


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="623">


    ¡¤ Elven blood: Aging at a slower rate (High)


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    He has expected everything in this page other than Albino and Spider queen. These two perks were new to him. They made Fearless wondered if this was a new patch version of ROC. He did not think much and turned the next page.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Skills:


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Arachne¡¯s thread


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Obey me!


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Fragments of Naharis


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Strength of the dark god


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    There was nothing for him to see in this page. It was just some generic skills like Fearless has half expected that Iliva might possess. Iliva was the typical MIGHT type Warlord, and most of the time, the MIGHT type warlord and officer received generic skill to prevent them from breaking the game balance.


    Iliva was staring at him with her jaw dropping. Fearless closed his eyes and canceled his transformation before Iliva might have some funny idea.


    He was himself again, the page inside his head also reverted back to his own.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Skills:


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ A strange choice


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ The Magician


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ What you can do, I can do better


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Heart of Champion


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    ¡¤ Witch lover


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    Fearless himself was recognized as a Warlord, yet, he had no unit under his control nor domain to rule. He expected that was the main reason he was rewarded with all of those five unique skills to compensate for his lack of troops and land. At least in this part, the gods, the game, the game developers or whoever or whatever responsible for his current predicament played fair to him.


    ¡°So Iliva, teach me how to cook this thing,¡± Fearless cackled when he saw Iliva still got stuck with her jaw dropping animation.


    And Iliva being Iliva, she kept her words even when she had that distasted look on her face.

 Chapter 14: PRINCE AND A SILENT FAREWELL

    Chapter 14: Prince and a silent farewell


    Fearless was down to his final wine sack. He didn¡¯t expect that he would drink that much during this trip, he should have. In his initial calculation, he would have a little bit left before reaching the wall of Madukat. In his thought, he told himself that he would consume the wine sparingly. And yet, he has emptied four wine sacks within five days. He didn¡¯t realize that he was that much of an alcoholic person... he was more of a party person, he told himself, and what kind of a party person that would not drink themselves senseless with wine. Wine was always a vehicle for him, a mean to an end, not the end itself. The end was the bizarre situations when he woke up and could not connect all the dot of how he got there. The end was the warmth of the beautiful goddesses¡¯ thighs on those unfamiliar beds. The end was the hysterical laughter when he told his friends of his trips to the wonder lands after those drunken stupor parties. The end was the thrill of not knowing what would wait for him at the end of the road. The end was the sense of liberation when he could live his life in irresponsibility and freed of bindings.


    Perhaps, if this wine was stronger and fiercer, he would not have consume that much, maybe, he would never know. If it was the Rectified spirit that those Polish fans of Fantasy loved so much, then sure, Fearless would knock himself out after a gulp or two. He called that drink the instant-memory-wiper. One glass of that Polish vodka was enough to make a man like Fearless passed out.


    The golden Rolex on his left wrist pointed ten, the night was very young. This was the first time he saw Iliva¡¯s sleeping figure. The missing taste of wine on his lips was probably the main reason to this. He was a night owl and a party goer, and what kind of night owl would go to sleep early, ten was too early.


    The beautiful Arachne could only accompany him for so long, when his Rolex hit nine, her eye lids were already unable to keep up. Fearless smiled, walked to her hammock and planted an innocent kiss on her lips, ¡°Sweet dream, my goddess,¡± he said, and her eyes lids opened wide, the red orbs gazed at him, glistering with questions and surprises, but not for very long, and they eventually yielded to the sand man.


    Fearless was able to feast his eyes on such artful masterpiece for five days, and he had not have enough of that. This was the only time he got to see her in her most vulnerable moment up close.


    Iliva was a truly beautiful goddess. Her eye lashes were long, white and pretty. Her full and rich lips were like a bud of rose, full of grace and mystic. Her upturned and feminine nose complimented her oval shape face. Her hair was a cascade of soft and flowing platinum threads, and while her hair did not have the shine or the gloss of platinum threads, a bit of hair treatment or hair conditioner could fix that. Even without makeup, she could rival even the most beautiful women Fearless has ever dated. With makeup, there would be no contest, it would be a massacre.


    Iliva¡¯s skin was white, pale white, which was something Fearless was not fond of, he preferred it tanned or light tanned and yet, this was the only time his life he would question his own taste. Her pale white skin was fair and unworldly which added to the unworldliness atmosphere around her


    Iliva had an enchanting nape which hidden underneath her full cascade of platinum hair. Her divine breasts were voluminous, full and perky. When they jiggled, it was a feast for the eyes. Fearless could only dream of sinking his head into such divine objects and he could only wait until he was granted the permission from the goddess herself, until then, he could only dream.


    And Fearless sighed, willed himself to pry his eyes away from such work of art to return to his humble camp fire. It¡¯s always painful for him to admire such great beauty and yet could not touch. The pain came from his heart and his own crotch. It¡¯s a historic achievement that he could endure such pain for five days on a row. Fearless sighed again and added more firewood to the cracking orange flame. He watched the embers danced in the air while trying to absorb every bit of information he has learned. He took out his magic coins and cards within his pockets and started playing around with them.


    Reign of Chaos at the beginning of the Great War era had sixty three warlords and now with the addition of Fearless and Iliva, that¡¯s sixty five. Perhaps there were more, but at this moment, Fearless had noway ofconfirming that. Now, everything had become problematic for him. He could only hope that even if this was treated as a new patch of the game, a shitty patch called reality, it would not be too much for him to handle.


    Reign of Chaos was originally a single roleplaying strategic game. Gamers would decide which of the sixty three warlords available at the beginning of the Great War to role-play. Each of the warlord would have their unique advantages and disadvantages that came with their racial traits, abilities, domain geography, officers in their services, resources and politics. Gamers had to form alliances, mining their resources and built their army to expand their territory. And with each of their successful attempt of forming alliances and military exploits, gamers would be a step closer to victory. The basis of Reign of Chaos was that gamers get to change the history of Escana in the path they desired, far and away from the original timeline and events.


    There were two multiplayers version of ROC, the one on one mode and the five on five mode. One on one was very simple, Gamers can forget about building alliances and politics aspect of the game and just focused on mining resources and built their army. Since the map of the one on one mode was significantly smaller than the original map, gamers would have their army face off almost instantly. The match could end within ten minute or could last as long as two hours or more. And ironically, the best one on one ROC player in the world was an AI bot.


    The five on five mode of ROC made gamers divided into two teams. Each team would alternately pick five warlords of their choices while banning the opposing team from choosing three specific warlords. The game at this point immediately turned into a gigantic cluster bomb of chaos. Both sides would have their hand full at all time. And each of the players on both side would be divided to their specific roles to maximize the team¡¯s potential. Ten human controlled warlords with the addition of fifty AI control warlord would duke it out until one human controlled team of warlords got wiped out. A single match of this version of ROC last more than an hour and twenty minutes on average.


    The shortest win in the history of pro-league in a five on five was recorded in a match where the Ancient Gods played against the Red Dawn, twenty minutes and fifteen seconds, a historical match that every fan of ROC know.


    And the longest match that was ever recorded in the history of ROC was almost six hours where The Alliance faced off against the new and improved Ancient Gods to defend their third championship title. It was an exhausting match for Fearless and his team as well as the opposing team, the fans, the commentators and even the producing team. It was a nightmare for everyone. And when that match came to an end, Fearless and his team were too exhausted, mentally and spiritually to even cry despite the unexpected upset in the last minutes. And the Ancient Gods too, they had no energy in them to even celebrate. It was the most punishing final match. The commentators could not scream at that point, their voices were lost around the three hours mark. The fans seating in the arena too, were drained at the end of that match, except for a few guys who apparently saved up their energy for this moment. They could only stand up and clap their hands.


    It was only when they came back to their hotel and had their much belated lunch and dinner combined, Fearless and his team could finally cry because how close they were to victory and yet they allowed it slipped away from them. To fight such a punishing six hour battle and lose at the end, it was frustratingly painful.


    Fearless sighed away from the memory of that bitter defeat and focused on his own stats, skills and perks. With this kind of attribute, he could contest against the best of generals, military advisors and politicians if the number really reflected his actual ability. In fact, Fearless really concerned about the legitimacy of these number. For instance, even at level two, he had a 101 point in wisdom while the wisest character in ROC would be able to stock that same numerical value at level ten. That¡¯s insane, Fearless thought, could not believe that he was so much wiser than a 500 year olds high elf ruler. The older the man, the wiser he became. It¡¯s hard to imagine that Fearless could be wiser than such woman.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Then, the matter of HP, MP and MIGHT. Fearless could not find the HP and MP column anywhere. But he felt like he was dying when the serpent coiled around him and felt something was drained from his body when he casted ¡°What you can do, I can do better.¡± And MIGHT, Fearless had no idea how this attribute would affect him and this world. Normally, the higher the MIGHT, the more the HP a character possessed. But Fearless could not imagine that it would take him ten or twenty stabs or more with Enferm¨¦ to kill someone with high MIGHT value, perhaps someone at the level of Iliva. One stab with Enferm¨¦ to the heart or one slash through the neck would be enough to kill anyone. Even if a demon lord was to be summoned, Fearless thought he could kill it, just slather dragon bane on Enferm¨¦ and stuck it right in the demon lord¡¯s ass, that would probably enough, otherwise he would opt for the head.


    Fearless believed that he had to play around with these attributes a lot to discern their trustworthy level. He was not really a trusting man. It was his nature to doubt and question.


    Then Fearless watched his perks. Without a doubt, he would gain EXP easily with the help of the perk champion of champions which made him eligible for all military and civil activities. But then, how useful was that? This was pretty much a reality now, he can do whatever he wanted and be whoever he wanted to be. It no longer had the restriction like that in the game. And the Philanderer and Harem Prince perks, what were the developers thinking? Fearless had never need those perks in real life to put his head inside the thighs of someone¡¯s wife. He never need these perks to seduce a woman. These perks were there as if to mock him.


    Only the skills that Fearless received had impacts to him at the moment. One of them saved his life this morning. Fearless read the skills¡¯ description, some made him wanted to laugh, some made him wanted to curse the developers. However, he found no useless skills, but then there was no useless skill in ROC, only useless people who had no idea how to use their skills properly.


    And Fearless sighed again when a piece of dried wood inside his camp fire cracked into two.


    ¡°What am I even thinking about? I¡¯m insane. This is not a game anymore. Why am I thinking about waging war? Fucking hell, why am I thinking of killing people?¡± Fearless rolled his eyes over his last wine sack, mulling between emptied it today or saving it for another day. And he decided to get himself drunk another day.


    When Fearless had nothing else to play within his mind, he thought of his dad, his The Alliance and Alice. He wondered how they would cope with his death. He put his magic coins and cards back into his pocket and took out his wallet. The fucking developers, how did they even guess what¡¯s inside his wallet? This piece of information should be a secret between himself and his friends¡­. and all the goddesses who have slept with him.


    That one time Fearless showed the content of his wallet to Misery, Misery twisted his face, ¡°You are so sick, bro,¡± he said. Not that Fearless really disagreed, inside his wallet, there¡¯s only his ID, his driving license, credit card, a couple pictures, a bit of small change, and rubbers. And rubbers, they were the real contents of his wallet.


    ¡°Why the heck do you have so many rubber inside your wallet?¡± Misery asked.


    ¡°Why not? Everyone should prepare this much inside their wallet, don¡¯t you think? We should be responsible and careful in this matter.¡±


    ¡°No, you are fucking sick bro. Nobody load this many rubbers inside their wallet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m stocking this many because I have uses for them¡­. Oh, I see. That¡¯s the difference. I¡¯m sorry, bro. You should hurry and get rid of that V card of yours, otherwise that rubber will just lie in your wallet for no reason,¡± Fearless cackled and patted on Misery¡¯s shoulder.


    And Misery¡¯s face went red, he chased after Fearless with his flailing arms. That was fun time. Fearless smiled and pulled out a picture that was taken during a barbeque hosted inside his home backyard.


    Everyone he cared was there. FY with his wife, Fantasy and his girlfriend, Merleon and his famous dad, Misery and his girlfriend for hire. Alice was there as well, helping him cooking the meat to serve his guests. And his own dad, he sat on that wooden chair with a guitar in his hand, playing it to entertaining the guests.


    And suddenly, one of those bastards broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream that wet his ashen cheeks. Fearless held onto the picture as the scenery around him was suddenly enveloped by a hazy screen. Everything went blur and misty, and the tears never stopped rolling.


    Fantasy, I guess I will never get to see you again. I can never bring you to a party again with people asking me why you are dressing like that behind my ears. And you would never again have the chance to hid all of my clothes and fill my wardrobe with all of your hideous creations. Oh, and don¡¯t try to do that with Misery, he will kill you for that.


    Merleon, you should start asking Fantasy to design a T-shirt for you or something similar, something that has a label ¡®I¡¯m a pro-gamer, mate,¡¯ maybe those security would let you walk inside the player reserved area more frequently. Also, be extra careful when you go to that sword school, armored or not, a two-handed sword or something heavier than that go down your wrist and you will be out for an entire season of ROC. Misery will kick you in the balls for that, so don¡¯t do something that stupid.


    Misery, stop hiring people to act like your girlfriend, find a woman and settle down like for real this time. You can¡¯t just be alone by yourself when everyone else within our group return to our hearth and nest. And stop blaming yourself for that incident, that asshole was to be blamed for that and he got what he deserved. And I did that for my own satisfaction, it had nothing to do with you, you bastard. I¡¯m already over with that, it¡¯s about time you should get over it as well. And It isn¡¯t even your fault. You are the victim, you fool. Why is the victim blaming himself, you bastard?


    FY, you would probably be fine, not fine as in completely fine, but fine as in doing not so well but maybe okay. FY, you are strong, mentally and emotionally. You are the toughest among us all. That time when I screwed up our chance in our first final appearance, you never blame me, you didn¡¯t even cry. Everyone cried, even Misery secretly escape to the toilet to cry alone and yet you didn¡¯t cry. You told me that we would crawl back to the final next year and you would do the same thing again, putting your bet on me again. You was an insane bastard, you know that? You put that kind of pressure on a seventeen years old kid. Who does that? Good luck finding someone to substitute for my position, I know that it would be hard because I¡¯m too awesome. It¡¯s hard to find someone else to replace the best ROC player in the world, but eventually, you will find that person. Just like that time you find me. Good luck brother, I will leave my dad and Alice to your able hands, please look afterthem and take care of them for me. Sister in law, please take care of him for me, he has to deal with a lot of problem in his life, please stay by his side and take a good care of him.


    Dad, you are ever the stubborn old fool who refused to open your heart to love another woman. Moved on from the death of mom that you are, but you would never again open your heart for love toward any other woman. You swore to love mom and mom alone, nothing wrong with that, but you are such a sentimental old fool, and somehow I really admire you for that dad. Dad, please try to move on this time as well. Channel your pain and grief to create another masterpiece like that time when you moved on from mom¡¯s death, try to do the same this time. FY, Su Ming and Alice, they would take care of you dad, I know they would. So find yourself a club or something, talk to people and don¡¯t shut yourself inside your room ever again. I love you a lot, dad. I really love you, I wish that I have sat down and talked to you a lot more than that instead of fooling around one party after another. I love you dad.


    Alice, I can only pray that the gods will protect you from that monster motor bike of yours. I can never stop you from taking it out for a ride and neither you yourself, so be extra careful as usual. Also, maybe, it¡¯s time for us to move on from each other... I think. Our relationship has been a rollercoaster since the beginning. I should have become your actual boyfriend and not fake boyfriend back then¡­ I truly wish for you to be happy Alice¡­ Please move on and open up your heart to another man, someone who is better than me, someone who would never ever go and put his dick inside every woman that caught his eyes the way I do, someone who would love you more than I ever did. I love you Alice, I really do¡­ but we have to move on¡­ both of us. I really love you Alice. I hope that the manager of your condominium block would not be so stupid to show you that orchid pavilion. It would only make you grieve. This is goodbye Alice. I want to put you inside my arms and kiss you one last time Alice, but this is goodbye, I hope you will live a better and happier life without me.


    Goodbye everyone.


    Fearless silently said his farewell to his friends and family and let go of that picture into the flame. He watched it burn and suddenly, hethrust his hand into the fire, taking that burning picture out. He held it to his chest and quietly sobbed. It was always painful to say goodbye.

 Chapter 15: TO EACH OF THEIR OWN

    Chapter 15: To each of their own


    This was the first time Moira felt cold during her stay in Madukat. The weather in Zard was supposed to be warmer than the Broken Shore of Neirra and it was still fall here. Winter has not yet come to this land. And yet, she felt cold. There was something like an edge within this darkness that unsettled her. A Northern wind blew, and it rustled the withered ivy vines on the Great Wall while bringing ill noises with it.


    ¡°Bring the lord out.¡±


    ¡°Tell him to open the gate.¡±


    Bloodshot eyes flashed with angers under the red glow of flickering torches. Pitchforks and hoes nosily rattled on the ground in undiluted fury. Axes, butcher knives, scythes and pick axes waved in the air in a maddening frenzy amidst the dancing shadows reflecting on the streets of Madukat. A burly man leaded that crowd, his gray and beardy face twisted with anger every time he shouted his one liner which prompted the entire crowd to follow. The crowd hysterical yelled and shouted, chanting for the Warden of Madukat to surrender to the notorious bandit lord.


    They are here for blood, Moira intuitively understood that while looking at that angry mobs from atop the Great wall.


    ¡°Get back,¡± yelled the guards, obviously unnerved by the angry mobs before them and raised the point of their halberds at the crowds. Behind them were the terrified guests in their assorted and luxurious costumes who were invited to the feast by the Warden, cornered by the closing gate to great wall.


    ¡°Tell him to surrender,¡± the crowd chanted, completely unintimidated by the point and pressed forward.


    Then what followed after that was beyond Moira¡¯s understanding. A halberd tore through the shoulder of that beardy man who leaded that angry mobs. He groaned painfully, dropped to the ground alongside his clanking axe and torch. He clutched his wound as that halberd tore free of his shoulder, his blood dyed his grey shirt red and wetted the dusty floor. The mobs became still, an eerie silence swallowed them whole and all of sudden, hell broke loose.


    Axes and pick axes rose, hoes thrashed, pitchforks stabbed and rocks flew right at the guards. That mob dove at the guards, their madness consumed their senses.


    ¡°Line,¡± a guard shouted and all the guards at the scene stood in formation, pointing their halberds at the crowd, ¡°Thrust,¡± torches and tools rolled off, clanking on the floor, ¡°Draw,¡± red blood wetted the ground, entrails came, spilling out with the retracting blades, ¡°Thrust,¡± and the cycle repeated itself.


    Moira stood and watched in horror as men and women dropped to their knees, screaming and shouting, clutching their wounded chests or their spilling out entrails. She felt like her stomach boiled and put her hand on her mouth, these people were no bandits, they were peasants, citizens of his Lordship the Warden, how could they do this?


    Her legs felt weak and Moira leaned on the wall. As she slumped against the wall, her hand broke a withering vine.


    ¡°My lady,¡± Sir Erik Griffinclaw grabbed Moira¡¯s hands to support her.


    ¡°What madness is this Erik?¡± Moira muttered, stained with horror and confusion, ¡°These are his subjects, his people, and yet¡­,¡± her voice trailed off.


    The pitchforks and hoes were too short to deal with the long halberds. The butcher knives, the axes, the scythes, the pickaxes and other farming tools that miners and farmers could put their hands on could not create any threat in the hands of people who knew no combat for their entire lives.


    And before Moira could do anything to stop that madness, it has dissolved on its own. That mobs broke off on their own like a bunch of ants got caught in the rain, leaving behind a bunch of corpses and a bunch of soon-to-be corpses in an enlarging sticky red swamp in their trail.


    A guard had an axe stuck within his chest, looked painful, it¡¯s only when he plucked it out without twisted his face in pain that Moira realized that he was unhurt. The rest of the guard had no casualty, just some minor injuries. Their iron helmet and padded armor that featured a golden bear on white background protected them. And the guests of the Warden who were returning home, they were clutching their stomach, leaned against the wall and threw up.


    ¡°These guards, it appears to me that they are very used to this sort of thing,¡± Erik grimly said.


    ¡°But those people, they are not bandits,¡± Moira weakly stated.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t, my lady,¡± the old knight grumpily affirmed, ¡°Come inside my lady, you should look at this no further,¡± he said and gently escorted Moira back to the Warden¡¯s manor.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When Moira and the old Erik returned to the great hall of the Warden, the golden hall looked like it was recently under attack. His servants and slaves were cleaning after the mess, changing the golden carpets and cleaning up all the plates, goblets, and flagons rolling on the floor along with all the excess food and leftover wine.


    That flickering of orange lanterns and braziers somehow created an oppressive atmosphere within the hall.


    The Warden still disinterestedly sat on his large golden throne, a large golden goblet on his right, a silver flagon on his left. And he drank unconcernedly while his guard captains stood before the throne arguing about their plans to defend the city against Bloodbeard and his army of bandits.


    ¡°Lord, please tell me your decision,¡± Girout bowed to the Warden, the back of his white robe darkened with his own sweats.


    ¡°What are you making this fuss about? There is no way a mere bandit could take down this city,¡± the warden drained all the wine in his goblet with a single gulp and refilled it himself.


    ¡°My lord, they have taken down the outer western wall. It¡¯s only a matter of time that they would take this city. My lord, you have to go out and look at it for yourself. This is a concerning matter about the survival of every man and woman in this city,¡± Girout informed his lord with a sense of urgent in his voice.


    ¡°My lord, please give me two thousands of your men, we will use grappling hooks to climb out of the city through the Eastern Wall tonight to attack Bloodbeard and his bandits in their camp. They would have never expected that. One battle is all I need to put this siege to an end,¡± the youngest looking guard captain said, his well-polished helmet in his hands. His flamboyant spiky hazel hair really caught Moira¡¯s eyes for some reason. His ears were big, each was pierced by a dozen of glistering silver earrings.


    ¡°No, lord, please don¡¯t listen to him. Please listen to me instead. They have no mean to breach the Inner wall even with their trebuchet. That¡¯s why we should pretend to barricade that breach with wooden fences, but make it shoddy and simple by the look. That will encourage those foolish bandits to attack through that breach, once they enter Madukat through the breach, our men will feather those stinking bandits to the last one with our arrows,¡± the tallest man among all the guard captains argued. He was a man of domineering presence. A long scar ran across his crooked nose, adorning the man with a fearsome apparition along his thin and long limbs.


    ¡°Lord, no, those are not wise choices. I suggest that we should fake our surrender and invite Bloodbeard¡¯s men inside. Once they are inside, you could use gold and status to sway them to our course and make them betray Bloodbeard. Once those men confirm that it¡¯s safe and that stupid bandit lord goes inside the wall, our men will capture him alive,¡± the oldest looking guard captain suggested. It was hard to guess the man¡¯s age, but If Moira had to guess from his long and full white beard, he could be older than Erik.


    Lord this, lord that, the men argued among themselves in front of that greasy pig of a man, and in the end, ¡°You people tire me with your argument. Girout, take care of this matter for me,¡± the Warden of Madukat held his head, excusing his men that he was tired and retreated to his bed chamber.


    And the hall was overwhelmed with an overwhelmingly intoxicating disappointment.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°You heard him,¡± Girout sighed, scratching his sweaty bald head.


    ¡°This is madness,¡± the youngest looking guard captain angrily slammed his shiny helmet to the floor, surprised all the slaves and servant girls who¡¯s still cleaning the hall.


    ¡°The great bear of Northern frontier has sired a stupid pig,¡± the tallest guard captain hissed, gritting his teeth.


    ¡°Insolent fool, you dare to disrespect the lord,¡± Girout shouted, pointing his finger at the tall man, completely unintimidated by his domineering physics.


    ¡°What kind of lord he is to neglect his people and his city in such dire hour?¡± the tall man did not back down, shouted right back at Girout.


    ¡°Stop wasting our time arguing among ourselves. There are bandits surrounding these walls. We must come up with plans to deal with them first,¡± the oldest guard captain stepped in between the two and separated them, placing his palms on the men¡¯s chest to push them away from each other.


    Moira and Erik watched the men debated among themselves of which plan they should take. Soon, the leader of the Inquisitors and paladins from the Kingdom of White Winter joined the arguing men for the discussion. He told Girout and the guard captains that his magic casters will wholeheartedly support their plan whatever it was.


    Moira tried to join the group, wishing that she could be some help to the city. She had a dozen knights and two dozen of guardsmen under her command, not a large fighting force, but these men were all trained by Erik. They were better than most guards and knights in term of skill. However, her wish was instantly denied.


    ¡°This is a man¡¯s job, my lady. Please stay inside your room and leave this to us,¡± the youngest guard captain said. His eyes rolled, ridiculed the notion of receiving help from Moira.


    ¡°My noble lady, you are the honor guest of our lord. It would be a slight on our honor to leave this matter to your hand. Please return to your room and rest assure,¡± the oldest guard captain replied dutifully, bowing.


    ¡°My lady, this is not a job for a noble lady like you. Please leave it to the men,¡± said the tallest man.


    ¡°No disrespect my lady, you are still the sister of future queen of Silver Snow. If something happen to you, my lady, I and this city cannot take the full responsibility for that,¡± Girout sweated profusely as he bowed and rejected Moira¡¯s offer.


    And Moira has never been so angry in her life, that ¡®what are you doing here? You are just a woman,¡¯ look on their face showed.


    ¡°My lady, please control yourself,¡± Erik quietly advised, as dutiful as ever. He understood Moira¡¯s temperament better than most people.


    ¡°I pray for your success,¡± Moira raised the hem of her dress, bidding the men her goodbye. She sharply turned and stomped away with seething fury.


    ¡°If you gentlemen wish to defend this city, you should send scouts to search for some kind of dwarven siege engine among the bandits or artifact or magic casters. I saw those bandits, they have no mean to siege these walls other than that ridiculous boulder launcher of theirs. Get rid of that, you gentlemen has already won this battle.¡± Erik immediately followed Moira¡¯s angry footsteps, not before offering them his wisdom.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The moment Moira has reached the long corridor that lead to her room, her anger exploded.


    ¡°What kind of hour is this and they are still care about man and woman? Can those fool take a blast of my magic and live? You are a woman, stay inside your room. Are those fools insane?¡± Moira stomped the floor angrily as she hissed, then she noticed her knight captain in deep thought, ¡°What are you thinking Erik?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m working on a plan. I think we can break through the bandit blockage at the North gate and return to our kingdom,¡± the old knight replied while stroking his stubby white beard.


    ¡°What? Why?¡± confused words escaped Moira¡¯s lips as she stared at the old knight.


    ¡°Why are you asking that kind of question my lady? Do you think I would stand and watch you trapped inside this city when these walls yield to bandits?¡± the old knight snapped, staring at Moira with angry eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­ You don¡¯t even care about my opinion when I was wedded to that pig of a man. You could object that decision of my stupid brother but you didn¡¯t. Why do you care now?¡± Moira was at a loss of word for a moment, then her anger overflown.


    ¡°My lady, that¡¯s your responsibility as a lady of house Farrington. And as long as you are a lady of house Farrington, you must fulfill your responsibility to the house and the kingdom. Who am I to object to that?¡° The old knight emotionlessly replied


    ¡°Responsibility, does that word mean everything to you?¡± Moira seethed.


    ¡°That¡¯s everything to me, my lady. I¡¯m the knight of house Farrington first and your chief knight second. My loyalty to the house precede my loyalty to you my lady. If that displease you, I could only beg for your forgiveness,¡± the old Erik monotonously replied, giving Moira a knight salute, bowing with his right hand crossed his left chest.


    ¡°You really are a stubborn old fool,¡± Moira gritted her teeth, frustrated, then she sighed resignedly, ¡°Forget it, so you think this city will be lost to the bandit?¡± she questioned.


    ¡°Without a doubt, my lady. It will not happen tomorrow or the day after that, but it definitely will,¡± Erik replied coldly.


    Moira stared at Erik, surprise by his uncharacteristic cold and aloofness. This Erik felt like a different person from the nagging old knight Moira knew ¡°And why is that?¡±


    ¡°I heard from the guards that the devil called Bloodbeard was a cautious man. The last time he sieged this city, he merely tested the power of his magic casters¡¯ spells against the wall. Once he saw that he could not win, he simply retreated without a fight,¡± Erik stroke his beard again.


    ¡°Go on,¡±


    ¡°This time, he daringly lays siege to this city and even dare to split his army to surround it. He must have a plan in mind. That¡¯s mysterious siege engine of his is just a part of his plot,¡± Erik sighed, his agitation and frustration was visible.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Moira could not understand the old knight¡¯s thought and pressed for the answer.


    ¡°Have you noticed that the North gate of Madukat has drawbridge but the South gate doesn¡¯t? This kind of defensive structure encourage large army to focus their entire power to siege it from the southern side where they can use battle-ram to open the gate. Whoever design this fort city had absolute trust that the southern gate would not fall, he had probably never dreamed that there would be a day where a siege engine could tear down these wall.¡±


    ¡°What does it have anything to do with Bloodbeard? I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°If Bloodbeard is a man with insight, he would have used his siege engine to take down the southern wall and the gate instead of the western wall. His men would not have to swim across that large moat to get into the city. Even though, he would not be able to capture this city this way. There is still the second wall and the third wall. He should know that.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Moira immediately realized the strange part of this siege. A cautious and calculated man would have done it the way Erik suggested ¡°Can you guess what his plan is?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t my lady, and that¡¯s why I don¡¯t like it. The more I think about it, the less it makes any sense to me,¡± Erik sighed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think you might have value this Bloodbeard too highly? You have not even meet him,¡± Moira asked. She really wished that Erik was wrong.


    ¡°That man orders his minions to surround the city and form blockage at the North gate and South gate instead of simply charge through that breach on the Western wall. He knows that he would have failed if he tries to force it. That¡¯s why he gave an ultimatum to the warden, making him surrender. This is just a mind game, my lady. He must have a plan. I¡¯m willing to bet my head that he could not care less about the lord¡¯s answer and resumed the siege with his siege engine tomorrow anyway.¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    As soon as Moira and Erik had that conversation, he gathered all of his men to his room, discussing the escape plan with them.


    Moira did not allow herself to miss something so exciting and important.


    Erik intended to look for some blacksmiths within this city wall tomorrow and ordered some horse armors and shields. However, the lack of men and fighting power worried him. He intended to sell off the remuneration gifts received from the Warden to hire mercenaries and fighters within this wall to break through the blockage using a shock cavalry tactic.


    The knights and the guardsmen trained by Erik voiced their dissension immediately. If he succeeded in his recruitment, he could gather at most 100 men and horses. And that¡¯s about 4000 bandits at the North Gate. There was no way that Erik could break through that many with so little men and horses.


    And the old knight smiled mischievously. He agreed, ¡°It is impossible, yes, I would have thought the same had I never seen the dwarven king Admundor¡¯s cavalry in battle for my entire life.¡±


    Moira and the men immediately knew that Erik was reminiscing his experience of the Hundred Years war. Unlike the old knight, their generation only knew of the Hundred War through stories that told by the hearth or songs that were sang by minstrels and bards.


    The legendary dwarven king Admundor the Third was an ally of Silver Snow kingdom, when the coalition of Zard and White Winter invaded Silver Snow¡¯s western border, king Admundor the Third honored his ancestor¡¯s oath to an ancient king of Silver Snow, crossing the North Sea with one hundred of his largest warships and two hundred cargo ships to join the battle. Each of the warships carried fifty horses, fifty dwarves and fifty war-chariots.


    Thirty thousand men of White Winter and Zard army Coalition met against five thousands dwarves and 11000 men from Silver Snow on the Weeping Plain.


    And on the Weeping Plain, the foreign dwarven king became a hero in the history of Silver Snow. As soon as the battle began, he raze through twenty thousand soldiers of the Zard and White Winter Coalition from the front with his 5000 dwarven chariot cavalry. In the end, Admundor the Third even killed the head of that Coalition, crushing that unfortunate general underneath the stained red wheels of his royal chariot. And since the Weeping Plain was renamed ¡°The Field of Admundor¡± as a tribute to the foreign dwarven king¡¯s victory.


    After that battle, Admundor sailed back to his country, refusing to invade Zard or White Winter to retaliate against their invasion. Nobody understood why he made that decision against the benefit of his country. Both Zard and White Winter have been weakened, they could not stop the mighty wheels of the dwarven king, why wouldn''t him take this chance to empower his country? Nobody but that dwarven king knew the answer.


    Erik was planning to emulate that dwarven king¡¯s famous victory at the Weeping plain. However, he possessed no dwarven chariot, the young knights under Erik¡¯s command reminded him, and the old knight smiled, ¡°Of course, we will make them,¡± his eyes sharpened like that of a bird of prey.


    An old Griffin is still a Griffin. His claws and talons might be dulled, but he grows wiser with his age.

 Chapter 16: THE SIEGE OF MADUKAT (1)

    Chapter 16: The siege of Madukat (1)


    The coppered sky glowed as that round and shiny nugget rose from beneath the Sandanphon River to signal a delighting new day for siege and battle. Dawn shone upon Madukat and the city wall seemed to shimmer, glowing like a pile of gold in sunlight.


    Soon you will be mine to take, Bloodbeard smirked to himself, drained the last drops of wine that his minions plundered from a local farm houses and smashed the emptied wine pot to the ground in irritation due to his thirst for more wine. The wall of Madukat was as small as an ice corn in his eyes and Bloodbeard reached his hairy hand out to grab it. It was just empty air in the moment, but soon, it would be his, everything inside those walls would be his to plunder and take.


    Bloodbeard was a man in the mid of his thirty. He was a giant of a man, monstrously towering over normal men. His arms were long and burly, thick as the trunk of an oak, each carrying a grotesque might that could swing a large poleaxe alone with great ease. His face was twisted with a pinkish claw mark scars that ran through his short broken nose and crooked lips, making him even uglier of a man.


    Nobody remembered what Bloodbeard¡¯s original name was, but they knew how Bloodbeard earned his first nickname. Scarface. Bloodbeard¡¯s longtime henchmen would always tell people of a tale of how Bloodbeard was attack by a giant bear while he was out of the camp to take a piss at night. In his drunken fury, he locked himself into a fight that beast while being unarmed. In the end, he snapped the bear¡¯s neck and wore its skin until today as a trophy.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s hair was grey and so was his beard, it made people wondered where he got his name Bloodbeard from, and Bloodbeard¡¯s henchmen would tell them of how Bloodbeard had killed a man by ripping his apple off with his teeth and how that man¡¯s blood fountained and dyed the gray beard red.


    Bloodbeard squinted his eyes when he saw a henchman of his riding on horseback from the bunch that barricaded the southern gate of Madukat. He rose from his fading campfire, stood and stretched his tired back. A damaged piece of his cheaply made ring mail dug into his skin, itchy, Bloodbeard thrust his hand inside the ring mail to scratch where it itched.


    ¡°Master Bloodbeard, message, our spy said that the warden will fake his surrender and offer gold coins to our men and make them betray you,¡± the messenger dropped off his horse and respectfully reported.


    Bloodbeard laughed aloud, his voice booming. His eyes radiated unbridled madden delight. He patted the messenger by his shoulder, prompted him to laugh as well. The messenger sweated profusely and laughed, an awkward laughter, confused and fearful.


    ¡°Tell the men to prepare five empty sacks. Find five men who are brave and willing,¡± Bloodbeard hunkered down to the size of the messenger, still laughing heartily, ¡°Tell them to go inside the city as my representative to negotiate with the warden and fill up these five sacks with gold and trinkets. The moment they are done with the negotiation and walk out of the city gate of Madukat, I will resume the siege. Do not tell them that all the gold and trinkets they swindle from the warden will be their yet. I will tell them myself afterward.¡±


    The messenger looked at Bloodbeard, his eyes darkened in the allure of greed, a crooked smile floated on his lips, ¡°Can I¡­,¡± he hesitated. It was painfully obvious to Bloodbeard what this meek looking messenger was going to ask.


    ¡°Yes, you can. But remember, do not tell them this news yet. For the moment, this would be a secret,¡± Bloodbeard shushed and signaled the messenger to be on his way. The messenger scooted away with a floating wide grin on his face.


    It was some surprise smalltime rewards and loots like that Bloodbeard given to his minions that earned him their loyalty. The tricks was to rule with a ruthless iron fist while gifting out rewards when rewards due. Bloodbeard was a man who took pride in his cunning just as much as his strength in combat. He did not become the lord of all bandits in Golden Triangle region because he was a brute and ruthless of a man. He did it with the right combination of physical strength and cunning.


    In his mind, Bloodbeard secretly amused himself with the thought that the warden of Madukat would be so furious after realized that he was swindled by a bunch of bandits.


    Bloodbeard walked to the other side of the hill, his bunch of naked and half naked henchmen were still at it, they had not have enough of that young farm girl they captured since yesterday. One of them noticed Bloodbeard, immediately notified the entire bunch. They dropped that unconscious girl to the ground like a piece of rag, all grinning. The girl¡¯s naked body was full of purple bruises, her face swollen, her crotch drenched in viscous white fluid.


    ¡°Master, are you going to join us? May I go and get a bucket of water to wake this whore up to entertain you,¡± Pilfer nervously rubbed his hands, his crooked flattery grin was the same as always.


    Bloodbeard cleared his throat, ¡°One eye, you tell the mages to be ready. I want them to target the inner wall today. Pilfer and the rest of you bunch, go and prepare to raise the masts. The position will be fifty steps away from the first hill.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    And the bunch scattered to execute his order. Bloodbeard looked at the buck naked girl and felt his lust rising. He licked his lips and took off his pants.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    From the information that Moira¡¯s personal guard gathered, Girout has agreed to employ the strategy that the oldest guard captain suggested. He believed that was a most sound and diplomatic solution. What kind of bandit could say no to the allurement of gold and power? Girout and the old guard captain could promise those bandits gold and positions, making them betray Bloodbeard in no time. This plan was the least risky among all the plan proposed by the guard captains. And Moira could only despair over how the best strategy for this city to defend against bandits was to open its city gate and invite bandits to enter.


    She hoped that Erik was too pessimistic with his estimation, that this city would fall, she did not want that. While the sky was still dark, he had disappeared into the city with five of his closest knights, searching for blacksmiths to provide them with armor and shields, and the parts for Erik to emulate the dwarven king¡¯s chariot cavalry. While Erik¡¯s working with the smiths, two of his knights would help him to hire mercenaries and fighters within the city wall. The other three were tasked with the job of gathering ox carts or horse carts, ¡°About fifty of them or so,¡± said Erik. Moira could not imagine what Erik would do with all of those carts and how he would transform them into chariots for his strategy to work.


    The old knight Erik served Moira¡¯s father for his entire lives. They literally survived the final years of the Hundred Year war together. Erik was the most trusted person to her father. And yet, her father, the Lord and Marquis of Itos sent him with Moira to the Broken Shore of Neirra without telling either the old knight or Moira of the reason behind that. At first, Moira thought that she was being punished for that one time and once her father was done with this silly punishment, he would recall Moira home. She could remember her father¡¯s words still at times, ¡°Why it is her? Why it must be her?¡± his voice drown within the howling wind of winter. ¡°Had you tell this with anyone else?¡± her father grabbed Moira¡¯s magic tutor by her shoulders, his knuckles whitened and the magic tutor feverishly replied, shaking her head, ¡°No, my lord.¡± Her father slumped on his working desk, sighed, ¡°What should I do with you, Moira?¡±


    That question and that look when her father asked her, Moira could never forget, ¡°What should I do with you, Moira?¡± they stuck within her head. Nevertheless, Moira flourished in her new environment and she had so much fun in the Broken Shore that she has never really questioned about her father¡¯s motive. She thought that he would one day call her back to Itos, but that day would never come. And now, she would never know why she was sent to Itos.


    Dawn came, the Fort city Madukat held its breath as the Southern Gate of Madukat was raised. Moira climbed the battlement of the Great Wall and looked at the raising Southern Gate with ten of her guardsmen followed her. Erik made sure to drill it into these men that they must stick close to Moira at all cost and at all time. And they did, like her own shadow. Erik also warned Moira to stay off the first and the second wall, making sure that she swore to him before he left.


    The bandits, five, tiny as ants, poured through the gate on their horses. Girout was right there at the gate to meet them, next to him were the guard captains and twenty city guards stood in attention, halberd in their hands. On the battlement of the outermost wall, twenty to thirty city guard hid themselves, bows and arrows readied.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The entire city of Madukat shook again. Its walls rattled, its people braced themselves for the horror of flying boulders that were as big as a cattle crashing against the city walls.


    Girout and his plan, sounded smart as it was, it did not work obviously. Bloodbeard had no intention to withdraw and his men, bribed with gold and trinkets and position, had no intention of betraying him. This time, the target of Bloodbeard¡¯s siege engine was the southwest guard tower on the second wall. The first ten boulders missed the mark, landed within the first wall or flew over the second wall, crashing the peasant area. However, all the boulders after that landed on their target without much deviation. The entire towers crumbled after being hit by twenty giant boulders. It was a horrifying scene to look at. The moment the guard tower fell, loud cheers were heard from the outside of Madukat. The bandits were having the best time in their lives, jeering and cheering at their latest victory.


    Erik was right on the mark all along. Bloodbeard did not even care about the Warden¡¯s response. He kept launching those giant boulders at the city wall, perhaps for the joy of watching sight of the proclaimed impenetrable walls crumble or perhaps to hide a hidden agenda. He had a plan, not that Moira or even Erik knew what it was at the moment.


    Moira noticed a row of large masts, the kind of masts that were used for large trading ships, being erected at the bottom of an isolated hill lying at the edge of the sea of hills. There were a group of bandit stationed around those erected masts, probably a few hundreds, unlike Erik who could make an immediate estimation from a quick glance, Moira had no such ability. Moira guessed that behind those masts lied Bloodbeard¡¯s secret siege engine or whatever it was that responsible for launching those giant boulders.


    Girout returned to the Warden¡¯s manor, reddened with anger and shame. He tried to trick the bandits with gold and position only to be swindled by them in the end. He talked over with the three guard captain, drawing a new plan to counter Bloodbeard. The youngest guard captain suggested that they should use his plan since Bloodbeard had no intention of moving from his spot. Tonight, he would climb out of the eastern wall with half of the city guards to raid Bloodbeard¡¯s camp in secret, that should put an end to this siege. The Chief Inquisitor from the kingdom of White Winter also supported this plan, sending half of the magic casters under him to aid the brave guard captain in his quest.


    When dusk fell upon the gloomy wall of Madukat, Erik returned, bringing with him a cart full of armors, blades and shields and five blacksmiths. The five knights who ran the errand for Erik also returned, they did not reach the target Erik has expected. He told them that they still had at least another day or two, but they had to be hurry up.


    Erik did not rest. He instead instructed the men to start working, transforming those wooden ox carts and horse carts into war chariots. He told them that it was a race against time.

 Chapter 17: PRINCE AND THE TRIP TO THE FOREST EDGE (4)

    Chapter 17: Prince and the trip to the forest edge (4)


    Fearless was the type of person who would do anything to keep his mental health positive, or so he would believe. He would get drunk and do stupid things to distract himself from grief and sadness, and FY would tell him that alcohol and those stupid craps he indulged himself, they would do him no good. Fearless did not think so at first but eventually, he realized that FY was right. But it was already too late.


    When he was done with crying and yet, he could not sleep, Fearless thought of all sort of exercise he could do to pass the time. Admiring the allure of at Iliva¡¯s defenseless body would be an excellent exercise, however, Fearless opted for a more meaningful action. His hand unconsciously touched the final wine sack, trying to unseal it. The rough leathery touch of the wine sack made Fearless realized that he was about to get himself dead drunk in the middle of the night. He shook his head and put the wine sack away. He decided to explore the limit of his skill ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± instead. At least, this type of exercise was more meaningful than emptied that final sack of wine tonight.


    It¡¯s a single target action skill, if this world was a game, he would need to hit the shortcut button for the skill, aimed his mouse cursor at his target and then click the left mouse button for the skill to be activated.


    There were many hidden requirement that was not mention on the description for using this skill. First, he had to have visual confirmation of the target to use this skill. Fearless could not test the range limit of which he could initiate and use this skill yet. He tried to walk away from the camp as far as he could without losing his sight on Iliva¡¯s figure and the skill still activate. While Fearless could not really test the MP consumption of this skill, he was certain that it was a very-MP-demanding skill. If his own WISDOM attribute translated to his MP just like the game, Fearless was sure that he could be counted among the list of characters with the highest MP pool in this world, and yet he had an inkling feeling that he could cast this skill six times in a row after his third time using the skill. Six, that was his limit for the moment.


    Also, the skill could only work on living being, that dead Menace constrictor and moths, insects, plants did not count.


    However, there was something Fearless could not understand from the skill description. It stated that he could maintain the transformation for a minute, and yet clearly, he could maintain the state of transformation much longer than that. He took form of Iliva and test her skills for a whole ten minute and still he would not revert back until he willed it himself. Fearless could not help but wonder if this was a bug or glitch, and then he cursed the game developers of ROC or whoever responsible for his current predicament for being too sloppy with the coding. Fearless could not remember the last time he cursed someone this much. Since the moment he came to this world, he felt like he had become Misery instead of himself, always cursing at the tiniest things that displeased him.


    When morning came, Fearless told Iliva, ¡°Iliva, fight me.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± she immediately replied, did not bat even an eyelid. Her face was full of anticipation, her eyes glistered.


    ¡°Wait, hang on. Your readiness scares me. At least show some hesitation,¡± Fearless took a step back, intimidated by Iliva¡¯s willingness and eagerness. When Iliva stood on her arachnid legs, she¡¯s a shoulder taller than him, that factored in the reason why he was intimidated by her.


    ¡°Why should I?¡± the spider queen nonchalantly asked, flexing her arms and legs and got herself into a fighting stance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you feel a special and growing bond connecting the two of us for the last few days like I do?¡± Fearless took another step back further. He did not think that the beautiful Iliva could be that scary, that time she tried to force Fearless into a double suicide did not count. He totally deserved that.


    ¡°No,¡± Iliva stopped to think for a moment and replied, crushing Fearless¡¯ hope just like that while advancing slowly.


    ¡°Now, you are just being very mean,¡± Fearless retorted, taking yet another back step.


    ¡°So are we going to fight or not?¡± It was this moment that Iliva had enough, she wrapped her arms around her chest and asked in a exasperate tone.


    ¡°Yes and no, I¡¯m just want to see if I could hold my ground against you while being you,¡± Fearless explained his intention. He had been wondering just how far his limit was when he transformed into someone else.


    ¡°So you want to transform into me to fight me?¡± Iliva asked, confirming Fearless¡¯ intention.


    ¡°Yes, but I just want to test my strength. I don¡¯t want to hurt you or anything,¡± replied Fearless. And instantly, Fearless realized that it was a very terrible reply.


    ¡°I would love to see if you could actually hurt me,¡± Iliva smiled and yet, it did not feel like she was smiling. Her red orbs burned in the flame of mocking anger.


    ¡°Actually¡­ you know what? Just take this as practice and be nice to each other okay?¡± Fearless felt his cold sweats poured out. He didn¡¯t prepare for this.


    ¡°You are a real coward for a human,¡± Iliva scoffed. She would take any opportunity to slander Fearless, well, it¡¯s understandable since he has been playing tricks incessantly on her throughout their trip.


    ¡°I prefer the word cautious. Please give me just a few more second to prepare myself mentally,¡± Fearless smiled and reasoned. He had never bothered regarding the use of the word ¡°coward¡± to label him ever since he was small.


    His mom has always been very protective of him when she was alive. She would make the school exempt him from the PE session or any kind of physical activities that could potentially injured his hands. That reason alone was enough for boys of his age to turn him into a target for bullying.


    Fearless could not forget about that even if he wanted to. The sweltering heat of summer, the noisy chirping of cicada, his wet shirt that smelled like dirt and chalk, the kicks that pummeled on his stomach and the sneering laughter echoed in his head. ¡°Fight back, coward,¡± they sneered in their boyish tone. Fearless never fought back. Nor he found the need to fight back, the more the boys in his class bullied him, the more the girls doted on him and protected him. He had never had the real need to fight back no matter how much the boys told him that he was a big coward. There was nothing coward about being protected by women, whether it was his mom or the girls in his class.


    His mom always tell him to treasure his hands and fingers and that he should treat them with extra care. Every time he played the piano, mom would have that beautiful smile on her face. She kept telling him that he was a prodigy with the piano and that he would become famous when he grew up. She was right in a way, he became famous when he grew up, but not as a pianist. She must be very disappointed in heaven. The piano he received in his fifth birthday was still inside his room, has been there for some time since she died, forgotten and left to collect dust in the corner.


    ¡°Now, you are just stalling,¡± Iliva scoffed.


    Fearless put his left hand into his pant pocket to touch his magic coins, calming himself through the familiar metallic touch of the coins, ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡± he casted the skill ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± and began the battle.


    And Fearless thought that the battle has almost ended when it has just began, an arachnid leg violently plowed the ground where he stood half a second earlier. Iliva has just propelled herself through six or seven meters in the blink of an eye. This was an impossible battle, Fearless was screaming inwardly, sounding the retreat in his heart.


    He had never really involved in a fist fight. His experience with hand to hand combat only consisted of being the practice partner for Alice in her kick boxing gym. He knew how they turned out. This was not the stuff for him.


    He leapt backward, putting more distance between him and Iliva. Iliva chased after him, plowing ground in the process and Fearless retreated even further.


    ¡°Is running all you can do?¡± Iliva asked in an irritated tone.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    He spammed all version of webs he could create with the Arachne¡¯s racial skill toward Iliva, hoping to bind her. She nonchalantly shrugged them off with ease. The bluish wisps created with the skill ¡°Fragments of the dark god¡± also proved ineffective against the spider queen. She fought fire with fire, using the same skill to nullify the blue wisps Fearless created as she advanced. In ROC, ¡®Fragments of the dark god¡¯ was a different version of ¡®Eye of civilization¡¯. This skill was only accessible to the intelligent monster races that were despised by the four main patron gods of Escana Sinintee, Wonten, Niwdar and Eogaill. It traded the destructive power of ¡®Eye of Civilization¡¯ for the better MP cost and more importantly the ability to parallel-cast, casting many spells at the same time. Another major difference between ¡®Fragments of the dark god¡¯ and ¡®Eye of Civilization¡¯ was that it could be soundless conjured without the need to give praise to any god or goddess, similar to how witches cast their fire spells. That similarity was one of the main reason why the witches were ostracized by the Great Temple due to the belief that the witches ungratefully used Sinintee¡¯s power without giving praises to the Almighty god.


    ¡°The 36 winning stratagems created by Sun Tzu taught that running is the best option at any given time,¡± Fearless retorted to Iliva¡¯s mocking question, still desperately retreating.


    Iliva slowed down and asked, ¡°What does that even mean?¡± She looked very bored with the result of the fight, of course, anyone would since Fearless only focus in running.


    Obviously, Fearless would be surprise if Iliva knew about Sun Tzu. ¡°Don¡¯t mind about that. Just some nonsensical rambling.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Iliva replied and suddenly the air around her warped, darkened. She activated the skill ¡°Strength of the dark god,¡± a common skill for the boss units of Arachne and other monster races that were despised by the four patron gods of the intelligent races. However, despite its status being a common skill, ¡°Strength of the dark god,¡± multiplied the user¡¯s MIGHT by 1.5, effectively granted attribute boost to users¡¯ HP, speed and strength, making it a very useful skill that can be unfair at some time depend on how high the MIGHT attribute of the user was.


    Fearless did not think twice, instantly activated the same skill as he retreated. And all of sudden, his sight darkened and he felt crushed.


    ¡°You are such a bore, liar bug. Are you even trying?¡± Iliva had him pinned down. Her eight arachnid legs locked him down and her hand was at his neck.


    Fearless knew what he did wrong. Iliva was more of a close and personal fighter who used her strength to dominate her enemies. She was never the type to spam skills or magic to fight her enemies at range in the same manner which he did. That¡¯s why he lost. Fearless secretly tried to cast the skill ¡°Heart of Champion,¡± and yet it did not activate. He theorized that when he was in the shape of someone else, he could not access to his own unique skill. ¡°It may not look like it to you but I tried my best,¡± Fearless said, raised his arms in resignation.


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell,¡± Iliva grinned, her rosy lips quirked in delight by Fearless¡¯ defeat. The red orbs danced and glistered with pure joy. That scene brought a smile to Fearless¡¯ lips. He knew Iliva had that much happiness in this silly victory because he had bullied and teased her too much. She had never won against him in anything from the beginning, whether it was a verbal argument or anything else.


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s that?¡± Fearless pointed his finger to the direction behind Iliva. His eyes widened with shock.


    ¡°What?¡± and Iliva poor Iliva turned her head, the force and pressure she exerted on Fearless¡¯ body lessened tremendously, ¡°I don¡¯t see anything,¡± she said.


    Fearless immediately took the chance to flip Iliva over and reversed the situation, pinning her down with the same move she did on him, ¡°Guess what, I win,¡± Fearless grinned widely from ear to ear. He didn¡¯t think that kind of silly trick would work and he was laughing of how Iliva¡¯s mind worked like a child.


    ¡°Curse you liar bug, do you have no honor?¡± Iliva thrashed, but Fearless did not let her go so easily. Her crimson eyes flashed with anger.


    ¡°What is honor? Is that something you can eat?¡± Fearless allowed a sardonic smile floated freely in his face and prompted ¡°Yield?¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± Iliva angrily seethed.


    Iliva flushed furiously. Her eyes scowled, her long brows arched, a sight to sigh over. And Fearless felt his heart missing a beat, ¡°What should I do with you Iliva?¡± He chuckled and undid his transformation. He got up and pulled Iliva up with him, ¡°If you don¡¯t yield then I have no other choice but to yield it myself.¡± He unconsciously stole her lips in her most unguarded moment. Iliva gasped in surprise but Fearless had already leapt away, giggled like a mischievous child.


    ¡°You are even more of a shameless trickster than Fl¨®ki,¡± Iliva hissed and dusted herself. Her pretty face instantly dyed in scarlet with frustration and embarrassment. Her cheeks puffed up, pouting.


    ¡°Ah, the laughing demon lord,¡± Fearless cackled. He thought that going to Madukat might not be the only option he had, staying in this god forsaken forest just to admire Iliva¡¯s beauty might not be that bad of an option. ¡°He¡¯s really funny guy. I wish I could bring you to his standup comedy show. It¡¯s really awesome,¡± Fearless scratched his chin and wondered of which answer would be the right answer for him, civilization or this beautiful Iliva.


    ¡°You know him?¡± the spider queen scowled her eyes.


    Through the expression on Iliva¡¯s face, Fearless finally remembered that all demon lord was supposed to be a real problem for every creature living in the world of Escana. He quickly said, ¡°His voice actor to be exact.¡±


    Fl¨®ki was the leader and the strongest of the Deceitful demon lords, a group of ten demon lords that boasted their ability to corrupt the mind of all living creatures and turned them against one another. Any single one of those Deceitful demon lords would make it a major pain in the butt for ROC players if they were summoned on their domain. These Deceitful demon lords were never as strong as the Mighty demon lords, or had an absurd amount of vitality as the Immortal demon lords, or having the ability to spawn infinite lesser demons like the Embryo demon lords, or as destructive as the Lonely demon lord, nevertheless, they were the worst of the bunch depending on the situations due to their racial ability to turn the units under player control into theirs.


    ¡°Voice actor?¡± Iliva adorably tiled her head, asking.


    ¡°Just think him as another personality of Fl¨®ki that had nothing with chaos and insanity,¡± Fearless scratched his head and explained.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The first thing Iliva did after they finished their lunch was to challenge him to a contest of strength, and Fearless being himself, he has never walked away from battle that he could easily win. He didn¡¯t know what prompt Iliva to do that, but he had no complain.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the bet?¡± Fearless asked.


    Iliva looked stunned, had not think about that obviously, mulling and her face flushed red all of a sudden, ¡°Heart,¡± she mumbled.


    And Fearless did not miss that, he almost chuckled, ¡°Interesting. But you can¡¯t bet what is not your.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Iliva scowled.


    ¡°You cannot bet what is already mine,¡± Fearless explained, smiling.


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± her face went deep red.


    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± Fearless kept smiling. He could not help himself from teasing Iliva, it was just that addicting when her face turned bright red and when she scowled at him.


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± Iliva denied and shot a dagger glare at Fearless.


    ¡°We are wasting time here. How about I would name the betting prize instead?¡± and Fearless suggested.


    ¡°¡­ suit yourself,¡± Iliva scoffed and hummed.


    ¡°If you win, you get back your pearl and I will agree to marry you,¡± he stated his bet.


    Iliva instantly denied, ¡°No, just give back my pearl. I don¡¯t want you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a wise decision,¡± and Fearless secretly laughed, that was Iliva¡¯s only real chance of winning this battle. Had she accepted that condition, she might win, because only gods knew if Fearless¡¯ mind somehow decided that he would lost on purpose to the allure of his defeat term. ¡°And if I win, I will get to hug you whenever I want until we part way. Deal?¡±


    ¡°You want a hug from me, liar bug?¡± Iliva asked, looking very confused.


    ¡°Not just one, many,¡± Fearless emphasized, ¡°As long as I want and as many as I want. Deal?¡±


    ¡°¡­deal,¡± she nodded after a long moment of contemplating. She obviously did not know that she has signed a devil contract.


    And Fearless tried his hardest to not to laughwhich might give away his intention. He could only amuse himself in secret. He knew what an adult kiss was since he was twelve and Iliva only knew that two days ago. He would be really surprise if she could win this contest, actually he would absolutely love it if she could best him in this contest.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless happily skipped down the foot path. His pack bag may be tiresomely heavy but his footsteps were light and full of joy. He twirled and pirouetted, humming a bubbly love song as he danced, o joy, life is full of joy and happiness. ¡°Iliva,¡± he called the spider queen.


    ¡°What?¡± Iliva immediately gave Fearless his most desired dosage of angry scowl that he hopelesslygot addicted to. It brought joy to his heart.


    ¡°Give me a hug,¡± he said and spread his arm, requesting her to hug him. A cheerful smile spread on his lips.


    ¡°Can you stop doing that?¡± Iliva asked with an irritated tone.


    ¡°No, Iliva, hug me,¡± Fearless shook his head like a spoiled child and begged.


    ¡°No, this already the thirtieth time you ask me to hug you since noon. Thanks to that, we haven¡¯t even made any progress at all. You are delaying this trip,¡± Iliva fumed.


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s a fair point,¡± Fearless nodded his head in disappointment, his arms drooped in resignation, ¡°So all Arachne are liars and cowards just like they said,¡± he mumbled inaudibly.


    Iliva gritted her teeth dangerously, She obviously did not miss Fearless'' demeaning accusation, ¡°What? How dare you calling me a liar and coward, liar bug?¡±


    ¡°Is that not true? You lose that bet and refuse to honor it,¡± Fearless sulked, kicking a large tree root on his path which resembled the shape of the Menace serpent he killed yesterday.


    ¡°Because you keep doing it without giving it a rest.¡±


    ¡°I remember that our deal was I got to hug you as long as I want and as many time as I want. There is no limit.¡±


    Iliva resignedly sighed, her eyes rolled in despair as she spread her arms, ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Yay,¡± Fearless immediately dropped his pack bag and launched himself into Iliva¡¯s opening arms. ¡°Iliva, you are soft and warm. And you smells so good,¡± Fearless said, resting his cheek on Iliva¡¯s stout chest. The spider queen stayed silent and made no attempt to reply. ¡°Iliva, can you squeeze me a little tighter in your arms? Otherwise, it would not be a hug,¡± Fearless requested and instantly, he felt like his spine was about to be snapped in twain. He smiled, ¡°Thank you Iliva, I love you,¡± and allowed himself to sink into that tender warmth.

 Chapter 18: PRINCE AND THE TRIP TO THE FOREST EDGE (FINAL)

    Chapter 18: Prince and the trip to the forest edge (final)


    ¡°Iliva,¡± It has been some time since she last heard of that warm voice. Iliva slowly rubbed her eyes and rose from her soft hammock. The familiar sight of a fluttering silver hem on black battle robe entered Iliva¡¯s sight. It was the usual dream, though it has been a while since she last saw it.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Iliva called and the female Arachne who was donning the sacred battle robe gazed at her with a soft smile on her lips. Briza Kront''tarr, she was a beautiful Arachne with a shoulder length dark hair and bronze skin. Her body was slender but surprisingly robust and muscular, befitting her status as a chosen warrior among the many female Arachnes in the settlement. Her spider torso was slim, covered in black fuzzy fur. Her eight arachnid legs were long and slender than most Arachne in the settlement, giving her a unique high advantage when standing next to them. She had high cheekbones that complimented with a long sharp nose and a well-defined chin. But her most defining feature had to be her silver eyes that was as bright and gentle as the stars on a night sky.


    ¡°Child, your breakfast is on the table. After finishing your meal, try to complete that one,¡± her mom pointed at the ceiling, an incomplete tapestry of a red dawn rising above Lagrande Toile - the secret settlement of the Arachne, ¡°I hate to see something beautiful remained incomplete like that.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Iliva replied, her lips quirked upward with an innocent smile, sniffing the rich aroma of mountain mutton stew seasoned with cheese and herbs, it was her favorite meal.


    ¡°I make a little too much this time. So, if you are hungry during lunch, just go down to the kitchen and open the pot,¡± her mom said while fastening her belt around her dark robe. She holstered her whirlingdeath blade that was crafted by the settlement¡¯s best sword-smith to her waist. The whirlingdeath blade was a special weapon in the Arachne society, it was a weapon of choice favored by the Sisterhood of the Binding Web an elite unit of highly trained Arachne for combat that were tasked with the duty to protect the Lagrande Toile from the threat of invaders. The weapon had two main parts, a large scythe that resembled an axe more than a scythe and a rope connected to that scythe¡¯s handle. In the hands of a highly trained Arachne, it¡¯s a deadly weapon that capable of decapitating even the best elven fighter in an instant or puncturing the hardened scale of an adult Earth Dragon.


    ¡°When will you be back?¡± Iliva asked, tottering to the table to have a full whiff of her favorite dish.


    ¡°Before dusk,¡± said her mother, leaving through the front door, not before reminded Iliva, ¡°I want to see some progress with that tapestry when I come back, okay? ¡°


    ¡°Yes,¡± Iliva replied, waving goodbye to her mother. This would be the last time she waved goodbye to her mom. But at that time, she honestly did not know.


    This small and cozy tree house had never changed in Iliva¡¯s dream. It remained the same within her memory. The purple carpet that spread the entire floor painted a field of mountain lavender, the colorful tapestries hanged on the four walls that constantly changed with Iliva¡¯s mood and seasons and finally the giant unfinished tapestry on the ceiling that remained unfinished until the end, these were Iliva¡¯s humble masterpieces. Making these masterpieces was the childhood of Iliva, she did not remember doing anything else.


    Children of her age went to Arach Elcreed Conservatory to learn combat skills, magic, and anything else an Arachne need to learn to be a part of Lagrande Toile and to serve it. But that place had no acceptance for an abomination like her. An evil omen and an accursed existence she was, something like that had no place. Thus, she can only stay at home, hidden within her mother¡¯s tree house and weaved. Iliva wasn¡¯t sure if she loved weaving or decorating the house, but when her mother was off to work, she felt bored and had nothing to do, weaving tapestry and decorating the house was the only skill she could hone.


    Her mom was always busy with her sacred task since there was no lack of danger could befall on Lagrande Toile at any moment. The Long continent was the home to one of the most vicious and terrifying beasts in Escana like the flightless Earth Dragons, the Smiling Cats, the Flying Swords and many more. Those creatures could be a serious threat to Lagrande Toile when they got near the settlement. However, it was those the accursed elves of Iron Wood that really threatened the existence of this secret settlement. Iliva¡¯s mom and her Sisterhood of the Binding Web was tasked with the mission to patrol and protect Lagrande Toile from potential invaders and harms.


    As soon as Iliva finished her breakfast, she covered herself with a large dark cloak and climbed out of the tree house. This part of her dream never changed. The world outside of the tree house always terrified her and yet it intrigued her like nothing else. She would often use the excuse that if she could not see it, then she could not weave it to leave the safe tree house and explored the unforgiving world outside. She has often succeeded, slipping outside without anyone noticed her, but not today, not in this dream.


    When Iliva reached her favorite place to observe the settlement, on top of that lone Great Sharman tree on the Petitarmour hill just a bit outside of her home, she was ambushed by a group of female Arachnes, just like how she remembered it. It was Nogami¡¯s goons and herself, Iliva failed to understand why they were here instead of attending Arach Elcreed at this moment. She always dreamed of attending Arach Elcreed herself even if that was just a single day and ironically here they were, the youngest daughter of the Matriarch and her lackeys who had the privilege to go and yet ditched it.


    Iliva could never understood why they did that or why they loved to pick on her. They never got sick of this and they never learned when to quit. They broke her legs and tore her handmade cloak into shreds, that¡¯s fine, her legs would heal by noon and Iliva could make another cloak as soon as she was home. They smashed her face, tore her hair, and slashed her body, it did not matter, Iliva could take it, her body would heal soon. But she could not tolerate them destroying the red brooch or her white dress given to Iliva by her mother. She fought back in anger, how foolish she was, what a weak and untrained Arachne could do against five Arachne who were trained for years, how laughable was her younger self, Iliva mockingly sneered at herself.


    Before long, Nogami and her goons went away, laughing, satisfied with their work. By noon, Iliva has completely healed of her wounds. She weaved another dark cloak to shield herself from the unforgiving sun and crawled down the hill. She had enough for today. She just wanted to return home, completing that giant tapestry on the ceiling. When she walked beneath the cooling shades of the groves of the small Sharman trees and tree houses, ducking the burning sun, Iliva caught sight of that hateful girl, Nogami¡¯s second sister Arameer, the most beautiful girl in the settlement. She traveled with a group of foolish love-struck males who she only considered as her servants and her stupid female followers as usual. She wore a different dress today as well, a glossy gold dress like amber, almost transparent to reveal her exotic black undergarment underneath. Iliva did not remember seeing this hateful girl wearing a same piece of dress once. That golden dress and even her undergarment was beautifully crafted with breathtaking patterns and details. That girl had the natural talents to make the most gorgeous dresses in the entire settlement to compliment her fairest look.


    The dark god Naharis was unfair. He would gift that beautiful girl with everything a female Arachne could wish for. Her long and dark auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders like a flowing stream. On that dark cascade, a few strands were carefully braided, knotting a spider web shape at her nape with an ivory brooch, adding more to her enticing beauty. Her skin was fair, gold as saffron, spicy, lusty and hypnotic to anyone¡¯s eyes. That hateful girl¡¯s face was fair, her arching brows were the mystic moth of the night, her eyes argent, and her carmine lush lips a setting sun. Iliva hated this girl, she really did, more so than her stupid sister Nogami. Iliva quickly hid herself behind an overgrowth tree bark, like she always did, staring at that hateful girl and cursing her.


    Iliva knew how her dream would end. When she got sick of watching that Arameer girl, she returned home, crying and venting her anger at Naharis for making her such an abomination and yet lavished that hateful girl with everything. However, Iliva was caught off guard by the most subtle of smile on Arameer¡¯s lips. That never happened, those lips were all high and mighty, bore and unconcerned even when all the stupid males knelt beneath her legs to lavish her with praises or made a fool of themselves, hoping her to grace them just a single smile. And yet, those unfaltering lips, they were curving in this dream, that never happened. That bore demeanor and that unfaltering look of that hateful Arameer girl seemed to melt away, replaced by a blushing rosy color and moistened eyes.


    Iliva trained her eyes to see what could have prompted such bizarre change to the hateful Arameer girl, and her eyes widened with shock. ¡°Liar bug.¡±


    It was the liar bug. But what is he doing here in this dream? He never appeared in this dream. What would he do here in Lagrande Toile? They would kill him. No human would be allow in this secret settlement of the Arachne. Run fool, what are you doing? Why are you approaching that group? I cannot save you from them.


    The liar bug was unaware of Iliva¡¯s thought and approached that Arameer girl and her groups. And yet, they showed no hostility to the liar bug even when they swarmed around him. The stupid female followers of Arameer buzzed noisily among themselves, it made Iliva seriously confused.


    The liar bug, he was talking to that hateful Arameer with his usual toothy smile that Iliva grew accustomed to, arrogance, full of himself and vexingly irritating. Iliva trained her elven ears but she could not hear what they were talking about due to the buzzing noises of the stupid girls around them. They talked a lot, that liar bug and that hateful girl, Iliva had no idea what they could be talking about but they talked for a very long time. All of a sudden, the subtle smile that was as beautiful as the setting sun turned into ashes and died. The moistened eyes scowled with anger, the usual full of grace Arameer twisted her pretty face in the hideous shade of rage. And the liar bug just casually waved his hands, all smiling as if he hoped to brush away that Arameer girl¡¯s anger just like that.


    Of course, that would happen to anyone, Iliva snickered, knowing from her own experience. That liar bug had the ability to drive people mad, make them want to kill him so terribly bad and yet, they could do nothing against him. It was very satisfying to see that Arameer girl and her followers seethed and raged and yet they could not do that to the liar bug.


    The hateful Arameer commandingly pointed her finger at the liar bug¡¯s face, all high and mighty, and yet, the liar bug wasn¡¯t fazed. He casually grabbed her hand and planted his lips on the back of her hand.


    That scene killed the snicker in Iliva. There was something very unsettling about it. She held her breath and her hand unconsciously went for her chest as if to grasp something intangible and invisible.


    Suddenly, that hateful Arameer knelt her arachnid legs to stand on her elven feet without warning. Her face reddened. She shyly approached the liar bug one step at a time. She stopped when she was right in front of him, at the distance where they could smell each other¡¯s breath. Then that accursed girl said something.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± a quivered voice escaped Iliva¡¯s lips, almost like she was begging, ¡°Don¡¯t do it. Not with that stupid girl. Don¡¯t you dare doing it with her.¡± That familiar phantom pain creeped into her chest and started to wreck it from within. ¡°Don¡¯t do it.¡±


    But the wretched liar bug did it anyway, he sealed that hateful girl¡¯s lips with his own and their body overlapped within their squeezing arms.


    And Iliva ran away, her finger nails clawed at her own chest, trying to dig out that atrocious pain before it could wreck her chest inside out. Hot tears burst forth on her cheeks. She was just the woeful little Iliva, not the proud queen of the spiders.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Iliva woke up to the singing of that wretched liar bug. Her face was awash with tears. Her chest was reddened with the claw marks of her nails. No wonder it was so real and vivid, the pain she felt was real, and the scorching tar she felt on her cheeks was real. That wretched phantom pain hidden in her chest like a vicious monster that would go on a rampage at any moment was real.


    Iliva hated that liar bug. He gave her more pain and suffering than that accursed Arameer and her sister, or the elves or the terrible beasts that nearly killed her in the past ever could. He was the worst of them all. The pain he gave her invisible, intangible, and unhealable.


    He wounded her in the real world and followed her to her dream, making her suffered even more. She hated that liar bug.


    Iliva allowed the red clawing marks on her chest to completely heal. Her pride refused to show the liar bug just how much he hurt her or how miserable she was because of him.


    The liar bug seemed to notice her pain and anger at him. ¡°Iliva, are you at that time of the month?¡± he asked.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± she asked right back.


    ¡°Are you having your period?¡±


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°You are different today. You look like you are suffering. We can take a break for today. I will hunt for you and cook food for you.¡± He said, giving Iliva a look that reserved for sick people and that instantly allowed Iliva to deduct the meaning of his strange words.


    ¡°I¡¯m not having my red moon,¡± she growled, her face went red.


    ¡°Oh, so that¡¯s the term you people using here. It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not something to be embarrassed about. It¡¯s totally normal. I understand how painful it is for you. So, you don¡¯t have to force yourself. Let me taking care of you today,¡± the liar bug insisted, talking to her in a tender voice.


    Iliva made a vice on the liar bug¡¯s forehead and hauled him into the air, ¡°I said I am not having my red moon so don¡¯t try to delay this trip any further.¡± Iliva growled in a low and threatening voice.


    ¡°You win. You are breaking my head. You win. Please put me down. I perfectly understand,¡± the liar bug said and Iliva put him down to the ground. However the very moment he¡¯s on the ground, he wore an irritatingly concerned look on his face, ¡°Are you sure you are not having your red moon?¡± he insisted on such nonsense.


    Iliva wished that she could kill him, that wretched liar bug. He had no idea how much pain he gave her.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Night once again fell on the forest and the liar bug has made his camp fire. And as usual, Iliva made her hammock. The trees in this part of the forest were considerably smaller and younger than those in the part where Iliva and her spiders made their nest. This was the signal that this trip was going to end. They were very near to the edge of this forest, probably another day or two at the speed they were travelling. Soon Iliva would get her precious pearl back and returned to her nest, Iliva thought and pondered why she was not as happy as she should.


    The floral odor of wolfears filled Iliva¡¯s nose, it was pleasant, except it wasn¡¯t because it came from the liar bug. The liar bug made Iliva hugged him inside her hammock, using her previous lost as an excuse. On the trip, he would often pestering Iliva by presented her with all sort of flowers and asked her which of the flower she loved, which smell the best; Iliva wished that she didn¡¯t answer him as honestly as she did. The liar bug would then soak his clothes in his cooking cauldron and filled it with wolfear flowers to mask his own scent with the floral odor of wolfears.


    It seemed that the liar bug realized that this trip was going to end. He has behaved strangely since yesterday. The songs he sang and hummed since have been uncharacteristically somber and almost sad unlike his usual songs. The song he was singing in the moment was about a foolish male who traveled far away from his home to search for fame and wealth. He missed his fianc¨¦e dearly and she had always been on his mind. One day, he returned home expecting ask the woman for her hand in marriage only to discover that she has wed another man who was rich and powerful. It was very different from the usual songs that he was always singing which were catchy, infectious and brimmed with excitement.


    When his song came to an end, the liar bug sank into a short tranquil silence, ¡°Do you think I can live in this forest with you?¡± Out of nowhere, the liar bug asked the strangest thing.


    ¡°Why would you want to live here?¡± Iliva asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The world outside is probably in a disastrous state at the moment, if not now then sooner or later. Don¡¯t ask me how I know that, I served those crazy gods for fourteen years, I know what I¡¯m talking. I don¡¯t know if I really want to be a part in any of the conflicts in the outside world,¡± he sighed mysteriously.


    ¡°Even after you have fought for fourteen years?¡± Iliva questioned. Those words of uncertainty were strange to her ears. They were strange because they came from that liar bug who was always so full of himself and overbearingly arrogance.


    ¡°The wars I waged during those fourteen years are very different from the wars this world. I can humiliate and kill my enemies, and the next thing I know, those enemies, the same one that I had killed would be in front of me, shaking my hands, inviting me to their party, going to karaoke parties and becoming friends with me. It¡¯s weird. I know. That¡¯s the kind of world I have been living in until recently.¡±


    ¡°Then why you are here?¡± inquired Iliva. She had no idea what the liar bug was talking about as usual. His gods were the most insane gods in the world, so were his people, his friends and enemies and even himself. She could never understand them. She could only accept them as what they were.


    ¡°Because of a whim of the gods I served, I guess,¡± the liar bug snickered sarcastically.


    ¡°You guess?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not even sure¡­ but I don¡¯t think I can return home,¡± he sighed.


    ¡°Where is your home, liar bug?¡±


    The liar bug did not answer. He pointed at the sky instead.


    Iliva turned and looked at the sky. There were three moons, the red moon, thegolden moon, and the silver moon. She looked down at the liar bug¡¯s pointing finger and then the sky once again. ¡°The red moon of Kharigan? That¡¯s the home of the demon lords.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s on a spirit plane, but not one of the nine spirit planes that everyone know,¡± the liar bug chuckled animatedly. The liar bug suddenly raised his left hand to the sky, grabbing something invisible and letting it go away in the end. ¡°It¡¯s so very close that I can feel like I can touch it, and yet it¡¯s very far, separate from this land by countless distance and infinite time, ever elude to me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± said Iliva, as honestly as she could. Everything that ever came out of the liar bug¡¯s mouth was strange and confusing.


    ¡°Neither do I.¡± the liar bug answered and cackled to himself. Sorrow and loneness was his suppressed laughter.


    ¡°Then why you are so sure that you could not return home?¡± Iliva asked. Home was a strange subject to her. She wasn¡¯t sure if she ever wanted to return to Lagrande Toile.


    ¡°I just know it,¡± the liar bug replied resolutely.


    ¡°So you are exiled from your homeland just like me,¡± Iliva asked.


    ¡°In a way, yes. I¡¯m exiled, never to return again,¡± the liar bug gave a sorrowful reply, leaving both him and Iliva in a strange state of restless silence. Iliva didn¡¯t know what the liar bug was thinking when that restless silence creeped into her skin, seeped into her blood and gnawed her marrow. She tried to imagine what her life would be like staying with the liar bug in this forest. He would drive her insane each and every single day. He would mock her and play tricks on her. He would make her life irrationally hectic, but she could live with that. But the pain inside her chest, she wasn¡¯t so sure. She remembered that dream where he sealed that hateful Arameer¡¯s lips with his own. It was just a stupid contest of strength and yet it was very painful for her to watch. Even just by remembering that, Iliva felt like her chest was about to be torn apart by the wretched monster inside.


    ¡°Liar bug,¡± Iliva called.


    ¡°Yes¡±


    ¡°Do you want to meet your Alice again?¡± she asked.


    ¡°How do you¡­ ¡° he startled, his voice trailed off and the liar bug without warning tried to turn back, but Iliva hugged him tight in her arms, refusing to let him turn around to see her face. ¡°Did I talk in my sleep?¡± He was smart and devious, of course, he could figure it out easily.


    ¡°You cry and call for her all the time. At some point even I could figure that is a woman¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°Hahaha, I have showed you my pathetic side.¡± The liar bug laughed awkwardly, scratching his head.


    ¡°Is the female in the painting you gave me Alice?¡± Iliva asked, remembered that otherworldly beautiful woman in that well-drawn painting who gave her so much pain and suffering.


    ¡°Painting? What painting?¡± the liar bug inquired, his voice was full of turmoil and alarm.


    ¡°Are you trying to pretend you don¡¯t remember?¡± Iliva released the liar bug, producing the painting she kept inside the strange garment she wove.


    ¡°No,¡± the liar bug held the painting in his hand and shook his head. He put his hand into his robe and took out his strange leather pocket. He produced a picture slightly burned, ¡°This is Alice.¡± He pointed at a woman who stood next to him in that painting.


    She was a dashing young woman, lean and had a rather broad shoulder for a woman. She had the look of a fighter. She was a forehead shorter than the liar bug in the painting. The lack of curves of that woman intrigued Iliva, she almost mistake her for a man because of that. That woman had her long black hair tied up. She did have a well-defined jawline, her short nose bridge like that of a man. With feature like that, it¡¯s hard to think of her as beautiful. That thought gave Iliva a small respite but ultimately did not give her a sense of relief.


    ¡°I thought she is more beautiful than that. Who is this woman then? She is so much more beautiful than your Alice.¡± Iliva pointed at the picture in her hand.


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s Meng Meng, we were lovers for a few years. She¡¯s married to someone else now. But we do see each other once in a while.¡± The liar bug replied nonchalantly.


    That nonchalance in his reply gave Iliva a ghastly sense of foreboding uneasiness. She was not aware of the reason. ¡°You never mentioned her name in your dream,¡± she thereby tried to probe, as subtle as she could.


    ¡°I talked a lot in my sleep, did I?¡± The liar bug murmured.


    The liar bug neither confirmed or denied, or gave Iliva a hint to her question. He was ever cruel and deceiving. That invisible uneasiness made her heart fell silent. Her lips could not will itself to move, to find courage to ask the important question she wanted to ask the most. Iliva bit her lips and clenched her fists in a grudging silence. ¡°Yes, liar bug, you talk a lot. So, you love this Alice more than this female human?¡± Finally she could say it.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the liar bug answered resolutely. It was as if he could read his own heart and said it without a sliver of uncertainty.


    That uneasiness suddenly transformed into pain. A thousand wooden stakes, a thousand razor teeth and a thousand of thorn vines rustled and tore Iliva¡¯s chest from within. This pain, it was too much. But she would not give up, ¡°But she is not as pretty as this female,¡± she gritted her teeth, enduring the pain.


    ¡°That¡¯s very cruel. Why everyone keep telling me something like that? Alice is beautiful. It¡¯s just that not many people are perceptive enough to see that.¡±


    He was still obvious to Iliva¡¯s suffering. How cruel of him! He was such a wretched human. ¡°Your perception of beauty is warped, liar bug.¡±


    ¡°I can assure you that it¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°Am I¡­¡± her lips were quivering and her eyes watered. But Iliva felt like she had to get this part over with, otherwise, she will never be able to ask the liar bug this question. ¡°Who is more beautiful? Alice or me?¡±


    And the liar bug stared at Iliva for a long time, stunned. He slowly wrapped Iliva into his arms and squeezed her tightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± He said with an apologetic tone, ¡°I did not notice. It must have been very painful for you.¡±


    ¡°You have not answer my question liar bug,¡± Iliva growled as the scenery in front of her blurred in the vapor of her hot tears. She didn¡¯t want to hear his apology. She wanted to listen to his answer, the truth and nothing else.


    ¡°Alice has a very special place inside my heart. But in this moment, the person I hug in my arms is you Iliva, not Alice,¡± he whispered softly into her ear.


    Anger overtook Iliva. She pushed the liar bug away and shouted at him. ¡°That does not answer my question.¡±


    The liar bug looked into Iliva¡¯s eyes, a drop of crystal rolled down his cheek. What meaning did that tear hold? Was that apologetic? Or pity? Iliva gritted her teeth. She could not stand pity especially when it came from the liar bug. She hate him and his lies but she absolutely did not want to hear him apologized to her or looked at her with eyes filled with pity.


    ¡°Must you know the answer? Even if it would hurt you even more?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes, tell me your answer,¡± and Iliva replied, allowing no falsehood or retreat for herself and the liar bug.


    ¡°Alice, she¡¯s by my side for very long time through up and down. Naturally, I think that she was the most beautiful woman as well. I could not think of another woman who can contest that at the moment.¡± The liar bug bowed to Iliva as he delivered a dagger to her chest.


    ¡°I hate you, liar bug.¡± Iliva shouted, her shout was primal and raw. There was no dignity or a sliver of grace in it. So that was what it sounded like, Iliva thought as her entire world was drown in her own sobbing and flowing tears, so this was what a foolish woman whose heart was stolen and trampled on sounded like. She has finally realized the nature of that pain inside her chest. She has realized that she has woefully fell in love with a lowly human.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I hate you,¡± Iliva howled. Why would she fall for this wretched liar bug? Why would a proud Arachne like her fall for a lowly human who was wretched, cruel and full of lies?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±


    ¡°Why are you giving me all this pain?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±


    ¡°It hurts here every day.¡± Iliva hit her own chest, ¡°I don¡¯t know how to get rid of this pain. I tried to kill you to rid myself of this pain and I just can¡¯t. I was there when that serpent was about to kill you. I thought I would have that serpent killed you for me and yet my chest felt like it was being branded by hellfire and stabbed by a thousand spears. You don¡¯t know how much pain and suffering I had when you gave me that painting of that female, do you? I would rather have my limbs ripped off by the savage beasts or have my entire body feathered with arrows than suffering this pain.¡± Iliva hollered violently and her tears flew into the air. Her breathing ran ragged as she sobbed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I hate you liar bug.¡± Iliva has thought she knew what pain was. Pain was the sharp spears that penetrate her stomach. Pain was the razor sharp fangs of those savage beasts. Pain was the rain of arrows that feathered her back. Pain was the wicked edges of the hateful elves¡¯ scimitars. Pain was fire and pitchforks. Pain was the news of Briza¡¯s death. Pain was exile and expulsion from the only home she has ever had. And now, she finally knew what pain truly was. Pain was a stolen and trampled heart of a foolish woman.


    ¡°It was never my intention to give you so much pain. It¡¯s definitely my fault, I did not notice that. I should have known. You are right to hate me and curse me. You have every right to kill me.¡± The liar bug put his head down to touch Iliva¡¯s large hammock and apologized.


    ¡°If I kill you, will this pain go away?¡± the word ¡®kill¡¯ prompted Iliva to ask.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. If you kill me, it probably will stay with you for as long as you live.¡±


    ¡°If you are so smart, tell me how do I get rid of this pain?¡±


    ¡°Will you give me the chance to make it right? I will take responsibility and stay by your side in this wood until my last breath.¡± The liar bug lifted his head and moved closer to Iliva.


    ¡°Stop lying to me. How does that make my pain go away? All this time, it¡¯s painful to stay near you.¡±


    ¡°Please, let me¡­¡± the liar bug lifted his hand, trying to brush away her tears.


    Iliva immediately slapped his hand away. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me. I hate you,¡± she hollered, the pain inside her chest has not subsided. Why would she foolishly fall for such wretchedness of a man?


    The liar bug suddenly climbed out of Iliva¡¯s hammock. His eyes quietly casted at the ground, ¡°I will leave this forest and never return to disturb you. I imagine it could be very painful for you at first. But, talk to your spiders, hunt with them, and try the new strategies that I have taught you with them, find something fun to do to pass time. That will help you to forget about the pain. Eventually, in time, that pain will fade.¡±


    ¡°Is that true? Can you promise me that you are not lying to me?¡± Iliva asked. Why would she choose to believe the word of a person who did this to her even now? She could not understand her wretched self.


    ¡°I promise you, my words are truthful. I¡¯m very sorry for causing so much pain to you. It was never my intention to hurt you. I was careless, I lost myself in my grieving and treated your affection carelessly.¡±


    ¡°I hate you so much for lying to me and playing with my emotion,¡± Iliva hissed as her tears kept flowing.


    ¡°I am very sorry. I know that I have tricked you and hurt you. Also, I have a confession. It¡¯s true. I did not lie to you when I told you that the reason I spared your life was because I was caught off guard by your beauty. I did not lie when you wore these cloth for me. In that very moment, I truly thought that you are the most beautiful person I have ever met.¡±


    ¡°Get out of my sight, liar bug,¡± Iliva slapped the liar bug in his face and pointed at the camp fire where he belonged.


    And the liar bug walked away, his head casted down and never looked up.


    That night, Iliva could not sleep. The pain inside her chest was too much for her.

 Chapter 19: PRINCE, SPIDER QUEEN AND GOODBYE

    Chapter 19: Prince, spider queen and goodbye


    Iliva was wondering what the liar bug was doing. The liar bug put a leaf in between of his jaws, making weird noises with it. That was the fourth one, once again, the leaf was torn and the liar bug choked out the torn leaf to pluck yet another leaf from a nearby bush afterward. He placed it in between his lips and this time, the irritable noises, so terrible and skin crawling somehow turned into a proper song surprisingly. Iliva did not know that a person can do that with a leaf.


    The song that the liar bug was playing sounded heavy, tragic and painful. The chorus was chaotic, full of weird noises jumbled and arranged in a turbulent mess. The song sounded like a raging storm, fury and pandemonium like. Then the song changed, the storm subsided and died to be replaced by a soft and translucent sound, mellow and peaceful. But the melody did not last long, it ended aburptly without warning and the liar bug spitted out the ripped leaf, squashing it to pieces within his palm. He was frustrated, furiously stomping his foot on a nearby tree to vent his anger. Nevertheless, he plucked yet another leaf and continued to play his songs. He kept doing that for the entire day only stopped to rest or drink.


    Neither Iliva nor the liar bug has said anything to each other since the night before. It was almost strange how much it affected Iliva¡¯s mind. She has hated his irritable ceaseless talking and yet now that he stopped talking, it did not feel right.


    The liar bug did not look at Iliva in her eyes once since morning arrived. Even when he looked at her, his gaze went beyond her figure to a distant imaginary place, she was no longer the center of his attention. There was no fire in his gaze, only shame and regret. It was worse than the looks of pity or contempt that she has received, it was frustrating and painful. It was a pathetic sight to behold, unbecoming that of a man and why did Iliva lost her heart to such a lowly human? She hated the liar bug but she hated herself even more for losing her heart to him. That thought made Iliva felt like she was about to tear up.


    Suddenly, the song stopped.


    ¡°This is it,¡± the liar bug said, dropping his back pack to the ground with a heavy thud. Before Iliva was an ocean of grasses that stretched toward the reddened horizon. Finally, they have reached the edge of the Mangora Forest.


    Iliva turned at the liar bug, staring, she was not sure what to say.


    ¡°Here is your pearl,¡± the liar bug took out Iliva¡¯s pearl from his chest pocket and presented it to Iliva on his opened palm. The glare of the setting sun reflected on her shiny dark pearl, it was almost blinding,


    The pearl, her most cherished item has finally returned to Iliva. She took it back, clutched it within her palm, squeezing on it to feel the familiar touch of its rounded shape. It was indeed her pearl, she confirmed it. Yet, it felt almost aliened to Iliva like it was no longer hers. Was a few days of separation all that it need for this cherished treasure to be so aliened to her? Or did the liar have the ability to corrupt it, making it his? Or is this yet another mockery of the dark god planned for her? Iliva has thought she would have be so much happier now that she has finally got her pearl back, not like this.


    ¡°Take these items as well,¡± the liar bug said, taking a small bag from his bag and laying it on the ground He was completely unaware of Iliva¡¯s harrowing turmoil. ¡°They are not so much of an apology, I know, but please take them with you. They are probably more useful to you than to me. I considered selling them as soon as I reach Madukat¡­but¡­ well¡­ This is a cloak made of Basilisk scales, it¡¯s useful for stealth, I used it to bypass your spiders¡¯ and your detection when you decided to attack me. And this is¡­¡±


    The liar bug went on and on with ¡°this is¡± and ¡°that is¡± for a long time. Then he looked at Iliva, realizing that she was not interest in any of his enchanted items. ¡°Your Majesty, if you don¡¯t like them, feel free to dispose them as you see fit.¡±


    The word ¡®Your Majesty¡¯ rolled off the liar bug¡¯s tongue awkwardly as if it was the first time he attempted to say it. Iliva scowled her eyes, trying to absorb the liar bug¡¯s intention for a moment before she could finally understand. ¡°Your Majesty, you just call me Your Majesty?¡±


    The liar bug bent his back, his head bowed low, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for acting out of my place before and calling you by your name. I should never do that¡­¡±


    Iliva stared at that bended back of the liar bug, still unable constructing a proper response inside her head. She suddenly felt a ticklish feeling on her cheek and brought her knuckle up to wipe it.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Iliva could not understand it herself and became genuinely confused. Why¡¯s the tears? Why¡¯re they rolling? ¡°Why?¡± They kept flowing down. Iliva blinked her eyes and confusedly wiped off the stream washing down her cheeks.


    The liar bug unbent himself, noticing Iliva¡¯s miserable state. His face twisted in an unknown emotion. Was that pity or regret? Iliva did not like it, gritting her teeth to endure the humiliation.


    ¡°Will you allow me to call you Iliva for one last time?¡± he requested in a soft and most earnest voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Suit yourself,¡± said Iliva


    ¡°Iliva¡­I¡¯m so sorry for giving you so much pain. I did not realize that. I should have. I won¡¯t beg you for your forgiveness, I don¡¯t deserve forgiveness.¡± He approached, held Iliva¡¯s hand in the between of his two palms and planed his lips on her fingers, ¡°I wish your pain will go away soon. I wish someday you will love and beloved by someone who¡¯s more deserving than me.¡±


    When he finished, the liar bug grabbed his bag and silently waked away.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Iliva didn¡¯t not know what she was doing. Her hand reached out almost as if she was trying to stop the liar bug. However words could not come out of her throat properly. When she saw the liar bug turned back reflexively to her voice, she quickly put her hand down, hiding it.


    The liar bug stood and gazed at Iliva, waiting.


    ¡°Take my pearl with you.¡±


    What am I talking about? Iliva almost put a hand on her mouth to seal it. What was she thinking? She just got it back. Why is she doing this?


    ¡°You will never be able to marry another Arachne if I was to take away your pearl.¡± The liar bug concernedly replied.


    Of course, Iliva did not need the liar bug to remind herself of the importance of the black pearl. As an Arachne herself, she knew the importance of this pearl better than anyone.


    ¡°There would not be another person finding an abomination like me attractive. So that doesn¡¯t matter¡­¡± Yet, words that she did not want to say kept spilling outs.


    ¡°You can¡¯t say that for sure. One day, one day there will someone¡­¡±


    ¡°You can never stop lying, can¡¯t you liar bug?¡± Iliva asked, staring right into the liar bug¡¯s dark moonless eyes.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± he stuttered.


    Iliva sneered, angrily wiped away her tears with her bony knuckle and tossed the black pearl into her mouth. This is degrading. Why did she say something like that? What was she thinking? Why did she offer her pearl to such a wretched of a male after it has finally returned to her?


    Her tear kept flowing like an unbroken stream. She hated the liar bug more than anything she had ever met and more than any enemy who had ever wounded her. He stole her heart. He hurt her and wounded her pride. ¡°If you can¡¯t do that, get out of my sight. Don¡¯t let me see you ever again. If I found you in this wood, I will tell my spiders to make you suffer the most horrendous death,¡± Iliva shouted furiously, giving the liar bug her most hated look, pointing her finger at the distant horizon.


    The liar bug looked into her eyes for one moment, a short instance. His mouth opened and silently formed her name, but no word followed. He wordlessly gritted his teeth, held his head down, turned and started walking.


    I hate you liar bug. Iliva stood and watched the liar bug¡¯s back getting further away from her. Tears welled up within her eyes. She blinked and rubbed them off with her knuckles. When the liar bug came to her view again, he was running, but not away from Iliva, to her.


    He leapt, clutching the back of Ilia¡¯s head and yanking it to his height. His dark eyes was right in front of Iliva and without warning, he invaded her mouth with his wet tongue. Iliva almost pulled her head back by reflex, and yet the liar bug was so much stronger than usual.


    His hands that were clutching the back of her head were deep rooted trees, old and strong as Escana, can¡¯t be budged or bent, they prevented Iliva from retreating. Was he always this strong? Or did she suddenly become weak? His tongue was like a wild serpent, aggressive and raw, wet, slippery and hot like baked silk. His tongue, it tasted like her own tears. Iliva told herself that she would bit his tongue off for this offense, and yet, her jaws had no power.


    Before long, Iliva was robbed off her pearl once again. She glared at the liar bug¡¯s face through her disheveled chalky white locks and slapped him across the face with every bit of strength that remained within her body. ¡°I hate you,¡± Iliva cursed, wiping away the drools on her lips and then the tears that distorted her vision with their scorching vapors. ¡°I hate you, liar bug.¡±


    The liar bug palmed his reddened cheek and used his thumb to rub away the blood on his lips. His teeth must have cut his lips when Iliva slapped him, he deserved that. Even the liar bug admitted it, ¡°I deserved it,¡± licking the blood on his lips.


    The liar bug carefully span and plucked the silver silvery ring he wore on his pinky finger out and presented it on his palm, ¡°Championship is calculated by golden crown, MVP by ivory scepter, Final MVP by ring of platinum. During my second year in the league, I have failed FY and my entire team during the very last moment. We were so close to get the golden crown and yet I blew our chance. They have created a chance, a window of opportunity for me to do what I was supposed to do, I chickened out and we lost that war. The year after that, I promise to myself that I will get us back to where we was before and that I would never chicken out when my team need me. And this ring is the proof of that promise came true. It was the proudest moment of my life. This is the first ring I have ever had and I have worn it since, a little reminder to myself that I could achieve anything I wish if I put enough heart and time into it.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Iliva could not understand half of what the liar bug said. What was he trying to say? What does this ring have anything to do with this?


    ¡°I want you to have this. While we human don¡¯t have a pearl of Universal Wisdom to exchange at our marriage, we exchange rings. Since you gave me your pearl. It¡¯s only right that I give you my ring.¡± The liar bug said, kneeling before Iliva and presented her his ring.


    It¡¯s only now that it started to make sense to Iliva.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your ring.¡± she rejected it. Her eyes still brimmed with tears. This wretched liar bug treated love and life like a game. He could not care if he won or lost in the end. Loved him she might, but Iliva could not bind herself to someone like that, a human no less.


    ¡°That¡¯s pain. That¡¯s the voice of your pain. I¡¯m in pain, not as much as you Iliva at the moment, but I understand. We are not thinking straight right now because of the pain, neither you nor I. It¡¯s confusing, every choice we make at this moment is confusing and yet we keep making them. However, if we allow our pain to control us and speak for us at this moment, we might regret it for the rest of our lives. So, I have a suggestion, I will leave this wood and come back once I have made up my mind. At that time, if you are still in pain, I will return at a later time. But if our feeling is mutual, I want you to be my wife, if not I will return you the pearl and you will return me my ring. Is that okay with you?¡± the liar bug said.


    ¡°Suit yourself liar bug,¡± Iliva wiped off her tears, swiping the ring on the liar bug¡¯s palm but he clutched his fist and denied Iliva of her attempt.


    ¡°No, make a decision for yourself. Try to conquer the pain in your heart just for a moment and make a decision. Think through and make your choice. Yes or no,¡± the liar bug shouted, grabbing Iliva¡¯s arms as he tried to gaze into her misty eyes.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Iliva shrugged off the liar bug¡¯s feeble grip on her wrists as she screamed.


    ¡°Look at me. You can¡¯t let me tell you what to do. You can¡¯t allow me to make such an important decision for you. This is your life, take control of it. Just try to conquer your pain for a moment and think what is good for you.¡± The liar bug was persistent, he looked into her eyes and grabbed her wrists once more time, this time with more force. ¡°I will not tell you to do as I said. I can give you the suggestion, and you know what, I¡¯m not even sure if this is a good suggestion. If you don¡¯t like it, think of something else. If you can¡¯t think of something better, pick the best option you got and live with it¡±


    Iliva wondered how long had it been. She felt like it was an eternity happened within her head. She remembered that time when she heard the news of Briza¡¯s death from a sister of the Sisterhood of Binding Web visiting her house. She remembered being chased away from the settlement, being alone in the wild, unsure if she will ever be safe from the savage beasts. She remembered all the suffering and pains she went through. Pain is something a person got used to. However, this was the first time she suffered this kind of hallowing pain, perhaps the liar bug was right, she was unaccustomed to this kind of pain and it confused her. But all pain will go away eventually, even the death of Briza did not hurt her now. This pain too, perhaps will go away one day, Iliva told herself.


    ¡°Unhand me,¡± she said and the liar bug did just that, ¡°You are telling me that what I am doing at the moment is not smart and this is because of the pain inside my chest, am I correct liar bug?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡±


    ¡°Can you swear that you are not lying to me?¡± Iliva looked into the liar bug dark eyes and made him swear.


    ¡°I swear that is the truth, or at least that is what I believe to be the truth.¡±


    ¡°Then my answer is yes. I will hold this ring for you and wait,¡± Iliva took the ring inside the liar bug¡¯s hand.


    ¡°There is also something I want to apologize for. The thing we do, mouth to mouth strength contest, it was not really a strength contest. That¡¯s a kiss, an expression of love. You only do that to a person you love.¡± The liar bug knelt and kept his head down as he told Iliva.


    ¡°I have already sensed it when I see you kissed that girl.¡± Iliva sighed, lightly slapping the liar bug¡¯s head


    ¡°What girl?¡± he looked up at Iliva and asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s that Arameer. You dare to deny that you did not kiss her.¡±


    ¡°Who is Arameer? Are you sure you remember the name correctly? I have never dated a girl with that name before.¡± The lair bug perplexedly squinted his eyes and rebutted.


    Iliva clutched her head, realizing that she was talking something really stupid. Of course, that was only in her dream. Of course, the liar bug would never know who Arameer is. ¡°She doesn¡¯t matter. So, that was a kiss?¡± Iliva immediately tried to change the topic.


    The liar bug had that full of suspicion look on his face. Nevertheless, he nodded his head, ¡°Yes, and you are only supposed to do that with a person you love.¡±


    ¡°Do you love me?¡± Iliva asked, vaguely guess the answer that liar would give her


    ¡°Do you want to hear the real answer?¡±


    ¡°I hate you liar bug,¡± she said. Her guess was close but it still stung her.


    ¡°Yeah, I figure you would give that answer. So, here¡¯s mine. Actually, I don¡¯t really know,¡° the liar sighed.


    ¡°And you dare to ask my hand in marriage?¡± Iliva swung her arachnid legs at the liar bug in an exaggerate manner. She did not mean to hit him and he backed away, sticking his tongue out.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know how many time I have lost myself to your beauty. I¡¯m not lying. And you are also at fault for going commando like that all the time. Please wear proper clothes at all time. That night dress is not considered as proper cloth in any society. You have no idea how difficult for me to control myself whenever I look at your body. And, yeah, I sort or gave in to my lust somewhere down the line and tricked you to a kiss, and that one just now was very awful, I know. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Iliva scoffed, pretending to not notice the liar bug¡¯s heat gaze on her chest.


    ¡°Will you allow me to make it up to you for lying and also forcing that one just now?¡± the lair bug asked, his eyes were still glued to Iliva¡¯s chest.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Allow me to give you a proper kiss to make it up to you. The only way to rewrite the memory of a bad kiss is to replace it with the memory of a good one.¡±


    ¡°Have you no shame liar bug?¡± Iliva squinted her eyes and asked. The liar bug was talking about reserving the thing he called a kiss to a loved one and now he was asking a kiss from Iliva after telling her that he wasn¡¯t sure if he loved her.


    ¡°Actually I did. However, I think when I met you for the first time, I might have lost it somewhere within the wood.¡±


    ¡°You are one shameless liar bug,¡±


    This was the usual bantering the liar bug exchanged with Iliva. He always made her mad in the end of their banter with his wicked tongue. She thought that she hated it, though it was much better than the silence treatment or the sad songs she was subjected to for the entire day.


    ¡°So, is it a yes or no?¡± the liar bug had a dastardly grin on his face when he asked Iliva that question.


    ¡°Suit yourself, liar bug,¡± once again, Iliva scoffed.


    ¡°Somehow I have expected that to be your answer. Can¡¯t you be more honest with yourself?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going back to the wood now,¡± Iliva said as she slowly turned.


    ¡°Allow me to withdraw the previous statement,¡± the liar bug raised his two hands as if he has surrendered. He grinned and approached Iliva.


    Iliva remembered how that hateful Arameer kissed the liar bug. Her moistened eyes, her quivered lips, her flushed face, that scene has seared right into Iliva¡¯s mind ever since like hot brand. She has hated that Arameer ever since she was young but this was the only time she felt thankful to that accursed girl, she at least knew how to act. Iliva bent her sharp and pointy spider legs to stand on her feet, standing at the same height as the liar bug.


    The grasses below felt cold to her elven feet, but Iliva did not mind that. She approached the liar bug, one step at a time, walking with her elven legs and arachnid legs as the same time until she can feel his heated breath on her face. The floral aroma of wolfear mixed with the odor of his sweat filled Iliva¡¯s nose, she inhaled deeply, wasn¡¯t sure if it was pleasant or not. It made Iliva felt dizzy, hot and bothered.


    The liar bug sucked on her full lips, teasing yet gentle and guiding, asking for entrance. Iliva gingerly parted her lips allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth. His tongue, it tasted like the mix of blood and tears, his blood, her tears, though, Iliva could not stop herself from sucking it, drowning within the sweetened aftertaste. Slowly, their tongue became entangled. His wet tongue caressed hers and coiled, nuzzling. Iliva responded in kind, entwining her tongue around his, wrestling for dominance like a pair of heated Menace constrictors mating with each other.


    A strange thought came into Iliva¡¯s head as his tongue started to whisk away her brain. She remembered the humiliation of her first and second defeat. She wanted revenge. She grabbed the liar bug by the back of his head by force and sucked the air out of his mouth, emulating the technique he used to crush her pride. She hungrily sucked on his lips, entwined her tongue around his, coiled, squeezed on it and crushed its weak attempt to retreat.


    She heard a subdued soft moan ringing within her whitening vision, sweet and husky, but it was not hers. That was enough for Iliva to reinvigorate, anchoring her reason to that soft moan against all odds. That soft moan became the sole reason of her entire existence. She hungrily pressed the attack, forgetting about the defense. The liar bug has finally caught on to what Iliva trying to do, too late. She allowed their tongues to separate, going astray for a moment while weakening the strength on her clutch. The liar bug gasped for air and Iliva immediately used this chance to suck away all the air in his lungs, scrapping away his brain with her coiling tongue.


    That wet sound was reverberated through her head, whitening her reasons each time it echoed. She heard the liar bug sultry moaning mixed with her own. She felt like her brain was being whisked away to the pleasure. However the liar bug must have it worse, Iliva knew it from her experience. This was his technique, she used it against him, letting him taste his own technique. The liar bug struggled, moaning Iliva¡¯s name into her mouth perhaps, he was under the illusion that he could come back at this point, that¡¯s cute, Iliva thought and went for the finish.


    The liar bug dropped to his knee and Iliva allowed him to fall just like that. She gasped for air, licking her lips, ¡°It¡¯s my win this time, liar bug,¡± she moaned into his ear. Her face flushed red, heated, she meant to whisper, not moaning like that. Her heart beat erratically. Her mind was somewhere between the white of unconsciousness and the sweet aftertaste of his tongue. And yet, she stood strong, pleasing to see the liar bug kneeling on the ground weakly like that.


    ¡°Yeah, you win,¡± the liar admitted as he gasped for air, his breathing rasped and his face was completely red.


    It was only this moment, Iliva could clench her fist, savoring her first victory ever against this wretched liar bug. It was satisfying and uplifting.


    She could not stop that giggle from spilling out of her lips nor could she end it. It went on, incessant, gut-wrenching and even infected the liar bug in the end. He joined Iliva with his own giggle, more of amusement than elation like Iliva, but she did not care. ¡°You have never laughed this much before,¡± he said, giggling.


    ¡°This is my first victory,¡± Iliva could only manage to respond that much, gasping for air as she kept on giggling.


    ¡°Had I know this, I would have allowed to you win more often,¡± the liar bug replied.


    Iliva immediately slapped him across his cheek, more playful than serious, still trying to catch her breath. She slumped to the grassy ground beneath her, lying next to the liar bug, ¡°And I would kill you for that,¡± she giggled and the liar bug mirrored her, neither of them could stop themselves for their own giggling monster.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Make sure you don¡¯t lose my pearl, otherwise I will tear you limb from limb.¡± Iliva said while putting more force on her intertwining fingers with those of the liar bug. She intended to make it more menacing but the smile on her lips refused to die down.


    ¡°I will protect it with my life,¡± he said with the usual toothy smile on his face.


    ¡°If you protect it with your life, who would return me my pearl?¡± Iliva used her free hand to pinch the liar bug¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡± The liar bug grinned widely, his eyes squinted as if he enjoyed that pinch, ¡°One more thing Iliva¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°My name is¡­¡±


    ¡°I remembered,¡± Iliva cut him, ¡°I did not miss it when you told me.¡±


    The liar bug widened his eyes in surprise, looking into Iliva¡¯s eyes. In the end his skewed lips curved, ¡°I¡¯ll be back. I don¡¯t know how long it would take but I will definitely see you again.¡±


    Iliva did not reply but she felt there was an invisible force pulling the tips of her lips upward. Then, Iliva wasn¡¯t sure when it started or who started it, Iliva herself or the liar bug. Iliva closed her eyes as if it was a natural thing. Their lips met again, slow and caressing as their erratic heart melted as one. It was biting and hot, snappy yet slow and drawn out. It was different from all the previous kisses Iliva shared with the liar bug. It was no contest because neither of them tried to wrestle for dominance and control. It was an accepting and bittersweet of a kiss, stemming out of the vague understanding that they will be parted from each other when this kiss end.


    Iliva felt the tingling pain within her chest yet it was not the same monster Iliva had thought that it was. It felt funny, hot and scalding like fire, yet fuzzy and comforting. I really am in love with this human, Iliva thought, wrapping her arms around the liar bug, pulling him closer to her chest. She can feel his heart beating just as erratic as her own through their contact. That¡¯s enough for her. It¡¯s the proof that the liar bug is hers for the moment, even if it¡¯s just this moment, he is hers and hers alone.

 Chapter 20: THE RAID

    Chapter 20: The raid


    Looking at the waned moons hanging on the sky, Narse tightly clutched the wooden idol of Wonten in his palms and silently offered his prayer to the faceless god, beseeching the faceless god to grant Narse, his older brother and his men the strength to accomplish their mission tonight.


    Normally, when people went to war or battle they offered their prayer to Sinintee for victory since Sinintee was the god of destruction and civilization and the mightiest among the four patron deities.


    Without Sinintee, men, dwarves, elves and most of the intelligent races on Escana that came after the titans would still remain savage beasts even today. He was the one who advocated against the dark god Naharis his father for allowing the titans to monopolize the flame of civilization to themselves. He was the one who shared the flame of civilization with all races, allowing whoever learned to master the flame to evolve to civilized beings that were more than just savage beasts. Sinintee was the one who taught the intelligent races to use the power of the winds to sail through rivers and oceans. Without Sinintee, the titans would still roam Escana as the undisputed master of this plane.


    Without Sinintee, there would be no man nor dwarf nor elf on Escana, only titans and high elves and beasts. It was told in the myths that Sinintee was a loving god who loved all races equally. He loved all races like his children and yet his love was almost twisted. He did not mind if his children would kill themselves, destroy themselves and extinguish themselves for their own gain.


    In fact, he encouraged them to do just that for the sake of advancing civilization. Sinintee¡¯s gospel that was passed down by the ancient priests and priestesses of the Great temple taught people that in order to win wars and conflicts, people must advance their civilization at a greater speed than their opponents. Those who fell behind would be defeated and be at the mercy of the winners. In order to win wars against their competitions, people must be more advanced than their competitions. In order to be more civilized, people must win against their competitions. Thus, civilization, wars and destruction went hand in hand in the eyes of Sinintee.


    Unlike his older brother Narik and many other people, the gospel of Sinintee has always been unsettling to Narse ever since he was but a boy. The world through the eyes of the worshippers of Sinintee was cold, merciless and almost cruel. Narse still had the same thought even now when he¡¯s already a man. He made a living with his sword and spear, guarding the wall of Madukat, and yet, he was never be at ease with Sinintee¡¯s teaching. Perhaps, that was why Narse always prayed to Wonten in the time of conflicts.


    There were people like Narse who would offer their prayer to the Wonten, Eogaill and Niwdar instead of Sinintee in the time of wars.


    Niwdar the nurturing goddess of nature despite her hatred for men would unconditionally grant salvation to both men and women. Eogaill the goddess of wisdom would lent her divine wisdom to people who sought her and Wonten- he who governed strength would bestow strength to people who he deemed worthy.


    The faceless god Wonten has always been the source of fascination to Narse since he first heard about him. He was everything Narse wished himself to be as a man. Just like Sinintee, Niwdar, and Eogaill, Wonten was born from the dark god Naharis when the dark god fell in to the despair of his loneliness.


    After watching over the titans for millenniums, Naharis realized that he was the only one of his kind. He was the god and the almighty father of all races, and yet he was all alone. He was the only god. Thus, Naharis cut his own flesh to create his children to share his godhood.


    Eogaill was the first born of Naharis. She inherited his wisdom and his insatiate drive toward truth and knowledge. Sinintee was born from Naharis¡¯ burning desire of self-improvement. Wonten was created to share the aspect of strength from Naharis as well as his own sense of justness. Niwdar was the youngest child of Naharis, born from his appreciation of beauty and boundless kindness.


    However, the dark god Naharis did not become happier after creating his children. Sinintee went against his will and secretly gave the flame of civilization to all races on Escana. Eogaill shut herself inside the Library of All Knowledge to pursuit truth and wisdom, rarely showed her faces. Wonten devoted himself to protect Escana from the foreign forces and lent his strength to all beings he deemed just and worthy. Niwdar spent more time in the mortal realm Escana than Coeles the Celestial plane of god, unconditionally granting her miracles to all races and sexes, Naharis has almost never seen her at home.


    The despair inside Naharis grew wider after each millennium passed by. Eogaill became wiser and smarter than he ever was. Sinintee¡¯s ability for self-improvement was better than Naharis. Wonten was stronger and Niwdar was more beautiful and perfect than himself. Naharis went mad from the despair.


    In his growing madness, Naharis raped his youngest daughter born of his own flesh when she has finally returned home. When Wonten returned home and witnessed the unspeakable folly of his father, he fought against him to defend his sister, thus triggering the Kriarieg the War of All Wars.


    Wonten was stronger than Naharis in term of physical strength, but never as cunning or as polished or as crafty with magic as Naharis. He was beaten thoroughly by his father but he refused to back down. The flame created by Naharis burned Wonten¡¯s flesh and his hair, melting and fusing his skin with his flesh and bones. His face became disfigured, a giant blank canvas of pink scar without any feature. There was no eye nor eye socket nor nose nor mouth on his face. Even so, Wonten stood, braving on the magic onslaught from his own father as his flesh burned. In the end, Niwdar managed to call Sinintee and Eogaill to the defense of Wonten and together the four deities defeated the dark god with their power, tearing him into fifty two pieces.


    Wonten¡¯s injury was never healed even when treated with the divine magic of Niwdar and the knowledge of Eogaill, became faceless as the result, a horrific fate for a just god. Nevertheless, Wonten did not regret of his decision nor he blamed Niwdar. He advocated his worshippers to enshrine bravery and justice as virtues.


    ¡°Narse, are you done praying?¡±


    Narse turned at the source of the voice, it was his older brother Narik. His flamboyant short hazel hair which he inherited from their mother was hidden by a white helmet, so did his big ears that were pierced by a dozen of silver earrings.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m done,¡± Narse replied, quickly putting the wooden idol into his padded armor.


    ¡°Nervous?¡± Narik asked, a mocking grin floated on his face.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Narse honestly replied and removed the leather glove on his right hand, showing his brother his sweaty palm and whitened fingers, ¡°I would be a fool if I¡¯m not nervous.¡±


    ¡°You should chuck a jar of fire wine down your throat. That should rid you of that nervousness,¡± Narik laughed and lightly punched Narse¡¯s chest.


    ¡°And who will kill Bloodbeard for you? I would be too drunk to even swing my sword,¡± Narse wryly chuckled.


    ¡°Even when you are dead drunk, ten Bloodbeard would not be a match for your sword, let alone a single Bloodbeard.¡±


    ¡°You underestimate him. They said he killed a bear with bare hand.¡±


    ¡°I would love to see how he will fight you with his bare hand and win.¡± Narik smirked, his shoulders quivered in amusement and his ear rings chinked against each other. He then grabbed Narse¡¯s head, pressing their forehead together, quietly whispered, ¡°Brother, it¡¯s fine when you are with me but you should not show your nervousness to your men. You are our best swordsman. It¡¯s bad for the morale.¡±


    ¡°Unlike you, I cannot act,¡± Narse wryly smiled, did not deny his brother¡¯s praise to him as the best swordsman of Madukat.


    ¡°It¡¯s not acting, brother. It¡¯s believing. You should be more confident in yourself and your ability as a leader.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t win a fight just because I believe in myself.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s where you are wrong, Narse. How can you win a fight without believing that you can win it first? This is why someone with so much talent as you remain a vice captain for years. It should be you who become the guard captain of the Inner wall, not me.¡±


    ¡°You are a much better leader than I am. This thing is the only thing that I am good at,¡± Narse tapped his sheathed long sword hanging at his waist. Narik inherited the bravado and the confidence of a leader from their father who was also a guard captain protecting the wall of Madukat. His bluish eyes and high cheekbones were also inherited from their father. Narse, he only inherited his father¡¯s skill with the sword, and his greenish eyes. He resembled their mother more than he did their father.


    ¡°You are still as pessimistic as ever, brother¡± Narik chuckled, released Narse¡¯s head and turned, ¡°It¡¯s time. Let¡¯s hunt.¡±


    Narse put his hand on his chest where the idol of Wonten was kept, feeling it. ¡°Let¡¯s rid this city of the plague of Bloodbeard,¡± he prayed to the faceless god again as he followed his brother while putting a dark cloak over his body to hide his contrasting white padded armor.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Narse flinched and twisted his face the moment his iron sole boots stepped on a stone, making a sharp chinking sound. He halted, unconsciously gripped on the handle of his sword and held his breath. He cursed himself for not using a pair of leather boots instead.


    Good, the bandits did not hear it, their camp showed no movement. Narse continued to move forward, crouched and tried to make as little noise as he could. He has never realized that his own footsteps could be so noisy, the same could be said for the men around him. They sounded like a marching army the way they moved. Had it not for howling strong winds that wailed like the cries of a thousand angry banshees, drowning out the sound of their footsteps, the bandits would have noticed their presence long ago.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Narse felt his palms drenched in sweat inside his gloves. It¡¯s so damn bloody dark here, Narse and his men had no torches with them. The white background on their padded armor they wore was only thing for Narse and the men to recognize one of their own in this darkness. It¡¯s hard to walk without stepping on cracking driftwoods or chinking stones or bumping into scattered items lying on the grounds. The waning three moons of autumn gave Narse just enough light to see the path lead to Bloodbeard¡¯s camp up above the hill, that was his target, his only target. Narse still could see the flame from the bandit lord¡¯s camp on the first hill, small as ember. That¡¯s where Bloodbeard and his personal guards stayed.


    A guard of the outermost wall reported that he saw Bloodbeard¡¯s figure among the group of bandits protected the siege engine. If that was true, this was a golden chance for Narse to rid this world of a terrible bandit lord. Bloodbeard would never see this attack coming. He was probably expecting the entire city of Madukat shivering under the sheer number of his army and the destructiveness of his siege engine.


    Narse and his team of hundred men went around the group of bandits that formed a blockage to the southern gate of Madukat without alerting them. The bandits used the village and farm houses as their main camp. Their number was around four thousands, including the four thousands at the North gate, that was around eight thousands in total.


    Narse failed to comprehend how Bloodbeard could feed such a large amount of troops and kept them under his control nonetheless. Borig, the oldest guard captain of Madukat who was responsible for the Great Wall shared Narse¡¯s view on this matter. The devil must have committed large scale banditry throughout the Golden Triangle region and even the border region of Silver Snow and White Winter to support such an army. Yet, Narse had never hear such report.


    However, today, it would be the end of Bloodbeard and his army.


    Narse stopped a distance away from the broken wooden fence surrounded the village where the bandits made their camp. He silently waved his hands, signaling his brother Narik and his men that this was where they would part. Narik and his 1900 men will attack this camp the very moment Narse and his team started raiding Bloodbeard¡¯s camp. The signal would be a fireball shot to the sky by an inquisitor of White Winter kingdom from Narse¡¯s group. Narik wordlessly nodded his head, his right hand made a fist at his left chest, knocking.


    Take care brother.


    Narse showed the same gesture and started moving again. Slowly, the flickering orange glow on top the first hill leading into the sea of hills became bigger. It was initially at the size of a withering ember at first, now it grew to the size of his palm. Narse thanked the loud noises emitted from those flapping sails Bloodbeard erected in the morning, they would completely mask the sound of footsteps of Narse and his men. The drifting dark cloud which hid the three moons above also helped Narse greatly. Bloodbeard and his men would never see the shadow of Narse and his team. It¡¯s like his prayer to Wonten was answered. The god wanted this ambush to succeed. Narse secretly thanked Wonten, slowly creeping toward the camp.


    Narse saw a great camp fire and two beardy naked men restrained an unclothed woman on a froggy position. One man gripped the woman¡¯s bare butts, humping like dog in heat while the other grabbed the woman disheveled hair and violently shoved his cock into her mouth as she gargled. Narse saw nobody else, just large tents pitched around the fire camp.


    Narse gritted his teeth and made hand signal for his men to stop where they were. He freed his long sword and silently crept toward the unsuspecting savages. Never in his life has Narse gripped his sword this tight. His father taught him to always keep a firm grip on his sword but not squeezing on it like he meant to squeeze the life out of it. Yet, in this moment, Narse felt like he was choking his trusted sword to dead.


    When Narse was six steps away from the overlapping figures of those savages and the woman. The beardy bandit who was grabbing the woman¡¯s hair as if he was trying to tear it saw Narse. His eyes enlarged with surprise, his mouth agape. He was trying to warn the other bandit, too late.


    Narse lunged himself toward the back of the unsuspecting bandit like a loose arrow, two large strides, his long sword sweeping, tearing through the greasy nape of the unaware savage with a single cut. The head of the bandit flew straight into the cracking orange flame of the camp fire and red embers flew up. The other bandit opened his mouth and gathered air, trying to scream but the point of Narse¡¯s sword was already inside his mouth.


    ¡°Shout and I will lop your head off just like I did to this fellow,¡± Narse quietly told the bandit and the savage raised his arms to the air in surrender. Narse¡¯s voice was almost drown within the flapping noises of the large sails erected nearby the camp.


    However, the bandit understood it. His face pale white, his mouth gaping, his jaws chattering against the flat of Narse¡¯s sword.


    Narse kicked the headless body of the bandit he killed to the ground when he saw the woman¡¯s naked body was showered in the bandit¡¯s blood. He was afraid that the woman would scream and threw his plan into the fire. However, she was already unconscious, limping lifelessly on the ground. Narse rolled her over with one hand while keeping the petrified bandit at bay with the point of his sword.


    Looking at the crooked face of the bandit made Narse felt his blood boiling. He pressed the point of his sword into the inner of the bandit¡¯s mouth. The bandit gargled sharply and froze on the spot, his eyes watering, his erected cock pissing a puddle and his greasy hairy body shook like a leaf.


    ¡°Where is Bloodbeard?¡± Narse moved closer to the bandit, quietly hissed in a low threatening tone.


    The bandit pointed his shaking finger at a large tent.


    ¡°Sleeping?¡±


    The bandit tried to nod but the sword inside his mouth prevented him to do so. He blinked his eyes many times, trying to convey his answer to Narse, his tears drenched his stubble beard.


    Narse raised his free hand, waving for his men to come over. This was a great opportunity. There would be no fight nor casualty on his team tonight. This would be a quick and dirty job. Their enemies were completely unprepared for this raid.


    Narse saw the cloaked figures of his men emerged from the shadow and withdrew his blade from the bandit¡¯s mouth.


    The teary bandit sharply exhaled and looked at Narse, ¡°Tha¡­¡± He was trying to thank Narse for sparing him but the iron pommel of Narse¡¯s sword violently connected with his sweaty temple and knocked him out cold with a small thud. Narse then tossed his cloak on the body of the naked woman and turned at his second in command.


    ¡°Jack, tell the magic caster to prepare his spell,¡± Narse quietly whispered to his second in command while hand-signaling his men to split those tents among themselves. The men silently drew their swords, splitting themselves into small groups, their blades glaring orange by the red glow of the camp fire.


    The burned smell of hair filled Narse¡¯s nose, he should not cut that bandit¡¯s head so violently like that. The severed head caught fire within the cracking flame and emitted a gross smell, making Narse wanted to throw up.


    Narse took a deep breath, forcefully got himself used to the disgusting smell and started walking toward the large tent where Bloodbeard slept. Suddenly, his ears picked up a strange noise within the loud flapping sound of those giant sails. He signaled his men to stop moving, they did. Narse trained his ears to listen. The loud flapping noises of those sails and the cracking flame were almost distracting, suddenly, he caught those strange sounds again.


    It came from the direction of Madukat. Narse tiptoed to the edge of the hill, trained his eyes on the large bandit camp that his older brother Narik was in charge of raiding. It lit up like a starry night sky except those stars burned in an angry orange glow. Narse gasped sharply, some of his men were watching the same scene as him.


    Narse tightened the grip on his sword. He feared for his brother. His troops must have been discovered by the bandits. He wanted to rush back to that camp quickly to give his brother aid. However, Bloodbeard came first. They created this opportunity for Narse, he could not waste it. Narse quickly signaled his men to continue with the job, giving them his most stony look. They nodded and quietly slipped into the tents.


    Narse took a deep breath again, trying to regain his calmness. He walked toward Bloodbeard¡¯s tent with quiet footsteps. Narse slowly raised the hem of tent¡¯s door, slipping himself into it and all of a sudden, a loud voice boomed throughout the camp.


    ¡°We have been tricked,¡± a man under Narse¡¯s commanded rushed out of the tent he just entered, shouting. ¡°There is nobody inside these tents,¡± he shouted.


    Narse reflexively lifted the moldy door of the great tent up high, allowing the orange glow of the camp fire to bright up the inside. There was nobody there.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Narse cursed. The rest of his men rushed out of the tents they entered, showing bewildered look on their faces. All empty. How did Bloodbeard predict this raid?


    Narse immediately pointed his sword at the large bandit camp, ¡°Guards, we will join our brothers to fight these accursed bandits.¡±


    The men raised their swords and followed Narse, rushing down the hill. Narse saw the fifteen magic casters assigned to his team had their fireballs ready, they were not aware of that they have been tricked and still waiting to give Narik and his team signal via their fireballs.


    ¡°We are tricked. Let¡¯s return to Madukat and help our men,¡± Narse ran to them as he shouted and all of a sudden, the world turned on Narse. He stumbled on something large. Something whizzed by his head the moment he fell, sizzling. Screams filled Narse¡¯s sharp ears, he turned around, and his men were on fire. They screamed, tried to rid themselves of the flame by striking the hands against their body or rolled on the ground, but that did not help much. The horrific flame stuck to their body like burning glue, setting ground where they rubbed their body against on fire as well. Then Narse¡¯s eyes fell on the large object he just stumbled on, it was Jack, he was staring at Narse with widened eyes of disbelief.


    ¡°Jack,¡± Narse called, grabbing his second in command by his shoulder. His body was surprisingly light.


    Narse heard the magic casters casted their spell again, ¡°What are you people doing? Open your fucking eyes. We are your ally.¡± He screamed at the magic casters but they did not stop chanting.


    Fireball formed at the tip of their magic staffs, fifteen in total, set loose in a single instant toward Narse and his men. Narse rolled to evade, dragging Jack¡¯s body with him. He felt something wet splattered on his face, cold. Narse had no time to wipe his face, he looked at the ground where he laid a moment ago.


    The ground where Narse was a moment ago exploded into a giant puddle of flame. Those fireballs, they were like sticky water, sticky water that burned.


    ¡°What the fuck are you people doing?¡± Narse screamed, picking up his sword and pointing it at the fifteen magic casters. ¡°Jack stand up, cover me. Men, spread out. Don¡¯t cluster up¡± Narse shouted his order.


    Amidst the screaming of the men behind Narse, he did not hear Jack¡¯s reply. ¡°Stand up Jack, what are you waiting,¡± and he turned. The dark cloud on the sky has drifted away probably for some time, revealed the waned red moon casting its reddened light on Jack¡¯s body. Jack was a corpse, the disbelief in his eyes remained, his torso has been cut clean through his padded armor and his entrails scattered on the ground.


    ¡°Treacherous dogs, you were with Bloodbeard all along.¡± Narse hissed, grating his teeth ¡°That¡¯s how the old man Borig¡¯s plan was leaked.¡± That¡¯s why this raid failed. This is why their plan kept failing.


    A hysteric booming laughter echoed the plain, drowning the loud flapping noises of those giant sails. The magic casters stopped chanting their spells. Narse turned his head toward the direction where that laughter came from, darkness, a drifting cloud hid the moons again, not for long. As the drifting dark cloud slowly drifted away, revealing the three moons of autumn, figures emerged from the darkness.


    Narse saw a gray beardy giant walking among a bunch of savage looking men. That giant¡¯s vile face was twisted with scars, a long claw marks disfigured his nose and lips. A large pole axe rested in each of his thick arm.


    ¡°Bloodbeard,¡± Narse grated his teeth and glared at the bandit lord.


    ¡°It is I. Guard, how does it feel to be outsmarted by a lowly bandit not once but twice?¡± The bandit lord showed his yellow teeth, grinning from ear to ear.

 Chapter 21: THE RAID (2)

    Chapter 21: The raid (2)


    The ruddy flame hungrily devoured Narse¡¯s men like a pack of uncaged beasts, sparing them no dignity nor grace. His men howled like wounded beasts, their voices raw and haunting. The wicked flame framed the white armors of the men within the dimmed crimson light of the red moon, stubbornly refusing to let go. Rolling on the ground did little to protect them from the wicked flame, neither calling for help until a guard under Narse¡¯s command somehow managed to douse the fire on his friend¡¯s body with his own cloak, wrapping it on the man¡¯s body. The rest of Narse¡¯s men tried to do the same with unfortunate victim of the fire.


    Narse was on guard all this time. He tried to compose himself by slowing down his breath, keeping a firm but relax hold on his sword. Narse could not understand why Bloodbeard and his gangs just stood still, laughing, jeering and surrounded them while all of that happened. He had the absolute advantage in number as well as the support of those treacherous magic casters. There would be no way for Narse to win had Bloodbeard and his gang used this chaos to attack them. Bloodbeard could have wiped Narse and his men off if he chose to attack. Why didn¡¯t he? Narse could not understand.


    What can he do to get out of this situation? Narse asked himself repeatedly. He glared at Bloodbeard, wondering if he could take the bandit lord hostage and made these bandits to open up. The devil still had that condescending smirk on his face, he must absolutely believe in his victory.


    Is that even possible to win against this devil? Or maybe, they can focus their attack at one point of this encirclement and hope that they can open a blood path. Then, what¡¯s next? Rush back to Madukat and inform everybody of the treachery of White Winter kingdom, that must be done, that must be the priority.


    Narse tried to consider all the possibility then he glanced at the magic casters, it¡¯s impossible for his plan to work unless he dealt with these treacherous mongrels first.


    ¡°Guard, how about this, if you surrender, I will let you live.¡± Bloodbeard hit the butt of his pole axes against the ground while asking Narse.


    ¡°Screw you, we would rather dead than surrender to you,¡± the men under Narse¡¯s commanded cursed, pointing the blades at the bandit lord.


    Narse waved his arms, shushing them while trying to buy more time, ¡°Really, how can I trust your word?¡±


    ¡°You just have to believe it.¡± Bloodbeard laughed, ¡°You look like a smart person. I really like your idea of attacking me and my boys here in the night. It¡¯s crazy and I like it. Not many people could come up with a plan like that.¡±


    ¡°Then, you have to look for Narik. This is his idea. He¡¯s raiding your main camp at the South gate at the moment.¡± Narse still stole a quick glance around while considering all of his options. He could not understand why Bloodbeard wanted him and his men to surrender nor how would that benefit him. He felt his head was spinning like a top.


    ¡°Then he is already dead. It is not my fate to meet him. How unfortunate,¡± the giant sighed.


    The word ¡°fate¡± rolled off the bandit lord¡¯s tongue made a strange echo with Narse¡¯s ears. The word ¡°dead¡± made his gut wrenched. His thought was on Narik. The sound of clashing steels from afar reached his sharp ears and he could do nothing to help his brother. How useless he was.


    ¡°You want us to surrender?¡± Narse asked. He wished he was Narik at the moment for he was not confident in his acting skill. He wanted to convince Bloodbeard that he was about to surrender.


    ¡°That¡¯s my intention all along,¡± replied Bloodbeard.


    ¡°Screw you, don¡¯t even think we would fall for that,¡± Narse¡¯s men swung their swords and cursed.


    ¡°You heard it. That¡¯s my men reply.¡± Narse pointed his thumb at his men, ¡°You must give me some time to convince them to change their mind.¡±


    ¡°Very well¡±


    ¡°And swear to the gods that you would spare them¡±


    ¡°Only if they surrender to me peacefully,¡± Bloodbeard cackled.


    Narse sheathed his long sword and joined the rank with his men. This sword was dwarven-made, extremely well balanced and sharp, it could cut through bone easily like firewood if the user knew how to do it properly. Narik swindled a traveling merchant to sell him this blade for five jars of fire wine and then gifted it to Narse on his seventeen birthday. It has been on Narse¡¯s waist ever since.


    ¡°You cannot possibly tell us to surrender to these bandits,¡± Whisker and the men told Narse, their face scowling.


    ¡°I¡¯m buying us time,¡± Narse quietly replied, scanning the casualty on his side. Those accursed fireballs took out twenty five men. These guys required healers to heal them, otherwise, they would meet their maker soon. ¡°Come over here and pretend to act like you are disagree with my attempt to make you surrender to that devil,¡± Narse signaled the rest of his men to form a circle around him. Some of the men cursed him and Bloodbeard, some hitting the ground with their shield and sword.


    Narse grabbed Whisker¡¯s shoulder, ¡°We must open a blood path. One of us must make it back to the wall to inform the men of this betrayal. Otherwise, we can never win against this devil.¡°Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°What¡¯s about these brothers? They can¡¯t even walk¡±


    ¡°Leave them,¡± Narse told the men and Whisker stared at him in disbelief. ¡°I will try to defeat Bloodbeard and hold him hostage, hopefully that will keep them alive for as long as I could. If that doesn¡¯t work, I can only apologize to them with my death after taking Bloodbeard with me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid.¡± Whisker grimly replied, ¡°We will stay and fight with you.¡±


    ¡°No, listen to me Whisker. Jack is already dead. I need you to lead our brothers out of this encirclement. Get at least one of our brother back to the wall. That¡¯s the priority.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°No, but here. Madukat is my home, your home and our home. We can¡¯t let these savages destroy it. My sister in law is pregnant for eight months now. Even if I die here with Narik, old man Borig will take care of her but that would not happen if these savages won. These devils must not win. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Whisper replied grimly, putting a hand on Narse¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I need five men to stay back and cover my back. I must take out these magic casters first or we could never break out of this encirclement. Just trying to understand that, anyone who stay back with me would die.¡±


    ¡°Are you done?¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s booming voice reverberated, interrupting, ¡°Or must I help you with a demonstration? I¡¯m very good at demonstration,¡±


    ¡°Break up, those who is with me. You will charge at Bloodbeard¡¯s and his goon¡¯s direction when I give you my signal. Whisker get your men to sheath their swords for the moment. Run straight at those bandits on our right when I give you the signal.¡± Narse gave his order as he broke away from the rank of his own men. He unstrapped his sword belt and held the scabbard of his trusted sword loosely.


    ¡°If we surrender, will you spare my men, all of them?¡± Narse asked.


    ¡°Certainly,¡± the devil cackled, stroking his gray beard, ¡°A smart man like you is especially welcome under my rank. If you join me, I promise you a worthy share of wealth and woman when I sack that city.¡±


    Narse did not make an immediate reply. He walked toward Jack¡¯s corpse, bent his knee to close his friend¡¯s widened eyes. He spoke a silent farewell to Jack and removed Jack¡¯s blood-soaked cloak from his corpse.


    ¡°You sound nothing like the rumor. I have expected a devil who know nothing but wanton destruction.¡± Narse turned to look at Bloodbeard eye to eye, making the most subtle of wink to Whisker as he turned.


    Bloodbeard laughed, ¡°Certainly, I am nothing like¡­¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± Narse shouted, freed his long sword and charged toward the unsuspecting magic casters. He heard Whisker¡¯s and the men¡¯s war cries rang from his back. He pumped strength into his legs and plunged straight at those treacherous magic casters. Eleven steps, just eleven steps, Narse told himself as he shrunk the distance between them.


    ¡°O mighty Sinintee, you son is asking for your blazing tongue¡±


    ¡°Sinintee, O mighty father, please heed the call of your son, what I seek is the eye of civilization.¡±


    The magic casters adeptly reacted to Narse¡¯s attack and managed to cast their spells when Narse was five step away from their rank. Fiery fire tongues swept across the plain and fireballs launched, eagerly to drown Narse¡¯s body within their unforgiving heat. However, Jack¡¯s rotating blood-soaked cloak was a small hurricane on Narse¡¯ left hand protected him from the flame. He cut through the torrents of fire like a small boat sailing upstream.


    Before those treacherous mongrels realized it, Narse was upon them. The men called him the ¡°round ears elf¡± for his explosive agility and lightning footsteps. His sword tore through the throat of a magic casters and the aflame cloak in his left hand flew straight over the head of two more magic casters, letting them have a taste of their own flame.


    Narse did not wait for these treacherous magic caster to react, he pirouetted low, claiming the ankles of two men with his sweeping blade.


    Narse stuck near the figure of the stumping men, doubled his sword on their exposed necks before made the length of his sword almost disappeared inside the groin of another magic casters within his reach. He made it impossible for these magic casters to use their spells on him unless they prepared to take out one of their own along with him.


    Narse decked the groaning magic caster who clutching his bleeding groin with his left fist, knocking him out cold. A magic cane swung down Narse¡¯s head, he rolled over to evade in the nick of time then plunged right back at his attacker.


    The bastard managed to block Narse twice with his magic cane while telling his fellows to spread out. He spun his cane to strike Narse¡¯s head, clank, uselessly got stuck within Narse¡¯s left palm. Narse pulled the man to his sword range and placed his blade on the shocked man¡¯s unguarded neck, drawing a streaming red arc in the air.


    Narse ignored the red hot geyser hitting his face. He pirouetted low again, cutting the thigh of yet another magic caster then sent his head flying and his body crumbled with a violent back swing.


    A pair of magic canes forced Narse to retreat. The pair chased after Narse, eagerly to put an end to his trail of death.


    ¡°Reaping scythe,¡± one of the man screamed at Narse as he thrust his cane toward Narse¡¯s torso. Narse did not understand what¡¯s that even meant, he blocked the thrust then deflected another strike. Then, the answer came naturally to him.


    ¡°O mighty Sinintee, assist your hapless son with your mighty reaping scythe,¡± a magic caster chanted a spell, Narse managed to see a simmering long crescent shape blade appeared at the tip of that magic caster¡¯s cane before it turned invisible. ¡°Down,¡± the man shouted and the two people who kept Narse at bay with their magic cane crouched. The man swung his magic cane.


    Narse had no time to think, he dropped flatly on his back as the air above him was ripped apart, wailing like a widow whose husband just died in front of her eyes. It was like a sharpened blade, reminding Narse of the state of Jack¡¯s corpse. A fury ate away his heart. Narse bounced right back on his feet, cutting a man down with his sword before he could even react. The other twisted his magic cane, retreating with hasty footsteps to keep his distance with Narse. However, Narse¡¯s legs were lightning, he reached the poor bastard in no time, parrying the cane thrice before chopping off the man¡¯s arms.


    Narse turned his sight at the magic caster who conjured that invisible blade, gripping his sword tight. He lunged at him, his sword broke through the man¡¯s feeble defense and dug through his chest. Narse withdrew his blade and the man doubled on the ground with a thud. Narse then quickly scanned the rest of the treacherous dogs who deceived his people, some were crawling on the ground while other running away in with a tail between their legs.


    Narse turned his sight at Whisker, he managed to breach the encirclement, great, and these bandits were not equipped to fight them in the first place, neither with their equipment nor skill.


    ¡°Now you have done it,¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s greasy voice echoed and Narse turned at the bandit lords. the men who covered his back was down to the last man, Garet who was strangled by the oaken arms of Bloodbeard himself. Garet struggled, prying at the iron lock on his neck but that did nothing. He looked at Narse in the eyes as if begging.


    ¡°Too bad, I gave you the chance,¡± Bloodbeard sighed and snapped Garet¡¯s neck as Narse was watching.


    ¡°I will kill you,¡± Narse cursed and sprinted toward the devil himself with his gleaming sword.

 Chapter 22: PRINCE, DEATH AND WINE

    Chapter 22: Prince, death, and wine


    Fearless woke up and he immediately couldn¡¯t help but to question the choice he made in life. Why the fuck must he journey to Madukat again? It has been weeks since he said goodbye to the beautiful Arachne Iliva and life has been a constant waking nightmare for him.


    Speaking of Iliva and himself, his personal bio on the first page has been updated and Fearless was considered being marriage for some reason. He thought what he did with Iliva was only at the level of being engaged to one another, not marriage, and yet, the bio page stated otherwise. Another thing, he gained another level from that marriage. It seemed that the game recognized that he has succeeded in forming a political marriage with another warlord and thus rewarding him the experience for that success. It''s really strange.


    However, if he was talking about strange thing, he must mention the warm snow he encountered while walking through the Bison Prairie.


    The weather of the Zard kingdom was a constant topic of discussion among ROC¡¯s most zealous fans. Zard had one of the most bizarre weather in the world of ROC. It was significantly warmer compare to White Winter and Silver Snow despite being on the same latitude. However, it was the warm snow of autumn of Zard that made fans could not help but wonder what sort of weeds the developers of ROC were smoking when they designed this country.


    If Fearless remembered correctly, Misery had an episode on his stream to explore the weather on the three main continents of Escana and Zard was listed as one of the regions having the most bizarre weather.


    Fearless had never really question about the warm snow despite finding it incredibly wacky. In the game, the warm snow slowed the marching speed of the army and hampered the visibility, while the normal snow brought about all of that disadvantages as well as the double consumption rate of supply of the army. ROC taught its player that it was foolish to wage war during winter and snow through that mechanic.


    The warm snow was just a geography distinction the game developers of ROC gave to Zard. They probably did not think much about how strange it was, even the BETA testers did not find it strange until later on when those gamers who obviously cared more about the lore of the game than the game itself made the warm snow to be a problem to tackle.


    However, Fearless had to agree that this snow was wacky and completely out of place in this world now that he was a part of it. It felt warm in his hand and dry. When it melt inside his palm, there was no trace of water. The warm snow vaporized like dry ice. If Fearless¡¯ memory was correct, the developers explained that the reason for this warm snow in Zard was due to the tomb of the dark god resided within its border, so basically, magic was their explanation to this bizarre phenomenon, talking about lazy writing...


    Fearless was somewhat thankful that it has only snowed lightly on his trip and not as heavy as the snow he encountered in Canada when he visited Fantasy¡¯s home during Christmas. It was a real culture shock for him back then.


    Fearless sighed. He could not wash himself for an entire week since there was no large water source could be found on the trip. He smelled like fermented cheese underneath his robe and this made Fearless cringed at the thought of how people would pinch their nose when they¡¯re around him. And his feet, no matter how much he tried to clean them, scrubbing off the dead skin on the grass and stuffs, they still smelled worse than fermented molten cheese, until this moment, he honestly did not know that human feet could smell so bad. Ah, he wanted to take a bath so bad. Never before he was so disgusted at his own body.


    Fearless also developed a wild stubble and he had no way to shave it without a shaver, Enferm¨¦ came to his mind once but it was too sharp. He felt like it would shave away his chin if he made a tiny mistake. Using Enferm¨¦ as a shaver is definitely a recipe for disaster, besides, Naharis must roll beyond his grave if he knew Fearles used Enferm¨¦ such purpose.


    Fearless'' legs were always sore, being at the mercy of the constant muscle sore that never really go away. He has walked so much in the last seven days that he has already stopped wishing that he had his car or motorbike with him. That kind of wishful thinking did not help one bit, it only made him cranky and depressed.


    "Get it done," Once in a while, Fearless heard that familiar whisper in the brewing winds. Hejust kept on going.


    Fearless¡¯ water supply ran dangerously low at times and the only method to refill it was to manually collect morning dews on by soaking up a piece of fabric on the wet grasses then squeezed out the morning dews. The average amount of water Fearless could collect in a day was around three full gulps, no more. Fearless was very thankful for that incident where he was left behind on that unknown island, the experience changed his world view and made him somewhat resourceful when it came down to survival in the wild.


    Being alone was also a problem, Fearless had never been so lonely for so long before. He started to monologue, talknig to himself, poking fun at himself and acting like a crazy man throughout the journey. Once every now and then, he wished that Iliva did not crack his phone.


    However, those were the least of the problematic matter on Fearless¡¯ mind. The sack of wine remained in his back pack proved quite a problem to Fearless. There was only one correct solution to deal with it, tossing it away. Knowing that, Fearless wondered why it was so hard for him to throw the damn thing away.


    Perhaps, it was a curse object


    In all honesty, Fearlesswanted to drink it, just a small sip. However, he knew that once he took that small sip, there was nothing that could stop him from emptying it. The problem wasn¡¯t that he could not empty the wine sack, it was the consequence of emptying that wine sack. Fearless had the basic survival knowledge within himself to understand that he would die if he did that. He was alone now, without Iliva to watch his back.


    The Bison Prairie named after the four horns bison that roamed this prairie, however there was also the snow wolves and mountain eagles resided in this plain. They preyed on hares, snow foxes and sometimes even attempted to hunt the bison.


    During the trip, Fearless was attacked twice by the wolves. The first time, he was so scared that he used ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± to transform himself into a wolf to run away while dragging his luggage with him in the most ridiculous fashion. That pack of white wolves was so confused by that, they stopped chasing him and just stood and watched with round widened eyes, probably wondering what the fuck just happened, and did not know what to do.


    Fearless lost his South pointing compass during that attack and his trip has become a giant mess. He constantly had to rely on the direction of the sun, the Spine mountain range and his Rolex watch to determine South. But he wasn¡¯t very sure with this method. Heknew the theory but he has never tested o practiced it before.


    The second time he was attack was by the wolves around the dusk of the fifth day, it was probably a different pack but it¡¯s not like Fearless could tell. Thankfully, he was more prepare this time.


    The skill ¡°The Magician¡± came out extremely handy for him. Aside from being an extremely mana friendly skill, it allowed him to teleport in any direction he wanted or swap position with a target. According to the skill¡¯s description, this was an escape skill. There was a ten second cool down in between the uses, however, Fearless experienced no such thing. There was no cool down timer in the between of each attempt. He can keep spamming it as many time as he wanted and as long as his mana pool allowed him.


    Fearless made it raining wolves with ¡°The magician,¡± teleported himself thirty meters to the sky then swapped position with a wolf on the ground and repeated until the entire pack of snow wolf ran away from him. There were over a dozen of snow wolves lying around him once he was done with them, dying and groaning, painfully suffering. Watching the aftermath Fearless could only hope that he won''t get sue by some animal protection organization after this, it was legitimate self defense.


    Fearless laughed seeing the wolves ran away with tail tucked in between their legs. That was the first time he laughed after separating from Iliva. It was a good laugh. He wasn¡¯t powerless in this world after all.


    After that, Fearless tried to explore this skill. ¡°The magician¡± could be silently casted unlike ¡°What you can do, I can do better.¡± He did not have to chant the word ¡°The magician¡± aloud every time he used it. Also, he can cast ¡°The magician¡± while casting ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± at the same time. He tried to do it once, teleporting himself into a herd of bison whilst transforming himself into a bison. He succeeded it, the entire herd did not even realize that they had an imposter in their midst.


    The longest distance ¡°The magician¡± could transport Fearless away from his original position was around thirty meters and it must not be obstructed by anything. Also, Fearless must be able to see that position first before he could teleport to that position. After determined that bit of information, a spark went off inside Fearless¡¯ head and he decided to play a prank on those bison.


    He screamed, shouted and made noises while running toward their direction. Of course, they ran, the entire herd. Fearless waited and swapped his position with the slowest bison among the herd and kept repeating the process over and over again, until he felt that he was hitting the bottom of his mana pool. The bison helped him covered a great distance without having to walk. Well, he could just teleport but where was the fun in all of that. And that was where he made a great mistake.


    On thetwentiethday roaming on the Bison Prairie, Fearless could feel karma hitting him full force for bullying the bison. He has veered off the path greatly and headed North West instead of staying North. He cursed himself for being asshole to the bison and then cursed the bison for running North West instead of North. However, what¡¯s done was done, Fearless sat down to calm himself and chewed on the remained drumstick of the mountain eagle, which he hunted the day before for breakfast. After that, he had no choice but to navigate to Madukat without his compass again.


    Around noon, Fearless encountered a caravan and his heart was filled with joy. It has been an entire week since he last talked to a person and ran toward that caravan.


    However, what Fearless discovered brought him only confusion and gut-wrenching feeling. There was no survivor among the caravan. They were all dead. A flock of crowds were picking on their corpses. The stench of rotten flesh reeked and filled Fearless''s nose. He pinched his nose as he threw up. These people were attacked by something. At first Fearless thought the perpetrators of this disgusting carnage was the snow wolves. However, the scene of an old man wrapping his withered arm around a young boy around seven or six years old, both being impaled by a spear, that scene brought tears to Fearless.


    Worms


    Fearless went around the caravan, searching, hoping to find a survivor waiting for him to save but he only saw more gruesome deaths. Most of the corpses were male. There was only two female among the dead, both naked and bruises, the horrid experience they suffered branded in their eyes.


    Fearless threw up again as he began to tear up for the dead. He had enough. This was enough. He wanted to go back to Iliva this instant. He wanted no part in a society where carnage like this happened.


    Civilization should not look like this.


    Fearless tried to head south but his vision was filled with tears, too blurry for him to see a damn thing. He rubbed off the tears with his knuckles, using his Rolex to determine the direction. However, the tears came out like a broken dam and Fearless could do nothing but cried. His head was a roller-coaster of dark emotion, full of disappointing thought and bad memories.


    Fearless just sat down by the road and teared up for many hours until he decided his next course of action. He chased off the ravens. He used Enferm¨¦ to tear down the wooden carts and carriages, using the parts as firewood. He made a great pyre with all the firewood he managed to create. He tried to swap his position with the dead to save his energy and discovered that the skill ¡°The magician¡± only work on living beings. In the end, Fearless could only rely on himself to give these unfortunate people the cremation they deserved.


    The three moons hung on the sky the moment Fearless could finally lit the cremation fire for those unfortunate people. He could only offer the dead his silent prayers. After that, Fearless drank away his inner burden and sad thought, the only way he knew how. Survival can go away and fuck itself for all he cared.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The cicadas was playing their mating song again, it was still summer, the season he hated the most. It was full of unpleasant memories.


    Fearless was forced to watch a boy crawled into a fetal position as the beating rained down on his skinny body. He did not groan or cry even when the kicks of his assailants went through his thighs and delivered a smashing blow to his groin, just a sharp breath, nothing else. He did not use his arms to protect his head or face. His used his body to protect his hands instead, what a stupid decision. The boy just lied on the ground to accept the beating in his most vulnerable form as his assailants kicked his body like a rag doll.


    His body was drenched in sweat as he laid on the ground, allowing himself being at the mercy of his assailants. He was pretty much a dead fish on the chopping table.


    This did not happen to him regularly. The boy was smarter than that. He was smart enough to never allow himself to be caught in an ambush like that where there was no girl to protect him or nobody to call for a teacher to his rescue. But before that, his mouth was loud, like really loud. He could call. But he didn''t.


    This happened to him because he wished to be caught and beaten by these assailants. This was the only time he wished for pain to inflict on his body.


    His assailants too were also boys, same age, but bigger, one of them was twice his size. That boy was the leader of this gang, simply because he was the biggest and the strongest. He was stronger than the beaten up boy but also more stupid, all brawn and no brain. He did not understand that the more he bullied the boy, the more the girls in the class would despite and ridicule him. Perhaps he did not even care about being hated by all the girls in the school. He beaten that skinny and weak boy because they were too different, and simply, because he could.


    Fearless looked at the scene and he could only sighed. He could not understand what was going on inside the boy¡¯s head at that time to allow himself to be beaten like that. He cannot overwrite pain with pain, that¡¯s stupid. The wounds and the bruises would remain on his body for a month, not that he would feel better from that nor would he know that yet, not yet. Perhaps the adrenaline that coursed through his body at the moment was protecting him from the pain he sought. That pain would come later and it would linger for a very long time.


    His assailants kept kicking, soccer kicking the boy¡¯s body as they were laughing among themselves in their boyish voice, telling the boy that he was a coward, calling him a princess. ¡°Princess¡± was the title the boys in his year gave to him for only hanging around the girl, playing houses and dolls with them. The boy did not say a word. He did not talk back to his assailants. He let them do whatever they wanted. He wanted pain and his assailants wanted to make him suffer, it was a win-win situation for both involved parties.


    Fearless could only sigh again and again.


    The boy made a stupid decision despite being obviously smarter than this, that made him incredibly stupid, even many times more stupid than the fools that were beating him. But it was not like there was no meaning in stupidity.


    Suddenly, a goddess descended on earth. A goddess she was, shining like a sun.


    Perhaps taking pity on the foolish boy, the goddess descended on earth to save him. With a kick, she sent one of laughing assailants tumbling. She spun and dropped a roundhouse kick on another one, sent him reeling. Then she kicked another one in the groin, dropped him to the ground for good. One of the assailants was already running but not the leader of the gang. He challenged the goddess, spilling insult through his crooked mouth.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The goddess gave her reply in form of a flying knee kick. Her knee connected with the boy¡¯s face and broke his nose, blood was flying everywhere and before long the big boy was running, crying his mother¡¯s name.


    The foolish boy looked at the scene, speechless. The boy thought that he would remember this scene for the rest of his life even if he was to be condemned to hell and beyond. He would never forget this.


    The goddess helped the boy to stand up then she became angry at him.


    ¡°Why do you allow them to beat you up like that?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you run and ask for help?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try to fight back at them?¡±


    The goddess asked while helping the boy to dust off the dirt on his shirt.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± the boy replied, ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt,¡± he was telling the truth. He could not feel the pain from the beating.


    ¡°You are hurt. Where is the nurse office? Show me and I will bring you there.¡± The goddess held the boy¡¯s hand and asked. Her voice was warm and full of concern. She probably took pity on him because how miserable his reply was.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know where the nurse office is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m transferring to this school this morning.¡± The goddess replied nonchalantly.


    The boy looked back at the blood mess the goddess created to help him and the goddess herself. It felt like time has stopped inside his head. He thought that of course the goddess had nothing to be afraid of. A goddess did not share problem with mortals. If a mortal did something like this, he would suffer a consequence. However, a goddess could care less about that. It would not affect her.


    The boy ran away, telling the goddess to go back to her class. He could not understand why he did that. Was that anger or shame that command him to do that? Or something else? The boy honestly did not know. He ran to his favorite hiding spot in the school and stayed there for the day to end. He did not return to his class. He skipped the last class and waited for the school to end.


    When dusk settled on the schoolyard with its copper touch, the boy secretly went back to his class to pack his stuffs. A few girls in the class noticed him and showed their concern when they noticed how dirty his uniform was.


    ¡°Were it them again?¡± the girls asked.


    ¡°Yes, but I¡¯m fine. Someone bailed me out,¡± the boy replied.


    One of the girls did not believe in his word, she lifted off the boy¡¯s black shirt, revealing the red and purple bruises on his white skin. They gasped and several of them became awash with tears.


    ¡°How cruel,¡± they said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go down to the headmaster office. We will be on your side,¡± they said.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, honestly,¡± the boy said, surprised the girls by pulling away from them. He grabbed his bag in a hurry and ran out of the class. He did not know why he was behaving like this either. This was not his normal self. Perhaps, he has stopped being normal already.


    The boy ran. As he ran, he noticed a crowd outside of the headmaster office. Out of curiosity, he stopped and approached that crowd.


    Behind the blind covering the windows of the headmaster office, the boy could hear the valiant voice of his goddess.


    There was also the voice of the headmaster. ¡°Is that the truth?¡±


    ¡°She is lying obviously, can¡¯t you see it for yourself? She beat my boy like that,¡± an angry female voice followed, ¡°Tell her child, tell her that that girl is lying.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s lying,¡± the voice of that fat boy who leaded the gang echoed.


    ¡°See? I told you that girl is lying. I know a liar when I see one,¡± that angry voice reverberated once again.


    ¡°I did not. He lies,¡± the goddess shouted, her voice was defiant, yet weak. Her small voice was quickly drown out by that angry voice of the unknown woman.


    ¡°You dare to say that. You even beat his friends like that. What did they even do to you?¡± the woman did not stop. She kept spouting nonstop without allowing the goddess and the headmaster to say anything.


    Fearless waded through the crowd of children, more like phasing through them. He stared into the foolish boy in the eyes. His dark eyes were swimming in an ocean of thought.


    The boy looked at his bruised chest through the gap of his opened collar, then shaking his head. It was not adequate, not serious enough. He secretly pulled out a pencil from his bag and stabbed his chest with the sharpened point of the pencil. Then he drew the blood with an angry swing. He felt the pain now but it wasn¡¯t too much that he could not handle. The boy thought that it wasn¡¯t enough and repeated that again, drew two more cuts on his body then tossed away his pencil into the recycle bin nearby. His blood seeped into his black pants from the gashing cuts. Only then, he advanced with confidence, loudly knocked on the door of the headmaster office.


    Fearless could not help but smile. The boy had the face of an angel but his heart was that of a demon lord.


    ¡°I come to testify,¡± the boy said loudly.


    The door opened and the boy entered. His goddess looked at him with widened eyes.


    ¡°Child, you are here to testify?¡± the headmaster asked.


    ¡°I come to testify,¡± the boy repeated the moment the headmaster locked the door and chased away the crowd in front of her office.


    ¡°Yes, tell her boy. That the girl is lying,¡± that angry woman said, obviously did not even realize her son¡¯s pale white face, without a single drop of blood.


    ¡°This girl did not lie. She protects me from their attack. They were ganging on me until she came,¡± the boy said, loud and clean, without any hint of emotion in his voice. He was pointing his finger at the leader of the gang who took part in enjoying inflating pain to the boy¡¯s body, emotionlessly.


    The woman looked stunned then she hissed angrily, ¡°He¡¯s lying as well. They are in the same cahoots,¡± pointing her finger at the boy¡¯s face.


    The boy stared at the woman blankly, then her son, his goddess and the headmaster. Then, without warning, he stripped, his pants and underpants came off first, staining red with blood, then his shirt came off. Everyone was stunned and speechless, they could not react.


    There were bruises over his body. His shins, his thighs, his stomach, his back, his chest were all bruises and three freshly dripping cuts reddened on the boy¡¯s pale white skin.


    The boy said nothing, just stood and stared emotionlessly at everyone in the room. His mother taught him that sometimes, music spoke louder than words. However, his father also taught him that sometimes, silence spoke louder than music. Until this very day, he did not understand his father¡¯s word. The emotionless mask that he was wearing on his face was the cherry on top of the cake.


    The headmaster was the first person to react. She bent her to his height, fixing the boy¡¯s cloth in a hurry. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, rubbing her warm and calloused palms on his head, ¡°I will make it right,¡± pulling his hand as she unlocked the door. She was probably thinking of bringing him to the nurse office.


    ¡°So you won¡¯t punish her?¡± the boy asked, his voice was innocent and angelic unlike his darkened heart.


    ¡°No, I won¡¯t,¡± the headmaster shook her head, her eyes awash with tears, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell this matter to someone else sooner?¡±


    ¡°Tell somebody? Who?¡± the boy retained his poker face. He was dying for that question to be asked and could not be happier when it was asked this early in the conversation. And yet, he hid his relish beneath his own emotionless face.


    ¡°Your class tutor or your parents. They could have prevent this.¡±


    ¡°Mrs. Nhung is currently on her maternity leave and my mom, she died three weeks ago,¡± the boy said without a hint of emotion on his face.


    It took a while before that piece of information sunk in everyone¡¯s head. The angry woman stood in shock. Her face was clouded with shame, pity and something else. Her stupid boy, his stupid mind did not even comprehend how deep in a shithole he was. The headmaster and the goddess had that same look on their face, pity.


    This was the first time the boy used empathy as a sword. Until this day, he has only employed it as his shield, to protect himself and no more than that.


    The headmaster ended the discussion without any warning and hugged the boy tightly within her arms. She sobbed quietly, her tears drenched the boy¡¯s shoulders, ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± and she carried the boy to the nurse office as everyone was watching.


    Fearless stood and watched the entire scene. That boy¡¯s face was emotionless through the entire time, not a sliver hint of sadness or pain. His face was the real drama inside this melodrama. How scary for a boy so young to be so calculating and devious. If that boy lived and grew up into a man, what kind of man would he be?


    Later, when the headmaster returned to her office to deal with the problem at hand, ¡°I will be back,¡± she said the same line that Arnold Schwarzenegger said in Terminator except that hers was more warm hearted and unbelievably kind. It made the boy felt bad for deceiving her.


    His goddess also visited him. She snuck in the office when the nurse tried to chase away all the girls that came to look for him. It was an army of worried girls against a single fifty years old nurse, a very gritty and dreadful battle at the entrance of the nurse office.


    ¡°I thought that you did not know where the nurse office is?¡± the boy asked quietly to not notice the nurse of his goddess¡¯ presence.


    ¡°I ask,¡± the goddess curtly replied, ¡°I come to say thank you. You really save me back then.¡±


    ¡°You save me first. But it¡¯s not like I need you to save me or anything,¡± the boy replied as his goddess infuriatedly scowled, ¡°I¡¯m Ph¨²c. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    It was then the nurse noticed the tomboy goddess has snuck inside her office. She pulled her away.


    ¡°Alice,¡± the goddess told to the boy her name as she was being dragged away.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The headmaster drove the boy home on her White Sedan. She thought of having a talk with the boy¡¯s father but he was out on the street, probably drinking to kill his own grief again. The headmaster waited for a long time and eventually she made a call to the boy¡¯s father but he did not pick up.


    She asked the boy all sort of questions in the regard of his current life style. The boy, smart and devious as he was still but a boy, he was not wise enough to know what kind of question he should answer and what kind of question he should not. In the end, he just answered all the questions the headmaster asked him.


    He has no other relative to take care of him. His father was always away from morning to night after his mother¡¯s death. However, he always remembered to leave behind a five hundred thousand VND note on the dining table every day. Five hundred thousand VND was roughly around twenty USD after conversion, however, its monetary value was around a one hundred USD note in Vietnam. It was a little too much of a daily pocket money for any twelve year old boy in Vietnam.


    The headmaster was horrified by the boy¡¯s answer and he realized that. However, he wasn¡¯t really understood what she was so horrified about. She asked him if he wanted to join her family for dinner and stayed at her home for the night while she would try to connect with his father. The boy declined, he just wanted to return to his room and waited for his father to return.


    H? ??ng, the kind lady who lived on the opposite side of the road immediately came over after seeing a strange woman who she has never seen before in the area talking with the boy. She has volunteered herself to take care of the boy after his mother¡¯s death. She would ask him to come over her house to cook and do laundry for him every single day. After a quick introduction, Mrs. H? ??ng thanked the headmaster for helping the boy at school as she hugged him inside her arms after discovering the wounds on his body.


    After that, the boy went inside his empty house to change his cloth. Naturally, Fearless followed the boy. When the boy changed into his normal cloth, he grimaced as the fabric brushed against his wound. It was only now that the wounds and the bruises felt painful to him. His sight then fell upon the piano, the boy thought, maybe today, and opened the cover. His fingers hit the Do key, then Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti. It¡¯s painful still. He can''t play any song today as well. It¡¯s painful. The boy closed the wooden cover and went to Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s house.


    When his mother was alive, H? ??ng was just a kind woman who lived across the road. She was a widow, not that the boy understood what the word ¡°widow¡± really meant until he grew up. H? ??ng was honestly a strange name. H? was her surname, it meant summer. ??ng was her given name, it meant winter. It was honestly a strange name.


    Mrs. H? ??ng was incredibly kind just as she was warm and soothing. When the boy cried at night, fearing the dark and the cold, he would run out of his house and knock on her door, asking if he could sleep with her and she always said yes. She would pull him to her full chest and kissed on his forehead, cuddled him within her arms until he slept.


    The boy honestly thought Mrs. H? ??ng possessed some sort of magical power. When she gave him a tight hug, he can feel all of his pain fading away. It¡¯s also thank to Mrs. H? ??ng that the boy knew that homemade cooking wasn¡¯t really that hard to make. It¡¯s just that his mother has a knack for making bad food.


    Fearless smiled as he watched the boy snuggled within the arms of Mrs. H? ??ng as he fell into sleep. Life then had seemed not as painful as the boy thought it would be.


    Then, one day, the boy woke up on the bed, Mrs. H? ??ng was nowhere to be seen. He jumped off the bed to search for her.


    When he was down stair, he heard Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s voice in the living room. She was calling for him, her voice was strangely full of pain.


    Through the gap of the opened door, the boy watched Mrs. H? ??ng sitting on her sofa, her body completely naked without a piece of fabric to cover. She sweated so much that her skin seemed to glisten under the golden glow of the living room¡¯s chandeliers. Her left hand was busy groping her full breasts, pulling at her nipple, her right violently stabbing a strange object into her crotch. Her lips let slip sultry moans in the form of the boy¡¯s name. Her eyes were tearful and unfocused. Her right hand did not stop no matter how much pain that strange object appeared to give her, it never stopped moving.


    The boy instinctively understood that he was watching something he was not supposed to. And yet, he just stood, transfixed, staring at the object that smashed Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s crotch and gave her so much pain. His crotch behave strangely to that scene, bulging as if it would sling out of his pajama, painful. This was the first time this happened to the boy, he was confused and scared, yet he kept on watching Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s glistened figure as she moaned his name.


    She slammed that object into her crotch with so much force and vigor as if her crotch was on fire, and water gushed out to douse that fire. But that did not stop Mrs. H? ??ng from continuing. She breathed heavily as if the air was lost to her, ¡°Fuck me,¡± she gasped, moaning the boy¡¯s name, ¡°Fuck me harder,¡± she moaned, pulling her full and bouncy breasts to her mouth, gobbling and chewing on her own nipples. That strange object smashed against Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s crotch for one last time, harder than all the iterations before and a geyser violently squirted.


    The boy lost control of his crotch and his pajama stained dark with a cloudy liquid as he was staring at Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s body. He quickly escaped the scene, tiptoeing before he was discovered.


    Since then, his relationship with Mrs. H? ??ng became stiffened, more on his part than her part. Every time she pulled him into her chest as she always did, his crotch began to hurt badly, a rock hard bulge. He could not look at her in the face without remembering her naked and glistened body under the golden glow of the living room¡¯s chandelier. He wanted to do the same thing she did to her own nipples, putting them inside his mouth to suck and chew on. That dark thought made him too embarrassed to look at her in the eyes.


    Nevertheless, it was her rapture voice, her sexy moans, her lips that called his name as she used that long object to smash against her wet crotch that branded within his undeveloped mind. He could not get that sound out of his mind. His mother told him that he inherited a talent from his grandmother, the ability to capture every note and chord of any song he heard within his head and saved them.


    That ability and his beautiful fingers which he inherited from her and his father made him a prodigious pianist, she said. He only need to practice, kept on practicing and in the end, without a doubt he would become a great pianist. Perhaps, he could become a greater pianist than anyone in the B?ch family ever did in the past. And yet, that special ability was used against his will to capture Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s moaning voice. It drove him insane at times. Sometimes, he could even vividly hear Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s moaning during classes and his crotch would immediately stiffen.


    The boy would later discover that every single night after lulling him to sleep, Mrs. H? ??ng would go down to the living room, got naked and plugged that strange thing into her crotch while moaning his name. She went through that routine every single night as he stood outside of the living room on the dark corridor, quietly watching her sweaty body in action and listening to her sexy moans. That routine lasted for months before Mrs. H? ??ng discovered the boy¡¯s presence while she was climaxing through sheer dumb luck.


    She covered her naked body in a hurry, screaming at the boy, telling him not to look, telling him that it was a mistake, that it was not what it seemed as tears began to trail.


    The boy did not think twice, hugged Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s sweaty naked body, telling her that¡¯s fine, that¡¯s it was okay. She had nothing to be embarrassed of. He told her that this was not the first time he watched her doing this. He has watched her doing this for months.


    Mrs. H? ??ng wept openly, probably thinking that it was the end.


    The boy told her that he had not tell it to anyone nor he had the intention to do so. He wanted to be with her, to be hugged by her, to feel her warmth as he slept next to her, enveloping in her aroma. He told her that she had done so much for him and yet he had done nothing for her. He begged her to allow him to do something for her in return.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, ¡°I can¡¯t corrupt you any further than this,¡± and wept shamefully.


    The boy was at a loss of word. He was smart but as smart as he was, he did not know how to get through Mrs. H? ??ng with words. He remembered her moans when she touched herself and when she played with her own nipples. He did the same, putting her left nipple into his mouth, sucking hard on it while using his fingers to pinch her right nipple.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, yet wrapping her arms around his head instead of pushing him away. The boy continued fiercely, fearing that if he ended it midway, he would never be able to hug her again. He sucked on her hardened nipple, biting and chewing on it whilst his fingers pinched her other nipple and clit the same way she did herself. He did it until she squirted all over him.


    Then he cried like a baby, burrowing his head inside her rich and squishy breasts, sobbing, begging her not to abandon him. He kept on crying until she wrapped her arms around him very tightly, squeezing him against her chest.


    After that, they had a small talk.


    ¡°This is not right. The society would condemn me for this¡±


    ¡°Where was that stupid thing you call society when I was hurt and afraid? You was there for me, not society. What right society have to prevent me from saving you from the pain in return?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure that you are twelve years old? You don¡¯t sound like one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m turning thirteen next week.¡±


    Mrs. H? ??ng laughed and their conversation ended just like that.


    Since then, their relationship took a strange turn. Their relationship became more of lovers than surrogate mother and son.


    Mrs. H? ??ng was an excellent teacher. She taught the boy a thousand ways to set fire to a woman and a thousand ways to transform that aflame woman into a giant puddle and more. Nevertheless the boy proved that he was an excellent student, more than she could bargain for, and before long, she had nothing to teach him in the art of pleasure and bedding.


    Every day, he could not wait for school to end to find himself inside Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s tight hug, to taste her full lips and to suck the sweet nectar on her swollen nipples. Nobody has managed to discover their relationship even after a year. It was blissful.


    Yet, that fateful day came when the mating song of the cicadas was the loudest. The boy returned from school to find the door of his lover¡¯s house wide opened. He called for her, walking into her house as a sense of dread filled him. He quickly found her, lying on the floor of her living room inside a pool of blood. He called for her but she was barely breathing. She gave him one last smile, straddled her bloodied hand against his cheek as she said her last words, ¡°This must be my punishment¡± and her eyes closed, never to open again.


    Polices and media said that it was some robbers who had broken into Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s house that killed her. But in the end, they never found the culprits, let alone catching them. Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s house later became government¡¯s property and was put on an auction.


    The boy¡¯s first love ended like that, neither a bittersweet nor a beautiful one.

 Chapter 23: THE SLEEPING PRINCE

    Chapter 23: Sleeping prince


    The boy was born to be a musician, a great one, they said.


    His parents were musicians, so did his grandparents and his great grandparents. Even their great grandparents were also musicians.


    Music coursed through his veins and breathed within him. If he bled, he bled music. If he cried, only music would come out, his dad told him so.


    Music was his life, his blessing, his gift and curse.


    Music is happiness, the warmth of his mother¡¯s palms, her beautiful smile and praise. Music is anger, the fast and unbinding chord, the pain of his fingertips violently hitting against the white and black keys whenever he remembered the face of his bullies. Music is pain, the apprehension that his mom would never be there to pat his head again or showered him with smile and praise.


    Music was everything to him. The boy did not know what he would be without music or what kind of a jokester of a pianist he would make, being unable to play the piano. Music was a binding chain of pain and grief. Music was a wounded heart and tearful eyes.


    The time he spent with Mrs. H? ??ng liberated him from music, not quite, but it did. He spent less time in his room staring at the dusty piano and less time hesitating about playing it. Once in a while when he returned home, he heard his father played the Vivaldi¡¯s Winter with his violin while locking himself in the music room.


    His father was a violinist unlike his mother and his grandparents, they played piano. He can play almost all the musical instruments, however, his specialty was the violin. He loved to perform duets with mom, he would play his violin while mom would play her piano.


    The solo his father played sounded gray and painful, always since his mother¡¯s death.


    Sometime after Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s dead, the headmaster adopted the boy as her own child since his father drown himself further within the strong wine and tears. He saw his father less and less, about once in a week. In return, he gained another father, another mother and an older sister.


    His adopted parents were the kindest people in the world, and yet, their daughter was forbidding and abusive. Until the day he met this sister of his, the boy did not know that a girl could cause pain to him just as much as the boys.


    In a sense, they were very similar, the boy himself and his sister. They were the black sheep of the family.


    B?ch ??i Ph¨²c, that was the boy¡¯s name, given to him by his mother. Apparently, his father had a different name in his mind. However, his mother talked his father into relinquishing that right to her since she was the one who was burdened with the labor pain for over nine months. In the end, his father being the honest and family man he was agreed.


    The word ¡®B?ch¡¯ could either mean white or pure and innocent, it was the boy¡¯s family name.


    The word ¡®??i¡¯ meant great or greatness. The word ¡®Ph¨²c¡¯ meant lucky or happiness. When combined, the word ¡°??i Ph¨²c¡± could mean extremely lucky or a great happiness, however because of the structure of Vietnamese grammar, there was a great ambiguity in the boy¡¯s name. That great ambiguity made Fearless could not help but wondered what his mother has wished for when she named him like that. Fearless could only guess his mother¡¯s wish.


    Depending on the context, the word ¡°??i Ph¨²c¡± when labeled on a person could mean ¡°An extremely lucky person¡± or ¡°A very happy person¡±. However, it could also mean ¡°A person who brings about great luck and happiness.¡±


    When combined the boy¡¯s given name with his family name ¡°B?ch¡±, the meaning changed greatly. It could interpret as ¡°A person who lives purely for happiness¡± or ¡°A person who is both pure and lucky¡± or ¡°A person who purely lives to bring happiness to others.¡±


    That was probably his mother¡¯s intention and wish when she gave that name to him.


    Yet, such meaningful name could not follow the boy when he transformed to Fearless. In the Western culture, the first name is supposed to be the given name and the last name is supposed to be the family name. Thus, the boy was internationally known as ¡°Ph¨²c ??i B?ch¡± when he first joined the pro-league of Reign of Chaos. His name lost all of its meaningfulness and magic when it was reordered like that.


    Worse, ¡°Ph¨²c ??i B?ch¡± somehow became ¡°Fuck The Bitch¡± when it rolled off the tongue of most Westerner. Most Asian can pronounced it just fine, but Westerner just cannot pronounce it correctly. The worst violation happened was when a broadcaster screamed ¡°Fuck The Bitch has done it again¡± during the semi-final of a Major league the boy attended to during his first year with The Alliance, and it was done during the international broadcast without any ill-intention or malice.


    B?ch ??i Ph¨²c was his name. Yet, the boy himself could not be more of a devil and he knew it. He was far from being ¡°A person who brings about luck and happiness¡± like his name stated. He was not the kindhearted person his mom and dad were.


    His older sister was named ¡°Th¨´y D??ng¡± by her parents, ¡°Nguy?n Th¨´y D??ng¡±. Her name was just as meaningful and contained all the hope and blessing from her parents as the boy himself.


    The name ¡°Th¨´y D??ng¡± could mean ¡°a gentle willow¡± or ¡°a gentle sun¡±. And yet, her nature could not be further from that. She was a sadistic girl, a wild and insane bitch, almost too cruel. However, she was smart. She knew how to act in front of her parents, how to present herself in a favorable spotlight. In fact, she was more like a long lost sister to the boy.


    They were one of a kind. Perhaps sensing that, she secretly abused him behind the close door and behind her parents¡¯ back. Being her roommate, the boy could only zip his mouth. This older sister was his equal in concocting devious plans and being a drama queen. She was four year older and stronger than he was.


    However, the time he suffered from her abuse did not last. It¡¯s all changed drastically the day she stripped him naked and stepped on his weenie with that haunting sadistic smile floated on her lips. In the hope of retaliation, his weenie rose to the challenge, the only way it knew how. The poor bastard shot blindly within the darkness, more like spray and pray, three buck shots, and the rest was history.


    Mrs. H? ??ng was the boy¡¯s teacher in the bedding matter and the boy became his older sister¡¯s teacher in this matter that day.


    The boy wasn¡¯t sure if she desired it or simply curious about the matter. However, it did not change the fact that she literally begged for it every night or she would get it by force, not that he would complain since she treated him gentler than before. He wasn¡¯t sure if this was the relationship between siblings but he knew that the stuffs they did every night was considered forbidden. However, it did not stop him or his sister to venture deep within their adventure every night. The risk of being discovered by their parents haunted them, and yet, it brought a sense of adventure and liberation to the both of them when they succeeded.


    It was not just the sex that they grew addicted to, it was the thrill of being discovered.


    Doing it with Mrs. H? ??ng, it was love making. It was healing and soothing. Doing it with his older sister, it was simply sex and thrill, no more.


    His older sister was a possessive bitch. There were countless ways for her to muffle her moan when they committed their deed, like biting her pillow or deep kissing, and yet she chose to sink her teeth into his shoulders every time like the rabid bitch in heat she was. She always had that pleased look whenever she ran her fingers on those purple and yellow jaw marks on his shoulder, ¡°You are mine,¡± she said those haunting words while wetting those teeth marks with her hot tongue.


    That scene made Fearless broke to a thin smile. That¡¯s cute, he thought After knowing all sort of insane women, his older sister¡¯s possessiveness and abusiveness became ¡°Meh, that¡¯s cute¡± to Fearless, but apparently, the boy did not share his sentiment.


    In his developing mind, the boy pictured his older sister as a tyrant and himself as her favorite concubine, no more and no less. He was terrified of her and yet being very grateful for her existence.


    She confirmed to him that he was not alone, that he was not the only black sheep out there in the world. Furthermore, just by being around her made him sharp. He was a devil of a child and so she was, his equal and superior. He had to constantly guess and predict her movement while he was living with her. If he guessed wrong, there would be consequences. Therefore, he was forced to predict her every movement correctly.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    The boy¡¯s older sister dreamed to become a pro-gamer while her parents hope that she would become a teacher like themselves. A pro-gamer she did not become, however a programmer, she did.


    That¡¯s pretty close, the difference was just an ¡°R¡± and an ¡°M¡±, Fearless remembered joking like that to her one time and she spilled hot tea over him. She¡¯s really a cruel and insane bitch, not that Fearless hated her for that. His younger self thought that he did indeed hated her, little that he knew he was madly in love with her.


    She was the first person introduced ROC to the boy and it was also her who made him into a magician.


    ¡°You have a magic touch,¡± she would quietly moan into his ears while they were doing the deed, ¡°These magic fingers, they are mine, make sure you would never damage them,¡± and she repeated that to him again and again. She would repeatedly tell him those words after discovering just how much he starved for praises. She was really a devil of a child and she grew up into a devil of a woman.


    Fearless chuckled to himself when he looked at the dumbfound reflection of his younger self through his older sister¡¯s eyes. As intelligent as she was, she had no idea how those words confused the boy and how he would misunderstand her words.


    In a sense, she made him a magician. Hated her he did, but he loved to listen to her honey sweet praise, and the boy hated himself for that.


    There was a circus located two hundred meters from the school. The boy would always ask his adopt mother to allow him to hang around the circus. He learned card magic, coin magic, sleight of hand and illusion from an old illusionist in the circus. After a few months, he became that illusionist¡¯s apprentice and assistant.


    The boy wasn¡¯t sure if he really loved magic as much as he did music but he really loved the ¡°Wow¡± on his older sister¡¯s face when he showed her a magic trick.


    He kept learning and practicing magic every day. Sometime, he practiced his elementary coin magic and card magic during class with one hand, playing with the coins while taking note with the other. He thought that one day, he would become a magician in the future, and little he knew life had a different plan for him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Is he sleeping?¡±


    Croaky whispered as he pressed his chest against the grassy ground to avoid detection. His eyes pinpointed on the figure sitting next to the orange campfire.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. How about you go and check it yourself?¡± a reply came, quiet, shriveled and fearful. Gared, the bastard was quivering in his boots, probably stemmed from the realization that the opponent was a magic caster from the robe he wore. A large scale on a gray background, the Greyscale, famous for their eccentricity as researchers of magic as well as their powerful presence on the battlefield once they were hired as mercenaries.


    Croaky immediately turned at his young companion who¡¯s lying flatly on the ground just like him, ¡°Bastard, just go. I have a bow. I can shoot him first before he can do anything to you.¡±


    ¡°No, fuck you. How about you give me that bow and go instead,¡± replied Gared.


    ¡°You are a terrible shooter. You are most likely to hit me instead of that magic caster. Just go,¡± Croaky convinced the kid. In the end, the fearful bastard had no choice but to listen.


    Gared readied his knives as he crawled on the ground stealthily, approaching his unsuspecting opponent. He was a born bandit under Bloodbeard¡¯s command, his father was a bandit, so did he, in truth he was nobody. The kid could not even fight but that would not stop Croaky from pushing the job of checking the opponent on him. It¡¯s safer to stay in the distance.


    Suddenly, the kid stood up and signaled Croaky to come, showing no concern of the opponent.


    ¡°He¡¯s sleeping, drunk and asleep,¡± the kid said, tapping his boot on the magic caster¡¯s thigh.


    ¡°I can see it. I still have both of my eyes,¡± Croaky replied, heaving a long sigh. That¡¯s great, he did not have to fight against a magic caster.


    ¡°What should we do? Kill him and go back to report?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s get it over with,¡± answered Croaky, drawing his axe out of his belt. This magic caster wasted him a night. He should be in the base at the moment, finding pleasure in those women who his companions captured while raiding the area around Madukat. Yet, because of this stupid magic caster who lighted a pyre, making Bloodbeard suspected that was a signal and ordered Croaky to investigate that he was here.


    ¡°Wait. This bastard, his hair is black. Is he a dark elf?¡± the dim glow from the camp fire revealed a glossy dark hair on the head of the sleeping magic caster. Croaky pulled the grey hood off the drunk magic caster¡¯s head to have clearer inspection.


    ¡°His ears are round though.¡± Gared replied indifferently.


    Croaky was disappointed, but not for long. ¡°Who care, his face is like an elf. Maybe he¡¯s a half breed born from a dark elf and a man. I reckon he would make heaps of coins if we sell him to a slaver.¡±


    Croaky started to think how he would negotiate the price with the slavers who visited Bloodbeard¡¯s camp from time to time to buy off the captured women and men.


    ¡°Are you stupid? He¡¯s a magic caster.¡±


    ¡°Take away his staff and he¡¯s no more than a normal man. Damn, look at this,¡± Croaky put his hand on the sleeping man¡¯s chin, rolling his face left and right, ¡°Shit, with face like this, selling him to a slaver would be a stupid thing to do. How many silver coin could I get from selling him to a brothel in Lamentia?¡±


    Croaky remembered his time living in Lamentia as an urchin, a border city reside to the east of White Winter that famous for three things: gladiatorial games, whore houses and the local mead. He then looked at the sleeping magic caster, clicking his tongue, imagining those drooling rich women from Lamentia would tear themselves apart to have a bite of a creature as beautiful as this. Croaky knew a few men under Bloodbeard¡¯s command would pounce over this creature and start humping regardless. ¡°Let¡¯s bind him and bring him back. We will divide the money just between you and me,¡± Croaky said as he made a plan in his head.


    The kid nodded his head, then stopped, ¡°What about Bloodbeard? What if he want this thing for himself? Should we hide this?¡±


    Croaky clutched his head, finally remembered about the bandit lord, ¡°Fuck¡­ We just have to try our luck. Smudge his face with dirt and ash, maybe Bloodbeard would not notice.¡±


    Bloodbeard allowed his men to take whatever they wanted for themselves as long as they listened to his command. However, there were time that the old devil would simply take away their trophy for himself. Croaky could not guarantee that the old devil would allow him to hoard this creature to himself.


    Finding no way to transport the strange creature, Croaky smashed the magic gem on the creature¡¯s magic staff and bound him to it. He and Gared towed the sleepy head away like a pig. Gared was greedy about the belonging of the creature, hoarding his large pack bag and putting it on his shoulders.


    There were many occasion the creature surprised Croaky with his sleeptalking. Croaky thought the creature was awake but he wasn¡¯t. He talked in a strange tongue, probably elvish tongue, and sang on occasion. Gared suggested that they should put something on the creature¡¯s mouth to shut him up and Croaky immediately did that.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    To the young boy, ROC, Reign of Chaos was just a game that his older sister played on her PC. It did not mean much to him. It¡¯s fun and addicting, but that¡¯s about it. It¡¯s just a video game.


    One day, he was playing a single match against a random person online. It¡¯s just the usual stuff until the twenty minute mark. He was overwhelmed by his opponent, completely cornered as he felt like his opponent choked the life out of his body little by little. This was the first time he met an opponent so strong. He went up against strong players before, however, never had he met someone so good at this.


    The more he tried to defend, the more he felt like he was losing. In a last ditch of effort, he sent his warlord to the frontline, in the open field, using him as a bait. It was a gambit. The opponent bit into the bait and the boy did everything within his ability to punish that mistake. Yet, his inexperience allowed the opponent to come out on top of that deciding battle.


    The match was an hour long, so much longer than the boy has expected. He thought he was finished around the forty minute mark.


    Surprisingly to the boy, this opponent was very nice just as he was strong. There was no ¡°Delete ROC and quit playing, noob.¡± or ¡°Fucking noob, a waste of my time¡± or any similar insults that the boy grew accustomed to while playing ROC.


    ¡°You are strong. How long have you play this game?¡± his opponent typed in the chat box, all in English.


    ¡°You too. I have not played against someone who are just as strong as you. I started playing this game last year.¡± The boy typed in his mother tongue then used a translation app on the internet to translate his sentences to English.


    ¡°What time do you usually play ROC?¡±


    ¡°Seven¡±


    ¡°So around this hour. Do you play every day?¡±


    ¡°No, only during weekend and Thursday.¡±


    ¡°I want to play with you again.¡±


    That sentence caught the boy¡¯s attention, and he said yes, adding this strange opponent into his friend list. He started making schedule for that strange opponent to play single matches with him.


    Feng Yi, was the name of his opponent, real name as he introduced himself. He changed his in-game nickname all the time so the boy did not know how to call him. The boy would ask him regarding the reason he changed his in-game nickname all the time, he just replied that he wanted to avoid attention from the people following his account. The boy did not understand it.


    Feng Yi was literally the Wikipedia of ROC. He knew everything about ROC, the HP of any type of troops, their strength and weakness, the geography, the spells, the warlords, everything. He can simulate the skirmish between any type of troops against each other like pitting elven cavalry against dwarven cavalry, who would win and who would lose. He was very accurate and precise with his mental simulation. Furthermore, he was very strategic and cunning.


    The boy became friend with Feng Yi through ROC for a year, playing over a thousand matches between the two of them both in single mode and multiplayer mode. Then, one day, Feng Yi asked a strange question, ¡°Have you ever thought of becoming a pro-gamer before?¡±


    ¡°No, but my sister did.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s horrible. Tell her that there is no way she could make it to the pro.¡± Feng Yi typed. He played ROC with the boy¡¯s older sister a few times and he avoided her like a plague since. He kept telling how bad she was, both her mechanical skill and personality.


    ¡°She will kill me, lol,¡± the boy typed as he chuckled.


    ¡°Do you wish to become a pro-gamer?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m good enough.¡±


    ¡°But you are. I¡¯m currently assembling a real professional team. I want you to be a part of our team.¡±


    ¡°You are joking¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious about this.¡±


    The boy was stumped by that sentence. He had thought that Feng YI was one of those pro player in the world of ROC but he had never thought of becoming one himself.


    ¡°Before I forgot. How old are you?¡± Feng Yi typed on the message board.


    ¡°Fifteen, why?¡±


    ¡°No bullshit, bro. Tell me the truth¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fifteen for real. How old do you think I am?¡± the boy scowled at the screen. He did not know what so surprising about being a fifteen year old kid.


    ¡°Hey, please talk to your parents that I want to meet them in real life¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± the boy became significantly confused due to Feng Yi¡¯s latest words.


    ¡°I have to convince them and you as well. Ask them if they are free during the weekend, I would like to meet them.¡±


    In the end, the boy agreed. He did not know that offline meeting with Feng Yi changed the course of his life. He was set to be a pro-gamer since that moment.

 Chapter 24: THE DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

    Chapter 24: The dance with the devil


    It¡¯s snowing, light, not as heavy as last night. The snow petals scattered and become adrift in the howling wind while carrying the smell of blood and burned flesh with them.


    Narse felt like all of his nerves were on fire. He took a deep breath while ignoring the maddened howl, the hysteric laughter, the cackles, and all the unnecessary noises around him.


    ¡°Come on. That can¡¯t be all you got. Come on¡±


    The devil¡¯s laughter echoed.


    Narse did not reply, steadying his breath while forming a plan to kill the devil standing before him.


    The devil was a giant of a man, tall and towering as a great bear and yet his footwork was nimble as the fastest hare Narse had ever seen. His arms were bulks of muscles hammered together on a dwarven anvil, forged and tested through fire and combat. They were long just as they were thick, giving the devil an unfair advantage in reach. That advantage was further buffed by the two poleaxes in the devil hands.


    ¡°Come on. Show that to me again,¡± the devil laughed as he thudded the butt of his pole axes on the ground.


    Under the dim moonlight and the flickering glow of torches, the swelling pinkish flesh on the devil¡¯s face twisted, making him even more hideous of a creature. Blood drenched his shoulder, chest and thigh, the wounds Narse inflicted on him was still there, fresh and dripping. Yet, it was as if this giant devil could feel no pain. His left ear was cut off, a slash tore through the chain mail protecting his chest, and a puncture wound on his right thigh, yet the devil showed no sight of suffering, or pain or slowing down.


    Narse had never fought anything like this. The devil in front of him was an alien creature that defied everything he had ever known about combat.


    ¡°Fight¡±


    ¡°Come on, fight¡±


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡±


    ¡°This little shit is chickening out.¡±


    The crowd encircled around Narse and the devil roared, showing no concerned of the red dripping wounds on the devil¡¯s body. They treated this fight as if it was a game or a joke and the devil himself was the same. It was as if they had the absolute confidence in the devil¡¯s victory.


    Narse did not expect for this battle to last so long, let alone that it somehow became a one on one duel in this manner, fucking bandits pretended to be honorable and what not.


    He had thought that Bloodbeard was a lumbering man, clumsy and slow with such size and physics. The devil may look slow and clumsy, but he was anything but slow and clumsy.


    Narse crouched, wiping off the blood on his dwarven made sword on the leather of his iron sole boots. He masked his attempt to draw the hidden dagger in his boot, palming it in his left hand. Then he pointed his long sword at the giant devil and resumed the fight, sprinting.


    A swiping poleaxe swept horizontally, checking Narse right on his track. Narse forcefully bent his body to evade and using his momentum to dive low, narrowly avoided the second falling poleaxe. The long sword in his hand arced, aiming at the devil¡¯s ankle, missed.


    The devil leapt backward, shortened the grip on one of his poleaxe just in time to deflect the pursuing thrust from Narse¡¯s long sword. The fucking bastard had a reflex of a wolf, the timing of his defense was impeccable. Narse tried to press his advantage, dissing out a flurry of hacks and slashes. The devil took another backward leapt, flourishing one of his poleaxe in a wild circular motion, making it impossible for Narse to continue attacking him.


    Narse duck and retreated. He cluck his tongue to wipe away his annoyance. He did not allow the devil to breath or inspecting his latest wound, pressing his attack from a different angle. One of the annoying poleaxes was there once again, checking Narse¡¯s movement. He halted, the second poleaxe predictably thrust with impeccable timing, forcing Narse to twist his hip to avoid it and sidestepped the following backhand strike from the devil himself.


    The wind wailed as the bit of the poleaxe tore through the air, gazing Narse¡¯s hair. Those two poleaxes, large as they were, looked like twigs in the hand of the devil, impossibly light and deceptively fast. However, that lightness was just an imagination in his mind, Narse knew it from his experience when he first tried to parry it. His sword hand went numbed for a minute the moment Narse tried to deflect the blow with his blade to set up for his counter attack. He would not make that mistake again.


    Seeing that he had no chance to press his attack, Narse quickly retreated, stepping out of the devil¡¯s range. Narse knew he had to be extremely patient with an opponent like this. His chance would come eventually.


    Narse took a breather, saving his breath as he stared at the cackling devil whose face was red and whose breath was ragged. The fool was wasting his ranked breath for his hysteric laughter while trying to rousing his men. The fool was being caught up by the moment, a big fool, completely undisciplined and yet the most difficult opponent Narse had ever fought.


    Narse reengaged, pacing his attacks and dictating the flows of the battle. He was waiting for an opportunity.


    The devil hysterically answered Narse¡¯s relentless attacks with his whirling twin poleaxes. His response was wild and amateurish, yet the length of his poleaxes and arms made it impossible for Narse to penalize those mistakes. The devil would switch his grip once in a while, from a long grip to a short grip and reverse, simple tactic yet extremely effective. Just by shortening the grip on the handle of his poleaxe, the devil¡¯s attacking speed almost tripled, a whirlwind of death and by returning to the long grip, his attack became crushingly strong, impossible to block head on.


    Twice, Narse looked at mistress death in the eyes. A concussing blow sent his helmet flying, disappearing into the night, and a wicked reverse backhand took him by surprise, forming a large diagonal cut on his armor. He thought he was going to die both times.


    The devil was getting better and better as he kept fighting, the bastard, he slowly adjusted to Narse¡¯s speed, either that or Narse was slowing down to fatigue.


    Narse scored a few dozen hit on the devil¡¯s frame, making the cheap chain wrapping around the devil bloody and tattered.


    The loss of blood should slow him down significantly and however, the devil was really a devil. His hysteric laughter and his ragged breath echoed within Narse¡¯s ears canal, lodged and refused to go away. The devil never slowed down.


    Why can¡¯t he kill the devil, Narse cursed at himself, still palming the dagger in his left hand. The opportunity did not come. His own breath became out of control, ragged just as much as the devil¡¯s. He was breathing through his mouth, never had he fought a battle of such length. Yes, the devil did not become faster, it was Narse who slowed down.


    The crowd around Narse was hysteric, a buzzing wasp hive, he could not make out what they were saying through his ringing ears, all these bastards should die a horrible death. Narse tried his hardest to not be distracted from the fight in front of him, and yet his mind sometimes wandered to his brothers, Narik and his brothers in arm and oath.


    He hoped they were alive. He hoped that the treachery of those dogs of White Winter came to the light.


    Narse took a sharp but deep breath, resuming the fight again. If that opportunity did not present itself, he might as well as create it for himself.


    He heavily dragged his sword on the ground with him as he sprinted toward the devil, a giant slab of metal intercepted him, it was the ever annoying poleaxe of the devil again, the same move every single time. Narse halted himself, waiting for axe to pass, then twisted his body to dodge the other, and sidestepped to evade the reverse backhand. He has learned the devil¡¯s rhythm and pattern by his heart. Narse swung his blade, a dust cloud of dirt pelted on the devil¡¯s face.


    Startled, the devil swung his poleaxes wildly, the dirt got his eyes. He did not expect Narse to fight dirty, neither did Narse. The last time Narse fought dirty was when he was trained by his late father in swordsmanship. He was beaten thoroughly by his father and just wanted to get back at him just once. He used the same trick.


    The devil swung his poleaxes wildly, turning himself into a giant whirlwind of death.


    The jeers around Narse stopped, replaced by the dead of silence and then the noises of drawing swords. Narse knew how he¡¯s going to die, in what manner he would die, how his corpse would look, he could easily imagine it, but he did not care. The devil in front of him would accompany him to the hall of mistress death.


    Narse swiftly sent his dagger flying through the air.


    The rotating dagger nailed the bandit lord head on and the giant fell on his back with a loud thudding sound. After that, true silence ensued, drowning the battlefield.


    Narse took another deep breath, watching the immobile frame of the devil himself. The atmosphere around him seemed to freeze, encased in unmelting ice, not that Narse had ever seen the unmelting ice before. He had never traveled to White Winter to see it for himself.


    ¡°Are you fuckers just going stand there for all days or are you going fight me?¡± Narse questioned loudly, brandishing his sword at the surrounding crowd. If Narik, his own blooded brother was to make a last stand, he would probably say something like this.


    They howled, charging at Narse with their weapons. Narse was determined to kill as many bandits as he could before he was mutilated and shredded in pieces.


    And yet, a thundering noise stopped the bandits, an invisible chain bound them to the ground, then forcefully bent their neck toward the direction of Bloodbeard¡¯s corpse.


    How?


    Narse silently asked himself.


    That thundering noise came from the bandit lord¡¯s poleaxe, burrowing itself on the ground with a raining cluster of dirt pelted on it. That giant body rose, impossible, an impossible feat, and yet the devil came back from the grave.


    Narse¡¯s dagger was held in between the devil¡¯s jaws. The devil spitted it out and laughed while Narse and the crowd around him were standing, staring at the devil, stunned.


    ¡°That was close,¡± the devil laughed, his bulky shoulders shook, ¡°That was very close, guard.¡±


    How?


    Narse could not understand how the devil did it, catching his dagger with his jaws while being blinded.


    ¡°And what were you maggots trying to do? Did I not tell you to stand and watch this fight?¡± the devil roared at the silent crowd and they exploded into a rousing cheer.


    The devil laughed, then hit one of his poleaxe on the ground, ¡°Silence,¡± he demanded and the crowd died away.


    ¡°That was surprising, guard. What else do you have in store? What kind of move, what kind of tricks you still keep inside your pocket? It¡¯s about the damn time for you to reveal them,¡± the devil cackled vilely, ¡°Because, I am going to show you mine now. You are a worthy opponent. It would be a shame if I did not face you with my best move.¡±


    The devil then married his poleaxes.


    ¡°My sincerest prayer to Wonten¡­¡±


    What the fuck is he doing? Narse thought to himself as he stood, rooted to the ground.


    ¡°O valorous protector¡­¡±


    It can¡¯t be. It¡¯s impossible. Wonten is a just god, he¡¯s only giving his divine gift to the worthy one.


    ¡°Please bestow this worthless self your divine blood.¡± The bandit lord completed his chant. A red aura framed his body. He has succeeded conjuring the spell Divine blood of Wonten and casted it on himself. The devil then looked at Narse, ¡°Did I surprise you, guard?¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Narse did not reply. He could not move his lower jaw.


    ¡°These poleaxes, they are custom-made, you see? They were magic staffs disguised as poleaxes. That¡¯s how I manage to cast my spell.¡± The devil explained.


    Narse did not reply this time as well.


    ¡°Oh,¡± a gloating glint flashed within the devil¡¯s eyes, ¡°So you was surprise because Wonten would lent his divine aid to a person like me? That¡¯s understandable. I used to ask the same question myself before. Why did Wonten bestow his divine gift on someone like me?¡±


    The devil chuckled, ¡°I ask myself the very same question every single day after discovered that Wonten would give me his divine blessing whenever I need it. Why me? And then, you know what? I laughed. I laughed after realizing how stupid I was. The answer was in front of me all along. Wonten is a just god, he only lends his divine gift to the one who he deemed worthy, someone who is just and valorous as himself. That means I¡¯m just, Wonten considered my actions as just. He approved my action.¡±


    How?


    Narse could not believe it. How could this devil be just and worthy of Wonten¡¯s gift?


    ¡°So are you just going to stand there and watch or are you going to fight?¡±


    The devil asked. He heard Narse asking his men the same question and used it against Narse.


    Narse did not move. He just stood and stared at the devil himself.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t feel like moving, then I will,¡± the devil said, ¡°My prayer to Wonten, protect my arms with your divine marrow O valorous protector,¡± and casted another spell, encasing his weapons in a swirling dark aura. Then, he leapt into the air with his poleaxes.


    Only his reflex saved Narse, he dodged, leaping backward. Rocks and dirt pelted his body like a storming hail, only that they came from his feet. It¡¯s hurt. The devil hit the ground like those giant boulders hitting against the walls of Madukat. The ground gave way to his strength, dent, a cloud of dirt, and a crater with the devil standing in the middle of it.


    The crowd around Narse broke away, giving more ground for him to move around. They were terrified by the sight and destruction of this devil. His weapons would have been destroyed by the impact had they weren¡¯t protected by the ¡°Divine Marrow of Wonten.¡±


    ¡°You avoid it. That¡¯s great,¡± the devil laughed, then sprinted toward Narse with large and powerful strides, his poleaxes sailing.


    Narse sprang, narrowly avoided his dead three times in a row, simply because he has remembered the devil¡¯s usual fighting pattern in his heart; a horizontal strike, a thrust and a backhand strike, he avoided them, barely. They were faster than before and stronger.


    Narse no longer fought with his calculated insight, he had no time to think. He just let his instinct and reflex took him. He dodged by instinct and ran by instinct.


    A front kick put a large dent on Narse¡¯s armor, sent him reeling on the ground. He could not breath, it¡¯s hurt so bad, and he was already leap backward to absorb the blow, it did not help much. Narse had no time to find his breath, just rolling on the ground to evade the devil¡¯s pursuit.


    The ground exploded once again. Narse heard a ringing noise in his ears as he sprawled to his feet, trying to retain a firm grip on his sword. He had no strategy to fight a devil like this.


    The bits of the devil¡¯s poleaxes came for Narse again. He avoided the first, could not avoid the second, a crushing blow from above, the devil changed his pattern, Narse has made a wrong guess.


    His trusted sword flew out of his hands, clanking off the ground, kept rolling further and further away.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± the devil commented, ¡°You actually block my attack. Nobody has managed to do that.¡±


    Narse said nothing, sprawling for his sword, he could not feel his right arm. His left arm only slightly better. Somehow, he managed to deflect the blow with both hands.


    Bloodbeard did not give chase. He stood and watched as Narse ran to retrieve his weapon.


    Narse saw his sword lying flatly on the ground, a large chip on the perfect dwarven work, understandable. Was it anything else but a masterpiece of dwarven smithery, he had already died with his sword. Narse tried to pick it up.


    He couldn¡¯t.


    His sword arm was unresponsive. Narse turned his sight on his right arm and suddenly, his body was assault with a searing pain. His sword arm hung loosely to his shoulder. It¡¯s hurt, Narse gritted his teeth, as tears blurred his vision. He picked up his weapon with his trembling left arm. He could barely hold the weapon with his paralyzed fingers. It was not just his left arm, his entire body was shaking, and his sword was shaking.


    ¡°You have lost, guard. Surrender. I will allow you to live out of respect for your swordsmanship,¡± the devil said his damnable words.


    Narse said nothing, pointing his sword at the devil instead.


    ¡°I see. What a shame,¡± the devil scoffed, exploding into a giant blur.


    The world turned dark all of a sudden, a violent twisting world of pain.


    It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, he had no idea where it hurts but it hurts and he could not see anything.


    Narse could feel his teeth chattering against each other. He could not breathe. His mouth tasted like metal. His ears ringing, no other sound, just ringing. Sword, where is his sword.


    Sword, where are you?


    Suddenly, his chest was assaulted with a searing pain that spread through his entire body, he heard a crisp crack echoed from within. He could not groan to the pain, only a wheezing sound came out of his throat.


    ¡°You live.¡±


    Narse heard the voice of the devil echoed within his ringing ears.


    ¡°Amazing.¡±


    Sword, where is my sword? Sword, where are you?


    ¡°Oh? A fellow worshipper of Wonten, I see. Praise be Wonten. Give praise to Wonten, guard, he saved your life.¡±


    That was the last thing Narse remembered as his consciousness faded to black.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Why did you allow that man to live? He killed your men and fourteen of mine.¡±


    The tiny witch hunter shouted at Bloodbeard. His face reddened with anger and shame. A foul smell emanated from his body, the pitiful bastard must have soiled himself from the attack of that guard.


    ¡°Wonten protects him. Who am I to challenge Wonten¡¯s judgment?¡± Bloodbeard replied while letting his men to treat his wounds. He showed the little man a broken wooden idol of the faceless god he kept within his palm. This little idol was what protected that guard from the bit of Bloodbeard¡¯s axe. Bloodbeard heard his skin hissed as the red hot brands came to contact with his skin.


    The witch hunter backed off, his face twist to the hissing sound of the brands on Bloodbeard¡¯s skin.


    ¡°What? Never seen how a bandit treat his wounds?¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    The creases on the face of the short man told Bloodbeard everything he needed to know. ¡°Salves were a luxury for us. Healing spells? Unless we sack a temple of Essence and put our cocks inside those priestesses of Niwdar and fuck their brains out and make them our women, there is no healing spell. So, this,¡± Bloodbeard pointed his forefinger at the jar of cheap wine in his henchmen¡¯s arms, ¡°And this¡±, and the fiery red brands hissed on his skin, ¡°And this,¡± and the rags wrapping around his forearms, ¡°These are our healing spells and salves.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t feel pain?¡± the little man asked.


    It seemed that Bloodbeard¡¯s guess was wrong. He snickered, amused at the thought. His snicker increased the number of creases on the little man¡¯s face.


    ¡°My father was an alchemist once. He¡¯s an alchemist, more like an alchemist apprentice. That bastard never passed his exam, not once. He failed and failed and failed again and again. But he kept taking them anyway. He was determined to impress the chief alchemist. He kept bitching about how the council never recognize his talent and how the council hated him and kept failing him. He¡¯s determined to rectify that, you see?¡± Bloodbeard grabbed the little man by his shoulder and held him there.


    ¡°So, one day, that bastard tied me and my mom to a kitchen chair, telling us that he has succeeded to create a potion that would put the best potions in the king¡¯s city to shame. He¡¯s only need someone to volunteer to drink his concoction, he said. Do you know what he did to my mom and I after that?¡± Bloodbeard asked, brought his face closer to the hapless little man.


    He was trembling. His entire body was shaking like a dying dog. Bloodbeard could not help but wonder how a man like this could be a part of the Inquisitor of the Great temple. They were supposed to hunt witches, those skin changer devils who took the husk of the women they killed as well as their identity. They farrowed fire and disasters in their path, heathens, godless devils. How could a man like this face off against devils like those?


    ¡°Do you want to guess?¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    The sound of dripping water and the mocking cackles of his henchmen was the only reply Bloodbeard received, so he moved on with his story.


    ¡°I sat and watched the entire scene, you know? My mom kept telling me that it¡¯s all okay. It will be fine. That my father would not hurt me. And my father, when he heard that, he shouted at us. He screamed at my mom that his concoction was a potion, the best in the world, the best of all the potions, of course it will be fine. Then he shoved that potion down my mom¡¯s throat. That potion was purple, you see? And all potions were supposed to be red or green, even I know that as a child. But my father was so excited about this concoction of his that he seemed to never realize it.¡±


    The little man suddenly twisted his face to pain.


    ¡°My bad, I did not mean to hurt you,¡± said Bloodbeard, realizing that he was crushing the man¡¯s shoulder with his iron vice. He released his grip but still put his hand on the man¡¯s shoulder. Then he continued, ¡°You know what? My mom started convulsing after that, her nose bled out. Her mouth was foaming and blood was coming out through that gaping hole on her neck. I don¡¯t know what that potion my father concocted was supposed to cure but it was eating my mom¡¯s throat, you see. And she died, of course she would. Anyone would die if they had a hole that large on their neck,¡± Bloodbeard demonstrated to the little man with his other hand, showing how big the wound was. ¡°Do you know what my father said after that?¡±


    The little man shook his head, clearly wanting no part in playing the guessing game with Bloodbeard.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Bloodbeard mimicked the surprised voice and manner his father had when he said the word, ¡°That one is a failure, he said, don¡¯t you worry son, I will make sure that the next one I feed you will work. He said that and disappeared to his work room, leaving me and my mom inside the kitchen for I don¡¯t know how many days.¡±


    Bloodbeard patted his hand on the little man¡¯s shoulder, asking ¡°Do you know what I did back then?¡±


    The little man just shook his head.


    ¡°I did what any child would, crying, of course, I cried. Then after I was tired of crying, I begged the gods to save my mother. I crawled on the ground while being bounded to the chair toward that magic scepter my father forgot and left behind in the kitchen. That bitch Niwdar, they praised that she was a kind woman, a merciful goddess, yet she refused to save my mother, that stuck up bitch. I prayed to her for days, nonstop until I lost my voice. Still, she refused to save my mom. And people still pray to her, I don¡¯t understand why. She is the shittiest goddess among the two.¡± Bloodbeard cursed.


    ¡°Then my father finally remembers about me and my mom. He came back for us with a god-know-what-that-was potion of his. It¡¯s dark, cloudy dark, like mud, you see? He then pulled my chair up and well, shove that thing down my throat with a prier. That thing, it tasted like the rotten guts of fish and horse shit combined together. That was the last time I know what pain is. It¡¯s excruciating. It burns and it hurts so fucking bad that I started cursing my own father. I cursed him to die a thousand dead, I prayed to the gods to lend me their divine intervention to kill my father while rolling on the floor and pressed my body against my father magic scepter. Only Wonten listened to my prayer. Only Wonten answered me.¡±


    Bloodbeard showed the little man his palm, ¡°Then with these hands, I snapped the rope and strangled that bastard to dead.¡±


    The little man trembled, his face pale white devoid of vitality. Bloodbeard grinned, removed his hand on the witch hunter¡¯s shoulder and stepped back. ¡°That potion I drank, whatever it was, it took pain away from me.¡± Bloodbeard cackled, waving his henchmen to finish the patch work on his wounds. They sealed his cuts with the hot brands and pour wine over the cauterized brands, then wrapping the rags over the burned flesh.


    Bloodbeard asked the little man, ¡°What was we talking before? I remember you was asking a question.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°Good, I thought so. Report what happened tonight to your master and ask him how long must I keep playing this pretending game. This siege, the longer it last, the more unrest my boys would be. If it is not going according to the plan, I will to go south with the boys next weeks and start sacking all the villages and towns on the way.¡±


    The little man nodded his head and started running. Ah, the poor fellow really did soiled his pants, Bloodbeard thought while his men were pointing their fingers at the brown stain on the witch hunter¡¯s robe with hysterical laughter.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The sun rose from the eastern horizon, a red sun on a red sky, a perfect painting.


    The caws of the black birds filled the atmosphere, the crows were feasting on the piles of corpses presenting in front of the southern gate of Madukat. Among that flock of crowds, there was a large mountain eagle pecking on an eye ball of a corpse and started gulping the eye down its throat, paying no attention to all the angry cawing of the black birds.


    What a fitting scene, Bloodbeard secretly laughed while watching that husk of a mountain eagle feasting on the corpses.


    An eagle is generally considered as a noble bird, proud, mighty and powerful, yet when hungered, it too would pick up scraps and corpses to keep itself alive just like the crows.


    Bloodbeard walked toward the towering wall of the golden city, his henchmen followed him closely from behind. He can see that his appearance has caused a big stir on the wall, a gloating grin flashed on his face. He felt great after taking a short nap. The boys reported to him that they had all the guards who escape from his ambush last night caught or killed, good news, just like he has expected. Bloodbeard loved it when his plan came together.


    This¡¯s enough, Bloodbeard nodded his head, stopping just a little distance outside of arrow distance.


    ¡°Put them here, boys,¡± Bloodbeard shouted and his henchmen started pounding the stakes they brought with them on the ground. Soon, the boys planted a row of stakes just like Bloodbeard has told them, ¡°Bring them here,¡± Bloodbeard waved his arm and soon his boys brought the prisoners with them.


    The boys tied those bloodied prisoners on the stakes. They were those fools who dared to come out of the city walls of Madukat to attack Bloodbeard. Their bodies smeared with blood and grime. Bloodbeard¡¯s boys have stripped them of their shiny armors and cut their tongues for today¡¯s demonstration.


    ¡°Madukat, I¡¯ve come to bargain.¡± Bloodbeard shouted.


    His voice was loud and roaring. Bloodbeard did not need his magic casters to cast ¡°Echo¡± to transmit his voice.


    The guards who manned the wall began to stir when they saw hundreds of their brothers being tied to the stakes, all bloody and wounded, some missing an arm or a leg, some half dead, some already dead and some were about to die.


    ¡°I have told you that I will guarantee your safety if your lord surrender. But, it seems that my words did not reach you. You try to trick me the day before and these brave men, they were after my head last night. A pity, truly a pity, they were close.¡±


    Bloodbeard laughed while stroking his wild beard. His boys cackled while looking up at the dismayed face of the guards standing on the wall.


    ¡°Therefore, a demonstration is required. These men, these brave men, they are most unfortunate since they will play a part in my demonstration to show you Madukat that my words should not be taken lightly. Boys,¡± Bloodbeard waved his hand and his henchmen came forward with their blades flashing.


    The walls of Madukat cried out upon seeing their brave sons being chopped to pieces, mutilated while being bounded to their stakes. They prisoners groaned but they could not make any intelligible sound, their tongues had been cut.


    ¡°Madukat, these brave men did not have to die. If only your lord honor his words and surrender to me, these men did not have to die in this horrible¡­ horrible manner,¡± Bloodbeard shouted, ¡°I¡¯m a forgiving man. I forgive you Madukat for looking down on my words twice. You see? I¡¯m not the devil people paint me to be. However, I will not show you any mercy the third time. The next time you violate my trust, I swear to the gods that I would have you all killed, every last one of you, man or woman, boys or girls. I will make sure that my boys will see to it.¡±


    Bloodbeard stood and watched the reaction of the men on the wall until all the groaning and moaning ceased. He retreated to his camp while issuing another ultimatum to Madukat. He gave the golden city another day to surrender.


    Nevertheless, Bloodbeard knew that this city would never surrender to him and his boys.

 Chapter 25: Twilight of the golden city

    Chapter 25: Twilight of the golden city


    Lightning flashed, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, framing a small shadow running on the back alleys of Madukat.


    The boy ran, he paid no heed to the passengers who took shelter under the orange glow of torches and braziers of the surrounding whorehouses.


    He closed his ears to the hedonic laughter of men and women echoed from within the walls of the whorehouses or music.


    He kept running, clutching tightly to the small dirty pouch with his tiny fingers that was numbed to the frosty water. His cheap and dirty tunic, thin, provided him no comfort or protection from the lashing winds and frosty rain, but the boy ran, allowing himself to be caught in the nipping downpour, and ran he did. He ran through the dark alleys of the whorehouses district, taking all the shortcuts to reach the business district of Madukat.


    The ground was suddenly pulled off beneath him and the boy fell flat on his face. His knee struck a shard on the cobbled street, he cried out. Still, the young boy refused to let go of the small pouch. The putrid smell of stagnate water and mud was thick in his nose, as well as the mouldy smell on the cobbles. The boy was back on his feet, he wiped his face and started running again, he was desperate.


    The boy remembered the derisive words of the whorehouse¡¯s owner telling that if his mother could not work and still in the bed, he would kick them out and left them on the street. The boy remembered the coughs that doubled his mother¡¯s body and left her with no strength to leave her bed. He remembered the burning touch of her skin and her painful labored breath.


    Lightning flashed again. The oaken house of the healer came to the boy¡¯s view, he grabbed the rusty doorknob and started hitting it against the door. He called the healer to come out.


    Soon, the door creaked open and the old healer peeked his head out.


    ¡°What? You again? Go away. I don¡¯t work for free.¡± The old man squinted his eyes after recognized the boy.


    ¡°I have money.¡± The boy gave the old man the pouch he clutched so tightly.


    The old man unfastened the thin string and poured the content of the pouch on his bony hand and started counting all the coins. ¡°16 coppers? That¡¯s not enough. I have told you that it¡¯s 40 copper.¡±


    ¡°Please. Please, my mother require healing. I will do anything. I will work to pay you back all the money.¡± The boy grabbed the old man¡¯s bony hand and begged.


    ¡°I said no. I have told you that my potion are costly. Besides, I will not leave my home under this storm. If you require healing, go to the Essence Temple and pray to Niwdar instead.¡± The healer brushed away the boy¡¯s hand and put back the coin into the pouch, tossing it at the boy.


    ¡°No, please. You know that the priestesses would not bestow their miracle on my mother because she is a prostitute. Please. You have to save her.¡± The boy grabbed the old man¡¯s hand again, his eyes wetted with tears. ¡°Please, save my mom. I will work for you. I will be your slave. Please, my mom requires healing.¡±


    ¡°Go away,¡± the old man shook the boy¡¯s hand away and closed the door.


    Lightning lit the sky and thunder clapped, no matter how much the boy knocked on the rusty door knob, that wooden door refused to open.


    The boy did not know what to do. He turned back, walking under the rain, shivering as the cold winds bit his flesh and the heavy rain pummeled his tiny body. He cried. His tears showered his drenched cheeks with the frosty rain. His boyish cry muffled by the angry thunderclaps, the howling winds and the noises of the heavy rain, unheard to the gods above. The tiny boy returned home with broken footsteps, drench, cold, sad, and afraid under that raging storm.


    Suddenly, the boy heard the sound of horses¡¯ hooves hitting the cobbled street, he turned and saw riders amidst the rain. He was slow to avoid them. A horse nearly trampled over him, almost, the rider managed to veer his horse to avoid the boy.


    The rider who dressed in black and white armor immediately neighed his horse to a stop, looking at the boy and cursed. The group of riders followed him stopped as well.


    The little boy intuitively tried to escape, only to be stumbled on the street. His legs numbed to the frosty water and fear.


    The boy saw a rider dropped off his horse and approached him. He was a large man, tall and towering like the walls of Madukat themselves. He did not dress like the rest of the riders. He wore a set of shiny armor adorned in gold and regal pattern, a dark and thick eagle coat framed his shiny armor. He looked kingly, no, godly.


    ¡°Boy, why are you here on the street under this heavy rain?¡±


    The man asked. His voice was deep and penetrating, if the god¡­ if Sinintee himself had a voice, this would be his voice. ¡°Are you Sinintee?¡± he boy unconsciously asked. Wonten had no face, neither nose, nor eyes nor mouth, a blank canvas. That¡¯s how the boy knew this man was not Wonten.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± replied the man, picking the boy up with his large and burly hands, ¡°I have answered your question child. Now, it¡¯s your turn to answer my mine.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± the boy befuddled, then he cried, ¡°My mother is ill. But the healer refused to heal her¡­ I have not enough coins for his potion, he said.¡±


    ¡°Have you call the priestesses of the Essence Temple?¡±


    ¡°They said lady Niwdar forbade them to grant their miracle on my mother¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said the man, quietly.


    ¡°Please, I beg you, please save my mother. I will work for you. I will serve you for the rest of my life. I will be your slave. Please save my mother. I will work hard and earn back all the coins you use to save my mother. Please save my mother.¡± The boy begged.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, boy.¡± The man nodded his head, putting his luxurious eagle coat over the boy, ¡°Which way is the healer¡¯s house?¡± he asked, putting the boy on the saddle of his horse with him.


    The boy immediately led the way, and soon, the boy arrived at the healer house again, this time accompanied by twenty riders.


    The man loudly hammered his fist against the door a few time until his patience ran dried. He stepped back and sent the wooden door flying with his massive leg.


    ¡°What¡¯s on Escana?¡± the healer¡¯s voice echoed and he showed his face. Then he saw the man, ¡°My lord, I ¡­¡± he stuttered, ¡°Forgive me. I did not know,¡± and bowed deeply.


    ¡°Bring your potions and salves and whatever medicines you need. I will see that this boy¡¯s mother treated.¡± The man said.


    The healer saw the boy, his face dreaded with surprise for a moment, then he bowed low again to the man, ¡°Of course, my lord.¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The red flame danced in front of Moira¡¯s eyes, it reminded her of that woman who was whipped and consigned to a flaming end by those Inquisitors from White Winter. That image haunted her mind still.


    Moira sighed, putting her negative feeling aside and focusing on her task. She casted the spell ¡°The Blazing Tongue¡±, squeezed the red tongue of fire until it was the size of her thumb and focused the conjured heat on the bronze axle cap of her chariot, welding the cap with the blade of a sickle. When Moira was done with her task, Erik and the smiths he hired fixed the welding with a large entrapping ring of iron and some few nails.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Moira kept doing her job without complaining. Her fiery magic was crucial to hasten Erik¡¯s plan. She could soften the metal with her flame or melt them, making it easier for the smiths to do their job. That¡¯s all she could do to help her men.


    The manipulation and mastery of flame, water, wind and thunder was the foundation of the gifts of Sinintee given to all intelligent races. However, Moira could only manipulate fire, that¡¯s all she¡¯s good at. Her magic tutor once told Moira that it was very rare to see a gift bearer of Sinintee who could only use one of his domain. It was a rare defect and Moira should hide it, the magic tutor would repeatedly tell Moira.


    Moira used to think that as well, that her magic was a defect version of Sinintee¡¯s gift, but no longer. Flame was the most useful among the four. There was countless of its applications in everyday life ranging from engineering works, smith, alchemy and more. And Moira, even though she was limited to with the ability conjure flame alone, she was better at that than most magic casters, that including her magic tutor. She thought herself as being specialized to the aspect of flame.


    Erik and his knights has managed to gather over twenty horse cart and fifteen wagons, including the original forty horse carts Moira brought with her to transport the wedding gifts her brother sent to the Warden, that made seventies.


    One of the chariots purchased by Erik¡¯s knights caught Moira¡¯s attention. It was obviously belonged to some rich merchant or someone who was wealthy or even nobles. That chariot really stood out among those that were brought back. It was mostly in good condition, the axle was however broken and needed to be replaced, and making it¡¯s very hard to believe that someone would be willing to sell such a good piece cheaply.


    The chariot was painted red like the sun itself and adorned with an ancient crest of an impaled gold dragon on a spear. That crest belonged to the greatest hero in the Northern Realm, Craxus the Dragon Slayer.


    Every child who was born in the North would know that story of Craxus the brave who killed the last dragon Karijard and laterunited the entire Northern realm into a single empire. He had many names, the Dragon Slayer, the Demon Bane, the Little Conqueror, and many more.


    Craxus was widely known for killing the last dragon Karijard who had been terrorized the Northern land for many centuries. Championed by Sinintee and Wonten, Craxus killed the dragon with his magic spear, that¡¯s how the story went. He later ate the dragon¡¯s heart and drank its blood, performing a secret ritual to steal the dragon¡¯s strength and immortality. After that, following Sinintee¡¯s gospel, he conquered the entire Northern realm, subjugating men, dwarves, and elves under his rule. It took Craxus thirty years to subjugate every kingdom in the Northern realm and his rule last for another forty years.


    Ironically, the man who slayed dragon and demon lord, the man who said to be immortal, the man who was favored by the gods themselves, he died not at the hands of his enemies. He was killed in his sleep, or so the bards sang, by the hands of the woman he loved the most in his own bed.


    Craxus wedded over thousands of women. They were princesses, queens, tribe leaders, and heirs of powerful families. That did not sit well with his queen. In her jealousy, she planted her dagger into the heart of Craxus. It was a cursed dagger laced with deadly poison that negated the immortality Craxus attained from the dragon. She used that dagger to kill him and then herself after that.


    The Empire Craxus created dissolved after his death. A civil war broke out between his children and his generals, the War of the Dragons. Everyone claimed their rights for the throne and eventually, the Empire was split into many kingdoms, back tohow they were before Craxus conquered them.


    Craxus¡¯ crest was not so much of a surprise to Moira. She knew about it, more like forced to learn it by her matrons and tutors because it was the origin of most crests used by imperial families.


    The Imperial Family of the kingdom of Zard used the crest of a gold dragon standing on black. The king of White Winter made his crest with the gold dragon impaled by three swords. The kingdom of Silver Snow¡¯s crest was a white dragon on gray background. Each of the imperial family ruled the northern realm used a variation of Craxus¡¯ crest as their own, signifying their connection with him and their rights for the throne.


    That made this chariot extremely intriguing to Moira. It was the original crest after all and besides, it was put on such a luxurious chariot. It exuded power and authority, and more. It made Moira felt strange but she wasn¡¯t sure what kind of emotion that was. Perhaps, she was simply in awe.


    While Moira was admiring that strange chariot, Erik and the men switched those carts with wooden axle to metal and oiled them, then, fitting iron tire over the wheel, allowing those carts to run as smooth as any chariot. Then, they hammered and fitted those shields and wooden planks they purchased to the carts, transforming them into real chariots. The last part was to fit blades to the axles and yokes of the chariots, making them looking like real war chariots. They worked ceaselessly from morning to dusk until they could barely work anymore even with the help of torches.


    That night, the flamboyant guard captain led his men to ambush Bloodbeard.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Moira could not stand the atrocity Bloodbeard and his men committed, mutilating those captive while they were alive.


    That scene was hell, the very hall of mistress death itself. That scene made her stomach boiled. Cries of rage and disgust echoed from the walls of Madukat but nobody could do anything against the cruelty of Bloodbeard. Some of the guards took it to themselves to release arrows on the bandits but it was beyond their range. The arrows felt short.


    The attack on Bloodbeard¡¯s camp last night failed, obviously. It brought a dire consequence to everyone. The guard captains found it hard to approve Erik of his plan to escape the walls, fearing Bloodbeard¡¯s retaliation. That botched raid left Madukat with no less than 2000 men to guard the wall, not nearly enough to fend off Bloodbeard¡¯s force if they intended to force their way through the breach and tried to storm the walls.


    Neither of the guard captains and Girout could understand why Bloodbeard had not done it.


    The devil had more than enough manpower to siege the wall. What was he planning? What was he after? Nobody could tell. It was like Bloodbeard was playing around with them. It was like he was toying.


    Erik was mad at the result. His plan could not be carried out, of course he was mad. He told the guard captains and Girout that if Bloodbeard was ever decided to storm Madukat, Erik would just carry out his plan whether they agreed with him or not. That got everyone into a big argument, everyone except Girout. Girout, he was quiet as if he was contemplating.


    The Warden was nowhere to be seen once again. Moira had thought that he simply had the absolute faith in the invincibility of the walls that his ancestor erected but she knew that she was wrong. At dawn, she managed to catch a glimpse of the Warden standing on his balcony with his golden goblet in hand, watching the part of the wall that was torn down by Bloodbeard¡¯s siege engine. He should know that the day of the invincible fortress was numbered and yet, he just sighed and emptied his goblet and retreated into his bedroom.


    It was hard to believe a man like that to be the son of the Great Bear, the national hero of the one hundred year war of Zard. He was the reason the war became a stalemate. He basically saved Zard from a certain destruction singlehandedly. Yet, his son was such an unworthy of a man.


    Moira let the men had their argument, it¡¯s not like she had an idea. She was no expert in battle and war. The kind of battle she took part in was insignificant to this. She fought bandits before and some insane pirates who thought they were strong enough to raid the Essence Temple in Neirra. Moira could not tell if those pirates were simply insane or stupid, making such a decision to raid the temple of Niwdar.


    There was a common saying that ¡°Don¡¯t fight the Strong, don¡¯t anger the Great and don¡¯t mess with Nature.¡± The Strong implicated the followers of Wonten, the Great Sinintee¡¯s and Nature was Niwdar¡¯s followers.


    The gifts the priestesses of the Essence Temple received from Niwdar was more than just the power to heal, there was also the power to protect themselves from harm. They had the spells to turn water into deadly poison that would melt away the skin of its victim upon touching. It was one of the nastiest spells that people used in war.


    It was around then, Moira noticed an inquisitor approach the chief Inquisitor in secret, passing some sort of verbal message. The Chief Inquisitor listened and then nodded his head, waving his underling away after that.


    ¡°I bear great news,¡± the chief Inquisitor told everyone in the hall.


    He told that he remembered that a Judgment army is traveling around the kingdom of White Winter for their pilgrimage journey was approaching the border according to their schedule. If he could sneak a witch hunter out during the night with a horse, moving through that torn part of the western outer wall. He could ride north and came back with that Judgment army to Madukat and subjugate Bloodbeard. It would probably take a week but if they could try to negotiate with Bloodbeard and drag on the negotiation until then, it¡¯s their victory in the end.


    That piece of news suddenly lifted up the heavy mood inside the room. Girout immediately asked how many men he could expect to get from the Judgment Army. At least 5000 was the Chief Inquisitor¡¯s answer. The guard captains commented that such number was more than enough to deal with Bloodbeard and his army of scoundrels.


    Everyone inside the room was cheery from the news, excited, perhaps, that was why they missed that strange smile on the Chief Inquisitor¡¯s lips. They all missed that, not Moira, she was watching that man the entire time. His smile made she felt extremely unease. It was then Moira remembered seeing that same smile once before. It was at the plaza in the business district of Madukat where that witch trial was taken place.


    Moira remembered the man had that same smile when he lit the pyre and watched the witch screamed as the fire consumed her.

 Chapter 26: Twilight of the golden city (2)

    Chapter 26: Twilight of the golden city (2)


    The youth put his quill back to the tray and blew on the parchment to dry out the ink. He then rolled the parchment into a scroll and tied it with a string. That was the last one, the boy  stretched himself and cleaned up his working table, reordering the abacus, scrolls and parchments in a neat and orderly order. When he was done, he started to take a walk, bringing the scroll with him.


    It was high noon and the lord was probably still practicing his sword skill on the garden as usual. The youth walked out of the long corridor while peeking out the many windows, hoping to take a glimpse of his lord practicing his sword with the weapon master.


    It was a warm day. His lord was half naked and sweaty. His tanned and muscular body seemed to glisten from the amount of sweats and the glaring sun above him. The lord lashed out his wooden sword, exchanging quick blows with the weapon master in succession as their frames overlapped. One a giant of a man, the other a short burly dwarf, the two of them were the exact opposite of each other and yet somehow, they made the fight extremely entertaining to watch, making the guards and squire surrounded the lord cheered for him and the dwarven weapon master.


    The youth intently watched as the two fighters fought with their wooden blades until he remembered that he was supposed to deliver the scroll to the house keeper and he was immediately on his way. He knocked the door and the house keeper told him to enter.


    A sickly sour smell filled the youth¡¯s nose, ¡°Why does it take you so long to complete such a simple task?¡± the old man crankily asked, the same as usual. His hair was gray just like the melting warm snow on a rainy day. His long gray beard was beaded and tied into a single large knot by a large silver ring. His ears, each was pierced by three small silver rings. The old house keeper angrily hit his walking stick against the floor as he rose from his old rocking chair.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± The youth replied. He took the old man¡¯s arms in a hurry and supported him walking to his working table.


    ¡°Let me see it,¡± the old man demanded as he sat down on the chair.


    The youth wordlessly handed the scroll over to the house keeper and stood by his side, watching the old man unrolled the scroll and started to check the math with his abacus. The old man slowly and steadily ran through the scroll, making sure the youth got all of his math correctly.


    ¡°So, what is your opinion?¡± the old man suddenly asked.


    ¡°Yes?¡± the youth pondered, unsure of the question.


    ¡°Fool, I¡¯m asking your opinion on this matter,¡± the house keeper scowled as he put away his abacus.


    ¡°I think that this is a good investment. I heard that the king of White Winter has declared war on Neversummer. It¡¯s autumn in another month and soon after that winter will come. So I don¡¯t think he starts the war now. He would wait until spring to launch the attack on Neversummer. The demand for iron ingots and iron nails will rise, I believe. If we start buying them now and stocking them in large quantity, we can ship them to White Winter and sell them at a higher price. Ice corns and red potatoes are also another options.¡± The youth humbly replied.


    The old man remained silent and that was the best praise the youth could receive from the house keeper. Suddenly the old man sighed as he tiredly leaned back on his chair. ¡°Fool, how long have you been working here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Seven years, master.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever hold grudge against me for being so hard on you?¡±


    ¡°No, master. I would not dare.¡± The youth shook his head, massaging the old man¡¯s shoulders, ¡°You did that for me. Otherwise, a child of a prostitute like me would remain a stable boy forever and everyone will not stop voicing their complaints to the lord for his decision.¡±


    The old man sighed again, old and weary was his sigh. ¡°If only the young master was as smart as you¡­¡± his voice trailed off.


    ¡°He¡¯s our lord¡¯s son. In time, he will grow up into a great man.¡±


    ¡°I can only hope so,¡± the old man sighed again, ¡°I will recommend you as my successor to our lord. You can start working as the house keeper in new year.¡±


    ¡°I would not dare, Master. You are still very strong and I have a lot to learn.¡± The youth shook his head.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie to me about my health. I know what I can do and what I cannot better than anyone else,¡± the old man crankily knocked his bony knuckle on the boy¡¯s forehead. ¡°Make sure you take good care of our lord and the young lord,¡± he said.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When the sun was setting, the shadow of the Golden city started to grow gradually and it seemed as if the city itself was growing constantly. In the end, the shadow together with the sky mixed in darkness which engulfed the predominantly brown land. Somehow, Bloodbeard has started to get sick of seeing such mundane scene over and over again for the last few days.


    It has been the four days since he declared his ultimatum on Madukat, of course, the city still stood defiantly as if mocking his declaration. That was the damn plan anyway, not his plan, their plan, those fucking witch hunters and Bloodbeard had no better choice than following that plan if he wanted to get the other half of the payment he received.


    It had become a schedule for him during the last few days. He would wake up, praying to Wonten, having his breakfast, talking smack to his gang to keep them from being bored and careless.


    Then, Bloodbeard would begin his day by starting the siege engine, launching a few dozen boulders over the inner wall of Madukat and watching a piece of the beautiful fort city crumbled down. He would keep doing that for over half an hour.


    Occasionally, his minions managed to catch a couple of people snuck out of Madukat through the breach on the Western wall during the night. They were mostly peasants, miners, beggars and occasionally traveling traders and wealthy merchants from rich families. Bloodbeard would sort those captives into different categories, those would be useful to sell to the travelling slavers, those that were completely useless, those should be kept for the gang¡¯s entertainment and those could be ransomed for hefty coins.


    Those that Bloodbeard considered useless, he would make a good sport out of them, tying them to a stake and making his henchmen to gut them for the guards on the walls of Madukat to see. That would relieve his gang a bit of their restlessness and starve for blood.


    He wanted the guards to fear him and his army. However, lately, he felt like even some of the guards who manned the walls had become bored. They became careless with him and his army because they thought they have grown accustomed to his attack.


    That¡¯s great. Bloodbeard could visually identify which of the shifts were vigilant and alert and which were bore and careless. If he wanted to storm the city, it would not take more than two days for him to make the city his. Besides, if those fools could sneak out of the city, his gang could easily do the opposite, sneaking in. Even some of his most stupid henchmen had already figured it out that they could storm this fortress city to the ground.


    Yet, he had to play the scaring game with these fools instead.


    He thought of going back against his word, taking this fortress city for himself instead. The loot he got from sacking such a rich city would be more than enough to cover for the half of the payment he had not received from those witch hunters. However, doing that, Bloodbeard had to face both army from Zard and White Winter at the same time. It¡¯s not worth angering those witch hunters over a city even if that city was Madukat.


    ¡°Master, how long must we stay in this place? I want to go south as soon as possible. There is nothing for us to do here.¡± One of his henchmen told Bloodbeard and the rest of the gang agreed.


    Bloodbeard scanned his personal guards and replied, ¡°Bear with it, try to play around with those captured women for at most another week under this snow. It would take some time until those white robes reach here.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight them for real.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t fight them. What¡¯s the point of fighting them? They paid us to help them in this war.¡±


    The men bickered.


    Bloodbeard too, got sick of this farce. The city no longer had any mean to stop him and his army from storming it to the ground and yet, his order was to wait.


    He thought he was allowed to raid Madukat, sacking it of gold and women, yet he was being used as a ploy for those Judgment army to cross the border and invaded Zard. Those bloody witch hunters, they were smarter than he has expected. Madukat was too great of a prize for those witch hunter to give up on.


    Really, six carts full of gold was too cheap of a price for such a city. Bloodbeard lamented inwardly. He had received the deposit of three carts full of gold and had to wait until the completion of the job to receive the other three.


    It¡¯s not like Bloodbeard trusted those witch hunters to keep up their end of the promise. They approached him first, telling him that they would provide him the mean to siege the golden fortress Madukat and they just need his cooperation. Bloodbeard was doubtful and initially suspected that the deal was a trap but six carts full of gold was too attractive to ignore. He took four months to subjugate all the bandit groups and got to know the geography of the Triangle Golden Area.


    It went relatively well for him with each success. His army grew larger and larger after each subjugation. Only when Bloodbeard was confident that he could storm Madukat with the help he received from those witch hunters that he went for it.     Yet, only when he was so very close to be the first person to break the myth of invincibility of Madukat, those petty bastards told him that storming Madukat was never a part of the plan.


    Bloodbeard told himself to not be swayed by the small greed in front of Him. Madukat was but a single city, albeit the richest city of Zard, but it was but a single city. If the plan went accordingly, those white robes would have nothing to worry about their invasion. They managed to get through the choke point that was Madukat and have secured themselves supply base to hoard and transport all of their supply for future operations. They can go south and siege the king city of Zard while Bloodbeard and his minions raided cities, towns and villages across Zard.


    If Bloodbeard was to do a damn good job with his raiding business, he would probably get more gold than he could possibly get from ransacking Madukat, the bandit lord told himself.


    Bloodbeard started to consider changing his occupation in the future whether he failed or succeeded to support those white robes to invade Zard. He would form a band of mercenary.


    Had he known that this mercenary business was this profitable, he had already formed his own mercenary band a long time ago.


    Bloodbeard waved his gang to change shift and entered his tent to have an early sleep. Bloodbeard would always take the nightshift and dawn shift to himself, he never trusted those shifts to his gangs no matter who. If his enemies decided to attack, it would be late at night when the moons were high or early in the morning at dawn, Bloodbeard knew from his experience.


    Bloodbeard entered his tent and laid his twin poleaxes next to him as he unrolled the large deer hide he ransacked from a hunter house to the ground. Slowly, he laid down on the deer hide. He felt his body was stiffed, more stiffed than usual. He has not fully recovered from the wounds inflicted by the guard. That man was special, truly special. He was able to fight Bloodbeard to a standstill and inflicted all sort of wounds on his body. Not many men can do that, Bloodbeard thought. It was no wonder Wonten spared him.


    The wounds he received from that man was more serious than Bloodbeard thought one of his many wounds festered,. His minions told Bloodbeard that he had a fever a few days back and he¡¯s recovering from it, not that Bloodbeard knew. Bloodbeard has forgotten what hot and cold was. He felt no pain even if he was to put his hand into the camp fire to take out the burning firewood. He felt no pain when the swords and spears of his enemies smeared his body with his own blood. His tongue could taste nothing, neither sweetness nor sourness nor saltiness nor spiciness, nothing.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He could not understand the pleasure of the flesh that his minions talked about when they raped those women they captured, he pretended he did.


    He knew what lust was when he saw a naked woman but he never knew how to release himself from his own lust. He mimicked people around him, fucking the life out of those women with his large cock, and still, he felt nothing but the insatiable thirst to dominate and trample over everything within his sight. That murky, dark as mud potion that his dickhead father fed him that day turned Bloodbeard into an ultimate fighter for he knew neither pain nor tiredness, yet it made him felt less alive than dead.


    Slowly, Bloodbeard felt his eye lids became heavier, eventually, his mind faded to black.


    Then, he had the strangest dream in a while.


    He was in a dark place, a vast empty plain, wandering around and around, searching for something. He did not know what he was searching for but he just kept doing that, wandering and searching within that dark plain as the moons above him hid within the dark clouds. He did not know how long had he kept doing that or how long would he continue to do so. He was lost and clueless within that darkness.


    Then he saw a pair of gems shone within that murky darkness. The gems shone like the brightest stars on the night sky. Bloodbeard approached that pair of gems whilst the dark clouds above were moving away to reveal a strange bird, an owl under the moonlight.


    It was a strange owl, the strangest owl Bloodbeard had ever seen. Its feather was dark like the night itself and not white or gray like the usual owls Bloodbeard had seen. The strange bird showed no fear even when Bloodbeard was a few steps away from it. Its eyes were shining like stars, yet the color of its irises was dark like polished onyx.


    It was such a beautiful bird, Bloodbeard honestly thought, became strangely fixated by the owl¡¯s appearance. It had a mysterious air around it, otherworldly and almost divinely.


    The owl suddenly flapped its wings, its wingspan overshadowed even the biggest mountain eagles Bloodbeard had ever seen. The bird hovered in front of Bloodbeard as if it was trying to tell Bloodbeard to follow it. He followed the bird without understanding the reason behind his own action and the owl guided him, leading him through that dark plain.


    Bloodbeard never saw the end of that dream, one of his henchmen woke him up, telling that it was his shift. Bloodbeard splashed cold water on his face to wash away his drowsiness and took his shift.


    One Eye and a couple of Bloodbeard personal guards were grilling a hare within the camp fire. The red flame roared every time the fat of the hare dripped down. Bloodbeard heard his stomach grumbled loudly, the gang laughed and told him to join them for the supper. Bloodbeard sat down on a log placed next to the camp fire, waiting for the meal to be served while his thought was fully occupied by that strange owl in his dream.


    He did not know the meaning of that dream.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Moira watched as Erik her chief knight became crankier and crankier after every passing day. He slept less and less, sometimes just an hour during noon. He was being very paranoid and kept telling the knights and the guards that ¡°it would be tonight¡± that ¡°Bloodbeard would storm the city.¡±


    However, that never happened. Bloodbeard seemed to be pretty content with tossing thirties or forties boulders over the wall of Madukat a day with his mysterious siege engine despite all of his threats. Nobody could know what Bloodbeard¡¯s game was. However, the guard captains and Girout were very happy with the situation. Those bloody bandits would soon know doom for what it was when that Judgment Army was upon them.


    Erik told his knights and guards to keep working on those war chariots. They would add more stuffs on the chariots, reinforcing the frame of the chariots with more blades and shields or oiling the axles with animal fat. He told them to treat those chariots as their own lives.


    It has been snowing heavily for a few day. This snow would probably slow down the marching speed of the Judgment Army for weeks, that¡¯s what the men said.


    So I would be trapped within these walls for much longer, Moira thought. She felt a gnawing boredom growing inside her after each passing day. At first, she tried to deal her boredom by helping her men with her magic to fix those chariots. After that, she was really bored. She had nothing else to do. She felt like Bloodbeard was trying to kill everyone inside the wall of Madukat with boredom. If that was really what Bloodbeard was after, that would be truly terrifying.


    She would sometimes walk out of the Great wall that surround the Warden¡¯s residence to the business district of Madukat, accompanied by ten of her bodyguards. Since she had nothing better to do, why not using this time to see more of Madukat, she told herself.


    Every time Moira walked out of the Great wall, she learned something new.


    At first, people were hiding inside their houses and reinforced their houses with wooden planks and nails, blocking their houses with whatever stuffs they could, hoping to prevent the bandits from entering their houses in the case the city was lost. Moira did not know how much of that would help them. Moira thought those people were probably became stupid from their fear. If they had the energy and strength for those kind of jobs, they should have volunteered themselves to help the guards manning the walls in the case that those bandits decided to storm the walls.


    The streets of Madukat were empty, devoid of people and the vibrant market she once saw in the business district was ghostly silent.


    But then, Moira remembered that ugly scene where the guards killed those peasants with their halberds below the Great wall. She suddenly came to a realization that these people did not love those guards and even the Warden himself more than the bandits.


    This city is a mess, Moira thought, it was really a giant mess.


    Then after a few days, the market reopened. The slavers were selling slaves and the butchers were shouting for people to buy his stuffs. It¡¯s like nothing has ever happened and the bandits did not exist. Though, Moira could not say the same for the price, everyone was trying to make as much as money as they could. Moira could not understand why they did that. What was the point of filling their pockets with as much coins as they could when bandits could breach the city and ransack every coins they possessed in any moment?


    Daylight robbery and thieveries happened regularly. Moira tried to help but she soon found herself more useless than she thought. Her flame magic would not allow her to catch the criminals and instead turn those people into cinder.


    Around the third day, Moira heard that there was an Essence temple within the wall and decided to go there, offering her prayer to Niwdar.


    If the golden city Madukat was good at something, it would be that this city was very good at making Moira disappointed, she sighed inwardly.


    This city was full of craps. She did not want to comment about the Warden himself or those men who looked down on her just because she is a woman.


    This city was really full of craps, Moira thought.


    The bar that was said to be opened by a wandering elf had no elf. People said that that was hundred years ago during the Hundred Year War and that elf who opened that bar has wandered somewhere else. Had they not serve good food and great music, Moira would have been very mad.


    They said that there was an Essence Temple at the Eastern slope of the business district, but when Moira arrived there, she could not call it a temple. It was a ruin of what once was a temple erected to service Niwdar.


    What Moira saw was a destroyed house built from limestone that stained black and covered in withered wild ivy vines.  It was much smaller compared to the Essence Temple in Neirra in term of size. A withered white tree was planted in front of the temple.


    Moira guessed that it was abandoned after being burned down in the past from the visible black stains on the wall. When Moira tried to enter the house, her bodyguards stopped her from doing so. The roof was clearly damaged, they said, it could collapse at any moment. Thus, Moira could only pray to Niwdar inside her mind and left.


    When she was leaving the ruined temple, she discovered that there were actually people living inside that. Probably homeless and beggar, Moira thought as she was leaving. She could not help but asking herself how on Escana these people of Madukat would heal themselves if they did not have an Essence Temple within their city. They must be very rich if they could do away with those expensive salves and potions from those alchemists and private healers. But then, Moira remembered the number of homeless people and beggars she has seen.


    The worship of Sinintee was widespread across the Northern realm; however, it was Niwdar¡¯s temple that people visited the most. That was mainly due to the kind of service that the Essence Temple offered.


    Hurt, go and call a priestess from the Essence Temple. Sick, poisoned, cursed; offer thy prayer to Niwdar.


    Thus, the Essence Temples were erected in most cities and even some large towns and villages whereas the Great Temple of Sinintee could only be seen in the biggest cities.


    This city is full of craps, Moira lamented inwardly. The songs, the poems, and the stories about this city that Moira knew were full of craps as well, a bunch of lies.


    One day, Moira just wandered aimlessly on the cobbled streets because she had nothing better to do. She felt like she was locked up in a dark dungeon if she kept staying inside the Warden¡¯s house, listening to the bickering of Girout and the guard captains or watching Erik got crankier and crankier with himself and his men.


    Moira walked to feel the warm snow melt on her skin and the wind caressed her skin. It was a unique experience for her and she welcomed it. She walked to ease her boredom. She could not stand sitting around and doing nothing. While Moira was strolling down the streets, she heard a strange song was being sung in a foreign tongue and in tune with a gentle resonance of a harp.


    It was beautiful, both the voice and the harp. It was a bit sad, dripping with melancholy.


    Moira thought that it was a rare thing. In term of string instrument, the harp and its crystal clear sound was favored by the elf whilst the northern men preferred the sound of lute which was crispier and deeper. One of the priestesses Moira knew in Neirra was especially good with the harp and yet, she was but an imitation to the person who was playing that harp.


    Moira followed the sound of the harp, hoping that she might find herself an elf. She has only heard about the elves in the story, never met one herself. It¡¯s said that the elves were the fairest creatures on Escana, of course, Moira would be curious. Would they be as beautiful as her sister Rosalia or even more than that?


    The song lead Moira back to that abandoned Essence temple of the goddess Niwdar again. She climbed the slope and saw a woman sitting under the shade of the ruin.


    The woman wore a scanty tunic that was dark like the color of the raven¡¯s feather, making her stood out against the white of the temple wall and the falling snow around her. Her tunic was tight and inviting, beautifully framing her gorgeous curves. A dark, almost translucent veil covered half of her face, it did little to hide her fairest face if not only added a mysterious charm to her character. Her eyes were amber, enchanting yet piercing. Her hair was shoulder length, well-trimmed, a cascade of rosy velvet.


    Moira allowed herself to be captivated by the enchantment of the minstrel¡¯s gentle voice and harp. Her body guards too, were entranced. They held their breath and stood fixedly to the ground, completely being enamored by the woman. Moira could not blame them, even as a woman herself, Moira found herself being spell-bounded by that woman¡¯s beauty.


    When the song ended and the sound of the harp quietly disappeared to give way to the rifting wind, Moira was still breathing quietly and being captivated. It was until one of her bodyguards clapped his hand, Moira came to herself, clapping her hands to show her admiration to the minstrel.


    The woman in black clothing just nodded lightly, stood up and rustled the snow on her body. Moira hurriedly took out a few coins from her pouch, a bit more from the usual tip that she would give to any bard but she thought it was fair. She approached the masked woman, handed the coins over.


    The minstrel stood a shoulder shorter than Moira, the exact ideal height for a woman in the northern realm. Standing next to such a pretty woman made Moira really felt her complexity over her own height, albeit not for too long, her height allowed Moira to dip her eyes to the masked woman¡¯s generous cleavage. Her breasts were full and stout, and the pair were almost practically spilled out of the tight tunic. Moira¡¯s breasts by no mean a plot of scanty harvest, but she could only feel inferior to the rich pair in front of her.


    When Moira realized a hint of smile from the masked minstrel from the creases of her eyes, she probably realized that Moira was staring at her chest. Moira blinked, moving her gaze to meet the minstrel¡¯s piercing amber eyes ¡°You have the most beautiful voice that I have ever heard,¡± she complimented.


    The woman once again nodded her head and just casually accepted the coins. Her reaction was a little bit cold, Moira thought. A breeze suddenly blew by, lifting the minstrel¡¯s rosy lock and revealing her pale round ears.


    ¡°I thought you was an elf for a moment.¡± Moira honestly voiced her thought. She was being disillusioned at this point. She thought this beautiful woman had to be an elf. That bar in the business district really messed up her expectation through and through.


    ¡°It must have been a real disappointment.¡± The minstrel chuckled amusedly and brought her fingers up to cover her mouth despite having that veil covering her face. It must have been a habit, her movement was smooth and elegant. She reminded Moira of her own sister and those noble women and court ladies.


    ¡°Just a bit,¡± Moira replied, winking her eyes. She thought that this gorgeous looking minstrel might be of a fallen noble house or a rich family. Her accent was a bit strange, Moira was not sure where it came from, but it was light and pleasant to the ears. ¡°Why are you singing in this desolated place? If you want to sing, why not go somewhere else so people could listen to your song?¡± Moira inquired.


    ¡°I was told that there was a temple of Niwdar in this city and when I came here, this is all I can see,¡± the minstrel turned and gazed over the abandoned temple, ¡°It¡¯s in such a sad state¡­¡± and her voice trailed off.


    ¡°Are you a traveler as well?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± The woman nodded her head.


    Moira found herself wanting to chat with the minstrel. Hildy was the masked minstrel¡¯s name. She has been travelling around for a very long time. She stopped at Madukat recently and trapped within just like Moira. That¡¯s all Moira has learned.


    Hildy was a bit cold and distant, Moira thought. Though, Moira might as well blame some of her bodyguards who tiptoed, trying to be as high as possible and dipping their eyes into the deep cleavage of Hildy. She bid Moira farewell as soon as Moira began to introduce herself.  Moira thought that minstrel was rather strange for a performer and returned to the Warden¡¯s mansion after that.


    Then after a few days, Moira noticed a big change was taking place within the high walls of Madukat.


    She saw those inquisitors of White Winter gathered crowds at every corner within the city walls, spreading the news of a Judgment Army was coming to Madukat to liberate every one of the bandits. The inquisitors promised to save Madukat and made the bandits paid for what they did. Naturally, the crowd cheered for them. The crowd welcomed the inquisitors like their long lost family members, some even knelt at their feet, kissing on their own fingers and used those fingers to touch the sole of those inquisitors¡¯ shoes.


    The Judgment Army had not arrived yet and those inquisitors were already treated by these people as their own heroes, Moira thought. However, she was genuinely happy about the change.


    The air within Madukat for the past few days was dead, but now it felt much better.

 Chapter 27: Perhaps the sleeping prince is waiting for a kiss of a princess to wake him up

    Chapter 27: Perhaps, the sleeping prince is waiting for a kiss of his princess in white to wake him up


    Fearless has engaged in relationships with over thousand girls and women, some platonic and pure, some purely physical, some were merely to serve ulterior purposes¡­ Yet, the number of women who mattered to his life stopped at five, and without a doubt, his sister was on that list.


    If Fearless had to rank his sister on his top-ten list of the most insane people he had ever met, she would undoubtedly make it to the top five without fail. As for the number one spot, Fearless could clearly see that bastard every single time he was in front of a mirror. What was that bastard if not the definition of insanity?


    That was the only thing he could beat his sister.


    His sister was a special existence. She was the only sister he has ever had, his kindred, his sunshine, his demon goddess, and his better. Fearless feared her, revered her, and even worshipped her at the same time.


    However, she¡¯s also an insane bitch, the kind that had those ¡°How to train your Shota,¡± or ¡°The art of Mind Control for dummy,¡± or ¡°Cold reading, how to know when your boyfriend is lying to you,¡± or ¡°S&M, how to spice up your love life,¡± and many more similar insane title ebooks hiding inside her PC. She did not just read them. She tested the knowledge from those books on Fearless which eventually got the both of them locked in a constant arms race. Those books are the R&D and the insane knowledge from them is the technological advantages in the arms race.


    Though, half of them were actually junks, a load of horse manure, the other half weren¡¯t, ¡°Fantastic breasts and where to find them¡± for instance was more than helpful.


    Fearless could see his sister¡¯s finger print on almost every decision he has ever made and more.


    She is the reason he awoke to S&M and became the professional at it at the tender age of fifteen, and that should not be the age for any person to even know what S&M is.


    That one time he was drugged and woke up to see himself bounded to a royal bed of a hotel with the four women in bondage costumes standing in front of him, had it not for the experiences he had with his sister, it could become a huge mess.


    Those amateurs, they thought that wearing a bondage costume and having a whip on their hands would make them the S queens, truly amateurs. A man doesn¡¯t become the greatest swordsman just because he wields the best sword in his hands and a woman can¡¯t become an S queen over the night wearing the most expensive bondage costumes with the most expensive whip on her hands either.


    They thought they could make him submit to the binding and the whips while having such terrible skills and half-ass knowledge, there should be a limit to how na?ve grown girls like them could be.


    That kind of naivety made Fearless smiled while commenting how cute they all were.


    In the end, Fearless had to teach them what S&M truly is. ¡°S&M is not about the bondage, the costume or the whip. Rapport is the most important thing in S&M.¡± He taught them.


    ¡°It did not matter who was the S and who was the M in a S&M play.¡± He whispered to them while binding them to the bed and putting a blindfold on their eyes and inserting a gag ball into their mouth, one by one, ¡°It was the thrill, the expectation, and the pleasure at the end of the play when your trust is rewarded by your partner. Pain can never be translated to pleasure without the existence of love and rapport.¡±


    Those grown girls meekly rested their back on the bed, anticipating for the pain and the pleasure to come.


    Except, Fearless went home after that, leaving those na?ve grown girls in that half naked, bounded, and gagged state for several hours before making a call for the hotel securities to free them. Love should be consensual. S&M should be consensual and not forced. That was their punishment for not understand something as simple as that.


    The only woman that is allowed to push him down and reverse-rape him is his sister alone. But he had no need to explain that to them.


    They called him a dick for doing leaving them dry and hanging. Still, they dated him after that. Thus, left Fearless himself confused of which one of them was supposed to be the insane one, him or them.


    Love is such a strange thing.


    In the end, his sister was the only reason he became attracted to all sort of insane and dangerous women. She was the reason he had a morbid love of watching the face of a jealous woman.


    She was the very opposite of Alice, the Yin to Alice¡¯s Yang.


    Alice brought out the sunshine and best of Fearless, whereas his sister had the talent to bring out the worst and the ugliest parts of him at anytime and anywhere. Then she would make him come to term with that, that he was just as insane and ugly as anyone else. Only then, she would tell him that she loved him more than anyone else in the world and that she loved everything about him, whether that it was his beautiful parts, his ugly parts or his insane parts, everything.


    She was the kind of brazen and insane bitch that would put her hand inside of his pant pocket right in a plaza in the middle of their afternoon date, giving him a painful bulging erection. And then, she would quietly mock him of being a pervert for having a massive erection in a public area and tease him to dead for that. After that, she would drag him into an obscure place, giving him a head whilst telling him that the only person in the world could accept a huge pervert like him was an insane and pervert bitch like her.


    She loved to give him a head while telling him ¡°What a perverted and sorry cock you have¡±. If Fearless ever dared to retaliate or talk back to her in that moment, she would bite it to condition him and taught him a lesson at the same time.


    It did not matter what he did, she could always turn the table on him. That was the lesson. She would repeat it again and again to make sure he remembered it. Lesson is meant to be revised over and over again until you learned it by the heart, she said. Though, Fearless had no doubt that his sister loved sucking his magnum and that lesson could be a pretense to cover it up.


    While she was conditioning him, he pulled the same trick on her. Fearless would gently comb his fingers through her hair, kiss her dark cascade and whisper ¡°Good girl¡± into her ears. That would pull out the hidden vanilla flavor out of her every time. Eventually, the word ¡°Good girl¡± became a trigger to bring out a gentle and nurturing side of her.


    Fearless¡¯ relationship with her was just that toxic. Their love was ten percent of vanilla, forty percent of thrill and fifty percent of insanity. She could give him the low-low in one moment and then the high-high in the next. She was like his personal brand of heroin.


    She was truly a terrifying existence. She was always ahead of him. She was the only one person Fearless could never win.


    She redefined what love was for him. Hitherto meeting her, love was gentle, sweet and warm, like honey, like sugar, and like the warm glow of morning sun.


    With her, love was the playful slap across the cheeks. Love was the biting. Love was the constant wrestle for dominance. Love was manipulative. Love was the thrill of forbidden adventures. Love was secretive and indecent.


    With her, love was ever strange and often outright confusing.


    Fearless remembered having a great relationship with a middle age beast tamer while he was under tutelage of that old illusionist. She was gentle and motherly. She would tell him how cute he was. She would give him candies and snacks. She would hug him and give him a gentle kiss on his forehead like he was her child.


    That did not sit well with his sister. Somehow, she managed to smell out that relationship and became insanely jealous about it despite there was nothing indecent about it. Her slap was more painful than usual. Her bite struck blood on his shoulder. Her kiss was fiercer than usual. Her blowjob was better than usual. Her eyes were awash with tears while making him promised to not get into a relationship with that beast tamer while threatening to bit off his balls at the same time. It was truly painful and terrifying.


    And yet, it was addictive.


    He has never seen her like that before. She paid no attention to the army of girls who surrounded him and protected him every day in school. She had no qualm of him being smothered by those girls. She did not mind sharing him with her flat mate when she entered college to buy the latter¡¯s vow of silence and secrecy. She did not mind the 3P with that flat mate either.


    Though, she was upset of his relationship with Alice but never to this extent. That sight of her being desperate, it made Fearless wanted to push for more.


    Of course, his sister immediately understood that she has made a mistake the moment she allowed her emotion to get the better of her. Since, his sister would come to the circus as soon as her school ended, waiting to pick him up whilst guarding him from that gentle woman¡¯s cuddle.


    Fearless remembered that one day while she was pedaling home with him at the back of her granny bicycle; they came across a group of boys from his school.


    Those pitiful souls, perhaps they thought Fearless¡¯ sister was any less than the army of girls who would always be there to protect him at school and took the opportunity. One of them ran after the bicycle and let fly a single pebble at Fearless¡¯ head.


    His sister hit the brake to a full stop and approached those pitiful souls whilst tying the long sleeves of her white aodai around her waist like a belt. She always looks lovely in her white aodai, but the image of her tying her aodai up was really scary.


    She then took off her wooden sandals and set loose the demon within her on those poor souls.


    If he had a choice, Fearless would trade that army of girls for his sister alone. She would make one hell of a bodyguard.


    ¡°Holy shit¡± is the only word to capture the totality, barbarity and brutality of the scene unfolded after that, holy shit. She was an extremely territorial woman. She did not appreciate people touch or damage her things without her consent.


    The result of that incident was three months of grounding, the confiscation of her smart phone and docking of pocket money for his sister. His adopt parents were very strict as educators. They could not tolerate such behavior even though they could understand the motivation behind the action.


    Even though, his sister obediently accepted her punishment behind her professional crocodile tears, she told Fearless that she had no regret. Somehow, she managed to make that ridiculous scene heroic and inspirational with her acting skills.


    She was such a drama queen, he sighed inwardly while watching his adopted parents fell for the crocodile tears. Even though, Fearless himself was of the same breed. If he was in the same situation, he would probably pull the same move.


    ¡°Those who play with knives must be prepared to get cut,¡± she said, ¡°Those who play with fire must be prepared to get burnt. They did not think twice before hurting my brother. They should have no qualm of being at the receiving end of violence.¡±


    Those words would become Fearless¡¯ guiding compass for the rest of his life.


    The grounding and the confiscation of her smart phone bored her to dead, ¡°But it does not matter,¡± the demon goddess whispered into Fearless¡¯ ears that night, ¡°I still have you.¡±


    If his adopted parents truly wanted to punish his sister, they had to separate him from her instead of her smart phone.


    However, the docking of pocket money put both Fearless and her in a real bind. The rubbers and the contraception pills cost money. The way they dove into the rabbit hole and humped like rabbits every single day cost a lot of money. Not even Fearless¡¯ bountiful sum of pocket money was enough to support it and his sister was not allowed to have past time job until her second year in college.


    ¡°Why not go backdoor?¡± she suggested. That changed everything.


    Fearless, 15 years old at that time, had learned something weird that day.¡± You can use the backdoor.¡±


    His sister was an insane bitch, a manipulative, possessive, jealous and abusive bitch. And yet, Fearless loves her still.


    Love disregards good or bad, the beautiful or the ugly, right or wrong. Love is love.


    Love is weird and ever confusing.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°What is love? Baby, don¡¯t hurt me. Don¡¯t hurt me no more.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck is he singing about?¡± the younger bandit asked, panicked.


    ¡°How the fuck do I know?¡± the older bandit retorted and put his prize down on the floor, watching his prize singing in its sleep with widened eyes.


    ¡°Baby, don¡¯t hurt me. Don¡¯t hurt me no more.¡±


    The creature sang a song in some sort of foreign tongue, probably elven. He really struck gold, Croaky thought, he really managed to catch himself an elf. He would be rich after this.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Croaky tore a piece of the creature¡¯s robe and balled it, ¡°This should shut him up. Can¡¯t allow him to attract attention.¡± The older bandit commented and the younger bandit nodded his head.


    ¡°What is love?¡±


    Croaky inserted the rag ball into the creature¡¯s mouth, shutting it up.


    ¡°Mmmmm.¡± Though, the creature persisted to sing with muffled sound.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± the younger bandit said and the two bandits put the broken magic staff on their shoulders again, bringing their prize back to the base.


    ¡°Mmmmmmmm.¡±


    ¡°God damn it. He¡¯s persistent.¡±


    ¡°Mmmmmmm¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The highlights in ROC were generally divided into two types, named and unnamed.


    The unnamed highlights were the average highlights of the week or highlights of the month, showing a brilliant play during a match and bearing no greater significance.


    The named ones were however immortalized within the heart and mind of the community forever. They could be the most brilliant of plays and execution or a sudden collapse during the most important hour. They represented the intensity, the competiveness and the chaos that was Reign of Chaos.


    Throughout his career, Fearless stacked up a staggering list of highlights, both named and unnamed. His fans did not call him the ¡°walking highlight reel¡± or ¡°half man half amazing¡± for nothing. It was the result of his high risk high reward play style and the kind of playable warlords which he favored.


    One of his greatest highlights was ¡°The Play,¡± the moment when Fearless forced the super AI bot Heavennet into a base race and defeated it on a biggest stage.


    Other than that, there was also the ¡°Fuck The Bitch has done it again¡± or ¡°What a tragedy¡± or ¡°Some man just loved to watch the world burned¡± to name a few. Those highlight plays were named by the community, taking a specific phrase of the broadcast in that very moment to name the highlight.


    Other than those, Fearless also stacked up a list of his infamous highlights.


    Among those infamous highlights, there were three that stood out the most.


    They were remembered by the fans and the community as the ¡°Great Collapse¡±, the ¡°Walkaway¡± and the ¡°445¡±. They were like the dark history page that Fearless wished that they did not exist. They were Fearless¡¯ infamous three.


    The ¡°Great Collapse¡± happened during the last match Fearless played in his second year in the ROC World Cup. He fumbled during the last minute and the entire team received a game over because of that.


    The ¡°Walkaway¡± happened during the preliminary of the fifth ROC world cup that Fearless attended, playing against IYF- In Your Face. It belonged to the dark page of history of Fearless for a variety of reasons.


    One of the reasons was the bizarreness of how it happened.


    Three hours before the match began; Fearless and the rest of The Alliance were trying to get their breakfast. The hotel they stayed ran into a bit of a problem and could not serve the breakfast as the result. Fearless and his guys had no choice but to walk down the street and hopefully nabbed something before their match began. They should have left that job to their manager, however, their team owner for better or worse decided to fire the old manager just one week before the ROC world cup and, as the result, Fearless and the team were pretty much on their own for most part.


    It was like a chain of misfortunate events.


    Then, Fantasy spotted a kebab truck parking in the area. It looked great, the meat looked juicy great and the smell of the kebab made Fearless and everyone gulped their saliva, mouthwatering.


    So they got into the line and bought the kebab. The Kebab was great. It tasted great. Everything was great until they played the fifteen minutes into the match against IYF.


    All sound was lost to him in that moment. Fearless could not tell what FY and anyone else was talking about. Fearless never felt the need to hit the restroom like that in his entire life. He was literally dying on his seat. He focused all of his attention to control the muscle of his butt hole and his stomach.


    That control was shaken until he heard a farting sound popped inside the game booth. He had no idea whose that was.


    ¡°Let¡¯s put an end to this match,¡± FY immediately delivered the most motivational speech of his career, short, concise and simply inspirational. He took out the entire dwarven army under his control and sent them charging toward their opponents.


    Fantasy brought out his elven warlord and the entire army he built up to that moment. Misery sent his ragtag of bandits and pirates. Merleon sent the Naga and Fearless sent out his entire dark elf force.


    The opponents were confused. Their players were confused. Their team captain was confused. Even their coach and their analytic staffs were confused. IYF¡¯s coach and their analytic staffs were one of the best supporting cast any team could have within the pro-league of ROC, and yet, they could only clutch their head haplessly in front of such incomprehensible move from Fearless and his guys.


    Of course they would, because they could not make out any sense from that kind of mass suicide attack The Alliance was throwing at them.


    The team lineup and composition of The Alliance was meant to be defensive and their plan was meant to drag the game into the one hour mark. Yet, the strategy employed by Fearless and The Alliance was the opposite. Furthermore, they brought out their warlords to that suicide attack.


    Warlord was not meant to participate in suicide attack because when a player¡¯s warlord is killed in the battlefield, it is game over.


    It made no sense to IYF, of course, because there was none to begin with.


    Fearless and his guys were ready to throw that match and believed that they could make it up with their matches later on.


    IYF could only react accordingly to the threats Fearless and his teammates tossed at them.


    Misery led the attack with his ragtag force of pirate and bandits. He was way ahead of everyone. He did not wait for FY¡¯s or Fearless¡¯ force to arrive to perform a coordinate attack. He sent his force straight into the jaws of the opponent¡¯s vanguard.


    Of course, he got wiped. It was almost an instant game over for him. His warlord was killed as soon as the battle started.


    The very moment he got a game over, Misery stood up from his seat and immediately ran out of the game booth without leaving so much of a word. He left the game booth with the speed of a man leaving a crime scene, that fucking traitor.


    With a friend like that, who need enemies?


    The TV crew was confused, the broadcasters were confused and even the fans were clutching their head, extremely confused. They had no idea what¡¯s going on, nobody did.


    After that, Fantasy spurred his army into the heart of the coalition of the opposing team¡¯s army like a moth to a flame. His magic casters charged right into the front of IYF¡¯s main camp as if they were heavy cavalry, locking in a melee with spearmen of IYF. His archer units took on a full cavalry charge from IYF¡¯s team captain. However, he at least put up a fight unlike Misery. Somehow, he managed to bait one warlord of IYF to make an early undesired appearance on the battlefield.


    Fearless and Merleon did not miss the chance. Both the Naga and the dark elf were especially good in sniping generals and warlords. Merleon set loose his Naga archer and Fearless sent his dark elf mount archer to make quick work of that warlord of IYF.


    Fantasy stood up and ran out of the booth as soon as his screen flashed a game over, never to return, adding more confusion to everyone on the stage, everyone except The Alliance themselves.


    The score was four to three.


    After that, Merleon¡¯s Naga force took the brunt of IYF¡¯s retaliation to defend Fearless¡¯ force. That was not supposed to happen. Fearless could only curse himself for not realizing he could do that.


    Had Fearless known that he could do that, he could save himself from the followed tragedy.


    Merleon¡¯s force lasted only two minutes against the punishment IYF dished out. He left the game booth five seconds before he received the game over.


    The score became four to two.


    During that utter chaos, FY thrust his dwarven army into that giant mess like a freight train without brake. That would become FY¡¯s worst decision in that match. He should not have done it.


    His dwarven cavalry wiped three armies off the map with the covering fire of Fearless¡¯ mounted archer.


    It was a most brilliant move. The broadcasters screamed and the fans erupted during that play, of course, neither Fearless nor FY heard any of that.


    That was a brilliant move under the any circumstance except the one Fearless and FY had. IYF was left with a single army of their team captain to defend their four players¡¯ camps.


    The score was four to two still. Fearless and FY could not get another warlord of IYF despite the number of officers they killed and captured during that confrontation.


    IYF¡¯s players quickly retreated to their own camps, taking a no-attack and full-defense approach. It was then Fearless and FY realized the mistake they made. They should have used that chaos to allow their army to be crushed by IYF and exited the game booth in the similar fashion as the rest of the team.


    Fearless cursed his own brilliance just as FY did. Fearless could not believe that he could come out on top of that confrontation, even though, his head was pretty much blank due to the level of focus and discipline he put into the control of his butt hole.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that word left their mouth at the same time, incurred a small $800 fine for each of them at a later time since it was not an international televised match.


    Without telling each other a single word, Fearless and FY went after the army of IYF team captain and ignored the rabble rebuilding armies of the other three.


    They had to suicide as quickly as they can. Fearless did not know about FY but he could feel his limit was approaching at that time. They could not afford to siege IYF¡¯s camps one by one.


    That fucking bastard, Fearless gritted his teeth as his body drenched in sweats. IYF team captain maneuvered his army to avoid direct confrontation with the combined army of FY and Fearless. That was the most logical move, of course, any sensible ROC player would do that.


    ¡°Ch?t m?t. Ch?t m?t. Ch?t m?t. Ch?t m?t. Ch?t m?t.¡± Fearless mumbled the phrase over and over again into his headset as he had no mean to catch up with that elusive army of IYF team captain. He felt like he was blanking out and soiling his pants at any moment. He was taking the word ¡°endurance¡± to a whole new level at that point.


    Never in his life had he wished to have his beloved witches with him as that moment. Those ladies had the best mobility within the game just as the dragoons. However, IYF had the first ban that day. They banned The Alliance from picking the witch faction, effectively preventing Fearless from picking his best warlord and army.


    ¡°Ch?t m?t¡± can be loosely translated as ¡°Literally dying¡± in Vietnamese.


    Somehow, the broadcasters and the spectators misheard ¡°Ch?t m?t¡± as ¡°Checkmate¡± as they watched Fearless and FY decided to take the worst option and the only option in their hands at that moment. What¡¯s more shameful is that even the Vietnamese fans of The Alliance have misheard that as well.


    Everybody who watched that game believed that this scenario was the end game that The Alliance had in mind when they employed that mass suicide attack. The phrase ¡°Ch?t m?t¡± that came out of Fearless¡¯ mouth somehow gave meaning to the biggest match-thrown in the history of the ROC pro-league.


    FY and Fearless sieged IYF team captain¡¯s main camp to force his army to return and defend his camp. His warlord was stuck inside the main camp. If the siege succeeded, it would be a game over for him.


    FY¡¯s dwarven army was good for sieging unlike Fearless¡¯ dark elves. With that knowledge in mind, the two of them hoped that they would apply enough pressure for IYF team captain to bring back his force and defend his camp and maybe, the rest of IYF would bring their rabble army as well to lift with the siege.


    Fearless needed to suicide and so did FY, as fast as they can.


    Thankfully, IYF responded exactly as FY and Fearless have predicted. Their team captain hurried his army to return home to face the combined army of FY and Fearless. Two of IYF¡¯s players sent out their warlord as the general of their rabble army as reinforcement to lift the siege. The remained player of IYF sent out small rebuilding army to raid both FY and Fearless¡¯ empty camp, applying pressure on Fearless and FY, hoping that the two of them would end the siege.


    Except, the word ¡°Defend¡± was already wiped out of Fearless¡¯ dictionary at that point. He had no idea what¡¯s that even meant.


    ¡°Ch?t m?t,¡± and ¡°Suicide¡± were the only things in his mind. His entire body was trembling like a hapless lamb that was sent to a butcher house. He was literally dying in his own seat. He has reached his limit a long time ago. The only thing that kept Fearless going was his will and his meager pride. He had no wish to soil himself in front of millions of people.


    Wordlessly, Fearless and FY stopped the siege in perfect harmony, sending their army to face the combined army of IYF. Fearless rushed his dark elves mounted archers ahead of FY¡¯s dwarven force to meet IYF¡¯s combined army, using the little advantage in mobility the dark elves had over the dwarves.


    That was the ultimate betrayal. It was betrayal, betrayal as betrayal is. FY could only roll his bloodshot eyes and spurred his force to follow.


    A single cavalry charge from IYF¡¯s team captain army would have given Fearless a game over. And yet, that dickhead bastard suspected Fearless¡¯ play to be a trap, saving that cavalry charge for FY¡¯s army. He split his force into two to deal with Fearless and FY separately.


    It was a grave mistake from the broadcasters¡¯ perspective. That was a bad call. That was a terrible decision. That was a fumble. However, at that point, neither team realized that.


    Fearless cursed that dickhead bastard for needlessly lengthen the match. He hissed sharply and sent his entire force into a melee with three armies. He just wanted to have his warlord killed, nothing else.


    His dark elves took on magic casters, spearmen, footmen, horsemen and whatever IYF threw at him. Fearless¡¯ head was basically blank at this point. He allowed his opponents to do whatever they wanted to his army. The moment they formed a circle around his force, Fearless could already see the light at the end of the tunnel.


    And yet, FY appeared with his dwarven cavalry. It was like a replication of that scene where the Rohirrim cavalry made their appearance at the end of the movie Lords of the Rings: The Return of the King.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Fearless cursed and turned his head to look at FY.


    Tears streamed out of FY¡¯s bloodshot eyes, ¡°We are brothers, aren¡¯t we?¡± His body was shaken like a leaf in front of a storm. A broken smile spread on his lips.


    The people who watched that scene literally interpreted FY¡¯s shaking as excitement. If only they knew¡­


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    In that moment, Fearless had no fucking idea of how FY could have done that. He thought that FY was still locked in a melee with IYF team captain. He had no spare brain power at that point to make an educated guess of the result of the collision between a human light cavalry against a heavy dwarven cavalry would be.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± That was ¡°Et tu, Brute.¡±


    "Fuck." That was the sound of a broken man who has come to a realization that he had to pay a price for his betrayal.


    ¡°Those who play with knives must be prepared to get cut. Those who play with fire must be prepared to get burnt.¡± That broken man remembered his sister¡¯s words.


    This was his karma.


    Fearless cursed. His eyes were awash with tears.


    People interpreted the tears in the eyes of Fearless and FY came from their beautiful friendship and their mutual trust. Little did they know¡­


    ¡°Fuck.¡± That was the ¡°Forth Eorlingas!¡± version of The Alliance. That was the horn that signaled the cavalry charge.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that was the war cries of Fearless and FY against their mortal enemies that threatened to come out of their asses at any moment.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Fearless screamed, button smashing, killed two warlords of IYF in that chaos as FY was wiping out their army with a single charge of his dwarven cavalry.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that was their victory cries when the only two warlords remained on that battlefield were theirs. Their suicide attempt was botched.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that was the realization that the only ways they could put an end to that game was to siege the two remained camps of IYF or literally type ¡°GG¡± and forfeited the match.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that was the despair of two broken men made when they spurred their army to siege the fuck out of the main camp of IYF¡¯s team captain. They were manically laughing as tears washed their cheeks.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± One simple word and yet, it could mean literally anything. How wonderful!


    Suddenly, the true cavalry arrived. The ¡°GG¡± message appeared on the screen. IYF has surrendered.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± that was the sound made by two broken men who got stuck on the door of the game booth because they tried to escape the room at the same time. They were both intelligent men who had been reduced to brainless blokes. They were brothers who had betrayed each other.


    FY ran with the speed of Usain Bolt and escaped the scene. Fearless did the same, disappeared from the stage in a similar manner.


    The arena was left in utter confusion. Nobody could tell what happened to the entire roster of The Alliance. Nobody could make any sense from that empty stage. The winners left the stage without waving to the audience or shaking hand with the losing team.


    That day, the pro-league of ROC recorded the second weirdest match in their history.


    Later when the press and the media approached The Alliance to question their most controversial match yet, ¡°Family issue¡± was the only answer FY gave them.


    But ¡°Whose family?¡± they asked.


    ¡°No comment. Please give some respect to our privacy in this matter. We don¡¯t wish to make this matter bigger than it has already been.¡±


    The storm of speculations around that weird match would go on and on for half a year until people was tired of discussing it. As for The Alliance, that match was buried down the darkest page of their history, to be forgotten. Yet, the community and the pro-league of ROC would not allow that.


    They immortalized that match in their own ways.


    The fans would make clips with titles like ¡°Greatest match of all time¡± or ¡°The Greatness of The Alliance¡± or ¡°The best play in the history of ROC¡±¡­ etc.


    The league made a short document ¡°The Walkaway¡± to immortalize that weirdest match in their history. They did not know that the weirdest match in their history would come in another seven years.


    As for The Alliance, they learned that even though they had no need for a coach, they need a manager. A manager is vital for the team.

 Chapter 28: Prince and the invader

    Chapter 28: Prince and the invader


    Fearless entered the pro-league of ROC as the youngest super star in their history. The media and fans were quickly to put the label of ¡°The prodigy¡± on his shoulders and then ¡°The Prince.¡±


    His title ¡°The Prince¡± was the result of his relationship with FY, being FY¡¯s prot¨¦g¨¦ and all.


    FY used to play for the Taiwanese team ED- Everlasting Dynasty before he created The Alliance. He was their captain and was well-known for putting the entire roster of ED on his two shoulders throughout the years whereas ED was known for overhauling their roster every single year and those rosters were supposed to be built around FY. As the result, the fans gave him a nickname ¡°The King¡±.


    FY became ¡°The King¡± of Everlasting Dynasty for five years and despite his super star level of talents, he could never carry that team beyond the Semi- Final of the ROC World Cup. No matter what he did or how brilliant he played, that was his limit. As the result, his doubters and anti-fans gave him a title, ¡°The Crownless King.¡± That title stuck with FY until he won the first ROC World Cup with The Alliance.


    The proof of a champion in ROC was the replica of the golden crown of power and FY had never come close to put that crown on his head while playing under the flag of ED. That¡¯s aside, who could win a championship while carrying the flag of an organization with the name of ED? ED is such a self-defeating name. ED- Erectile Dysfunction is never a great name for any organization.


    Being FY¡¯s prot¨¦g¨¦ and partner in crime, Fearless received his ¡°The Prince¡± title which was also his title when he was small, a pleasant coincidence. Though, Fearless was more convinced that the reason he received that title had more to do with his well-crafted charming smile and how he received the flash of camera lens and presses like his long lost kin.


    He was the ¡°chosen one¡± and the poster child of ROC for many years, until that incident with Misery happened. Since the league failed to resolve that problem, he took it to his own hands. Fearless could not see what¡¯s so wrong about that.


    The community and the fans at that time did nothing to stop that situation from escalating. The media and the presses brushed over it like it was the usual trash talk. But that was no trash talk. It stopped being at the level of mere trash talk when the situation ballooned beyond the spectrum of a game of ROC. That was no trash talk.


    That asshole attacked Misery psychologically, and thus Fearless retaliated with a psychological attack, destroying that asshole¡¯s confidence and fan base all at the same time. What¡¯s so wrong about it?


    ¡°Those who play with knives must be prepared to get cut. Those who play with fire must be prepared to get burnt.¡±


    He cruelly attacked Misery like that and yet did not expect to be attacked in the end. What a jokester! The entire community, the fans and even the presses that refused to defuse the situation until Fearless stepped in, they were a giant joke.


    They were always talking about how the entire league was a giant family. What kind of family is that? What kind of family that just stood and watched its family member being attacked and suffered like that? What a joke!


    The Commissioner of the pro-league of ROC was also a big fat joke. He can issue a fine for players who got caught cheating or swearing on TV, yet, only issued a warning to that asshole. The Commissioner could stop that situation, put a fine on the entire team and organization of that asshole for escalating the problem and effectively stopped it. Yet, he did not.


    That attack was not a problem until Fearless made it a problem; and since Fearless made it a problem, he took a fall for that.


    ¡°You were supposed to bring greatness to the league, not blemished it,¡± the Commissioner said when he asked Fearless to come to his office for a one on one conversation.


    Fearless thought that the people who gave him the nickname ¡°The chosen one¡± were very spot-on. He came to the league a prodigy just like Anakin Skywalker and just like Anakin Skywalker; Fearless was lured into the dark side of the league. He became a villain.


    Fearless did not regret being a villain. In fact, he enjoyed being a villain ten thousand times more than he did being a proper ¡°Prince¡± or being a ¡°chosen one.¡± Being a villain was such a great experience, though, Fearless wished that he could receive cool title like Darth Vader or something like ¡°Dark Prince¡± or the ¡°Fallen One¡± or something more edgy and cool instead of ¡°The Motherfucker¡± like some kind of lame villains that would appear in Kickass.


    The greatness of being a villain was that Fearless was able to do and say things that he normally wasn¡¯t able to. He got to do what he wanted to do and said things he wanted to say without fearing of affecting his image. If he wanted to crush someone in a trash talk, he could follow it through. If he wanted to go out partying with his fans and did something stupid with them, he could do it any time. If he wanted to be improper, to be vulgar or allowed a bottled side of him to come out, he could do that and got away being a villain.


    Being treated as a villain by the community and the pro-league of ROC was one of the greatest thing that has ever happened to Fearless¡¯ life. It was great¡­ and all great things must come to an end at some point. Life is such a disappointment.


    One particular moment brought Fearless back to the light side of the league. It was the infamous ¡°445.¡±


    One week before Fearless made his ninth appearances in the Final match of the ROC World Cup, he woke up to find himself in a somewhat familiar situation, locked up to a bed.


    It was just the usual thing for Fearless. He wasn¡¯t even surprise about it. He looked around the room for a little bit whilst fighting the head-splitting hang over. His head hurt so fucking bad that he regretted going for the fourth round with his fans. He should have stopped at the third round.


    Fearless did not think that he was inside a motel because the room arrangement did not suggest so. He saw quite a number of personal belongings lying around the room with the addition of a bookshelf. No, this was not a motel room or guest house.


    Fearless tried to sit up a lit bit to have a better view of the room. He did not appreciate the ring of scrubbing metal when his handcuffs rubbed against the metallic bars at both end of the bed. He criticized his abductor inwardly for her amateurishness, using a real police handcuffs instead of the leather one. These things left marks and they could seriously injure his wrists and ankles while he was in the middle of the play.


    The lack of window in the room intimidated Fearless somewhat. The room had only one door. He quickly guessed that he was inside a basement from the distribution of pipelines on the wall and the lack of window. He started to feel scare.


    Suddenly, the door opened and she appeared. It¡¯s CJ- Katherine Jane. She was the number three on his list of most insane people that he has ever met. The only reason Fearless dumped her was that he could not keep up with her possessiveness at one point. He caught her red-handed planning to send his friends to another world with a truck to monopolize him and thus quickly ended their relationship after that. Even as possessive as his sister, she has never tried something like that¡­ Kate has definitely won that trophy for being one of the most insane women ever.


    ¡°Those who play with knives must be prepared to get cut. Those who play with fire must be prepared to get burnt.¡± His sister¡¯s word rang inside his mind.


    Of course, Fearless knew the meme ¡°Don¡¯t stick it in the crazy one.¡± However, what else can he do? He did not feel complete if he did not stick it in the craziest one, thanks to his sister.


    This was his karma.


    CJ approached him with a bright lovely smile on her lips, ¡°You awake.¡±


    The smell of shampoo emanated from her body. She must have taken a bath recently. Though, other than the floral smell of CJ¡¯s shampoo, Fearless could pick up that distinctive sweet smell, the smell of danger and insanity. She exuded that dangerous smell just like his sister, though, Fearless reckoned that the woman and sister belonged to different classes from their smell alone. One of them is venomous while the other is poisonous. Regardless, the both of them are toxic without a doubt.


    Immediately, Fearless put up his defense system, a charming princely smile to greet that insane person, ¡°You are just as lovely as I remember CJ.¡±


    ¡°So do you. You are just as handsome and forgetful,¡± she straddled her fingers on his cheek and then pinched it, ¡°It¡¯s not CJ. It¡¯s Kate. How many times must I tell you before you start to remember it?¡±


    Her pinch was painful and yet, it was addictive just like the playful slaps his sister gave him so very often.


    ¡°I know,¡± Fearless snickered while sweating inside.


    ¡°You are such a bad boy,¡± she giggled, suggestively caressing his lips with her finger.


    ¡°I know right?¡±


    ¡°A bad boy like you deserves a punishment,¡± Kate smiled, unbuttoned Fearless and stripped him to his birthday suit.


    After that, they did the stuff that only an insane woman and insane man would do with each other on that bed. Fearless did his best to please Kate, going strong and deep just the way she liked it. Fearless kept going at it, pushing himself beyond the seventh round. By the time the ninth round started, Kate was down for the count, completely exhausted. Fearless whispered into her ears, telling her that he wanted to hold her in his arms.


    Bathed in the afterglow of their sex, Kate sensually snickered and planted a light kiss on Fearless¡¯ chiseled chin. ¡°I know your tricks sugar,¡± she smiled.


    ¡°What¡¯s trick?¡± Fearless asked, trying to look as innocent as possible while screaming from the inside.


    ¡°I love it when you are desperate,¡± Kate smiled, pinching Fearless¡¯ cheek, and then fell asleep on his chest.


    By the time his biological clock confirmed to Fearless that he has been trapped inside that basement room for over two days, he has become extremely restless even though he never showed it to Kate. After that, Fearless was able to guess the time from the meal Kate brought to him. Toasts and light meal for breakfast, lunch was always pasta and dinner was everything else.


    The days would go on like that. Fearless was locked to that bed. Kate would feed him food and water. She would use a towel to clean up his body many times a day. She would wear a diaper on him for him to take care of himself whenever she was not inside the room.


    Then, they would have sex whenever Kate felt like it.


    Fearless felt like he was reduced to Kate¡¯s personal human vibrator than her lover, but he did not dare to anger her. He let her do what she wanted. Whatever the game was, he played along. There was no benefit in angering her since he was completely at her mercy.


    At first, Fearless was trying to escape by suggesting to Kate to remove his handcuffs. But of course, Kate of all the women in the world would know better that Fearless would definitely escape, that¡¯s why she never removed the handcuffs. After that, Fearless considered putting his escaping skill to practice, except he found nothing that could help him picking the handcuffs.


    Fearless knew an escape artist back when he studied under that old illusionist. That man piped Fearless¡¯ interest with his incredible level of showmanship. As the result, Fearless would observe him from time to time. At one point, that man asked if Fearless wanted to learn his craft. Of course, any boy would say yes to such invitation. Fearless would then learn all sorts of tricks from that man, though he never became great at being an escape artist. He was good with tricks but generally became useless when it required the actual skill and fitness. The stuff he was good at was illusions and tricks.


    He knew how to pick a lock but he was never good at that. He can perform an escape with all the fake locks and fake handcuffs. However, he had a lot of trouble with the actual locks and handcuffs.


    This was the first time in his life Fearless regretted that he did not take those lessons seriously till the end.


    On the fourth day, Fearless was literally begging Kate to let him go. He knew that FY and the rest of his team were definitely going crazy over his disappearance. They must have rung his phone over a thousand times already. But Kate told him not to worry since she has tossed his phone into a lake when she kidnapped him.


    Fearless then promised to Kate with all the sugar and honey in the world, telling her that he loved her and she should let him go. He had to play that game. It¡¯s the Final match of the ROC World Cup. He cannot allow the team to be disqualified because of his disappearance alone.


    Kate said no, of course she would say no.


    She knew that he was a liar, of course, she knew. Therefore, she said no, refusing to unlock those handcuffs. At that point, Fearless knew he could not count on Kate¡¯s mercy to escape that room. He was on his own, literally.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a game,¡± she said, ¡°Forget about it.¡±


    Kate is just like those girls Fearless has shortly dated. They don¡¯t look at the world of ROC and the game revolved around it like something should be admired. It¡¯s already 2060s and yet, there were people who would look at Esport and the world of pro-gamers like something meaningless and negative, like drugs. They still hold prejudice against pro-gamers as if they were still in the 2000s or the early 2010s. Kate is one of them. She loved Fearless but she did not appreciate his game. She loved his playboy persona. She loved his prince persona. She had no problem with his insane persona. And yet, she had a prejudice against his pro-gamer persona.


    It¡¯s just a game, of course Fearless knew that, but so what? Why do pro-gamers deserve to be looking down on when they are just doing the things they loved the most? The great Michael Jordan played a game called basketball and became immortalized for that. Pel¨¦ played a game called soccer and he was forever remembered by millions of people. Roger Federer played a game called tennis and he was celebrated as one of the greatest athlete in the history of mankind.


    What¡¯s so wrong about video game? What¡¯s so wrong about ROC?


    They said that it¡¯s just video game, anyone can play that. Fearless once proved that they were all wrong about that on Jimmy Holland¡¯s show. Still, he could not change everyone¡¯s perception.


    It¡¯s just a video game, of course Fearless knew that. But it is a game that is played and admired by over 60 million of people. It is a game that Fearless traded his tears and sweat to position himself on the very summit of this game. It is a game that allowed Fearless to create his own family. It is a game that allowed him to know what freedom is. It is a game that returned to him something important that he has once lost. It is a game that allowed him to define himself to the world.


    It¡¯s just a game. But, it¡¯s more than just a mean of living. It¡¯s more than just the cheer of the crowd and the fanfare.


    It is just a game, but without the game known as ROC, there would be no Fearless. But of course, there is no need to explain all of that to Kate. To love someone is to try to understand that person, accept that person and even compromise yourself to be together with that person, Kate did not understand that. She thought the reason Fearless dumped her was because of her insane self. But¡¯s that wrong. He dumped her because she could not compromise herself to live with him. She could not accept everything about him. She did not even attempt to understand him. Whatever the affection she had toward him was, that was not love. That wasn¡¯t love.


    ROC is just a game and it is all that it would be, a game. However, it meant something to Fearless even if nobody even gave a damn about it.


    On the sixth night Fearless put his plan in motion. He told Kate that he felt like having something Vietnamese for breakfast, maybe ph?.


    She looked up the closest place and thought about making delivery in the morning. But, that restaurant did not have a morning delivery service. He managed to deduct the general location of the house from that information alone. Fearless knew that place, of course, he knew it. Within the diameter of 200km around the Golden Era Arena, that was the only Vietnamese restaurant in the area. He searched for it before so he knew about it.


    Fearless was glad that he was kidnapped and hid somewhere within that area.


    Thus, he suggested Kate to have a quick drive in the morning to grab the food. She listened. All of his hard work at being the good boy and raised Kate¡¯s affection meter up until that point paid. Fearless could not be more happy.


    When morning came, Kate told him that she will go out and get the food and Fearless should be a good boy. Fearless laughed that he would love to be a bad boy and pushed Kate down the bed at that moment, though the handcuffs prevented him to be one.


    Kate laughed, kissed him and left the house. She said that she would return soon. It would not take more than thirty minutes. That piece of information that Kate carelessly gave away was vital for Fearless. He was glad that Kate


    When Fearless confirmed that Kate has really left the house with his ears, he moved to the second phase of his plan.


    Fearless knew that he was about to do was beyond stupid. However, he has planned and considered all of his option. This was the only one option he had. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to not think about what he was about to do.


    Fearless squeezed on the joint of his right thumb with his left hand, trying to dislocate it. He saw that escape artist did this trick once, though Fearless had never had the stupidity to study this trick. His hands and fingers were his treasures; there was no fucking way he would do it. But this time, he had no other choice. He might not make it to the final match or even manage to escape this room for his entire life.


    The idiom ¡°Take it like a man¡± flashed in his mind. Fearless thought that idiom was stupid since no man has ever experienced the pain of labor and the pain of a woman on her period. Fearless gritted his teeth and took the pain like a pregnant woman who is giving birth.


    There was no crisp snapping sound like those Hollywood movies depicted. There was no sound other the grunting noise that escaped Fearless¡¯ mouth. Tears and snots watered his face. It was fucking painful.


    He soon managed to remove his right hand from the cuff through a series of grunting and crying. He considered resetting the bone after that but it hurt so fucking badly when he tried. They made it looked so fucking easy in those kind of movies but in reality, it¡¯s really hard. So he stopped. He leaned himself to one side of the bed and used his weight to shift the bed out of its position slowly.


    Kate was a smart woman but she was not perfect. Even as smart as Fearless¡¯ sister, she was not perfect. She made mistakes just like normal people do. So did Kate.


    Kate did not know that Fearless know how to pick a lock. He had never tried to impress her with that kind of skill. Would she believe that a person like him would know how to pick a lock?


    That¡¯s why she left her hair clips lying on the nightstand like that. So Fearless tried to reach for the clips with his swollen left hand. He bent the clips and used them to pick his handcuffs. He got lucky with the handcuff on his left hand. It took less than three minutes, the one on his ankles, not so much. He broke Kate¡¯s hair clips again and again as he tried to pick the cuff. He was never that good at lockpicking to begin with. Now he has to do it with a dislocated thumb, it¡¯s was so much harder. His hands started to sweat. It was a race against time. By the time he was down to the last hair clip, Fearless started praying to all the gods he knew to help him.


    It was a double.


    ¡°Hell yeah, baby.¡± Either the gods listened to Fearless¡¯ prayer or his clutch instinct came through.


    After that, he ran out of that room. It was a basement, his guess was correct. But Fearless¡¯ happiness was short-lived. He quickly found himself in an audacious situation. The house was locked from the outside with ten locks and the windows were barred with steel bars. He was stuck inside the house.


    Fearless tried to remain calm and not submitted to his panic attack. He saw a clock on the wall. He¡¯s getting late for the game. He tried to look around the house to see if there was something he could do to get out of that fucking jail. He searched for a hammer or a mallet that¡¯s heavy enough for him to break the locks on the door. Then, his eyes fell on the chimney and Fearless heard a bell ringing inside his head.


    This could be it, he thought while surveying the chimney. It was then his ears registered a car engine sound. It was Kate¡¯s minivan.


    It¡¯s not even twenty minute since she had left the house. He guessed that she must have forgotten something and come back for it. But then, he saw the image of Kate holding a motor chainsaw on her hands through the foggy windows. Fearless knew he fucked up. There must be a surveillance camera inside that room. Otherwise he could not come up with a better explanation for this.


    ¡°Sugar, you are such a liar. Bad boy, you are such a bad boy. I have to punish you.¡±


    Fearless nearly crapped inside his diaper, listening to Kate¡¯s voice as she opened the locks on the front door one by one. He considered ambushing Kate the very moment she opened the door but immediately changed his mind.


    But how would he fight her? And with what? She had a motor chainsaw and he had none.


    Fearless immediately snuck into the chimney and tried to climb up. Thankfully he did not possess a large body frame like Merleon or overly muscular. Otherwise, he would never be able to fit himself inside that chimney. He placed his back against the wall and tried to use his legs to push himself upward.


    ¡°Sugar, come out, come out, wherever you are.¡±


    The high pitch sound from that motor chainsaw scared the crap of Fearless. He wanted no part in it. At one point, his legs slipped a bit and Fearless had to press his hands against the dusty wall inside of the chimney to prevent himself from falling. It hurt so fucking bad when that happened. His dislocated thumb contacted with the wall and Fearless could only grit his teeth to prevent himself from making any noise. His body started to sweat profusely from the pain and Fearless could feel himself slipping.


    Shit, he cursed himself and put more force into his limbs, stopping himself from slipping. He hurt his thumb again and Fearless could feel the tears and snots were watering down from his face.


    Kate was still down there inside the house, searching for him. He can hear her voice echoed within the chimney. He was afraid of making loud noise so he did not dare to move fast. He took it slow, one step at a time.


    ¡°There you are sugar.¡±


    A frightening cackle echoed just like that of a devil. Fearless froze on the spot, hoping that Kate was just playing a mind game on him to make him to reveal his location. When he looked down to confirm that theory, Kate was down there, staring. He was spotted.


    Fearless cursed and climbed to the top of the chimney as fast as he could. When he¡¯s on top of the roof, he could already understand why he could hear no sound of travelling vehicles or people.


    He was in the middle of the wood. However, Fearless could see that white telecommunication tower that was built next to the Golden Era Arena peeking out on the eastern side of the house. That¡¯s quite a distance from where he was, he thought.


    This wood was the Woodland forest that located to the west of the Golden Era Arena. Thanks god, Fearless muttered. Then he saw Kate ran out of the front door with that scary chainsaw on her hands. He slipped down the roof from the back side of the house and started running into the nearest thickets. He heard the noise of Kate¡¯s chainsaw and her taunting voice. ¡°Where do you think you are going sugar?¡±


    ¡°Escaping. What do you think?¡± He fired back as he ran.


    ¡°Do you think you can go out of this place? We are in the middle of the wood. You know what? You should return to me obediently. I will forgive you. ¡±


    ¡°Kate, do you think that your cabin is the only cabin in this wood? Do you think that I have never been here before?¡± Fearless taunted and ran as fast as he could.


    Kate¡¯s silence was all that Fearless needed.


    Fearless ran. ¡°Run, Fearless, run,¡± he inwardly told himself, kept running. The whipping bushes and slashing branches gave him no more pain than his dislocated thumb. His bare feet snapped dead tree branches on the ground as he ran. It hurt but he kept going. He turned his head back to watch Kate¡¯s position once in a while. He¡¯s losing her. When he discovered a thick bush, Fearless hid himself behind it, using it as a cover.


    The high pitch sound of the chainsaw and Kate¡¯s urgent footstep got nearer and nearer to him. Fearless held his breath, did not dare to peek out of the bush to look. Thankfully, Kate did not realize that she has been played. She kept running into the wood in that particular direction, searching for him.


    Kate¡¯s chainsaw betrayed her position to Fearless. He could still hear it even when Kate was over fifty meter away from his hiding spot. When his ears confirmed that Kate has gone pretty far into the wood, Fearless headed back to the cabin. He went for Kate minivan. But it¡¯s locked. Kate must have the key with her. Fearless wished that Kate had been careless with her van like most of those Hollywood movies. He suddenly remembered seeing an army Swiss knife inside the kitchen and immediately went inside the cabin to get it. He picked up a few handy tools on the way that would help him start the van.


    Fearless did not know how long it took him to start that van, but eventually, he did. He drove straight to the Golden Era Arena without slowing down. The match has not started yet. He still had an hour.


    When he parked the minivan outside of the Arena and started running into the team¡¯s room with nothing but a diaper, the securities stopped him, more like apprehending him right on the spot. He explained his situation to those guys but they did not listen.


    Thankfully, some of the fans who came to watch the match recognized him and came to his rescue instead of just standing and filmed the scene like the rest of the people at the scene. Soon, he was escorted to his team room. The entire team went crazy the moment he entered the room.


    There was still half an hour left before the match began. FY silenced the entire team from asking Fearless anything. His pathetic look has already said everything. Only then, Fearless revealed his dislocated thumb. ¡°Anyone here knows how to put this thing back to its original position?¡± The joint has gone red and purple and swollen to the size of a golf ball.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± the entire team cursed when Fearless showed them his dislocated finger. Fantasy put his hand on his mouth, ran out of the room and threw up. The team manager immediately ran out of the room and soon returned with a medical staff.


    That man talked to Fearless while holding his right hand. Fearless hated himself for realizing that the medical staff was trying to distract him with the small talk and then reset that bone in an instance to save him from the pain. Because he was anticipated for it, it hurt so much more.


    The man soon taped Fearless¡¯ hand and suggested that Fearless should forfeit the match. ¡°There is no way you could play a game with a hand like that.¡±


    Of course, Fearless knew. It hurt so freaking bad even when that man has applied ice on it. Fearless could tell that the throbbing pain from his swollen thumb really bothered him.


    ¡°I have come this far. There is no way I¡¯m forfeiting this match.¡± Fearless ended the discussion.


    It¡¯s just a game. It¡¯s just a match. Even if this match means nothing to other people, this match means something to Fearless. It means something to his team. It means something to the fans.


    There was a man with the name Derek Redmond. In the 1992 Olympic Games, he tore his hamstring in the middle of the race. Despite all the pain and suffering, he still completed the race, limping to the finish line with the help of his father. Just like that race meant that much to Derek, this match meant that much to Fearless. He would not walk away today and forfeit the match.


    ¡°Consider this as a handicap I give to AG. How else they are going to win if I don¡¯t give them a chance? It would not be fair, don¡¯t you think?¡± Fearless put on a cocky smile. If FY was the head of The Alliance, Fearless was the heart. He could not afford to be down in this moment. So he can only put on that arrogant smile.


    ¡°You heard him,¡± FY chuckled, giving Fearless a pat on his shoulder. Of course, he knew that Fearless was putting up a bravado, so he played along. ¡°Remember not to blame that finger if you lost the Final MVP to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the best ROC player in the world. Two hands or one hand, I can still get that Final MVP trophy,¡± Fearless fired back and kept the bantering going on and on. FY would fire shots at him and Fearless would fire his own shots right back. The entire team laughed from their bantering. It¡¯s good, Fearless thought. He did not want to weight the team down.


    The medical staff saw that he had no way to convince Fearless to quit. He suggested giving Fearless a dose of aspirin and Fearless earnestly agreed.


    Soon, it was time. Fearless put on his uniform while telling FY to relinquish the flag of The Alliance to him. FY did and passed the flag to Fearless. Fearless hold the flag and walked with his team toward the stadium, waiting for the broadcaster to give him the cue to enter the arena.


    AG entered the arena first. The crowd went wild, cheering for the defending champion.


    Once AG settled inside their game booth, the broadcasters gave Fearless and The Alliance the cue to enter. Fearless started to walk, bearing the black and gold flag of The Alliance. The team¡¯s maxim ¡°Greatness does not discriminate¡± on the flag started flying when an updraft blew his way.


    Unlike most team, The Alliance played no music when they entered the arena. Some teams would play their national anthem to show how proud they were to represent their own country. Some played their own theme song as they entered the arena. However, The Alliance had no such theme song. They had none because there was no need for something like that.


    When the black and gold flag in the hands of Fearless flew, the entire arena erupted. The fans stood up from their seats and chanted ¡°TA, TA, TA.¡± Even the fans of AG stood up from their seats to clap their hands. For The Alliance, every court is home court. There is no away game for them whether it was in the State or Europe or Asia or Oceania. The chanting of the crowd is their only music. That was their special privilege.


    As soon as the entire team entered their assigned room, Fearless planted the flag on a holder and decided to pay a short visit to AG¡¯s room. He waved his hand and made signal to FY and the rest of the team that¡¯s it would be very short.


    As Fearless walked across the stage toward AG¡¯s game booth, one of female fans on the special seat screamed, ¡°I love you Fearless. Will you marry me?¡±


    The entire arena broke into laughter. The broadcasters were hysteric. Fearless pointed his finger at that one naughty lady and showed his appreciation then knocked the door of AG¡¯s game booth.


    AG- Ancient Gods has been their rival for the last two years. They were a team composed of four superstar players T-R3X, 9tails, Gandwalf, and Sixy who were way past their prime and came out of their retirement in the hope of getting another golden crown. Each of those four was a legend in their own right.


    There was also Superior, Fearless¡¯ friend and rival. People always loved to discuss whether it was Fearless, FY or Superior the best ROC player of their generation. Also, he always competed with Fearless and Antiope on the leaderboard for who has the best APM in the game.


    ¡°What¡¯s up guys? I come to say HELLO,¡± Fearless said and shook hand with the rest of AG¡¯s team members.


    ¡°Where were you in the last few days? Your team was looking for you,¡± Superior asked, showing genuine concern on his face.


    ¡°Shooting a thriller movie inside a cabin in the middle of nowhere,¡± replied Fearless.


    ¡°Very funny,¡± commented Superior in monotone when he noticed the red marks on Fearless¡¯ wrists as well as his swollen thumb. ¡°Are you sure that you can play this game looking like that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I can beat your ass anytime I want. This? This is nothing. Consider this as a handicap,¡± Fearless laughed.


    ¡°Ah, you dick,¡± the entire roster of AG cursed, a small chuckle on their face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s have good game,¡± Fearless bumped knuckled with Superior.


    ¡°You too,¡± Superior said.


    ¡°Before I forget, the Crimson Witch is my first pick today. Once I chose her, I will immediately go for your camp¡± said Fearless as he left the room, playing his little mind game on the entire roster of AG.


    ¡°Cocky bastard. Make sure you don¡¯t cry at the end of the day like last year.¡±


    Fearless heard Superior¡¯s curse. Of course, Superior knew it was a mind game. However, the moment he thought about it, he has already lost. Superior understood that, that¡¯s why he cursed.


    As he returned to his seat, Fearless scowled when he saw a familiar looking woman sitting on the front row. He did not realize she was there until now. That woman was not supposed to be there, on that seat especially. He blinked his eyes. She was still there. Don¡¯t people around her find her strange? He frowned but had no other choice than to return to his seat.


    Soon, the game started.


    The Alliance had the first pick that day. Fearless used the first pick to select the witch faction just like how he told AG. It was against the norm. People only select the witch faction with the fourth or the last pick. The witch faction was extremely similar to the bandit or pirate factions. They had no territory and were considered enemies by all the factions around them, making it extremely difficult to play at the beginning.


    The advantages of the witch faction over other factions mainly stems from their high mobility and high firepower that allowed them to abuse the hit-and-run tactic to the extreme. The unique ability to fly allows the witches to travel over the most treacherous terrains like forest, mountains, or sea without being hindered. Their ability to fly also gives them the invulnerability over the ground melee units which is also a plus to have at the beginning of the game. Last but not least, since all witches were basically the descendants of the hero king Craxus, they inherited his gene. Their great affinity with fire is the result of atavism of the dragon blood Craxus received from killing the dragon Karijard.


    However, the witch faction has a number of disadvantages which mainly stems from the lack of territory and their inability to defend a territory after acquiring one. As long as they do not possess a territory, they would not have an economy to sustain themselves or develop their technology, and thus, have to constantly raid the territories of the factions around them or leeched the supply of their allies to sustain themselves. Another disadvantage of the witches is that they are fragile, being the glass cannon of ROC. They can hit very hard but cannot receive hit.


    However, the biggest disadvantage of the witch faction is that they are being treated as a hostile target by one of the strongest faction in ROC by default at the very beginning of the game, the Kingdom of White Winter.


    Because of all the disadvantages the witch faction has, it¡¯s better to select them as the fourth and the fifth pick to save a player from being counter-pick at the beginning.


    However, Fearless made that decision to select the Crimson Witch and her faction with the first pick. It¡¯s his secret winning strategy with The Alliance. They had never used this strategy in an actual match once. Today is the first day that they reveal this strategy to the world.


    Fearless could hear FY gulping his saliva the moment Ancient God counter-picking that witch faction pick. Fantasy and Merleon soon picked their faction, still tricking AG into believing that Fearless was the main focus of The Alliance¡¯s offense in this game.


    It went accordingly to their game plan. One by one, the domino tiles fell according to FY¡¯s game plan. AG committed three of their earliest picks to counterpick Fearless. They showed Fearless the respect he deserved since Fearless¡¯ winning percentage when he controlled the witch faction is 79.7%.


    They hoped to give Fearless the earliest game over by surrounding him. However, they did not anticipate the last two picks that FY and Misery made. That was game changing. Superior made the last pick to counter FY and Misery¡¯s pick, trying to salvage the situation. But even he knew, his team had a terrible draft.


    All of the warlords they picked resided on the Northern continent, it would be a short game, Fearless made his prediction. FY agreed, adding that unless both sides royally screwed up the game, the match would not last longer than 45 minutes.


    The drafting phase was over and the game began in every sense.


    Fearless made his attack like he has announced in the pre-game. He commanded his army to fly over the kingdom of White Winter to raid and burned all the objectives that he could while evading the Judgment Army of Sixy that was hot on his heels. He did not give a damn about army building and whatnot. AG was right behind him, cornering him with the combined of their army. However, FY and the rest of The Alliance pressed the attack, invading the territory of AG with their armies. The two of them made AG could not focus their attack on Fearless alone.


    Fearless¡¯ situation became a cat and mouse game. He could not afford to slow down or run into a corner. He could feel that his swollen thumb still bothered him a lot. He used that finger to control five shortcut keys on his custom-made gaming mouse. At one point, it hurt so bad that he could only grunt to will himself through the pain and play. He was sweating profusely on his seat, not from the anxiety but from the throbbing pain on his thumb. It hurt every time he moved the mouse or used one of the five shortcut keys.


    It was unfortunate for Fearless that day because Superior had a terrific game. He played out of his mind and managed to save his team over and over again from the very edge of defeat. He had an incredible highlight where he saved one of his team mates from a game over at the forty minute mark.


    FY¡¯s game plan went relatively well but it was not enough to secure them a win. Fearless underperformed while Superior was simply having an unbelievable game. In the end, FY gave order to the entire team to regroup to rebuild their army for the next confrontation. Their offensive game did not work as planned.


    AG was not on a better position. Other than Superior, the other four players had to regroup to rebuild their army and their territory from the scratch.


    This game has lasted longer than FY anticipated. He has expected that it has ended within thirty minutes. Both sides started trading blows several times after that but there was no decisive victor in all of those confrontations. After the clock hit the one hour and twenty minute mark, FY stopped the game. He noticed that Fearless was suffering from his pain.


    Had it been a year ago, there would be no way that FY could stop the game for a five minute time out like this. The punishing six hours historic final game that The Alliance had with Ancient Gods in the previous year has forced the league to implement this new rule into their rule book.


    While FY was having a quick discussion with the team regarding the strategy they would use next, Fearless ran back into TA¡¯s room with his manager waiting inside.


    The moment he went out of the game booth, he heard the broadcasters discussing about how terrible his performance was. The fans were cheering for him, but their voices sound deflated and desperate. Fearless responded to their cheers by making a fist and raised it up high before disappeared into the tunnel that lead back to his team room.


    ¡°I need another dose of aspirin right now. It¡¯s really hurt,¡± Fearless said, pinching his sore thumb with his left hand, hoping that he could ease the pain by doing so. His thumb has swollen to the size of a tennis ball inside the tape. He was extremely grateful that his manager has an ice bucket inside the room and immediately shoved his hand into it. The frosty water seeped into his skin and numbed the pain for just a tiny bit.


    That medical staff gave Fearless another dose of aspirin, though he said that it would take another fifteen to twenty minutes until Fearless could feel the effect.


    Fearless did not dare to complain. He just gritted his teeth and nodded. He brought this upon himself and he had to deal with it.


    Then, his manager produced a piece of cigarette from his pocket, ¡°Try this. It will help.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t smoke. And what good does cigarette do?¡± Fearless rolled his eyes, questioning the manager¡¯s sanity. He was the one who is dying from the pain, not the manager.


    ¡°It¡¯s not cigarette.¡± His manager replied in a low and quiet tone.


    ¡°¡­¡± Fearless carefully observed the roll in his manager¡¯s hand again, ¡°Don¡¯t tell me that it¡¯s what I think it is.¡±


    His manager said nothing and only nodded his head once.


    ¡°Why would you have this with you?¡± Fearless freaked out and asked while clutching his head in disbelief.


    ¡°Back pain,¡± his manager answered curtly and turned his head to the side. He did not look at Fearless when he gave his answer.


    Fearless did not need his cold reading skills to know that the man was lying. Anyone looking at him would know that he was lying. Fearless felt the urge to execute the face-meet-palm sequence, no he had already done it before he felt that urge. Questions like how on earth did his manager managed to get through the airport security or how he did not get caught eluded Fearless.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Is it even legal for me to use it? It¡¯s still considered illegal in my country.¡± Fearless turned his head at the medical staff and asked.


    ¡°Our country has legalized it for medication purpose in 2026,¡± the man gingerly nodded his head.


    Fearless clutched his head once more and contemplated shortly. He was more stressed now, more so than when he was picking the lock on Kate¡¯s minivan. Though, his time was running out. He had to make a decision.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name mister?¡± Fearless asked the medical staff.


    ¡°John, sir,¡± he replied.


    Fearless put his hand on John¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m no sir. So you can call me Fearless. John, please keep everything you see today in this room a secret. The last thing I wanted and the league wanted is linking the image of our team with me smoking weed on the final. Can you do that for me?¡±


    John gave a small nod.


    ¡°Thank you, John. May god bless you,¡± Fearless immediately put the roll into his mouth and his manger lit it.


    Fuck, it is really weed, Fearless thought. It was the one thing he stayed away during all of his time partying, fearing that he might be punished by the league or receiving a suspension as the result. The league had no problem with him partying and dating multiple women at the same time or being an alcoholic but it took itself very seriously when it came to weed, PED and whatnot.


    Fuck this, Fearless took a big whiff and cursed himself for allowing all of this crap to happen to himself and his team. He choked on his first try. The last time he got tricked to try this thing was maybe five years ago.


    After the sixth or perhaps seventh or maybe tenth or something whiff, Fearless passed the roll to John who just stood and watched him with a blank face. Of course, the man shook his head. He should.


    Fearless passed the roll to his manager and went back to the arena. He tripped but his manager caught him.


    ¡°Now I think about it. This might not be a good decision after all,¡± the manager said.


    ¡°Fuck yeah. Now you tell me.¡± Fearless replied, choking a bit. His voice was strangely high-pitched.


    ¡°Please take care of it for me,¡± the manager put the roll into John¡¯s hand, ¡°I¡¯m taking him back to the arena.¡±


    John stared at them with a blank confused face, alternating his gaze between Fearless and the roll in own his hand.


    After that, Fearless only had a vague collection of what happened. FY and the rest of the team were talking something regarding the plan. Though, Fearless could only hear words like ¡°Attack¡± and ¡°Defend.¡± He could not remember anything else. He should feel extremely worried and yet he wasn¡¯t. What was the game plan anyway? Who care¡­ it did not matter to him at that point.


    The game resumed and Fearless swore that he could hear all sorts of profanities flying around inside the room. Somehow, those profanities attached with his name. Strange, why would they?


    Then, Fearless noticed that the strangely familiar woman who should not be on that first row seat has stood up and walked up the stage.


    ¡°Do you see what I¡¯m seeing now?¡± Fearless asked. Why would the security allow her to board the stage like that? Why would she stand and watch him like that? From such distance? She was standing in front of him, separating by the glass wall of the game booth.


    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about? Focus on the damn game Fearless.¡±


    ¡°Are you really not seeing this?¡± Fearless pointed his finger at the woman.


    ¡°Focus on the fucking game!¡±


    ¡°Yes, right, the game,¡± Fearless blinked, slapped himself and ignored that woman. However, she disappeared suddenly.


    ¡°Guys, my sister disappeared,¡± Fearless exclaimed. But then, he immediately thought that something went wrong. That woman was not his sister. There would be no way that he would mistake any woman for his sister. Why would he ever mistake her for his sister?


    ¡°What the fuck is going on with you? Focus on the game!¡± Merleon¡¯s booming voice rang in Fearless¡¯ ear canals.


    Fearless then heard a clanking sound from the seat on his left. That was FY¡¯s seat. Suddenly, a pair of hands forcefully grabbed his face and bent his neck to his left. It was FY.


    FY pressed his face so damn near to Fearless¡¯ that their forehead touched. It was like he was trying to kiss Fearless.


    ¡°Bro, I don¡¯t know what is going on with you now. But, you are not allowed to give up now. You did not give up inside that room and take that pain like a real man. You should not allow yourself to give up now,¡± FY whispered in Mandarin. Why would he say that in Mandarin instead of English? The only two that spoke Mandarin within their group was him and Fearless. Perhaps, he did not want the rest of the team to hear. Perhaps, he was after something else. ¡°Do you think you can do this for me, brother?¡±


    The word µÜ-(d¨¬) brother that escaped FY¡¯s mouth somehow bore a mysterious charm to it.


    Fearless did not know what FY was after but he naturally nodded his head. FY was back to his seat and played the game again.


    Fearless just rolled along. He had no idea what he was supposed to do in that game but he tried and tried he did. He barely felt the pain in his thumb anymore. It was but a minor nuisance, a pebble on the road.


    He still heard curses and profanities flew around the room like a plague of flies. Of course, they attached to his name most of the time. That¡¯s how he knew he did something wrong. He thought that the league would make bucket this time with all the fine money they got from his team.


    Fearless kept playing the damn game, however, he felt that he has become an irrelevant factor as the game progress. His army flew around and around, mostly doing nothing. When they were out of supply, they leeched off Merleon¡¯s camp. He was on a weed trip and so were his ladies. He was high as fuck, so did they.


    At one point, he really questioned what¡¯s going on with the game. Somehow, some way, he managed to recruit the iron dragoons into his army. AG messed up big time. They allowed him to have both the queen and king of the sky at the same time. Why would they allow him to recruit the dragoons?


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing Fearless? Help!¡±


    Fearless heard Fantasy¡¯s voice ringing.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Help me. They are sacking my base. Stop them.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± Fearless replied, sent his army flying across the map to help his friend. Only then Fearless realized that his army was a continent away from the battlefield. No wonder, thing got extra strange with this battle


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Helping you,¡± Fearless yelled, raining down fire on the small army defending T-R3x¡¯s camp.


    ¡°No, you are not. That¡¯s not my base.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need a base race in this situation. Just help defending my base¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± Fearless smiled and kept doing what he was doing. The best defense is a good offense.


    As the result, Fantasy got a game over.


    ¡°Fuck you, bro,¡± Fantasy cursed, raging on his keyboard. He slammed his fist in the keyboard and sent all the keys flying.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I will avenge you,¡± Fearless replied.


    ¡°Fuck you bro.¡± Fantasy clutched his head and raged until Merleon gave him a pimp slap to snap him out of it.


    T-R3x tried to bring out his warlord from his crumbling camp in an effort to delay the inevitable. That action alone brought him an extra 20 seconds against the dragoons in Fearless¡¯ army. T-R3x went down within a single swoop of the dragoons. His army never made it back to the camp.


    That pattern repeated when 9tails and Gandwalf ganged up on Merleon.


    Fearless exploded a furious bombardment on Gandwalf¡¯s camp, ignoring Merleon¡¯s call for help. 9tails responded by pulling back his army to defend Gandwalf¡¯s camp. However, Fearless has anticipated that¡­ more like, the weed he smoked has anticipated that. Fearless stopped raiding 9tails¡¯s camp and switched his target.


    9tails¡¯ human army could not catch up with the mobility of Fearless¡¯ air force and could only smell the dust. Fearless raided Gandwalf¡¯s empty camp and forced Gandwalf to return. The moment Gandwalf¡¯s army has managed to return to his base to defend his warlord, the witches and dragoons in Fearless¡¯ army had already disappeared and on the way to sack 9tails¡¯ camp once again.


    Gandwalf realized what Fearless was up to, hurrying his army to return to defend his camp. However, no iron hoof of Northern horsemen could race against the wings of wyverns and the brooms of witches. Gandwalf received a game over.


    However, Superior managed to even the score after that, wiping Merleon¡¯s dwindled army off the map with a storm of arrows from his Mistborn Elves.


    ¡°Noooo,¡± Merleon clutched his head and screamed. It was as if someone has just asked Merleon to do an impression of Darth Vader when he learned about his dead wife and children. He was a bit too loud for the liking though. Fantasy immediately returned the previous pimp slap to cut Merleon short. Only Fantasy had the gut to slap a two meters giant like Merleon just like that. After that, the two of them held hand and walked to the bench behind the gaming table and sat down like the good children they were.


    At that point, FY told Fearless to stay out of the battle, a strange choice, but logical. He had enough of Fearless spinning the game out of the control. Fearless was literally taking the word ¡°Chaos¡± out of the ¡°Reign of Chaos¡± and smeared that ¡°Chaos¡± on whatever he touched.


    The Prince must listen to the King, pecking order, and Fearless did as he was told. He moved his army around the map, raiding easy targets to resupply his army. He picked off any easy objective AG presented to him while setting granaries and fields under AG control on fire to punish their economy. That was the only time he felt he did something right during the entire game.


    The remained roster of AG had their hand full with the coordinate attack of Misery and FY. They could only watch as Fearless burned their extra camps and looted their granaries while dealing with Misery and FY.


    Other than the Mistborn elven king that Superior picked, the entire AG chose the kind of warlords that were most suited for map control and army building. Their warlords and armies were meant to be sat comfortably inside their fortified fortress and reaping the harvest and benefit from their territory.


    It was that moment when AG realized that they had to counter mobility with mobility and unity. They consolidated their armies into one and invaded the Starfell Island, FY¡¯s main camp.


    Fearless did not even have a camp and Misery had a mobile camp, a perk of choosing a bandit faction. Therefore, FY was the only logical target.


    They took the risk and brought out their warlords to battle, preventing both Fearless and Misery from abusing his hit-and-run tactic on their camp.


    If Fearless and Misery wanted to give them a game over, the two of them must engage with AG in a battle.


    AG crossed the North Sea and then squared off against FY and Misery on an open field of Starfell Island, knowing that the composition of their army gave them a small advantage.


    Misery¡¯s army composed of over nine thousands of bandits under the command of the bandit lord Bloodbeard.


    The bandit lord Bloodbeard of the North, the undying puppeteer of Sunken Isle and the pirate queen Maria of the South are Misery¡¯s favorite warlords.


    He is known for playing with these warlords just as much as Fearless is known for playing with his witches.


    The advantage of choosing a bandit faction is not as obvious as the witch faction. However, there are some similarities between the two. Bandits are especially good for raiding and looting operations. They are opportunistic fighters. They are not good in direct confrontational situations and thus, have to pick their battle wisely.


    However, they multiply quickly and are extremely easy to sustain. The way the bandit factions build their force is revolving around successful raid and battle. They turned the deserters and captives into one of their own. With every single successful raid, their armies would grow.


    Thus, they are more or less treated as the cannon fodders and sacrificial pawns of the battlefield for most of the time.


    Against the Mistborn elves of Superior, Misery had no chance in direct confrontation. He had to leave it to FY to be the vanguard.


    The warlord that FY picked that day was Admundor the Third, the hero dwarven king of Starfell Island. His army is pretty much a Swish army knife, a jack of all trades.


    Unlike the witch faction and the bandit faction that have only one or very limited type of units within their army, the dwarven army under FY control can be built with a variety of units to deal with a variety of situations. Also, the strength of any dwarven army is directly linked to the amount of investment that players spend on Engineering development.


    FY has carefully composed his army with arbalesters, heavy infantry and heavy cavalry to deal with every line up that AG used. His arbalesters were meant to deal with the Mistborn elves that Superior employed. His heavy cavalry were meant for the Judgment Army of White Winter that Sixy used and his heavy infantry were meant to give cushion to Misery¡¯s army.


    ¡°Stay,¡± FY told Fearless, ¡°Wait for your chance,¡± he said while initiating the engagement.


    AG was extremely cautious while dealing with Misery and FY. They knew that there was still Fearless who was waiting on the sideline, watching and expecting them to make mistakes. Thus, the two armies of AG and TA kept moving around in a circle while exchanging insignificant blows with each other. It was a stalemate.


    ¡°FY,¡± said Fearless. His army kept circling around and around likes a dog chasing after its own tail without getting to do anything. Fearless felt sick of that. Why wouldn¡¯t he?


    ¡°No,¡± replied FY. He knew what Fearless was going to ask and gave a quick reply.


    ¡°FY¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°FY¡±


    ¡°I said no. Stay where you are and wait.¡± Of course FY has detected something went wrong with the way Fearless played his game. The two of them were the best combo in the world of ROC. Of course FY would know. Otherwise he would never tell Fearless to stay put like that.


    ¡°FY,¡± Fearless called friend again, this time for another reason. That familiar looking woman was standing next to him since God know when, curiously staring at his PC screen.


    ¡°No, I said no,¡± FY replied adamantly.


    Fearless tried to shoo that woman away. He wasn¡¯t sure if he even knew her. However, he did not know that giant chest of her. Fearless tried to use his hands to cup her chest and double-checked whether or not he did not know that giant pair of jugs. His hands passed through her body. It was as if she was a ghost.


    ¡°FY, help!¡±


    ¡°You are fine. Just stay right there.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Fearless cursed, doing his best to ignore that woman. It was that moment that a man called Weed was born inside of Fearless.


    Weed told Fearless that he could win the game by himself. The meek and trusting Fearless put all of his trust in Weed. In Weed he trusted. He launched a solo attack on that 15,000 man army of AG.


    Fearless circled and targeted Superior¡¯ Mistborn troops. He fired flaming spells and projectiles over the Mistborn elves under Superior¡¯s control. Of course, Fearless heard FY¡¯s desperate screaming ¡°No, no, no, no, no¡­¡± but it¡¯s already too late.


    None of the projectiles and spells Fearless launched reached Superior¡¯s army. Sixy¡¯s Judgment Army erected ¡°Sanctuary¡±, a defensive AOE spell to protect the Mistborn elves.


    ¡°Sanctuary¡± is a military grade spell. It is on a different level when comparing to the personal grade spells that can be casted individually by magic casters. A military grade spell can only be achieved by satisfying four major requirements.


    First, have at least five hundred advance magic casters.


    Second, have an advance mana storing artifact.


    Third, have enough mana to cast the spell.


    Fourth, unlock the ¡°Military Grade¡± perk on Magic research.


    It¡¯s similar to the dwarf factions who receive an advantage in Engineering research at the beginning of the game which give them the ability to equip themselves with better weapons, armors and war engines than other factions. The Judgment Army of White Winter receives a huge bonus in Magic research and a small bonus on Alchemy research. As the result, the Judgment Army is feared for their affinity with magic.


    The ¡°Sanctuary¡± casted by Sixy formed an invisible dome shaped barrier above the Mistborn elves, protecting them from all sort of projectiles and spells launched by Fearless while allowing Superior to strike back with his own projectiles.


    One volley of arrows pelted on Fearless¡¯ army and his witches dropped like rain. The witches are glass cannons. They can hit hard but they cannot take a hit.


    Fearless responded by steering his army away. He split the dragoons and the witches into three smaller units. He used one of the dragoon units to launch a kamikaze attack on Superior¡¯s army.


    Unlike the witches, the dragoon is meant for direct combat. They are the cavalry of the sky and are known for three things: Anti-air, Charge of the Dragoons, and suicide bombing.


    While the Judgment Army is the bane of the witch faction in the initial phase of the game, the dragoons are created to counter the witches in the ending phase of the game with their anti-air attribute. Those wyvern riders are the only units in the game that can match the witches in term of mobility throughout the game. They can hit hard and take a punch unlike the witches.


    If person had to give an analogy for people to easily understand the different between the dragoon and the witches, they would say that the dragoons are fighter aircrafts whereas the witches are bombers in the world of ROC.


    The dragoons¡¯ specialty is the skill ¡°Charge of the Dragoons¡± which they would charge through the sky to deal with the witches or swoop down to the ground at high-speed to deal with ground units. If a dragoon unit was killed during the ¡°Charge of the Dragoons,¡± it will explode just like a bomb, dealing Area of Effect (AOE) damage to the surrounding area.


    Only Superior¡¯s lightning reflex and better judgment saved himself from an instant game over. ¡°Sanctuary¡± did nothing to stop the ¡°Charge of the Dragoons,¡± Superior knew that. He did not bother firing a single volley and focus on moving his warlord out of the way.


    The only similarity sharing between the Mistborn elves and the witches is that they are both glass cannons. They can hit but cannot take a hit. The Mistborn elves that were caught in the ¡°Dragoon charge¡± were erased like a dirty spot on a paper against the eraser that was the dragoons.


    Sixy did not let that kamikaze dragoon unit walked away unpunished. He conjured another military grade spell ¡°White Snakes,¡± discharging a devastating thunder strike that lit up those wyvern riders just like Christmas neon lights.


    Sixy must have grown old, Weed chuckled insanely and Fearless affirmed. That forty year old old-man had cracked under pressure.


    A two hour game took a toll on his mental strength and physics. He did not anticipate the second ¡°Charge of the Dragoons¡± by the remaining dragoon unit under Fearless¡¯ control. It happened too fast. Even Superior who could see that attack coming could do nothing to save his team mate from that ¡°Charge of the Dragoons.¡± His volleys did little to stop that attack.


    The Judgment army is tough in nature. They can hit and take hit, but only when they have their spells ready. Ambush and surprise attacks are their Kryptonite.


    Sixy went down to that attack. The Supreme Priest that was his warlord was turned into Pat¨¦ paste on the white snowy ground.


    Weed was high, so was Fearless. They smashed their hand on the gaming table, shouting and celebrating. Yet, only Fearless was hurt from his swollen thumb.


    9tails and Superior avenged Sixy with their bolts and arrows, wiping off 90% of that dragoon unit. Only the general and one hundred wyvern riders made it back to Fearless. That¡¯s too small of a unit to deal any significant damage. Their HP was blinking red, a single attack would wipe them out.


    Superior sent his Mistborn troops after Fearless¡¯ army. A single volley would wipe out both the witches and the dragoons.


    Fearless ran, Weed told him to, of course he listened. Those unicorn riding elves could never catch up with the brooms and the wings. But FY and Misery were there with their rushing cavalries just to make sure. They had no idea what Fearless would do in this game.


    Misery¡¯s cavalry was faster than FY¡¯s. Fearless had no way of telling if Misery was eager to help him by applying pressure on Superior or simply eager to end the match out of impatience.


    The bandit riders under Misery¡¯s control had the minimum amount of armor to save themselves from Superior¡¯s attack. Those Mistborn elves made a U-turn, galloping their unicorns backward while firing as they retreated.


    One volley of elven arrows wiped out nearly half of Misery¡¯s cavalry. That was nearly 1000 bandits died in a single attack. Misery regretted his decision and stopped chasing. Superior immediately turned back, releasing another rain of arrows on the bandit riders, erasing the last of the cavalry force that Misery has painstakingly raised.


    It was then that FY knew he should order his dwarven cavalry to return. He did so while ordering his arbalesters to move forward. His dwarven cavalry were heavily armored and can take a lot of punishment from Superior. However, the difference in mobility between the Mistborn elves and his dwarven riders would make it impossible for him to land a hit on Superior¡¯s army. He did not want to waste his cavalry meaninglessly.


    Superior picked up on that, giving chase after FY¡¯s dwarven riders and harassing with volleys upon volleys of arrows on the dwarves. At that point, Misery had to step in to save FY¡¯s cavalry. The arbalesters would never make it in time with the speed they moved. He sent 2/3 of his bandit archers.


    2000 bandit archers stepped forth to protect that retreating dwarven army, obvious to the result of that action unlike their master Misery. Their puny rain of arrows did moderate damage to Superior¡¯s Mistborn troops.


    The Mistborn unicorn rider unit is a hybrid unit, behaving both as cavalry archer and light cavalry at the same time. When they shot their war bows, they would stand on their unicorn saddles and send those deadly arrows flying. But when they switched into their light cavalry mode, they ride their unicorns just like normal horsemen would.


    A single cavalry charge smashed through those 2000 bandit archers, leaving not a single soul alive.


    Fearless could hear Misery cursed on him in Russian, letting all sort of profanities flew without restrain.


    ¡°Stay right there and wait.¡± FY told Fearless. He was not the type to yell at his teammate in an anger fit nor was he the type to curse and swear. The only time he got caught swearing in a game was during that ¡°Walkaway¡± incident.


    FY lost nearly half of his heavy cavalry by the time Superior quitted chasing due to the presence of the dwarven arbalesters.


    After that, Fearless just stay in his seat, doing absolutely nothing other than sinking his sight into the deep valley of that familiar looking woman.


    That strangely familiar looking woman was cosplaying as one of the Valkyria, daughters of Niwdar. That pink hair and red eyes fitted her image perfectly. The pair of white wings sprouting out from her back looked extremely real and authentic. They did not look like prosthetics at all. Fearless tried to touch her wings but his hands passed through her body. He then tried to gauge her butt size with his hands, same result, but Fearless was sure that he did not know her from the result.


    He did not know that giant chest, or that beautiful backline or that rich buttock. In conclusion, he did not know her. Yet, she looked familiar to him.


    That cosplayer gave him a look full of scorn and annoyance when she discovered that he was trying to touch her body. Why would she be so annoyed? It¡¯s not like he could touch her. It should be him who was being annoyed.


    However she was more interested in the game than Fearless¡¯ useless attempt to touch her and just focused on the game instead. That scornful look on her face woke up the masochistic side of Fearless and made him ecstatic. He just sat in his seat and admired her beauty.


    Fearless was sure if he knew this cosplayer, he would devote every second in his life to annoy her just so that she would show him that annoyed and scornful look. She reminded Fearless a lot of his sister and Iliva.


    ¡°Who is Iliva?¡± Weed silently asked.


    ¡°Who is Iliva?¡± Fearless silently replied.


    Iliva, that¡¯s a familiar sounding name. Who is Iliva?


    ¡°§¢§Ý§ñ§Õ§î, §ß§Ö§ä, §ß§Ö§ä, §ß§Ö§ä,¡±


    It was Misery¡¯s scream ¡°Fuck, no, no, no,¡± that snapped Fearless out of it. He checked the situation through the screen.


    Misery was being routed by 9tails, being swallowed by 9tails¡¯ army. His bandit ravagers fell to the spears and swords of the knights in shiny armor. His warlord Bloodbeard put up quite a struggle, but soon followed his army.


    ¡°C§å§Ü§Ñ §Ò§Ý§ñ§ä§î,¡± Misery hollered, standing up on his seat and plucking his own hair.


    ¡°Calm down,¡± FY told Misery, sending Misery to the bench with a pat on the shoulder.


    FY too was in a rather unfavorable spot. He has retreated into his final fortress to defend himself against both 9tails¡¯ and Superior¡¯s relentless attacks. With the Judgment army of Sixy out of the game, he can comfortably sit inside his fortress for a while without having to fear about a siege.


    However, 9tails spilt his force into two. One formed a blockage around FY¡¯s fortress while the other was building a base within FY¡¯s territory. Superior, too split his army into two; one to assist 9tails with the blockage while the other roaming around FY¡¯s territory to raid and secure supply to feed his army. They were slowly squeezing the life out of FY¡¯s army.


    ¡°FY, how many man do you have with you right now?¡± Fearless asked.


    ¡°5000,¡± FY replied.


    ¡°Convert all of them into heavy cavalry for me.¡±


    ¡°What are you planning?¡±


    ¡°Attack,¡± replied Fearless. He has exhausted all the options he had. He had a short Q&A session with his other persona Weed while watching Misery received his game over.


    Fearless only had one base but it was in another continent. That base belonged to the leader of the dragoons that Fearless has wedded his warlord to. He could not afford to rebuild his army and play the long game any further. One of the biggest disadvantages sharing between the witches and the dragoons was the dreadfully slow replenishing rate of their army. It¡¯s very hard to rebuild a dragoon or a witch army once they received a significant lost. Even if he succeeded to rebuild his army, FY would be out of the game before he could send reinforcement.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I meant. Do you have a plan?¡± FY clicked his tongue and asked.


    ¡°I do. Attack,¡± Fearless did not hesitate. He replied with confidence.


    FY brought his palms up to press against his face. ¡°Don¡¯t you have a better plan?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare answering me with the word ¡®Attack¡¯ again,¡± FY suddenly switched to Mandarin and threatened.


    ¡°Let¡¯s attack.¡±


    FY sighed, pressing his fingers against his two temples. He quickly had a mental calculating on all the options he had, ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡± he said resignedly. He was always the commander, the strategist of the team, the one who set the tone and pace for battles and the corner stone of the team. However, when shit hit the fan, when none of the planning and strategy seemed to work, it was always Fearless¡¯ turn to be the commander of The Alliance.


    FY knew that when the stage went dark and all the lights were off, Fearless would shine. He used one of his warlord¡¯s special trademark ability and converted all of his units into heavy cavalry, ¡°What are we doing with this fortress? I can¡¯t just leave it to them to take.¡±


    ¡°I would love to see that happen,¡± Fearless chuckled and Weed silently agreed with him.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on with this match?¡± FY lamented, rolling his eyes. Misery, Merleon and Fantasy nodded their head and approved that lamentation.


    Winter, Year 1359 of Escana Solar Calendar, it snowed heavily on Starfell Island.


    The door of Starfell castle opened and 5000 dwarves followed the banner of Admundor the Third to battle. The dwarves quickly split into three units, forming a Bison formation and charged as Admundor blew the horn.


    Neither 9tails nor Superior has anticipated that attack. However, they had made preparations in the case that FY tried to pull out a desperate move like that.


    The skull of the bison collided against 9tails¡¯ long-spearmen, stopped short and incurred heavy damage. The left horn of the bison that was trying to flank 9tails¡¯ army was checked by a heavy rain of arrows from Superior¡¯s Mistborn troops. That left horn then switched its target, going after those stinking elves. However, those war chariots that Admundor the Third was so proud of could never catch up to the hooves of the Mistborn unicorns under the banner of the elven king himself. Those stinking elves fell back to their favorite hit-and-run tactic, allowing themselves to be chased by that broken left horn of the bison.


    However, the right horn of the bison was intact. It pieced through 9tails¡¯ army of knights from the flank, smashing through the five hundred heavy horsemen of 9tails with little resistance. That right horn of the bison turned footmen, bowmen and anything that is not long-spearmen into fertilizers to enrich the ancestral land of the dwarven king.


    Only then, Fearless reminded AG that he was still inside the game even though he was practically invisible for almost an hour. His witches dropped those nasty flames on the long-spearmen of 9tails, turning them into ashes. Without the magic casters, bowmen or those Mistborn elves, there was nothing in the world could stop Fearless from baking those knights alive.


    That left horn of the bison was unfortunately the sacrificial lamb for this battle. It kept chasing after those Mistborn elves while being turned into pincushion in the process. The last dwarf of that unit was its general and one of Admundor¡¯s children. The dwarven general called for his father¡¯s name for the last time before the rain of elven arrows sent him to the hall of mistress Death.


    FY transformed the invisible fury that his warlord would feel from the loss of his son into a war cry. Misery, Fantasy and Merleon who have been relegated to the bench joined FY with their own war cry.


    FY sent the remained of his force rushing toward that fortress 9tails was erecting with the remaining 2500 dwarves.


    9tails desperately hurried his force to fortify the unfinished fortress, however, the speed of those amateur mason¡¯s hammers was no match for the fury of the dwarven king and his chariots. 9tails could see the obvious. He split his force into two.


    He ordered 500 knights to complete the fortress while taking his king and warlord with his remained 4000 army on a running for dear lives, hoping for a regroup with Superior¡¯s Mistborn.


    Of course, those 500 knights were a diversion, a delay tactic, and a sacrificial pawn to 9tails¡¯ end game.


    Funnily enough, 9tails did not remember that Fearless has never received a game over despite the earlier reminder. Since 9tails has grown old and forgetful, Fearless told him to retire with one single aerial bombardment from his beloved witches. Footmen and spearmen can do nothing against the witches. Thus, they went down with that unfinished fortress in a giant flame.


    The dwarven army under Admundor¡¯s banner never slowed down to deal with that diversion. They waded through the snow, chasing after 9tails¡¯ retreating army.


    It was then that Superior saw an empty dwarven fortress that FY left behind and so he used his elven king to capture it secretly under the falling snow while galloping the other half of his army to regroup with 9tails retreating army.


    Superior was a genius. That was a genius move. The fans of AG cheering him for that genius move and even the broadcasters were praising him for making that move, though he could not hear them while playing inside that soundproof game booth.


    The elven warlord of Murkwood decided to enter the empty fortress uncontested. His elves flooded the unmanned fortress, making way for their king. Then, the elven king regally trotted his unicorn, entering the Starfell fortress like a Conqueror with grace and dignity.


    Superior did not see that group of one hundred and one dragoons who had sworn their allegiance to Fearless camping on the sky and waiting for that exact moment to happen. How could he? It¡¯s snowing heavily and that negated the keen eyesight of his elves. Beside, why would he care about a mere 101 wyvern riders. He could just give them a single volley of elven arrows and they would be all dead. In fact, their presence was so insignificant that nobody even remotely remembered that they were not completely wiped out.


    Nobody could blame Superior for what was about to happen to him. His elven king got stuck in a fortress-entering- animation, could neither move forward nor backward.


    The sky was darkened to the shadow of the wyverns¡¯ wings. A single pinpointed ¡°Charge of the Dragoons¡± directed at the elven king. His elven mounted archers noticed the wyvern riders far too late. They set loose of their arrows far too late to save him.


    The masked dragoon general turned himself into a red flower of death and destruction, bringing the elven king with him to the hall of Mistress Death.


    The evil orchestrator of that vicious scene howled with laughter. The invisible Weed inside him laughed and the man himself laughed. Tears wetted his eyes from the sheer ridiculousness of that single play. What else can he do but to laugh? He was howling and laughing at the same time. It hurt. It really hurt. His stomach really hurt from all of that laughter.


    His friends, they all missed that single instance when that blooper happened. They saw a humble line of notification ran right to left on FY¡¯s PC screen. They did not join with him to laughter, they didn¡¯t. In fact, they were sitting in their own seat in the dead of silence, trying to digest the meaning of that tiny line of notification for an entire length of 20 seconds.


    He did not care. He laughed alone because it was just that hilarious. He laughed and laughed he did, watching that elven army scattered like a bunch of ants that unfortunately got caught in the heavy rain and disappeared into nothingness.


    Nobody inside that game booth could figure out how he did that. Only when they understood what that evil orchestrator just did, they howled their war cries, smashing their fists against the wall like a bunch of maniacs. That cameraman who was filming them joined their yelling with his own hysterical war cry. Even FY could not stop himself from screaming and howling during that moment. The entire game booth shook violently.


    Fearless was high as fuck. His entire team was high as fuck and even the cameraman filming his team was high as fuck. He was the one smoking weed and yet, the entire The Alliance was just as high as he was.


    That Mistborn troops that were escorting 9tails¡¯ retreating army went poof, completely wiped out from existence with a finger snap of an evil orchestrator.


    9tails, poor old 9tails, he was an old fool for not give up and type the ¡°GG¡± and put an end to that ridiculous game. Perhaps, he was secretly a masochist just like Fearless. Weed laughed and Fearless joined him.


    9tails was hoping for the impossible, trying to retreat to the mainland in the hope of rebuilding his army once more. The moment his army reached the harbor, it was an inferno. There was only driftwoods and fire.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trapped on this island with you. You are trapped here with me,¡± Weed used his precious time to type that meme to 9tails while Fearless was cheering for him from behind.


    9tails was so angry that he actually typed some form of profanity to answer to Weed. However, the language policing codes inside the game decided that they needed to intervene.


    ¡°9tails-This player is muted for 5:00 for the use of profanity.¡± Thus the game decided to act as 9tails¡¯ translator.


    ¡°Ch?t m?t,¡± Fearless stopped holding the mouse and the keyboard, knocking himself over the gaming table and howled with laughter, ¡°Ch?t m?t,¡± he was hysteric. His swollen thumb hit against the gaming table but that give him no more pain than his wrecking stomach. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and tried to stop the laughter, but he could not do that. He tried to stop laughing to take a breath but he kept on laughing. He was literally dying from the laughter.


    ¡°9tails-This player is muted for 3:27 for the use of profanity.¡± That notification appeared on the screen as Fearless was trying to save himself from the laughter. He had no idea what 9tails was trying to say with that line.


    ¡°Stop laughing and play,¡± FY said. His voice started to crack up. Fearless¡¯ laughter was infecting him and the entire team.


    Fearless swiped his gaming mouse and sent his entire witches army to a suicide rush against 9tails¡¯ army. They went down fast, not before dealing an insane amount of damage on that army and thus completed the ¡°Four for Five¡± or also known as the ¡°Heart of Champion¡± play.


    ¡°He was trying to type GG,¡± Fearless heard Misery¡¯s cracking up voice. He managed to retranslate that second notification back to 9tails¡¯ word.


    That single line completely killed Fearless. There was nothing he could do to stop the laughter.


    FY never galloped his cavalry to finish 9tails out of his sense of sportsmanship. Fearless was thankful that FY did not do that. Otherwise, two years would not be too short of a number of years that 9tails stopped talking to him.


    FY waited for that mute to be lifted. 9tails swallowed his shame and typed GG and the most ridiculous final in the history of ROC ended just like that. On Fearless'' screen, Mistress Death appeared, handing him the crown.


    Fearless immediately stormed out of the game booth while Weed showing the fans his dance moves on that stage.


    ¡°The Alliance has done it. The golden crown has returned to its rightful king once more.¡± The broadcasters screamed and the fans went bananas.


    Then, Fearless noticed that cosplayer floated next to him, watching the same scene that he was witnessing in awe.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked.


    The cosplayer blinked and all of a sudden everything around Fearless went poof.


    The Golden Era arena just disappeared. The entire roster of AG went poof. Weed, Misery, Fantasy, Merleon, and FY went poof.


    Only Fearless himself was spared from that fate. He stood staring at that woman. Fearless covered his face with his palm in suspense disbelief. Slowly, he removed that palm.


    ¡°Am I inside a divine dream?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprise that you know,¡± the cosplayer replied, affirmed Fearless¡¯ knowledge.


    Finally, Fearless heard her beautiful voice. ¡°Since when?¡± Fearless asked, finally came to himself. He¡¯s dead from an unknown cause and now living in the world of Reign of Chaos. He woke up inside the Tomb of the Dark God. He met Iliva while travelling to Madukat. After that he traveled alone to Madukat. ¡°When did you engineer the divine dream on me? When did this divine dream happen? How much of what I saw was real? How much of what I saw was not?¡±


    ¡°If you were a normal man, I would have killed you for such insolence, Outsider¡± the Valkyria said.


    Yup, Fearless has confirmed that woman in front of him was no cosplayer. She was the real deal, a bona fide Valkyria, one of the twelve daughters of Niwdar. Either it was that or he has gone insane.


    ¡°Please Clariciel, please find the goodness in your heart and give me an answer. I¡¯m losing my mind right now,¡± Fearless adopted a more submissive tone and asked. Out of the twelve daughters of Niwdar, only Clariciel has pink hair, that¡¯s how Fearless knew the identity of the person he was talking to.


    Clariciel gave Fearless a dangerous glare. Her long eye lashes curved upward and her red yes directed on him, ¡°I have not given you the permission to address me by such name, Outsider.¡±


    Fearless nearly lost himself in anger. He¡¯s standing on the edge of insanity and sanity. He¡¯s already an insane bastard but he would like to limit his insane self to a certain extent. He had no idea what¡¯s real and what¡¯s not anymore since the stuffs he saw a moment ago was a divine dream constructed by Clariciel base on his memory. She was the reason that he has lost his touch with the reality. And yet this woman, and yet this woman, and yet this woman¡­ Fearless gritted his teeth.


    The divine dream in the world of ROC is more than just a dream. It is not just a reconstruction of past memory. It is a lot more than that. It could be a test or a challenge that a deity gave to a mortal. It could be a prophetic warning that a deity give to a mortal. The divine dream is shaped like how the deities of Escana want it to be.


    Did he really die? Did he meet Iliva for real? Fearless had no idea.


    The person in front of him has the answer and she is a goddess in this world, a minor one, but still a goddess.


    ¡°Please forgive me for my etiquette. I¡¯m foreign to the way of the people of this world receive a deity like you, my Lady,¡± Fearless bent his back and gave Clariciel a courteous bow.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my Lady,¡± Clariciel warned.


    Fearless quickly searched for the correct term within his astronomical library of ROC related knowledge.


    ¡°My apology, Goddess,¡± Fearless immediately adopted a correct term to address the Valkyria.


    ¡°That¡¯s better, mortal. Now, what did you want to know Outsider?¡± The Valkyria nodded her head and asked with a more amiable tone.


    Yes, Fearless thought. The normally useless trivial knowledge of the lore of ROC slowly surfaced from the depth of his mind. He was glad that he has spent time on building that stream channel with Misery to discuss about the lore of ROC in detail. Has Fearless not associated with Misery and his nerdy followers, this could have been a disastrous situation.


    All the Valkyria were man-haters just like their mother, though the first born Valkyria Hilda and the fifth Valkyria Clariciel had more tolerance toward men. They did not have the same prejudice toward men like their sisters and mother. Fearless was lucky that the one he was talking to was Clariciel and not the other ten. Clariciel resembled her aunt Eogaill more than her mother and her sisters.


    ¡°Goddess, please tell me how much of what I have seen until now is a work of yours.¡±


    ¡°Ummm,¡± the Valkyria pondered, ¡°When I contact you, you were already dreaming. So I just construct the divine dream upon that. But have no fear Outsider, your dream are yours. I only encourage and insert myself into it without changing anything.¡± She gave the reply as her expression brightened up.


    Fearless pressed his temples as if he had a headache. Clariciel spoke true. A person who lied could only make a lying sound, hers was truthful. He consolidated his thought and memory like playing jigsaw puzzle. Slowly, all the pieces came together. That¡¯s good, none of his memory was artificially induced.


    ¡°Goddess, how much of my memory have you seen?¡± a question popped within his mind and Fearless immediately voiced it.


    The Valkyria put a finger on her cheek, thinking. ¡°Pretty much everything until you discovered my presence.¡±


    ¡°Pervert, paparazzi, stalker.¡± Fearless inadvertently accursed the Valkyria for her misdeeds.


    ¡°What? No¡­¡± Clariciel flustered from the accusation. Then she became angry, ¡°How dare you? I¡¯m a goddess.¡±


    ¡°Is that all you have to say to defend yourself? Being a goddess or not, that does not give you the right to invade my privacy like that. In fact, that makes it worse because you are a goddess.¡± Fearless indignantly rebuked


    ¡°No, that¡¯s the point of the divine dream. It¡¯s to see if you are worthy or not. If I don¡¯t know about who you are, how do I determine if you are worthy or not? And besides, my sisters and everyone in my family use this method.¡± Clariciel quickly defended herself.


    ¡°What a bunch of perverts!¡±


    ¡°Watch your tongue Outsider!¡± Clariciel¡¯s voice turned razor sharp and all the flusters were removed from her demeanor.


    ¡°My apology, that was a bit too much. I was out of the line. I¡¯m taking that back, sorry.¡± Fearless apologized, bending his back for a moment then fired up, ¡°But that does not change the fact that you are a pervert.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. You are. Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you doing that kind of things to them, that and that and that¡­ They were unwatchable.¡±


    That did not sound truthful to Fearless. A lying person can only make a lying sound.


    ¡°Oh my god, you saw?¡± Fearless clutched his head, muttering deliriously ¡°OMG, OMG,¡± then pointing his finger at the flustered goddess, ¡°You are kidding me! So you watched CJ turned me into her human vibrator?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ no, but, no, I did not watch that. I had my eyes closed through those scenes.¡±


    A lying person can only make a lying sound.


    ¡°OMG. I can¡¯t believe it. So you were there as well when I do S&M with my sister?¡±


    ¡°No¡±


    ¡°OMG,¡± Fearless clutched his head. He just caught the Valkyria lying again. With all of the evidences he gathered until now, he could actually sue her for a case of serious breach of privacy on the court and win the case easily. ¡°You are the worst stalker and the biggest pervert I have ever encountered in my entire life.¡±


    ¡°Watch your tongue Outsider. I¡¯m a goddess,¡± the Valkyria warned again.


    ¡°Yes, a perverted goddess,¡± Fearless corrected.


    ¡°I will not give the warning again Outsider. I will erase your entire existence the next time you call me a¡­ pervert. How dare you make me say that?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want me to call you a pervert, unsee and unhear everything now.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I did not want to do that? I can¡¯t just unsee and unhear them.¡±


    ¡°OMG. You just admitted that you saw them.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡± Cat got her tongue. The Valkyria just stood with her mouth gaping.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it. You are not just a pervert. You are a closet pervert, a closet perverted goddess.¡±


    ¡°Outsider, do you think I would not erase you just because I like you this much?¡± The Valkyria shot Fearless a dagger glare and made a visual estimation with her thumb and index finger.


    ¡°Then unsee everything right now!¡± Fearless demanded once again, waving his arms in an exaggerate motion.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± said Clariciel, nearly mimicking Fearless¡¯ waving arms motion by reflex. She managed to stop it from happening by grabbing them.


    ¡°Erase me please. I don¡¯t want to live anymore. You are going to show my entire past and all of those to your sisters and mother and aunt and uncles. You people would probably watch them like you would binge-watch a Netflix TV series. And after you have done watching you would probably rewatch them since you have nothing to do. OMG. This is too shameful. I don¡¯t want to live anymore. Erase me please. Make it quick. Don¡¯t go slow. I don¡¯t want it slow.¡± Fearless wept exaggeratedly, banging his head against his palms.


    ¡°No, I would never do that. Why would I do that?¡± The Valkyria loudly stomped her feet and questioned.


    ¡°Yes, of course. You would not do that. I¡¯m taking that back. You would never do that because you are a closet pervert. You would close your door and watch that in secret without letting anyone know.¡±


    The Valkyria hissed sharply. Her face was scarlet red. She violently flapped her white wings and her feathers shot out like bullets.


    There was nothing Fearless could do. He crumbled to his knees and dropped flat on the floor. He looked at his own body. There was no wound. But it hurt so fucking bad and he howled. He thought he did but only a muffled wheezing sound escape his throat. The pain, it was like nothing he has ever known. It was searing, like someone stuck millions pieces of red hot shrapnel into his body. That pain, it was beyond his capacity and understanding. ¡°You shot me,¡± he wheezed like a man approaching death¡¯s door.


    ¡°I have warned you fool!¡± The Valkyria gnashed her teeth and replied angrily.


    ¡°You got it wrong.¡± Fearless wheezed, tears wetted his cheeks and he submissively crawled into a fetal position. However, he has confirmed one thing after taking that attack once. He has confirmed that his knowledge regarding the divine dream was true.


    ¡°Do you deny insulting me Outsider?¡± Clariciel gnashed her teeth and challenged


    ¡°No, not that. You got it wrong again.¡± Fearless tried to raise his hand, waving in denial.


    ¡°Where did I go wrong?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Everything. I get it that this is the first time you try S&M, so it¡¯s natural for you to make mistakes like th¡­¡±


    The Valkyria did not permit Fearless to finish his line. She fumed red. She wordlessly shot him again with a dozen of her feathers.


    Yup, his useless knowledge of the lore of ROC regarding the divine dream was all real. Yup, even if they were killed in the divine dream, people would not die. As long as they are still inside the divine dream, people don¡¯t die even if they were killed. Fearless has confirmed that myth with his own body. ¡°I have told you that you got it wrong¡­¡±


    Clariciel furiously hissed, shooting Fearless again and again and again. ¡°Must you insist to insult me Outsider?¡±


    ¡°Just admit that you are a closet pervert,¡± he said. She shot him again, ¡°And apologize to me,¡± and again, ¡°And pay the compensation,¡± and again.


    ¡°Have you no fear human?¡± the Valkyria growled. She was obviously angry from Fearless¡¯ defiance and stubbornness.


    ¡°Bitch please, Fearless is my name.¡±


    ¡°This is ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°Yes, this is ridiculous. I find the fact that you invaded my dream without asking for my permission and just watched my dream and memories like you own them is ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°This is ridiculous. You should have so much pain that you could not even talk.¡±


    ¡°Bitch please, it only hurts during the first time. Don¡¯t you know that?¡± Fearless retorted. He was lying. It still hurt a lot. However, another characteristic of the divine dream was that if the pain and death kept on repeating themselves, they would lose their effectiveness. According to the lore, that was how the dragon slayer Craxus was championed by both Sinintee and Wonten. He won against the two of them with his tenacity and stubbornness, taking all the pain and punishment that the two gods rained down on him until he could no longer feel the pain. Fearless has just confirmed that myth.


    ¡°This is not supposed to happen. I¡¯m a goddess.¡± Clariciel stared at Fearless in disbelief. She must have not known about these imperfections of the divine dream just like Sinintee and Wonten.


    Seeing that Clariciel has made a mistake in her claim, ¡°A perverted goddess,¡± Fearless immediately rectified her error.


    The furious Valkyria completely stopped talking to Fearless. She blackened his sight with an absurd amount of feathers from her flapping white wings. After that, she stomped on his head with her boots again and again and again and again. She did not allow him to open his mouth to say a single word. She clobbered his face with her boots and shot her feathers through his body without giving it a rest.


    It felt endless like an eternity of pain and suffering, but the Valkyria never stop. She would not stop. Fearless thought that she kept doing that for eons, only then she stopped. Thus, Fearless took it to himself and opened his mouth again, ¡°You don¡¯t learn, do you? You are still doing it wrong.¡±


    Clariciel beat the living day light out of him. Day would become night and night would become day. The stars would spin and shine just like the scorching sun. The sun would darken and turn pitch black just like a black hole. She beat him senseless. Nothing made sense anymore. She growled and howled and kept the beating going on and on and on, never slowed down, and never stopped.


    The pain he received from her attacks at the moment was no more than the kind of playful slap that his sister would give him.


    And then, it stopped hurting for real.


    ¡°Thank to you that I would never again experience the joy of being a masochist,¡± Fearless said and the Valkyria smashed her fist into his mouth.


    ¡°Bitch, please. It doesn¡¯t hurt anymore. I have told you.¡± He told her with a dead pan face.


    Clariciel at this point was literally mounting on his body to give Fearless a pummel. She kept raining her fists against his face despite he kept telling her that it did not work any longer. He stopped feeling the pain. Her attacks stopped working since some time ago. He could no longer feel the effect of her attack. It felt exactly like he was playing a virtual reality punching game with this Valkyria where he would become a punching bag.


    ¡°I thought that you take after your aunt. Why are you being so stupid? How many more time must I tell you that it has stopped hurting?¡±


    ¡°How long would you keep insulting me Outsider?¡± She growled, raining pummel on his face still.


    ¡°Until you admit that you are wrong and tell me that you are sorry and compensate for the damage you incur on me.¡±


    ¡°I have told you that it was a test,¡± Clariciel quickly defended herself.


    ¡°And I have told you that I did not sign up for that test. If you want to test me, ask for my permission first. I have never given you the permission to test me¡±


    ¡°That test is a privilege,¡± she argued


    ¡°Thank you, I did not know that having your entire life being turned into a tape for people to watch without your permission is a privilege. How about you go find yourself a man, have sex with him, tape it and let me watch it? If you thought that it is a privilege at that point, I will tell you that I¡¯m sorry. I will be your fucking slave and do everything you tell me even if those demands gave a new meaning to the word pervert.¡±


    The Valkyria slapped him, stood up, sent Fearless flying with a kick and stomped the floor with her boots while tearing her beautiful pink hair with her hands. ¡°Grrrrrrr,¡± she released a Rage Monster from within herself right on the spot.


    Fearless was no stranger to such sight. Being a pro-gamer, he has grown accustomed to such sight. That¡¯s a Rage Monster, a common sight to every gamer. At one point in their lives, gamers would have encountered or confronted that terrible monster within themselves or people around them. Fearless has expected that it¡¯s only time before that Rage Monster transformed into the Rage Quit Monster, a more terrible and more hideous form of that Rage Monster.


    Surprisingly, Clariciel did not PP-pull the plug. If she did, Fearless would have lost the battle. All the pain and suffering he has endured until this moment would have been for nothing.


    ¡°I apologize. I was in the wrong. I should not enter you dream like that,¡± The Valkyria reluctantly said, clenching her fist. Her eyes were fury and shame.


    OMG, what is this incredible level of sportsmanship? OMG, she did not release the rage quit monster, Fearless was beside himself with surprise.


    It was that moment that Fearless felt that there was hope for mankind. No, that¡¯s wrong, Fearless thought. Clariciel was not a part of mankind. She is a deity. She is a Valkyria.


    So, it had to be like this. It was that moment that Fearless found peace within himself, knowing that his prayer was heard and that the gods and goddesses are not all unredeemable dicks and morons.


    ¡°Thank you, Goddess. I have forgiven you for that. I understand that you did not realize that you were in the wrong, so it¡¯s okay,¡± Fearless respectfully bowed and kindly smiled. Since Clariciel could put away her pride as a goddess to tell him that she was sorry, of course, he as a mortal should find the goodness within his heart to forgive her. ¡°Now, admit that you are a perverted goddess¡­¡±


    Clariciel shot her feathers and they harmlessly tore through Fearless¡¯ body. It made Fearless questioned how come Clariciel could keep shooting her feathers like that without going bald a long time ago. There should not be a single feather left on those wings by now.


    ¡°Okay, I could spare you from that today. But, one day, I¡¯m going to make you admit that,¡± Fearless said and Clariciel meaninglessly released a volley upon him. ¡°Let¡¯s move to the next part. How are you going to compensate for your mistake? As a goddess, should you not take responsibility for your own misdeed?¡±


    ¡°Okay, what do you wan¡­¡± Clariciel gritted her teeth and asked but she trailed off in the end. She used her hands to cover her chest. ¡°You sex fiend. I know what you are after. Your trickery only work on those foolish women.¡±


    ¡°Please. You are not even the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Who do you think you are? You are delusional if you think I would want to tap that booty of yours,¡± Fearless twisted his face in disgust. Clariciel angrily shot him right in his face as he was talking. He had no idea why she would even try doing that at this moment. He felt no pain from that. And since he felt no pain from that, her attack attempt became comical at this point.


    He scoffed at Clariciel¡¯s powerlessness to put up a verbal fight against him. He thought that if his encounter with Iliva and this Valkyria were in fact boss battle, he must have been playing the game in Easy Mode by default.


    These morons did not even know how to pick a fight. Iliva took on him without even knowing what deception was. And this Valkyria Clariciel, she picked up a fight with him inside his own dream. What a moron! She might have the ability to reconstruct it to her advantages but it was still his dream in the end. Of course, she would lose the battle.


    That Menace Serpent was more dangerous to Fearless than the problem that these two morons could give him when they combined.


    This is ridiculous, Fearless thought. He would have understood it if the person in front of him was the youngest Valkyria who was vain and prideful but utterly stupid. Clariciel was supposed to be smart just like her bookworm aunt. She was supposed to be intelligent and brimmed with curiosity about all the mysteries of the world.


    Ah, a bell suddenly rang inside Fearless¡¯ head. That¡¯s why she binge-watched my memory via the divine dream as though it was a TV series, Fearless has finally realized the reason why Clariciel has been stalking him.


    Damn it, Fearless inwardly cursed, he fucked up. He finally remembered that Clariciel has told him that she liked him even though that ¡°like¡± was only about one centimeter. He should have converted her into an ally and not made an enemy out of her.


    There were three types of people that Fearless hated the most in the world. First, people force their will on him and did not respect his freedom. Second, people invade his privacy without requesting for permission. Lastly, the type of people keeps telling him what to do and what not to do without trying to listen to him.


    Shit!!!! He was so angry at her for invading his privacy that he has completely missed that. He has just wasted an opportunity of converting a goddess to his camp. That could have been a plus one to the harem. Fuck!!!!!

 Chapter 29: Prince and a challenge

    Chapter: Prince and a challenge


    Misery started his stream channel to explore the lore of ROC a month after that incident where Fearless turned himself into the Darth Vader of the ROC community. That¡¯s what makes Misery so great.


    Misery was never the outspoken type like Fearless, FY, Fantasy or even Merleon. He was an introvert person, shy, reserved and extremely quiet. Some fans would go so far as describing him as a dark person or someone with no personality at all. He never received the presses and media the way Fearless or any other member of The Alliance did. Even when he had an incredible highlight and became the central of attention of an important game, the media were very reluctant to interview Misery, knowing exactly what type of answers they would have. A interview with Misery alone was the recipe for disaster. Therefore, either FY or Fearless must be sitting on the press table next to Misery to help him out.


    The only reason that asshole targeted Misery was because he knew Misery was the weakest link of The Alliance. He did not have a voice or personality or the number of fans that Fearless and the other three had. He came off as a dark, edgy and juvenile person to everyone. He projected an image of a person who would succumb to his bullies without a fight. That was the only reason that attack was aimed at Misery and not anyone else inside the Alliance.


    That¡¯s why the fans never showed up with torches and pitchforks to defend Misery. That¡¯s why those asshole fans of that asshole gave themselves the rights to make Misery¡¯s life miserable, rooting and supporting that asshole in his attack.


    Of course, Misery understood that. He¡¯s a smart person. Even though he did not appear as someone who was smart, not his dress code or his manner of speech or his social conduct, he¡¯s an extremely intelligent individual. That¡¯s why he tried to change. He vowed to never allow that incident to happen again. That stream channel was the first step for his change.


    Misery dedicated a total of five 30 minute episodes of his stream to cover the topic of the Valkyria in the world of ROC. Fearless appeared in all of those five episodes in his usual role Dr. Reality, being the straight man to Misery¡¯s funny man.


    Fearless loved being Dr. Reality. Being, Dr. Reality, Fearless could be as much of an asshole he could be and still come off as a charming person.


    For example, when Misery mentioned the faceless god Wonten being the patron god of justice, Fearless aka Dr. Reality got to say stuff like, ¡°He¡¯s definitely the god of justice. He has no eye, no ear or mouth which means he is blinded, deaf and muted. Justice is blinded, deaf and muted, how true.¡± Or when Niwdar is being mentioned, Fearless would say, ¡°What kind of Goddess of nature is she? She¡¯s sexist, full of envy and a moron. She even forbids her children to love and to procreate, what kind of Mother Nature is that? Even I make a better deity of Nature than her.¡±


    Misery¡¯s stream did not only just improve his image but also repaired the image of Fearless within the fans.


    He was an intelligent person. He was a part of the greatness in the "Greatness does not discriminate" maxim of The Alliance.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The only time the pantheon and divinity aspect of the world of ROC became relevant was during the single player mode. It was as though the developers of ROC were telling players that the multiplayer mode was already complicated enough, there was no need to bring that part over. Fearless completely agreed with that decision. He believed that the presence of the gods and goddesses was unnecessary in the multiplayer mode. The multiplayer mode was pretty much a playground for mortals to do and to be whatever they wanted, adding the gods and goddesses would ruin that aspect of the multiplayer mode.


    None of the twelve Valkyria appeared in the multiplayer mode unless somebody tried to glitch or cheat the game. ROC is a role-play strategy game. There are 64 campaigns designed for 63 warlords in which only one of them is considered canon. Out that 64 campaign, the Valkyria appear 25 times as messengers to deliver to the player the reward they earned from passing the tests of the four main deities.


    ¡°So they are pretty much the shippers in the world of ROC¡±, that was Fearless¡¯ comment as Dr. Reality on Misery¡¯s stream.


    Sometimes, that reward could be a skill, a perk or a first rank divine relic of great strength. They Valkyria also appeared as enemies if the players played the campaign as the occultists of the dark god or as allies if gamers simply typed the cheat code ¡°Might makes right¡± during any campaign.


    Other than those occasions, the Valkyria would become the test givers, to test a character belong to the player¡¯s faction to see if they are worthy. The criteria for those tests is random most of the times saving a few important events.


    The eligibility for the test takers to receive those tests is a mystery and the game has never explicitly stated what they were, except for a few occasions. However, the type of gamers like Misery who loved to dive into the lore of ROC came up with a few plausible speculations of their own.


    For instance, there was the fallen Valkyria Hilda who gave her test to warlords who have similar qualities to her late husband. Or the third Valkyria Lafariel who gave her test to warriors whose Might breached the 120 threshold, or the seventh Valkyria Eyldr who gave her test to the most brave and moronic person. Or the last Valkyria Torickiel who did not even consider give the damn test and just gave her blessing unconditionally to the most vain and beautiful women.


    If the character succeeded and passed the test, they would receive a reward of the proportion to the difficulty of the test they received.


    Among those twelve daughters of Niwdar, the fifth Valkyria Clariciel was unfortunately one of the most obscure and forgettable characters of the bunch. Her character could be summed up in a single line, ¡°She resembles her aunt Eogaill,¡± which does not really explain anything about her character.


    Fearless ran all of the data related to Clariciel within his mind and he came up short. Among the twelve, she was the least noticeable. His reaction toward the mention of her name would be, ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± or ¡°Meh¡±. And yet, it was her who picked him up for the test.


    Fearless cleared his throat, ¡°Oh wise and beautiful Goddess, pray tell why did you decide to test me?¡±


    Clariciel twisted her face, her brows furrowed, showing a clear distaste to the changing of tone that Fearless adopted, ¡°The Gods of the Outer World have a packet specifically meant for you, which is very unusual, so I volunteered myself for the job.¡±


    That did not explain why she tested him, Fearless wanted to retort but he kept silent. It was a statement that confused the heck out of Fearless. It did not answer his question and instead created a thousand more questions for him to ask her. However, Fearless decided to approach his problem slowly while asking himself if he was ready to receive the answer to his questions yet, ¡°Please go on, oh, wise and beautiful goddess.¡±


    The Valkyria clicked her tongue in displeasure. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are planning but you can quit talking to me in that manner.¡±


    Fearless has expected her to give him that kind of respond. However, that was too early.


    ¡°Pervert goddess,¡± Fearless corrected himself.


    White feathers whistled in the air and ripped through Fearless¡¯ body. The Valkyria¡¯s face went back to red.


    ¡°See? How else can we have a proper conversation if I spoke in this manner? You would attack me like a moron even though you must have realized that it had stopped hurting me.¡±


    Feathers penetrated his body again. Clariciel obviously did not miss the fact that Fearless has just called her a moron.


    ¡°How about removing that one unnecessary word when you address me?¡± She gnashed her teeth and shot Fearless a daggered look.


    ¡°Pervert,¡± Fearless abided to Clariciel¡¯s wish since she asked for that.


    Clariciel¡¯s feathers immediately penetrated Fearless right in the between of his eyes, ¡°Grrrrrr,¡±she gnashed her teeth in frustration when her attack had no effect on Fearless. She flapped her wings and unleashed a storm of feathers ripping through Fearless, no damage, and the Valkyria could only stomp her feet in seething fury.


    Clariciel looked absolutely stunning when she¡¯s angry. She¡¯s a beautiful woman but she looked so much prettier when she¡¯s angry. She reminded Fearless a lot of his sister.


    Fearless did not mean to pour more oil into the fire but somehow he did it anyway. It was a habit of his. Fearless remembered that beautiful Math teacher he had during his Junior College years. She was gorgeous but she looked so much more beautiful when she was angry. And thus, Fearless being Fearless, a hopeless pervert he was, he tried to annoy her at every single chance he had. Sometimes, he would try to fail his tests in the most spectacular fashions just to annoy her. One time, she was so irritated that she would point her protractor at Fearless in the middle of her class, ¡°At the end of this protractor is an idiot,¡± she said and Fearless immediately saw his opportunity to annoy her, ¡°Which end?¡± he asked and nailed a suspension on himself. However, he thought it was worthy of a suspension since he got what he wanted.


    ¡°What are you smiling about?¡± the Valkyria asked while pressing her hands against her rich bosoms, trying to calm herself.


    Fearless lamented inwardly. He was supposed to make peace with Clariciel and not further aggravated her. He told himself to just screw it and improvise, ¡°Forgive me, O beautiful goddess. I smiled because I thought that you look so much more beautiful when you are angry.¡±


    ¡°I know your trick Outsider. It doesn¡¯t work on me, so you should quit doing that underhanded trick.¡± The Valkyria huffed.


    ¡°What trick?¡±


    ¡°Do you deny it? That thing that you do to every woman you meet, that push and pull thing.¡± Clariciel hissed angrily and pointed her index finger at Fearless.


    Wow, Fearless was impressed. It seemed that this stalking closet pervert goddess has watched him more closely than he thought. ¡°I¡¯m truly surprise. I thought that a closet pervert like you would have watched my life and considered it as if it was nothing but pure pornography.¡±


    White feathers flew and passed through Fearless¡¯ body again. Clariciel cluck her tongue in annoyance.


    ¡°Then you should be aware that the push and pull technique is only the elementary of elementary. It¡¯s just a trick to spice up a relationship or stimulate attraction. Only fools would consider it as a tool to win the heart of a lady. I¡¯m different from them. I don¡¯t need to use tricks like that to win the heart of a lady,¡± Fearless scoffed.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡± Clariciel asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to say that I need no trick to win your heart¡±


    ¡°Dream on,¡± Clariciel retorted in English. Her face was disgust and disbelief.


    That sudden switch to English brought a small chuckle to Fearless, ¡°You are aware that I¡¯m dreaming at the moment, right?¡±


    ¡°Grrrrrrr,¡± Clariciel was triggered. She shot her feathers and they harmlessly went through Fearless. She stopped trying to calm herself down. Clariciel immediately conjured a change of landscape to the surrounding area. Mountains, hills, and green forests suddenly appeared only to be razed down by an endless rain of meteors. Clariciel went on like that for minutes until she regained her calmness.


    ¡°Hey, pervert goddess?¡± Fearless called.


    ¡°What?¡± Clariciel gnashed her teeth, dropping a meteor over Fearless in her anger. That meteor had no effect whatsoever.


    Fearless almost laughed because Clariciel responded to being call a pervert goddess. It was like she has yielded to him, ¡°You must have realized that you pick the wrong fight, right?¡±


    ¡®What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long have you been living but I¡¯m sure that this is the first time you got involve in a verbal argument. Me? I¡¯m been trash-talking for eleven years. Nobody in my team was up for the task. FY does not trash-talk and the other three simply fail at this. Therefore, it¡¯s on me to do this. That¡¯s eleven years of experience to none. Do you think you can possibly win this battle?¡± Fearless calmly explained, ¡°Of course, it¡¯s natural that you would lose this battle. The divine dream does not present you an absolute advantage. Sure, it allows you to fabricate the reality or invade my past. However, to a person like me, there is nothing you can do in this divine dream to seriously hurt me once I have realized what it was.¡±


    Clariciel immediately showed an understanding look on her face. However, the expression on her face soon changed into doubt.


    ¡°Why am I giving you all these tips? How about making a guess? Since you have watched my life as though it was a TV series, you should know the answer if you paid enough attention.¡±


    ¡°Are you challenging me Outsider?¡± She asked.


    ¡°You are close. I¡¯m telling you to swallow your anger this time and come back with a better challenge. At least give yourself a chance at winning the battle. Otherwise, this is just bullying. This is not a challenge at all.¡±


    ¡°I thought that you are only pretending to be arrogant,¡± the Valkyria rolled her eyes in disdain.


    ¡°Do you think that this is arrogance? No, this is not arrogance. This is me questioning your qualification of giving me a test. I don¡¯t care if you are somebody¡¯s goddess. I don¡¯t know anything about you. So how do I know if you are worthy of testing me? You can¡¯t even win against me in a battle. Don¡¯t you think that it¡¯s only natural for me for me to doubt the authenticity of your test if you show me nothing for me to admire and respect you? Have you ever asked yourself that kind of question?¡± Fearless calmly asked while staring straight into the Valkyria¡¯s ruby eyes.


    It was then he realized why he was literally trying to make Clariciel going crazy with his frivolous behavior. Those ruby eyes of hers reminded him of Iliva and he was unconsciously putting that frivolous persona of his up while dealing with her.


    Clariciel accepted Fearless¡¯ criticize calmly. It was as though she allowed his words to sink in one by one as he was talking. She had a better character than I thought, Fearless wordlessly admitted. He has judged Clariciel¡¯s personality base on the way she did not allow that Rage Quit Monster to get the better of her and even apologize to him properly when she realized that she was in the wrong. In fact, just because she was capable of doing that while being driven insane by Fearless, she has already proved that she has a better personality than half of the women Fearless had ever dated.


    ¡°You should start thinking about that. You claim yourself to be a goddess. So what? Your mother is a goddess and thus you are a goddess. So what? You are somebody¡¯s goddess, not mine. You have showed me nothing to respect you or any great trait for me to admire and worship you. You are very beautiful, more beautiful than most people. But so what? I have been around the most beautiful women in the world for as long I can remember. You are just a bubble in the ocean. Do yourself a favor and ask yourself this question, why should I worship you? At this moment, you are just an empty box with an (I am a goddess) tag on it.¡±


    Clariciel was quiet. However, her body language betrayed her inner turmoil to Fearless. It was as though she was having an identity crisis from the inside. She obviously had never questioned her own nature or her divinity, and as the result, was affected by Fearless¡¯ criticism. Of course, Fearless saw through all of that and pressed the attack. It was only natural to take advantage of the situation and kept on attacking when the opponents are weakened, Fearless was a Major in History himself, of course, he understood that philosophy better than most.


    ¡°If you wanted me to worship you like a goddess, you have to be a goddess. And don¡¯t tell me that because you are capable of conjuring all of those magic and miracles that I have already known that you are capable of that you are a goddess. You should have known from watching that I have millions of people calling me a god just because I¡¯m so good at playing a video game. That¡¯s just me being myself and I have never asked them to call me a god. You are better than that¡­ well, that¡¯s what I believe from our conversation until this moment. So try to prove it with something else to impress me. A real goddess would never tell anyone that she is a goddess. A goddess is a goddess because people recognize her as a goddess. However, if you stopped there, how else you are different from me? I, too, am recognized as a god to millions of people. Do you think that I would call you my goddess if you are recognized as a goddess by other people?¡±


    The gods and goddesses of ROC were portrayed very similar to the gods and goddesses in Greek and Norse mythology. They were unruly and self-righteous. Everything that they have done is unquestionably righteous until one of them had a problem with that. Niwdar cursed Arachnee just because of her own vanity. Nobody has even considered if that action of her was just, not even Wonten, therefore, that action of Niwdar was universally considered as just. However, when her first born Hilda married to a mortal man, Niwdar seethed and punished her daughter for that. Was it wrong to fall in love with someone else? Is love should be prevented? Nobody among the pantheon defended Hilda and thus, her action was considered a mistake. Her love was considered a mistake.


    Fearless had the same questions when he participated in Misery¡¯s stream. He showed his disapproval to all four of the patron deities of ROC. He did not like them.


    The fact that Clariciel was able to ask herself those questions when Fearless asked her was incredible. He questioned her authority and identity because he saw a glimmer of opportunity to give him an advantage over her. However, he did not expect it to have such result. His impression of Clariciel went sky-rocket as the result.


    ¡°So, come back when you have the answers to those questions and have that something that would make me grovel before you and worship you like a goddess. Otherwise, do yourself a favor and try not to show up in front of me again.¡± Fearless told the Valkyria in his well-crafted harsh tone as if he was looking at her with contempt.


    Silence befell as soon as Fearless concluded his lecture session. Clariciel blinked her eyes and went into deep thought. Fearless patiently waited.


    Soon, Clariciel removed herself from her inner turmoil, ¡°Outsider, your words have a lot of truth to them even though I know that they are just another tricks of yours to win a woman¡¯s heart.¡±


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Fearless clicked his tongue and did not hide his disappointment.


    ¡°You could at least try to pretend that I was wrong about that.¡± Clariciel sighed. Perhaps, she has expected Fearless to deliver that lecture for free. What kind of moron would do that? If you are good at something, never do it for free. Is that not the common sense? Though, Fearless have made a loss when he tried to use that lecture as an investment.


    Thus, he smiled resignedly. If Clariciel could already see through his intention, why bother trying? Fearless shrugged his shoulders, smiling.


    ¡°I will admit that it was wrong of me to intrude your dream and force you to call me a goddess. Once again, I apologize.¡± Clariciel presented herself in the most humble manner Fearless has ever seen her doing. However, that did not last long. ¡°Be prepared Outsider. Try not to get yourself killed. The next time you see me again, I will make you kneel before me and worship me like a goddess. And that would be after I thoroughly defeat you in a battle.¡±


    Her pride as a goddess showed up at the end.


    Fearless smiled.


    ¡°And don¡¯t hold any hope that I would fall for you. That would never happen.¡± Clariciel gnashed her teeth.


    ¡°That would be terrible, isn¡¯t it? I mean your mother would disown you like your eldest sister.¡± Fearless suddenly remembered the fate of a Valkyria who fell in love with a man. It should have been fine if that person was a woman but it was a man. And thus, that ill-fated Valkyria was banished from the pantheon and completely stripped of her status. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can take responsibility for that. So, do yourself a favor as well, never ever fall in love with me.¡± He sincerely told the Valkyria.


    ¡°I have no intention of doing that,¡± Clariciel replied as the matter of fact.


    ¡°It¡¯s great that you have such commitment. However, I assure you that¡¯s it¡¯s not nearly enough to stop yourself falling for me. My entire existence is just that terrible. You have to constantly remind yourself to not fall in love with me. And even that would not be enough¡­ Oh, why am I born such a handsome, loveable, huggable, kissable, and charming person? Why would women keep falling for me left and right even though I did not even try to win them over?¡±


    Fearless bemoaned his fate.


    ¡°Do you even know how to spell the word humble?¡± The Valkyria gave Fearless a strange look as though he has misspoken.


    ¡°H-U-M-B-L-E. Why?¡±


    ¡°I can see that sarcasm has no effect on you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s trash-talking 101,¡± Fearless replied as the matter of fact, ¡°Promise me that you would never ever fall in love with me. No, don¡¯t do it. That will only have an opposite effect. That¡¯s the ¡®promise me¡¯ technique. Oh god, I¡¯m still trying to hit on you even though I¡¯m telling myself to not to do that. Why am I such a womanizer? Okay, this is a better suggestion. Do your best to forget everything about me. That¡¯s the best suggestion I can give you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m seeing myself out.¡±


    ¡°Wait. You were telling me that I have a packet. Give me that first. Oh, tell me the result of my test as well. Did I surprise you?¡± Fearless revealed the real reason why he had that lecture with Clariciel. The chance of Clariciel to give him the packet and answer to his questions after being completely smashed by his verbal beat down was infinitely close to zero. Thus, he had to take advantage of her good nature and reset the mood.


    ¡°You have not even done it yet,¡± Clariciel rolled her eyes in disbelief.


    So that was not a test, Fearless inwardly commented.


    ¡°Oh, is that so? So all of that part of you intruding my dream was just an excuse for you to stalk me? Oh, Just one word of advice, make it difficult, okay? There is no point for me to become so OP be receiving your blessing without really earn it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. Instead, you should worry about not to get yourself killed before you can do that test.¡± Clariciel shook her head in disgust from the sheer arrogance of Fearless¡¯ word.


    ¡°Oh, is that a prophecy? Thank you, I will heed your warning.¡± Fearless thanked the Valkyria to mock her. His arrogance words had an effect on her after all. However, he did not expect that she would slip a hint like that. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t die this early. I¡¯m a protagonist of my story. What would my author do if he killed me this early?¡±


    Clariciel clicked her tongue and turned. She really took Fearless¡¯ lecture to her heart. She swallowed her pride and saved herself from being at the end of another verbal beat down to wait for another day.


    ¡°Wait. I have not received that packet yet.¡±


    ¡°I will ask a sister on mine to deliver that package if you manage to not get yourself killed.¡±


    ¡°Wait. Hang on. Am I in a danger right now?¡± Fearless asked. He thought that the danger Clariciel spoke of would appear soon and not now while he was still inside a dream.


    ¡°I intended to rid that for you as a bonus for taking my test. But now, I have no intention of doing that.¡± Clariciel generously replied.


    ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°Farewell, Outsider. Know that I would not be disappointed if you got yourself killed before meeting me again.¡± The Valkyria told Fearless with a stone cold voice.


    ¡°Challenge accepted,¡± replied Fearless, trying not to criticize Clariciel for her tsundere behavior and ruin everything.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know what the danger is yet,¡± Clariciel twisted her face in ridicule.


    ¡°That¡¯s how all the challenge should be, don¡¯t you think? What¡¯s the point of having a challenge if you have already known what it is? Oh, one last word of advice from me, stop calling me Outsider. That¡¯s very racist. That only gave me a reason to look down on you. Try calling me Ph¨²c instead, no don¡¯t do that. All the women called me by that name ended up falling for me. Try Fearless, you will improve your chance of not falling in love with me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s after you manage to keep yourself alive.¡± Clariciel rolled her eyes to the point that they showed nothing but ridicule and disgust.


    ¡°Is this challenge really that difficult? Okay, I will be very careful. Thanks for the tip.¡± Fearless showed the annoyed Valkyria his most charming smile which he soon regretted. What if she became unable to forget this smile and share the fate of many women before her who saw the same smile once?


    Fearless thought that trying to prevent a woman from falling in love with him was harder than he thought. He has never tried to do this before. What happened if Clariciel set up his test by making him trying to stop women fell in love with him? Damn, Fearless could not see if he had a chance of winning that challenge.


    Clariciel clicked her tongue in annoyance, knowing that she slipped yet another hint. Yet, her lips betrayed the faintest hint of a smile for an iota of moment. That smile genuinely made Fearless worry. Clariciel snapped her fingers and everything faded black and soon white.


    Fearless thought that he should have tried to ask Clariciel a couple questions more. But oh well, he thought. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss, they said. He should try to concentrate to defend himself from that danger Clariciel has warned him about instead.


    Slowly, Fearless woke up.

 Chapter 30: Twilight of the golden city (3)

    Chapter 30: Twilight of the golden city (3)


    I was grateful for my mother who provided me an education that most men around me could never have. I knew how to do the basic of math to not be cheated by merchants and to manage my earnings. I learned history and magic, just the very basic of them all, enough for me to understand their importance and the advantages they gave me over the men who knew them not. That education taught me to think, that was the most important thing. I was sure that had it not for the education my mother gave me, I would have died on the streets a long time ago.


    The only thing that I can thank my bastard father who I killed with my own two hands was the tiny bit of knowledge of alchemy I learned from him. I can create a few types of poisons and antidotes from plants, insects, and venomous critters that I can find in the wild. I can create salves on occasions, the cheapest and the most common of their kinds from all the material I could find and salvage. Potions were beyond me. My knowledge in alchemy was severely lacking and besides, I received no blessing from Eogaill or Niwdar or Sinintee, alchemy was practically impossible for a man like me. The knowledge I learnt from that dead bastard kept me alive through the Neversummer campaign.


    The Neversummer campaign was the first campaign I have participated. I was fourteen at that time, the same age as Craxus when he killed the dragon Karijard. I lived through the day by leading a group of local street urchins in the king city of White Winter.


    Many of us did not make it through that winter, at least none of the youngest kids did. We could hardly scavenge for anything to keep ourselves through that winter. Our king and the nobles imposed the war time tax, making everything excessively expensive. Foods and clothes were especially expensive, just like every time our king and our supreme priest declared war on another nation.


    Farm house owners and nobles stocked their grains and vegetable through that winter. Merchant raised the cost for everything, foods and clothes. We could not steal or rob anyone because everyone was equally dirt empty, hungry and cold. So I did the same thing everyone did at that time, joining a private militia army of a noble.


    Two bowls of lukewarm dilute oatmeal a day was better than nothing. That was the average daily wage of a reserved militia footman. That wage would improve to three bowls of oatmeal, an egg and three copper coins a day if I made it to the standard militia. Throughout that winter, we had to learn how to handle the spear and the bow, how to build our little tent, how to march under the snow, which war drum and which horn was which, the two basic formations, basically how to fight a war like a fucking peasant I was.


    Each of us was assigned into a fifteen man team under the command of a lieutenant. A total of eight fifteen man teams combined would form a squad under the command of a captain. Ten squads would form a unit under a commander.


    I became a lieutenant twenty days after joining the militia, as soon as I snapped the neck of my lieutenant. The bastard tried to rob my boys of their oatmeal bowl to fill his own stomach, he got it coming. The captain did not want to deal with that case, promoting me to the rank of lieutenant and ordering me to have that dead bastard buried. He reported that bastard dead from the falling snow.


    The noble lord only provided the spear, the bow and our wages. The rest, we have to provide for ourselves.


    I remembered sharing a bison hide with two other kids of my gang that turned up for the militia as well. That piece of shit of a bison hide, smell just like rotten meat mixed with horse manure and sweats, badly tanned and full of holes, yet, it was the ultimate luxury for the three of us. While I could not feel the forbidding coldness that everyone felt, my body would shake and shake and shake haplessly from the wind and snow. My limbs would freeze, unable to move the way I wanted them to move. Without that piece of shit of a bison hide, I would not live to fight my first campaign just like many other people around me. It was a normal every day reiteration to find people within our camp died, frozen solid to the winds and snow and we had to bury them.


    I remembered passing that bison hide around with the other two kids during the day. Each of us would wrap it around our body for a couple of hours and then passed it to the others, making do with our dirty smelly rags that were full of stiches until it was our turn to wear that bison hide again.


    At night, we would huddle inside our tent, putting that bison hide over our body, leaving only our arms and legs outside to the gnawing wind. We taught ourselves to bundle rags and straws around a piece of rock that was heated within the camp fire to keep ourselves warmed throughout the night.


    I had to chop the wood to create my own arrows and tied a rope around a cheap cauldron that I snagged at a smith to use it as my own armor. I didn¡¯t like the spear the lord provided me so I had a blacksmith to add an iron tip on the other end of my father magic cane. That way, I could use it as a spear and double as a magic cane.


    For some reason, I felt the wave of nostalgia washed over me while watching the falling snow. Strange, this snow was warm and had nothing in similar to the frostbiting melting ice of Neversummer. Yet, it reminded me of that time.


    I wondered if it was the growing uneasiness within my guts was responsible for this nostalgia.


    As soon as I finished reapplied the poison on the bit of my poleaxes, I gave my prayer to the Valorous Protector Wonten, asking for his guidance and blessing. After that, I headed out of my hut and prepared for a new day.


    The sky kept snowing without giving it a rest for a week. Nobody could tell when it would stop. This strange warm snow could never be compared to the bitter cold northern wind of White Winter or the freezing touch of the snow that I had known during the war my king waged against the kingdom of Neversummer. Yet, this warm snow gave me nerves as it kept building up to above my ankles and sometimes my knees.


    My body guards greeted me and offered the breakfast, grilled horse meat once again, same as yesterday and the days before.  Then, it was the same routine, cranking up those white robes masquerading in my men¡¯s ragged clothes and had them tossing a few oversized pebbles over the walls to wake up a few sleepy heads resided within the walls of Madukat. My boys did not catch any fools trying to escape the wall during yesterday night. Those fools have stopped doing that since a couple days back. Perhaps, they had grown smarter or perhaps, my boys had captured them all.


    It does not matter, I sighed and repeated the routine, having my men exchange pissing contests with the guards on the wall while checking if they were ready for any surprise foolish raiding attempts from the guards.


    However, I would know if that happened. Those hypocrite white robes inside the city would have let us know all the plans.


    I trusted those white robes no more than those bandit lords I defeated and fitted into my army right away. I¡¯m sure that they would not hesitate to ditch or betrayed me if the situation required.


    I watched as days went by, listening to the direction of those white robe bastards, otherwise, I would miss out the other half of the payment I was promised.


    Each day went by my men grew restless from the idleness, so did I.


    It was not in our blood to sit still and exchange curses and pissing contests with those wimpy guards of this city. Many of my men simply desired to curb their thirst for blood and violence whereas the rest only cared about gold, wine and women. Idleness made them restless, especially those with the thirst for blood and violence.


    Yesterday, i ordered One Eye, my right hand man to take a couple of hundreds men under my command, the most restless of them all, to head east. They trailed the Sandaphon river upstream to search for villages and settlements to sate their hunger for blood and violence. I only gave One Eye the instruction to come back after three days whether or not they found any villages.


    I thought that it was dangerous to keep playing this game for much longer with those white robes. I had no fear for the Northern Warden, a pig that fattened itself from the gold of its parents. He¡¯s weak. He was no opponent of mine. He could not fight back, not with that army. However, Zard had more protectors than just that useless pig.


    I feared the king¡¯s army of Zard and the Western Warden¡¯s army would come. They should have received news of me and my boys sieging on Madukat by now. I didn¡¯t expect the men of Madukat would be too stupid to not send crows and eagles to inform their kings of my armies. If my estimation was corrected, they are probably gathering an army at the moment and prepared to go north and made quick work of my army.  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The Warden of the Western border was especially well-known for his talent in battle just like his ancestor. They were savage nomad once, tribal men that lived on the vast central plains and the western border of Zard until they decorated themselves to the King of Zard during the civil war that happened before the Hundred Year War.


    The Warden of the West was known to uphold the tradition of his ancestor, to skin and take the skull of his defeated enemies as trophy. It was said that his throne was created by all the skulls of his enemies, I don¡¯t know if that was true. However, I knew that he was feared by all men and bandits. His region was ruled under an iron fist and iron laws.


    I don¡¯t know much about the king¡¯s army of Zard. However, I don¡¯t expect them to be easy to deal with. If things happened exactly as my plan, I would have roamed the central plain and the eastern region by now, raiding and sacking everything on our path. Yet, those white robe bastards kept delaying the plan. I remembered that their Judgment Army were stationing at the border and just waited for an order to cross at any time.


    I grew restless, knowing that my advantages would dwindle as time went by and an army, or two, would head this way to catch me and my boys.


    I still dreamed of that strange dream every night. In the dream, I followed that black owl, walking through the dark. It seemed like an omen to me, but I did not know the meaning. However, it made me became more restless than I already was.


    On the third day after they set out, One Eye returned with a big haul. Women, foods, clothes, coins, they got everything. That gave a boost to the boys¡¯ mood, however, I knew there would be no way for me to prevent them from leaving the camp in secrecy to continue raiding those villages and settlements. They are not an army. We are not an army. We are a bunch of bandits banded together for a big raid. The discipline in my army was no more than the militia I served back then, in fact, worse.


    I dreamt of that strange bird that day as well. The moment I woke up, I made my decision to go back to my base at the Bundor Bastion to fill up the supply for the trip and then east with my boys. I would leave thousands of my men to keep the pretense of the blockage until those white robes arrived with their army and the rest of the payment.  They can have the other half of the payment to themselves and do whatever they wanted with it. They only had to keep doing the routine to scare Madukat and after that, they could do whatever they wanted. They could join force with us in the east or return to White Winter, regardless; they would become a decoy to keep my enemies distracted.


    Those witch hunters advised me against that plan. I told them to pass my message to their leader who was hiding within the walls of Madukat, telling him that the plan has changed. He agreed, smart man, I supposed he¡¯s smart. This delay and idleness would help neither of us. However, he told me to leave at least half of my men behind. I agreed.


    I told my boys the plan, only the leaders and those I trusted. That night, I ordered the boys to leave their huts behind, pretending as if we did not move. The 6000 of us secretly moved south within the dead of the night, returning to our base at the Bundor Bastion. I supposed the 1800 that I left behind would be an appropriate decoy for my enemies.


    Using half of my army would be too much of a waste to play the role of the decoy. I¡¯m not that stupid.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The Lord refused to come out of his bed chamber today, still.


    It made Girout saddened. It made him thought of the promises he gave to the previous housemaster and the previous lord. He had failed them. He had truly failed them.


    Where did it go wrong? Girout asked himself, blaming himself for the sad state of his current lord. The lord was supposed to be the heir to the Great Bear himself, a wise and strong lord just like his father. Where did it go wrong?


    My lord, have you stopped caring? Have you truly stopped caring?


    Girout lamented inwardly, wiping the sweat on his bald head and went back to his room. Borig was already there when Girout opened the door.


    The gray on the old guard captain¡¯s hair and the creases on his forehead seemed to increase these days. He seemed to age a decade in the last days. Girout sighed.


    Among the people remained to serve the lord, Borig was one of the few to know Girout¡¯s background. He¡¯s one of the few that remembered where Girout came from. However, he had never showed any contempt toward Girout or had ever looked down on him.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that your suspicion was spotted on,¡± Borig stroke his beard with an expression of dread darkened his face. He did not bother with the greeting and went straight into business.


    ¡°So, it was not lady Farrington and her entourage?¡± Girout asked.


    ¡°It was not them. My men have consistently watched them for the last few days and saw nothing.¡± Borig replied, shaking his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to know that they are not with them,¡± Girout absentmindedly nodded his head and thanked the gods inwardly.


    Borig was silent. The expression on his face showed that he had no idea what so good about that news. ¡°So it¡¯s just those bastards?¡± Girout darkly asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just them,¡± Borig confirmed, ¡°My men have confirmed that.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± Girout scratched his chin, ¡°First, Neversummer, then Kraig¡¯ondor and Gigastetris and now us? I should have realized earlier. There is no limit to their ambition, isn¡¯t there? I wonder what claim they would use to start this war against us? Heresy again? I recall we have been their closest ally in the last two hundred years. Why would they start a war against us now?¡±


    The moment that surprise night raid of the brothers Narse and Narik failed, Girout and Borig had an inkling of suspicion that there was a mole within their ranks. However, they kept it to themselves, alone. Otherwise, they could not see how the bandits were able to reverse the situation. However, the two of them kept that to themselves, never discussing that suspicion with another person. They did not dare to believe that there would be anyone within their ranks would be the mole for the bandit lord Bloodbeard. They could not see how that would benefit anyone. However, Borig told Girout in person about his suspicion as soon as the decision regarding giving the Judgment Army to cross the border was made. He felt that they had made a mistake and Girout confirmed with him to share the same thought.


    Borig did not bother to reply to Girout. He just sat on the guest chair with that grim expression, ¡°It was a mistake,¡± lamented the old guard captain.


    ¡°Yes, it was,¡± Girout agreed, ¡°The decision to invite that Judgment Army to cross the border gave them the permission to bring their army to our kingdom legally. We have discussed about that, have we not?¡± the housemaster sighed languidly.


    ¡°Yes¡±


    ¡°Do you think we can withdraw that permission now?¡± Girout asked. It was the same question he kept asking Borig for the last few days.


    ¡°Not when Bloodbeard still had his army around us. They can storm this city any time they wanted. We can only hold this fort for days with the number of men we have. That only creates more unnecessary casualty. That Judgment Army would cross the border regardless. They will tell everyone that they only cross the border to deal with Bloodbeard regarding of what we say,¡° Borig gave Girout the same reply he did.


    Girout sighed. He has racked his brain with Borig for many days, trying to solve the dilemma and came up with nothing. There was no way they could do to stop that Judgment army to cross the border. However, once that Judgment army chased away the bandits, Girout thought maybe he could prevent them from entering the city.


    Borig told Girout that he was too optimistic about that. That Judgment army had more firepower than enough to storm the city.


    ¡°In the end, we could only count on the help from his Majesty and the other wardens huh?¡± Girout sighed. ¡°We have not even received any bird from them.¡±


    ¡°These are really the darkest days yet,¡± Borig shook his head and muttered.


    Girout nodded his head and agreed. However, in his mind, these days would not be the darkest days. He imagined those days would come when the Judgment Army flooded the city, casted their spell on the people and made them killed his lord. That would be when he has truly failed and betrayed his promises to the previous lord. That would be the darkest day in his life.


    Girout kept discussing with Borig, but they got the same result as the days before, empty. It was until a servant knocked the door that Girout wrapped up the discussion and headed for the throne room.


    In the throne room, Girout continued to discuss business with his personnel and the inquisitor of White Winter like usual. He did not want them to realize that he has suspected them for their treachery. He kept asking them regarding the news of the Judgment army.


    Girout has suspected that their Judgment Army had been camping at the border, waiting for the permission to cross. However, he could not understand what took them so long even if they marched under this falling snow. He had no idea what game they were playing and neither was Borig. However, he welcomed that slowness and stillness. It gave the king and the other wardens more time to march their army to lift this siege.


    Yet, he could not help but questioned what if this delay was another treachery. He could not know. He wondered if he has overthought and was overwhelmed with paranoia. He had no way of knowing if they were all true.


    Another day went by just like that. Borig¡¯s men reported that those Inquisitors, too, were restless. They were sending pigeons and crows every day to check the news. Girout could not count out that was just a guise. He hoped that restlessness was true. But he doubted it, all of his planning recently had failed repeatedly. He was afraid and doubtful of himself.


    That night, Girout visited the grave of his late lord. He stood, praying to the late lord, recounting everything. He wished that he had a quarter of the lord¡¯s greatness and brilliance. He cried to the lord for his many failures. He cried inwardly for failing his promises to the late lord. He cried, not knowing what the right decision was. He cried because he has failed both the late lord and the current lord. He cried, letting his cry and tears unheard and unseen to nobody.


    Girout apologized to his late lord again before leaving the grave site.


    When Girout came back to the manor, he told the servants to secretly gather all the gold and valuables within the treasury and stuffed them into coffers. He then packed them on three separate carriages.


    He did not consult with Borig regarding the action he¡¯s about to make. He knew the old guard captain would do everything within his capability to stop him. That¡¯s why he kept it a secret. It would be done when dawn shone on the wall of Madukat. It would be done before anyone had any idea of what¡¯s going on, not those Inquisitors, not Borig, and not even the young lord who¡¯s not so young anymore.


    It¡¯s fine. He would be considered a traitor. It¡¯s fine. He would be the only to bear the blame. It¡¯s fine.


    Girout contacted Moira¡¯s chief knight on the same night, asking if the knight would be willing to participate in his plan.


    The old knight nodded his head.


    ¡°My apology, My Lord,¡± Girout apologized inwardly to both the late lord and the current lord. ¡°I wish I could do better.¡±

 Chapter 31: Twilight of the golden city (4)

    Chapter 31: Twilight of the golden city (4)


    My brother was born on the stormiest day that Madukat had ever seen. Thunder clapped and blackened the highest tower of our city. The winds howled and destroyed hundreds of houses within the walls. The frosty hail indiscriminately killed people and livestock. However, the moment my little brother cried his first, the winds stopped blowing and the rain disappeared. It was as if that storm was an illusion.


    Everyone could already tell that he was destined to be great, the matrons, the servants, the housekeeper, and even my parents. My father decided to name him ¡°Fob?a¡±, the breaker of storm in our tongue, a fitting name for the next lord of Madukat.


    My little brother is a born genius with the war hammer and the shield just like my father. The first time he touched father¡¯s shield and war hammer, everyone knew he¡¯s a real deal, unlike me. Wonten blessed him with great strength and the great aptitude to receive his miracles just like my own father. Fob?a Bellmore, my little brother was everything my father was when he was young and even more.


    At the age of nine, he can lift father¡¯s war hammer that was too heavy even for adults with one hand and I at the age of fourteen could barely lift it with two.


    At ten, he mastered the bow and arrows. His arrow always flew straight to his targets once loosed. His bow was an elven war bow with dwarven metal string. Normal people could not even pull that bow, much less shoot with it, and my brother could do it naturally as if breathing and eating.


    I remembered that one time father brought us to a hunting trip. We encountered a small wolf pack chased after a herd of bison. Father pointed his finger at one particular wolf, a strange wolf with black lustrous fur running amidst the pack of white wolves.


    ¡°Anyone manages to shoot down that beast will have my war hammer,¡± father said in a festive mood. He confirmed that the competition was for everyone, the guards, the servants and us his children.


    I galloped my horse toward that pack of wolves with my arbalest in one hand. I had only one shot at best so I wanted to be as near as possible to my prey. Girout was ahead of me, trying to separate the beast from the pack with his javelins to let me have an easy shot. Only Girout would do something stupid like that, a stable boy he was at that time, only he would stand on my side, only Girout would support a loser like me. Only Girout would risk going against every servant and guard in our manor to support me. He was the biggest moron.


    Even though father said that the competition was for everyone, no servant or guard would dare to shoot that black wolf. They knew the meaning of that war hammer. That was father¡¯s personal weapon. It was his identity. Even if father gave them a bag full of gold, they would not dare to touch that war hammer.


    That¡¯s why they picked a side and they chose my little brother. Their arrows, javelins and bolts were never meant to touch that beast. They were meant to isolate that beast and create an opportunity for my little brother. He was meant to inherit that weapon from the moment he was born. Even I knew that. Yet, the meager pride I had within myself prevented me from letting my brother having that weapon easily.


    Twenty of father¡¯s servants and guards could not be compared to a young moronic stable boy. Girout has created a direct line to the prey for me. I aimed my arbalest and the string went twang.


    Yet that bolt never reach the black wolf. It flew, yes it flew across the plain, that wolf.


    My brother was faster with his custom war bow. His arrow that was the size of a javelin tore through the beast and sent it flying into another beast, killing two wolves one black one white at the same. He made an impossible shot. It was an impossible shot, not just because it has skewered two beasts with a single arrow but also the way he delivered that shot.


    Girout was in Fob?a¡¯s line of sight, riding his skin and bone pony that was full of scabies. My brother unbuckled the straps and stood on his horse saddle, leapt and pulled his bow as he was falling.


    I had never seen something like that. Nobody has ever seen that. Nobody taught Fob?a to do something like that, and yet he did it and succeeded.


    Father laughed and praised him. The servants and guards cheered for my little brother. Only Girout stood next to me, telling the dejected me, ¡°Next time, little lord,¡± he said, ¡°There is still the shield, little lord. Maybe you are not destined for the war hammer of our lord. Maybe, the shield was meant for you,¡± he told me.


    But even I knew that was a lie. I was never meant to be born a son of my father. I was never meant to inherit anything from him, not his greatness, not his talent, nor his wealth nor title. I was meant to be nobody, a joke, a stain on my father¡¯s good name, a loser. I knew what I was. I knew what I will be.


    That night, my little brother offered me the war hammer, telling me that I can have it, perhaps realizing how bad my mood was. That was like rubbing salt to the injury. Only the meager pride of an older brother prevented me from lashing out on him.


    ¡°Keep it,¡± I said, ¡°You got it with your own hands. But don¡¯t think for a moment that you can have the shield of our father. I will have it,¡± I told him, repeating the lie that Girout told me. I tried my best to not lashing out at my little brother with all of my hatred, envy and anger.


    Fob?a smiled, an untainted smile, innocent and without a sliver of doubt. That smile of his only fueled my hatred for myself. I did not hate the attention Fob?a received from my parents and everyone. I did not hate the secretive whispers that the servants made about me. I certainly did not hate Fob?a. The only person I hated was no other than my ugly and useless self.


    Fob?a was so good with the bow that father used to joke that mother must have slept with an elf and she would bar him from their chamber every time he made that ugly joke.


    Fob?a was everything I could never become. He mastered the art of horse riding at the age of twelve. He was so good at horse riding that the servants gave him the nickname Sagittarius, after a mythical half man half horse creature in the Titan¡¯s myth.


    It was like he was chosen. The war hammer and the shield chose him. The bow, the sword, the spear, the horse, and everything that a man would like to master in his life time chose my brother. He was chosen the very moment he came to the world.


    My little brother learned fast. The house tutor never had to stop, dwelling on a topic for days to make sure he really understood the lesson.


    He was great at everything. He was the personification of greatness and talent. I remembered that one time father brought us to the birthday party of the king of Zard. The king loved my brother so much that he praised Fob?a at the parties as the reincarnation of Craxus, the very Little Conqueror, the Demon Bane and the Dragon Slayer himself. Even the king himself predicted that my brother was destined for greatness.


    ¡°The Great Bear has sired a dragon cub,¡± the king joked and all the guests laughed.


    I remembered shamefully hid myself at the corner of the king¡¯s great hall, removing myself from the gaze of the guests and saving myself from being compared with my brother again. In the shadow I was, that the place I was meant to be.


    Yet, it was me who was spared from ¡°that¡±.


    My little brother was broke down in high fever one day after his sixteenth birthday. That never happened to him or me or my father. We, children of the Bellmore, never got sick in our entire life, not me, not my father, not my uncles and aunts, not my grandfather and even our ancient ancestors. The gods created us, the Bear of the North like that.


    Father rode to the Essence Temple himself and brought a priestess of Niwdar¡¯s Temple to heal my little brother.


    ¡°A curse¡±, she said, ¡°A very powerful curse has been placed upon him,¡± she told my parents, sweating profusely. Her face paled, fearing for the life of my little brother. She told my parents that it was too powerful of a curse that she could not lift it herself. She suggested bringing my brother to the temple, hoping that her sisters would change the outcome.


    My parents immediately agreed, sending my brother to the temple as fast as they could. The priestesses tried everything they could, spells after spells, miracles upon miracles, potions upon potions. Nothing could save Fob?a from that curse, nothing. My parents cried as they watched my little brother¡¯s lips turned pallid blue. Even the Great Bear cried for his dying pulp.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± my little brother said, brimming with tears. That was his last words as he laid dying in my parents¡¯ arms.


    My father was beyond himself with wrath and fury. He chased the priestesses out of the temple and burned it down as he was holding my little brother in his arms, crying. I have never seen him so angry in my entire life. He cursed the priestesses that they did not try hard enough. He cursed the deities for allowing such terrible thing to happen upon my brother. He turned the entire city upside down, searching for the culprit that placing such a terrible curse on my little brother. However, my father did not catch the culprit of that tragedy.


    Everyone cried for my little brother on his funeral, everyone except me. I was sad. I remembered that I was sad. And yet, I found no tear welled within my eyes no matter how hard I tried. The corners of my eyes were hollowed and dried just like the warm snow of Zard. I remembered asking myself if I was truly sad from my little brother¡¯s death. I remembered asking myself if I was secretly happy from the bottom of my heart.


    ¡°Why it is him?¡± I heard the whispers of the grieving servants. ¡°Why it is him?¡±


    That made me asking myself, ¡°Why it is me who live?¡± Why indeed.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The servants questioned my lack of tears at the funeral with their whispers. They questioned if I was secretly cheering for Fob?a¡¯s death. Otherwise, how else would I inherit my father¡¯s title and everything?


    I remembered asking myself if that was true, as I was holding a fruit knife inside my shaking hand as I hid inside my special hiding place. I remembered being surprise when Girout burst into the room and snatched that knife away from me. His face was full of tears. He, too, cried for my little brother.


    ¡°What were you thinking, little lord?¡± he asked angrily.


    Only Girout noticed my disappearance at the funeral. Only he realized that when no one else did.


    I was beside myself with silence. I could say nothing.


    ¡°Fool,¡± Girout shouted, violently tossing the knife to the ground, ¡°Fool,¡± he said, knobbing his bony knuckles down on my forehead, ¡°Fool.¡±


    That was the first time someone ever hit me. That was the first time someone called me a fool in front of me.


    ¡°Do you think that killing yourself would make anyone happy, little lord?¡± he screamed. His hands, bloody from the holding the cutting edge of the fruit knife, clutched my face tightly. His warm blood smeared my cheek. ¡°Do you think killing yourself would make our lord happy? What do you think our lord would be like when he discovered you, his son, killed himself at the end of this very day?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m unneeded,¡± I replied in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Fool, who told you that?¡± Girout shouted, shook me with his bony and calloused hands.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you already know Girout? Everyone. Everyone. I¡¯m unneeded. Can¡¯t you hear the whisper?¡±


    ¡°You are our lord¡¯s son. How could you be unneeded?¡± Girout gritted his teeth and stomped his foot. He then tore a piece of his tunic and cleaned my face of his blood.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Fob?a is the only true son that my father has,¡± I shook my head.


    ¡°What are you talking about, little lord? You are his flesh and blood,¡± Girout rebuked. His words held no contempt or mockery. Every bit of them was genuine.


    I was sure that only Girout would tell me something like that as if they were facts. It made me seethed with fury. ¡°That¡¯s the only thing I inherited from him. I have none of his talent or greatness. I am nothing like him.¡±


    Girout looked at me in the eyes, and slowly, he asked me in a calm deep tone. ¡°Is this about my little lord Fob?a?¡±


    ¡°It should be me who die, Girout. I¡¯m sure that even my parents think that.¡± I replied.


    ¡°You are a fool to think that, little lord. Your parents love you. They don¡¯t wish for you or the little lord Fob?a to die.¡± Girout sighed, putting his hand on my shoulder to give me a good shake.


    His kind words only poured more oil into my seething fury. I slapped his hand away, ¡°How do you know that? How do you know that for sure, Girout?¡±


    ¡°I know that, little lord,¡± replied Girout. His tone unchanged.


    ¡°What do you even know Girout? You don¡¯t even know who your father is.¡± The moment that escaped my mouth, even I realized that I should have never said that.


    Girout blinked his eyes once, dismissing the mixed of pain and shock on his face. ¡°That thing you call talent is truly something to be feared and admired little lord. I have never known someone as talented as the little lord Fob?a is. But, so what, little lord? It¡¯s not everything. If you cannot do that in a year or two or three or even a decade, so what my little lord? You still have a future ahead of you. You will live long. You still have time to learn them and master them. So what if you could not do it in a decade my little lord? Keep doing those things for two or three decades, you will be just as good as our lord. Don¡¯t heed the whispers, my little lord. They are cruel and untrue. They are petite and disgusting. Those people did not have the gut to tell you in person and only whisper among themselves in secret. They are cowards. They are worse than horse manures.¡±


    Girout did not care that I has just insulted him. He tried to comfort me with his words.


    He calmly told me, word by word. ¡°Every single day, they call me whoreson behind my back. They mocked me for being born from a prostitute. They mocked my mother. They mocked me for not knowing who my father was. They mocked the lord¡¯s decision to take me in and have me serving him. But so what, my little lord? I will be your housekeeper in the future and not them. They are coward and useless. Whisper is the only thing they can do, that¡¯s why they are worse than horse manures. You can use horse manure to enrich the earth, these whisperers, they can¡¯t even do that. They can do nothing but whisper. But you my little lord, you are the future lord of this city. One day, you have to manage it like our lord does. That, my little lord, you don¡¯t need talent for that. You only need time and effort. It takes time and effort.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I casted my gaze downward, ashamed of myself for calling Girout with those words.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to, little lord. I know you did not mean it. Now, you have to come with me to the catacomb before people discover you are not there.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t Girout. I cannot cry for Fob?a. There is no tear. People will¡­¡± I stuttered, ¡°People will¡­¡±


    ¡°But you are sad, little lord. You are grieving just like my lord and my lady for the little lord Fob?a¡±


    ¡°Am I?¡± I asked mockingly. I could not find it within myself to believe Girout¡¯s latest words no matter how genuine they sounded.


    ¡°These are tears, my little lord,¡± Girout brushed his thumb against my cheeks. It was then, I have come to realize that I was indeed tearing up.


    At that time, I still dreamed of succeeding my father and became a good warden.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I stirred awake the moment that metallic sound clicked within my head. I heard the voices of people shouting and talking among themselves, gibberish. I can only make out Girout¡¯s voice from that gibberish but even I could not tell what he was talking about.


    I felt the urge to throw up as that bitter and sour liquid rose from my stomach and flooded my mouth. So I did, sitting up and spewing that disgusting liquid that viscous and smelly liquid out of my mouth.


    I had the usual brain splattering headache assaulting me, the usual stuff, that happened every time I drained a barrel of my favorite dwarven gut-bursting fire mead.


    My sight was a cloudy mess. It was as if the gods decided to combine a cloudy day, a sunny day, a stormy day and a foggy day altogether to see what would happen. A thousand suns torched my vision and a hundred shadows danced in an unholy ritual under that madness.


    My stomach churned and I vomited again.


    ¡°My lord,¡± I heard Girout¡¯s voice and felt his strong hand patting my back.


    ¡°Girout, what¡¯s happening?¡± I asked, could not bring myself to stop vomiting. The world was still spinning round and round. I saw nothing but torching suns and dancing shadows.


    ¡°Water,¡± I heard Girout¡¯s angry voice ringing within my ears. ¡°What are you doing? Fools, give that to me.¡±


    The suns and the shadows faded instantly, making way for a sudden frosty rain. Cold freezing water splashed my face and blotted out those torching suns.


    ¡°Girout?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Are you awake now, my lord?¡±


    I wiped the water off my face with my palm, still trying to make out what¡¯s happening around me. ¡°Girout?¡±


    ¡°More water,¡± Girout shouted and frosty rain splashed me in the face again.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Why am I outside?¡± I asked angrily, wiping away the water on my face with the soaking wet sleeves of my bed wear.


    ¡°You have to go now, my lord,¡± Girout told me, grapping my hand and pulled me to a horse carriage, and mumbled within his mouth, ¡°I should have been stricter on you.¡±


    ¡°Explain what¡¯s going on to me right now,¡± I demanded, growing.


    ¡°You have to leave this city now, my lord. This is the only chance you have.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I shook Girout¡¯s pulling hand away and asked in a sober tone.


    ¡°Get on the carriage first and then I will tell you, my lord,¡± Girout pointed his finger at the carriage.


    I listened and followed Girout into the opened carriage. The carriage tilted to one side as I stepped on the ladders and I heard the entire carriage creaking noisily under my weight.


    Girout uncharacteristically sat first on one side on the carriage which prompted me to sit on the other side. I felt the carriage seemed to sink to the ground, bending from my weight alone. It was then, I noticed the war hammer and the shield of my ancestor were placed on the wall of the carriage, behind Girout¡¯s seat.


    ¡°What are they doing here?¡± I pointed my finger at the pair and demanded. The sight of that hammer and shield only brought more confusion into my head.


    ¡°Go, hurry,¡± Girout loudly knocked on the wall of the carriage and soon, the carriage slowly moved.


    Girout strongly grabbed hold of my hands with his bony and calloused palms. He looked into my eyes and spoke, ¡°My lord, listen to me carefully. I have made a deal with the chief knight of house Farrington and he agreed to escort you to Silver Snow with him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I have packed more than enough wealth within the coffers so that you can live without a worry for the rest of your life. However, you have to watch out on your spending. I suggest hiring a trustworthy accountant to watch over your spending. Also, when you arrive at Itos, the Farrington will help you to find a house, until then, you can be their guest.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± I could not hide the confusion that leaked out of my mouth.


    ¡°I will have our men opening the Northern Gate soon. The chief knight of house Farrington will charge out of the blockage on the Northern Gate with his entourage. Your carriage will be escorted in the middle of their formation with lady Farrington¡¯s carriage. I have assigned a few able bodies to travel with you and protect you, my lord. This plan will work, so, you don¡¯t have to worry. I have observed the situation on the Northern Gate for a few days now. Those bandits were slacking on their guard. They won¡¯t see this coming.¡±


    Girout kept on talking in chatter, without slowing down, without any intention to explain to me of what¡¯s truly happening.


    ¡°What are you talking about, Girout?¡±


    ¡°Look, my lord. If you stayed in this city for longer, you will be killed, sooner or later. I have calculated and imagined all scenarios inside my head. You will without a doubt be killed. This is a lost cause, my lord. I will not let that happen.¡±


    ¡°Girout, speak to me. Explain, what¡¯s going on right now?¡±


    ¡°We have arrived, master Girout.¡±


    A knock on the wall of the carriage, I heard the coachman neigh the horses and the carriage stopped. A servant appeared and opened the door.


    Girout climbed out of the carriage. Then he stopped, and climbed back in. He strongly held my hands with his trembling calloused hands. He grabbed my hands tightly, squeezing on them. He then bent his back and kissed my hands.


    ¡°My lord, this is probably the last time I will see you. Please take care of yourself, my lord. I wish I could be by your side and serve you until the day I die. But, this is it, my lord. You have to learn how to take care of yourself now. You are on your own now. Please live well,¡± Girout said, his eyes reddened with tears.


    This bald headed man was the one and only person who wholeheartedly trusted me even though I have failed him times and times again. I have done nothing but failing him, yet, he still trusted me. The only reason I can still sit on the throne that my father left to me was credited to Girout. Without him, I would have died to my uncle¡¯s treacherous blade. Without him, I would probably have committed suicide on my brother¡¯s funeral. I¡¯m nothing without him by my side.


    ¡°Wait, Girout.¡±


    But before I was able to react, Girout climbed out of carriage. He shut the door and wrapped a chain around it, locking the door.


    ¡°Girout,¡± I called for the bald head housekeeper, ¡°Free me,¡± grabbing the door and trying to open it. The door creaked but it never opened. Through the bars of the door carriage, I saw a long convoy of carriages, chariots, and carts surrounded my carriage, all fortified with shields, metal planks and blades. They looked like serious business as if they were meant for real war and battle.


    Girout never looked back at me. He hastily approached a man in white armor. It was the chief knight of house Farrington. ¡°Please, I trust you with my lord,¡± Girout said, grabbing the metallic gauntlets of the knight and giving them a good shake, begging.


    ¡°I will try my best to not let you down, master Girout,¡± the old knight nodded his head and immediately barked orders to his men.


    ¡°Girout,¡± I called for the faithful servant who has always been by my side since my childhood, ¡°Girout,¡± I called.


    The bald headed man looked at me, his hands clutching to his rusty blue bronze idols of the four patron deities of Escana, praying wholeheartedly.


    The chief knight of house Farrington kept barking orders for the carriage to move out in sequences, impassive to me and Girout.


    Then, my carriage started to roll its wheels, creaking, creaking and creaking. It was slow at first but soon, the carriage picked up in speed. The chief knight of house Farrington was taking the rein of a red chariot running next to mine, snapping the whip to increase the speed of his chariot.


    Girout¡¯s figure became smaller and smaller as my carriage moved. When my carriage passed through the Northern Gate, I could not even see Girout¡¯s shape anymore.

 Chapter 32: Twilight of the golden city (5)

    Chapter 32: Twilight of the golden city (5)


    Moira heard the shrilled shouting voice of Girout echoed. For a man of such small stature and so old, he had such a big and imposing voice. It seemed that Girout agreed to Erik¡¯s plan without talking with the guard captains first. The gatekeepers were obviously confused by the order of Girout and intended to submit a report to the guard captains first before he would open the gate for Girout. The baldhead bellowed angrily. He reminded Moira of an angry badger fighting a wild board five times its size she once saw on a hunting trip.


    However, the baldheaded housekeeper pressured the man with such an authority that the gatekeeper eventually obeyed.


    Those two giant slabs of black iron that barred two sides of the gatehouse began to creak as the cranking sound of chains being pulled echoed.


    Erik barked his order once and his adjutants relayed his command, signaling the beginning of their escape.


    ¡°Torches,¡± the men shouted and the lead chariot lit up like pyre


    The first chariot charged through the opened gates in a great blaze, speeding toward the camp of the bandits.


    Moira felt her blood rushed and her breath quicken as the bellowing of animals and the angry sound of stomping hooves rang within her ear canals like war drums.


    Moira tiptoed and stuck her head out of her red and gold chariot to observe the unfolding situation. She was shaking, however, she wasn¡¯t sure if it was the pressure and the built-up anxiety was getting into her body, or it was excitement and anticipation. However, Moira knew it for sure that she did not want to miss anything. She must be insane if she felt excited about this.


    ¡°Again, torches,¡± the men relayed Erik¡¯s order again. Torches flew into the air and it was an angry cacophony of bellowing animals and screaming of men.


    Moira saw a blazing trail of red flame and black smoke led the formation, after that, the wheels of her chariot started to roll.


    The leading four chariots that mounted the charge were originally bison carts. Erik redesigned them into some sort of pseudo-chariots, fixing a thin bronze blade of two arm-lengths on both sides of the axles. Moira had her touch on those thin blades. It was her who welded them into the axles after all. Erik ordered those thin blades to be made hard and brittle. He said that it would be fine if those blades broke. He wanted them for intimidation factor and if they broke, their shards would fly and hit any unfortunate bandits.


    Erik had the men fixed the wheels and axles to allow the chariots to go as fast as possible. He used bison to pull those three pseudo-chariots, binding burning torches and blade on the horns of the bison.


    However, there was no rider to drive those pseudo-chariots and there was no man on the carts either. Instead, the carts were packed full with barrels of Fire wine and animal lards. Those barrels were lighted in an angry red. The animals that pulled those three chariots just charge straight into whatever standing on their path, trying to futilely run from the ruthless flame that gnawing at their tail and butt hide.


    A couple of bandit watchers must have realized the blazing inferno heading their way. It¡¯s hard to miss something like that. They shouted, alerting their gangs of the incoming danger. A few arrows flew but there was no slowing down or stopping for that raging inferno.


    That red blaze of a chariot smashed into the anti-cavalry wooden fences that the bandits built like a clapping thunder. The entire chariot flew into the air, animal, and cart. The connecting wooden anti-cavalry fences that the bandits built were pulled by the momentum of the chariot and smashed apart.


    The blazing barrels that were filled with Fire wine and animal lards flew into the air and exploded as soon as they hit the ground, spreading the inferno and chaos.


    Amidst that inferno, the screams of the bandits sounded no different from the death throes of the two bison pulling that first chariot.


    Moira could not make sense of the chaos she witnessed with her eyes, neither did the bandits.


    Before the bandits knew what hit them, the other three chariots angrily charged through the blazing chaos created by the first chariots, spreading the fire and chaos. Behind those three chariots were ten of Erik¡¯s knights riding on horseback. They drove those animals into the ranks of the bandit with their shouting and stabbing spears. They quickly dispatched any living bandits appeared on their path, clearing the path for the trailing chariots.


    ¡°Clear the fences,¡± they relayed the order and tossed their hooked ropes over the anti-cavalry fences the bandit built, uprooting them and clearing the path.


    Only then, Erik signaled the entire convoy to pick up the speed. The men relayed Erik¡¯s order, shouting, and started whipping their horses. Erik swept his sharp gaze around, confirming the status of the entire convoy. Erik finally noticed that Moira was sticking her head out of her chariot.


    ¡°Get inside my lady. It¡¯s not safe,¡± he said and leaned over, forcefully shoving her head back into the chariot. He did not stop and allowed Moira to reason with him.


    After that, Moira could only make sense of the situation from the opened window of her bumping chariot. The pallid face of the Warden of Madukat through the bars of his chariot, soulless and despondent, caught Moira¡¯s attention for a brief moment and never again.


    ¡°Team 3, you are too fast, slow down,¡± Erik¡¯s booming voice sounded like war drums. ¡°Right wing, left wing, lighten your load.¡±


    The chariots protecting the right flank and left flank started unloading their goods. Barrels rolled and exploded in red raging inferno.


    Before Moira knew it, the camp of the bandit was already behind her in total chaos.


    ¡°It¡¯s too easy,¡± Erik gnashed his teeth, standing up on the driver seat to review the state of the convoy, ¡°They did not put up so much of a resistance. Is this a trap?¡±


    Moira thought the same.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Girout stood on top of the battlement on the Northern Wall, his breath ran ragged. He was drowning in his own sweat. He had to lean against a guard to stand. He was too old to climb those stairs with such speed. Girout trained his old and weary ear to listen to the noise of the battle. However, he could only hear the sound of the rolling gears of the closing gate and the shouting of the guards.


    The northern wind blew, icing the old housekeeper¡¯s ashen cheeks. Girout¡¯s fading eyesight did him no favor in realizing the situation of the battle. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see beyond the black smoke and the trailing dust.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°They are through, Master Girout,¡± the guard spoke.


    Girout¡¯s old legs slumped and hit the stone cold battlement. The guard quickly tried to support him to stand, but Girout could feel no strength within his body. ¡°They are through,¡± Girout repeated what the guard told him.


    ¡°Yes, they are through,¡± the guard affirmed.


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Girout absentmindedly nodded his head, ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± His voice was quiet. His voice was relief.


    ¡°Stay safe, my little lord,¡± Girout quietly whispered within his heart, telling himself that this decision was for the best.


    ¡°Help me returning to the manor,¡± Girout told the guard and let the man support his weight to climb down the battement.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Girout, you bastard, what is the meaning of this?¡±


    His feet could no longer touch the ground and the collar of his robe tightened around his neck. Girout said nothing to defend himself. Syllar¡¯s loyalty as guard captain is with the walls of Madukat and Zard first and the Bellmore second.  Girout¡¯s loyalty on the other hand is placed on the Bears of Madukat. His loyalty is with his lord and not the city, the wall or the king himself.


    Girout has never forgotten for a moment that he was saved by the lord, the Great Bear of Madukat in his direst hour. The lord weathered the storm and summoned the healer to save his feverish mom. The lord gave him the job. The lord changed his star. Therefore, Girout knew where he would place his loyalty.


    ¡°Restrain yourself Syllar,¡± Borig quickly came to Girout¡¯s rescue, grabbing Syllar¡¯s arms and putting Girout to his feet again. ¡°And Girout, explain yourself.¡± Borig sighed. His face showed an expression of regret like he was telling himself that he should have expected Girout to do something like this.


    ¡°Follow me to the throne room first,¡± Girout fixed his collar and spoke.


    ¡°You bastard. Do you know what have you done?¡± Syllar bellowed and clenched his fists. Borig stopped him, restraining the tall guard captain with his firm grip.


    Girout walked into the throne room and the two guard captains followed him.


    ¡°Master Girout, what is the meaning of this?¡±


    As soon as Girout took his first step into the throne room, he was greeted with the confused accursing voice of the chief Inquisitor of White Winter. The man was completely manhandled by two of the manor guards. They locked his arms and pressed his face against the very floor of the throne room.


    Syllar looked stunned at the sight. Borig only sighed, staring at Girout grimly.


    ¡°You of all the people in this room must know the meaning of my action, don¡¯t you treacherous dog?¡± Girout gnashed his teeth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± the inquisitor still defiantly denied of his crime.


    ¡°Your treachery has come to light, mongrel. My lord treated you with hospitality and kindness and you dared to betray him, colluding with those bandits and despoiling this land,¡± Girout hissed.


    The Chief Inquisitor¡¯s face turned pale. However, he quickly shook his head, pleading to the two guard captains, ¡°Please, this must be a misunderstanding. Master Borig, master Syllar, please convince master Girout out of this madness.¡±


    Syllar finally came to himself, looking at Girout and demanded, ¡°Girout, explain yourself.¡± However, Borig came to Girout¡¯s defense, ¡°Girout spoke true. These people have betrayed us and leaked our plans to the bandits. They are with Bloodbeard and his gang.¡±


    ¡°Quite a number of your men have admitted that, treacherous cur. Did you think that I have you captured without dealing your treacherous cubs first? Do you think that all man of Zard is stupid? Do you think you could deceive us forever?¡± Girout brought his voice to a new low, hissing as he sat down near the subdued inquisitor and grabbed the man by his hair.


    The chief inquisitor looked stunned for just a moment. Then, that nervousness, that confusion, and that pleading look on his face completely dissolved within the arrogant smirk on his lips. ¡°Is that so? My apology for underestimating you all,¡± he calmly spoke. In his eyes, there was no fear, doubt, or weakness, only zeal and zeal alone.


    ¡°How dare you?¡± Syllar bellowed, drawing his sword. His face was red with fury. Girout immediately stepped in between the furious guard captain and the inquisitor.


    ¡°Out of my way, Girout. I will avenge my men,¡± Syllar gritted his teeth, raising his sword. Girout sighed within his head. This is the reason why he did not include Syllar in his plan. The fool cannot control his anger. He raised his arms, preventing Syllar from committing the most stupid deed he could possibly do. Borig came to Girout¡¯s help immediately, holding Syllar¡¯s sword arm in a firm grip. ¡°Let go of my arm and out of my way. I must avenge my men.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t let you do that,¡± Girout curtly replied, heaving a exasperate sigh as soon as Borig pried Syllar out of him.


    ¡°There is someone with a brain, I guess,¡± the subdue inquisitor smirked, enjoying what he was witnessing. Grout gritted his teeth and swallowed his anger. He tore the sleeve of the inquisitor¡¯s robe, bundled it and shove it into the smirking mouth of the man. ¡°Take him away. Guard him carefully,¡± Girout ordered the guards and they dragged the inquisitor away.


    ¡°Why?¡± Syllar bellowed, still raging.


    ¡°He still has a use as a hostage. Though, not much, but still a hostage, nonetheless.¡± Girout explained, ¡°If you killed him, I can¡¯t use him as a piece of bargain when that Judgment Army surrounded this city.¡±


    Syllar hissed. The veins on his face bulged to size, ¡°But¡­¡±, he tried to reason but Borig cut in. ¡°After that, what¡¯s next? What¡¯s the plan, Girout?¡± Borig asked. His eyes were that of resignation and regret.


    ¡°We wait,¡± Girout sighed, being infected by the depressing atmosphere that Borig exuded. ¡°React accordingly and hope for the best.¡±


    Borig clicked his tongue as if he was annoyed. He stared at Girout with ember burnt within his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not a plan Girout. If that is your plan, there is no reason for you to send our lord away. Explain yourself. You never act without a plan. So, out with it, stop beating around the bush.¡±


    Borig was the same as ever even after so many years, outspoken, the very opposite of Girout.


    Girout sighed again for the zenith time of the day. He felt like he has grown older within the last few hours.


    Girout turned and walked toward the golden throne of the lord and squatting down on the stars, resting his tired legs. ¡°That Judgment army is coming. I don¡¯t know when, but they would come here much sooner than our reinforcement.¡± He sighed again and came to the realization of how sweaty his palms were. They were drenched in sweats as if he was just dipping them inside a water bucket.


    He internally laughed at himself, sarcastically mocking himself for doing something that beyond his capacity and stature. He was supposed to be just a mere servant, keeper of the house, nothing more. This is beyond that. ¡°There are only two options for us to make, surrender or die fighting. And with the current state, we can¡¯t even defend this city.¡±


    ¡°We have to try,¡± Syllar interjected, ¡°We can¡¯t allow these treacherous dogs to take the city like that.¡±


    ¡°And what good does that do? Spare me from that Syllar. There is no chance for us to win. How long can you fight against that army? One day? Two days? We only waste more blood and lives for nothing. What¡¯s the point? We can¡¯t win. This city is lost.¡± Girout bellowed. His voice was louder than he¡¯s expected. Syllar was stunned by Girout¡¯s sudden outburst. He has never seen Girout lashing out like that before.


    ¡°Is that why you chose to send the lord away?¡± Borig asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Girout admitted, ¡°Fight and he would die. Surrender and he would be deemed a traitor by His Majesty the King. If his Majesty was able to push back these mongrels of White Winter back to their land, our Lord would be killed anyway, worse, being dishonored as a betrayer. That¡¯s not a fate of a Bellmore. I will not allow that to happen, not when I am still alive.¡±


    ¡°You have spoiled our Lord rotten. This kind of decision is not yours to decide. You can¡¯t make that kind of decision on your own,¡± Borig shook his head.


    ¡°Yes, you are right. This is not my decision to make. However, I have failed our late lord once. I have failed to guide our lord to walk on a proper path. I cannot afford to let the blood of the Bellmore to be lost and tainted forever in the history. That, I will never allow to happen.¡± Girout gnashed his teeth and shouted.


    ¡°This is just like that time over again. Why do you only make that kind of plan? Why are you only capable of making these kinds of decision?¡± Borig asked.


    ¡°Because this is all I can do.¡± Girout replied mockingly. ¡°Let history remembers that it is I a treacherous whoreson who sold this city to White Winter. It is I, who usurped the throne and betrayed our lord. It is I, who have failed Madukat and His Majesty the King, not our lord. This is the only way I can atone to the late Lord for my failures.¡±


    Girout freed his frustration as he sat on the stairs beneath the golden throne. His voice was the loudest it has ever been, booming and echoing within the walls surrounded the throne room. As soon as he let it all out of his chest, Girout struggled to find his breath, glaring at Borig in defiance, challenging the old guard captain to rebuke.


    Borig said nothing, neither Syllar.


    Girout closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness to envelop his vision. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he told himself, finding peace within the darkness and the coldness of his sweaty palms. ¡°This is all I can do.¡± He told himself.

 Chapter 33: PRINCE AND THE 6001 BANDITS

    Chapter 33: Prince and the 6000 bandits


    Bloodbeard sat on an empty wine barrel, using a whetstone to sharpen his battle-axes under the flickering orange glow of the burning torches. The putrid smell of stagnated water and mold within the room, the rusty smell of dried blood on his battle-axes and the sourness of men¡¯s sweat filled the bandit lord¡¯s nose and he welcomed them. He poured water over the sharpened bit of his battle-axes and brought the twin axes up high, judging their sharpness. The weapons flared, reflecting the orange glow of torches on Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes and he unconsciously squinted. He nodded his head, completely satisfied with the result of his work. Only then, he turned his sight on the two fools who stood at the end of the room, shaking, looking like they are about to piss themselves. Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards snickered at the sight, some played with their weapons to intimidate the two fools.


    He has made them waited long enough. ¡°Talk,¡± Bloodbeard demanded. His voice shook the room.


    The two fools¡¯ face turned pallid white. Croaky, the older one pointed his finger at the Greyscale magic caster they capture, lying listlessly on the floor. ¡°It¡¯s nothing master. It is not a signal fire. This fool here, he made a funeral pyre for that caravan we encountered yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is true, I swear,¡±Gared, the young fool nodded his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s great. Well done,¡± Bloodbeard nodded his head, scratching his beardy chin, pretending as if he was satisfied with their answer. Bloodbeard waited for the fools breathed a sigh of relief and butted his weapons against the wet and moldy floor.


    ¡°Then answer me, why didn¡¯t you report to me immediately? Why did you return via the back entrance? Did you intend to betray us?¡± Bloodbeard twisted the handle of his battle-axes, grinding them against the ground, making a gnashing sound.


    The two fools shook.


    ¡°No, I¡­I,¡± Croaky stuttered, shaking his head, struggling to form words with his chattering teeth for an eternity.


    The younger fool, Gared managed to snap out of it earlier, pointing his finger at his friend, ¡°It was Croaky¡¯s idea. He thinks that this Grayscale is a rare find. He told me to hid it from you and head west after this to sell it.¡± He sold out his friend.


    The older fool stared at his friend, bewildered by the betrayal. His chattering teeth somehow managed to stop chattering, ¡°He¡¯s lying. Master Bloodbeard, please don¡¯t believe him.¡±


    Bloodbeard was amused by the strange choice of wording that Gared used, ¡°It?¡± he asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s a half elf,¡± Gared spilled.


    Bloodbeard could see the hatred and regret in the eyes of Croaky. The fool was biting his lower lip, trying to restrain himself from drawing his knife to kill the traitorous friend of his.


    A small gasp spread through the rom in unison, all eyes focused on the back of the bounded Grayscale magic caster. Bloodbeard has never seen an elf. The elves, they are a reclusive bunch, hiding within the ever-misty land of Murkwood. They completely cut all sort of contact with man and dwarf after the dead of Emperor Craxus. Only a few of them became wanderer, travelling around the Northern realm as merchants or adventurers. They are indeed a rare sight. Half elf is even more of a rare sight.


    Bloodbeard pointed his finger at the Grayscale magic caster, ¡°Show me its face,¡± demanded.


    Two of his bodyguards immediately got into the job, approaching the bounded creature with all the curiosity in the world in their eyes.


    Something strange happened. The creature suddenly stood up, the ropes that were bounding its limbs became unbound. The creature caught Bloodbeard by surprise; and everyone else in the room, they were no less surprise. Gared gasped. Bloodbeard instinctively stood up and gripped his weapons firmly, eyes locking on the creature.


    The creature nonchalantly cracked its neck and stretched its limbs, did not pay any attention the drawn weapons in the hands of Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards. It yawned nosily, rubbing the reddened rope marks on its wrists without a care, cracking its knuckles, continuing to stretch its stiff shoulders and arms still.


    ¡°Thank you, I was expecting that it would take much longer for me to have a chance to introduce myself. The floor is kind of wet and smelly, it¡¯s very uncomfortable. However, I really hate to interrupt people in the middle of their business. Are you sure you are done with your business?¡±


    The creature nonchalantly spoke in Nord, the Great Emperor¡¯s tongue, with a strange accent. Its voice was neither deep nor shallow, just the right pitch. The creature¡¯s face was still hidden behind the shadow of its hooded robe, making it¡¯s very difficult for Bloodbeard to determine its gender. Its tone indicated that it was a male, though Bloodbeard could be wrong.


    It felt wrong, Bloodbeard thought, watching the elven creature acting nonchalantly in front of the gleam of steel that Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards was pointing at it. It was as if it did not consider them as threats. The creature was too casual and unguarded, that it was dreadful. A few of Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards seemed to realize that as well, readying their weapons for the worst situation to happen.


    ¡°How about removing your hood so we could see your face?¡± Bloodbeard asked the creature. His tone was deep and intimidating. His fingers still tightly choked on the handle of his battleaxes. He wanted to see if that casualness of the elven creature was a mask.


    The creature was indifferent to the intimidating voice of Bloodbeard. It casually made another big yawn, ¡°Excuse me,¡± making a polite gesture like those pretentious nobles that Bloodbeard hated, though, Bloodbeard could not say that he felt the same about this creature.


    The elven creature unconcernedly removed its hood as Bloodbeard demanded, revealing a flowing luster of black of shoulder length. It¡¯s hard to appreciate the praiseful elven beauty on that muddy face that stained black with mud and sooth. Though, Bloodbeard could see all the angles that shaped the creature¡¯s face. Rubbing that layer of dirt off, the creature would probably be as fair as the songs that the bards sang.


    Elves possess gold or silver hair and pointy ears. The creature stood in front of Bloodbeard, however, has neither of those. Its ears are rounded and its hair is dark like a starless night sky.


    Bloodbeard could see why those two fools were blinded to their greed, trying to hide the existence of this elven creature from him. This creature is probably a half elf as they have said, a rare union between a dark elf and man to be precise. That dark hair is the undeniable evidence of the creature¡¯s heritage. Only the dark elf has that kind of hair as far as Bloodbeard knew.


    Then, suddenly, Bloodbeard remembered of that strange owl he saw in his dream. The half-elf¡¯s appearance suddenly reminded Bloodbeard of that black feathered owl.


    ¡°Those things are my belonging, these gentlemen have kindly brought them here for me. Can I have them back?¡±


    While Bloodbeard was still stunned by the appearance of the creature, it casually pointed its forefinger at the backpack that Bloodbeard confiscated from those two fools, lying on the ground. Even its casualness and unnerving attitude was the same as the owl in his dream.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards turned at him, waiting for the confirmation. However, before Bloodbeard was able to reply, ¡°Thank you,¡± the half-elf revealed its white teeth, a hearty smile curved on its lips. The half-elf casually pushed away the brandished swords of Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards and walked toward his backpack.


    The half-elf¡¯s casualness reached the level of bizarre, making Bloodbeard unsure of what to act. It was the most self-serving and casual creature that Bloodbeard has ever seen. And the situation that it displayed its casualness and self-serving attitude only made it became even more bizarre. Bloodbeard and his men outnumbered it fourteen to one. They had their weapons and the creature had none. It¡¯s bizarre beyond words.


    It was either an ignorant retard or¡­


    In the midst of that overwhelming bizarreness, One-eye managed to gather himself, striking his pig iron blade against the floor, making a snappy loud noise. He stepped in between the half-elf and its luggage. He pointed the rusty blade at the creature¡¯s neck with one hand and hid its luggage behind his back with the other.


    ¡°Stay where you are, Master Bloodbeard has not given you his answer,¡± One-eye hissed.


    It wasn¡¯t that One-eye has managed to gather himself before Bloodbeard and his bodyguards, the bastard was inert to the bizarreness that the half-elf exuded. The thickness of the bastard¡¯s skull and his inability to read mood proved useful for once.


    Bloodbeard finally came to himself, seizing the chance that One-eye gave him, ¡°You¡­¡±


    However, the half-elf nonchalantly cut in. His voice drowned out Bloodbeard¡¯s voice. ¡°I¡¯m okay with sharing my stuffs to people. I¡¯m also perfectly okay when these two gentlemen made a mistake and damaged my magic cane.¡± A strangely hypnotic smile appeared on the creature¡¯s lips as it spoke. It was a smile that everyone could stare at for an entire day. It was a smile that people would pay gold to see.


    ¡°However,¡± all of the sudden, the casualness in the half-elf¡¯s voice disappeared.


    The room became cold. A shiver ran down Bloodbeard¡¯s spine. He instinctively choked the life out of his weapons, readying to strike down the half-elf at any moment. This creature felt wrong, very wrong to Bloodbeard. The strange smile on its face was the worst of all. It felt wrong, incredibly wrong. Bloodbeard wanted to strike the creature down, yet, something within him prevented him from doing that.


    The casualness suddenly returned to the half-elf¡¯s voce. ¡°That blanket you sir are touching with your dirty hand. It is a different story. My wife makes it for me. I don¡¯t appreciate you touching it.¡± The creature politely said. The half-elf casually used his left hand to touch the rusty edge of One-eye¡¯s sword as if it was not a weapon and pointed at the luggage One-eye was holding behind his back.


    Suddenly, all eyes in the room fell on the bundle of white silk that spilt out of the luggage.


    One-eye was distracted for a moment, just a moment, he put more strength into his sword arm and positioned it at the neck of the half- elf again.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± One-eye shouted.


    ¡°I will not ask again,¡± the smile disappeared from the half-elf. It was completely unbothered by the sword pointing at its throat. The half- elf looked directly at Bloodbeard with its sharpened dark eyes for the first time. They are eyes that penetrated a person¡¯s soul.


    ¡°Sto¡­¡± Bloodbeard shouted, trying to, but the situation unfolded too fast. One-eye, the bloody fool, he could not read the mood. His inability to read the mood allowed him to do something unthinkable. He swung his blade at the half-elf¡¯s shoulder. The fool drew first blood, trying to, and missed completely.


    The half-elf disappeared and reappeared behind One-eye, a strange looking blade in his hand. That strange looking blade dug into One-eye¡¯s shoulder.


    It grabbed One-eye by the back of his head and wrestled him to his knees in all but a blink of an eye. ¡°Ashtor¨¢, stay where you are,¡± the half-elf¡¯s voice boomed and drowned out One-eye¡¯s painful groan.


    That single sentence froze Bloodbeard completely, preventing from sweeping his battleaxes to come to One-eye¡¯s rescue.


    ¡°Yes, young man, I¡¯m talking to you.¡± The half-elf gazed at Bloodbeard with its sharpened penetrating eyes before sweeping through the room and petrified the rest of Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards. The painful gasp of One-eye was completely lost in the reprimanded voice of the half-elf. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me that you have forgotten your name?¡±


    Confusion spread through the room. The men looked back and forth at each other in confusion. Then they looked at Bloodbeard, staring, asking for order.


    Nobody inside the room knew that name, nobody but Bloodbeard himself.


    Ashtor¨¢, that was such a distant sounding word. Ashtor¨¢, how? How does this half-elf know that name? Ashtor¨¢, why? Why does this half-elf know that name?


    The battleaxes in his hand seemed to be completely shaken by the mention of that name. Bloodbeard stared at the half-elf and baffled.


    ¡°Good, young man, you stay right there and watch. Do something stupid and I will spank your asses in front of your subordinates. I don¡¯t care if you had a pride to uphold or not. I will do it and trust me, I only give my warning once,¡± The half-elf casually said, looking at Bloodbeard, completely unfazed by the brandished weapons of the men pointed at him in all directions.


    Those reprimanded words somehow struck a nostalgia note within Bloodbeard. They confused him. There was no hostility on the dirt stained face of the half-elf, or anger, or wariness. That was the strangest of a look that Bloodbeard has ever seen in a while.


    ¡°Sheathe your weapons,¡± Bloodbeard shouted, resting his battleaxes on his two shoulders, eyeing the half-elf with wary eyes. His men viewed him with confusion. Therefore, he had to repeat his order, ¡°Sheathe your weapons.¡±


    They obeyed, gingerly, looking back and forth between Bloodbeard , One-eye and the strange half-elf. Their hand still cautiously grabbed the handle of their weapons though, refusing to let go. Bloodbeard did not expect that they would completely listen to his word due to the bizarreness of this situation.


    ¡°Stranger, now, it¡¯s time for you to let go of my man,¡± Bloodbeard defiantly looked into the strange half-elf and demanded.


    ¡°Ashtor¨¢, did you just call me stranger?¡± the half-elf revealed a sign of dissatisfaction on his face. His brows rose and he squinted his eyes, staring at Bloodbeard.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are. And stop calling me by that name. I don¡¯t know how you come to know that name but I have discarded that name a long time ago,¡± Bloodbeard warned, gritting his teeth to show his hostility toward the half-elf.


    Still, the half-elf was unfazed. A sad deprecating smile appeared on his lips, lingering for a moment before disappearing like an illusion. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for not recognizing me after all these years. However, the matter of your name is a different story. Young man, I will call you Ashtor¨¢ whenever and wherever I like it.¡± The half-elf calmly said. His voice was like that of an adult reprimanding a child.


    The half-elf¡¯s attitude irked Bloodbeard to tighten the grip on his battleaxes. He suddenly swung them at the half-elf. The entire room shook as the pair buried deep within the stony wall. Bits of debris flew and clattered on the floor.


    The half-elf did not even blink once. It did not bother to dodge. Its expression was stern, unbending. Of course, Bloodbeard tried not to hit it with his battleaxes. He swung it to test its reaction. The dark eyes that peered into Bloodbeard¡¯s soul at the moment was exactly that of the black feathered owl he saw in his dream.


    The bodyguards took Bloodbeard¡¯s reaction as a signal, brandishing their weapons.


    ¡°Stop, sheathe your weapons,¡± Bloodbeard ordered and they confusedly retracted their weapons.


    The half-elf was not something that Bloodbeard and these bodyguards of his could take on. These ignorable fools could not even comprehend just how dangerous this half-elf is to begin with. The half-elf just did something that even the Supreme Priest of the Great Temple could not, using magic without praying to any god or goddess and completely without a magic medium. It happened in just a blink of an eye but Bloodbeard can tell that it was magic.


    The physics of the half-elf does not suggest that it was a fighter. If they were to fist fight, Bloodbeard had the confidence that he would win. However, the way the half-elf casted its strange magic revealed to Bloodbeard the reason why it had such confidence and fearlessness. It knew that it was the stronger one.


    For the first time in years, Bloodbeard did not feel like fighting.


    ¡°Let go of my man. Then we will have a proper talk,¡± Bloodbeard sighed as he spoke to the half-elf.


    One-eye squirmed from the pain and relief, but the half-elf yanked his hair backward, did not allow the poor bastard to move a muscle. ¡°There are three things I want to address. First, I promise that I will spare this one¡¯s life.¡±


    It politely said that while still having a firm grip on One-eye¡¯s hair. That strange smile reappeared on its face.


    ¡°Second, none of you gentlemen here are in any position to demand anything from me, especially you Ashtor¨¢. Fight me, call the rest of your men to gang up on me if you wanted. I promise that I will kill anyone pointing his sword at me. And you, Ashtor¨¢, don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t hurt you. I will strip your pants and spank your asses in front of your men.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The half-elf nonchalantly spoke as if it was a matter of fact. It did not feel like a threat because the way it said that. Yet, the casualness in its voice, the strange smile on its lips, and the coldness in its dark eyes implied a different story.


    It was that moment, Bloodbeard understood that the very moment the half-elf made an example of One-eye, carrying out his promise to the detail, it has already won the battle. Even though, Bloodbeard was the only one who could understand the power and the danger of the half-elf posed.


    ¡°Third, I will release this man after I have concluded the lessons I have today for all of you.¡± The half-elf declared.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Remember one thing: The second rate illusionists cast the illusion on the audiences. The first rate illusionist spellbound the audiences and himself within the illusions he conjures.¡±


    Those were the words of that old illusionist, my mentor. They are principles that I have followed for my entire life.


    I am glad that I have mistaken the meaning of my sister¡¯s words ¡°You have magical touch,¡± taking those words literally and training myself to be a magician. That was the most moronic reason that I have ever herd for anyone to pursue the path of magic. Yet, that was how I was introduced to the world of magic and illusion.


    In one way or another, I was benefited just by being a magician. Those sleights of hand came in especially handy for wowing people or wooing girls at the bars. Moreover, I knew how to command a stage when I was standing on one. FY and the rest of the guys thought that I was a natural, that I was made for the stage, but no, I learned to stand and command the stage from the best of the best. Of course, I am better than they are at that.


    It does not matter what kind of stages that are prepared for me or when it happen or how I find myself standing on a stage or where it is. If the stage is ready and there is just a single audience on the seat, I will make that stage mine.


    Just like now.


    ¡°Did I not tell you to touch it?¡± I asked my captive in the friendliest manner while putting more strength into my arms. My right hand jerked the bundle of the unfortunate bandit¡¯s greasy, long and unkempt hair backward, putting him into an even more submissive position. He slumped on his thighs, his knees no longer had any strength within them. Yet, my right foot still planted firmly on his knee pit, just to make sure that he would not stand up or moving around or doing something stupid. I know that he will not but I have to be sure about that.


    My left hand cruelly twisted the handle of Enferm¨¦ slightly, just slightly, enough for the man to feel like his entire life is at the mercy of my hand.


    He apologized. His voice was pathetically husky, completely broken and high-pitched like that of a dying animal. He made me doubt that I have stabbed him in a vital spot, but no, I didn¡¯t. Enferm¨¦ did not touch his artery. I felt like throwing up from the sight of blood. I hate blood.


    ¡°The lesson is: every man has a line that nobody should cross. You crossed that line. I warned you and you chose to ignore it. Thus, I stabbed you. It¡¯s not that hard to understand, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The bandit groaned in pain, begging for his life as blood streamed out gashing wound on his shoulder where Enferm¨¦ dug hilt deep. He dared not to resist.


    I did not dare to look at the red liquid that darkened the man¡¯s tunic and my left hand. I could stand things that are violent in nature but not gory things. The hot and slightly sticky liquid that is currently staining my hand makes me felt nauseous. Blood always reminded me of my worst memories. There is nothing I want to do in this moment than find myself an empty bucket to throw up. Yet, there are audiences seating on the special seat, watching. Therefore, I must perform.


    It¡¯s only now that my heart started to beat randomly into a chaotic mess. There was no rhythm or proper beat. It was as if my heart was having a riot, taking part in seven different rock concerts at the same time without giving a fuck about me. Shit, I thought I was dead for sure. I egged that bastard Bloodbeard a step too far. I did not even see his battleaxes coming. How the fuck he could swing something so large with that kind of speed? That¡¯s not even physically possible.


    I breathed quietly, trying to calm myself down. Pokerface, poker face, I told myself inwardly. Shit, that was scary.


    ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± I let out a well-crafted innocent smile on my lips, engaging in eye contact with my audiences. ¡°See? It¡¯s not that difficult to understand a man¡¯s word, is it? You just have to pay attention and listen carefully. See? Everyone can do that if they try.¡±


    My voice is neither child-like or that of a grown man, just the perfect tone and pitch to strike the creepiness into my audiences.


    Then I narrowed my sight on one bandit in particular, the weakest looking of the bunch, the one that still had his arrow nocked in his bow, ¡°That gentleman over there, yes, you, the one with a bandanna on his head. If you think your arrow is faster than my dagger, you are welcome to try it. I promise that I will only cut your two hands and nothing more,¡± I edged him with the most brightly lit of a smile on my lips. The kid, that youngest bandit in the room rigorously shook his head and dropped his bow and arrow.


    In battles, you either take out the leader of a pack first, that, or the weakest link of the pack. After that, the morale of the entire pack will plummet. That applies in real life situations, ROC and war.


    And, I have dealt with both the strongest and the weakest one of this pack.


    The clanking noise of the arrowhead hitting the floor instantly has an immediate effect on every bandit inside the room. And my smile only made it worse for them. It rendered the weapons in their hands useless.


    People with a dominating physic like Merleon or Bloodbeard have it easy to intimidate people. They only need to approach their targets and give them a dead glare. It¡¯s human nature to be intimidated by things that are physically bigger and stronger than them. Me? I only have my smile, my well-crafted smile to be precise and my polite language and voice.


    People often say that a smile of a psychopath is broken. They probably have never seen a real psychopath or a real demon in their entire life. Or perhaps, they need bigger glasses. Or they are simply blinded and pretend that they can see. Or perhaps, I don¡¯t know¡­ people just don¡¯t look at that in the way I see it.


    The smile of a psychopath or a demon is neither broken nor ugly nor disgusting. It is always the most innocent, charming and beautiful of a smile. It is well-crafted and artificial, a product, a complete product.


    A smile like that is the easiest way for a person to be creepy to both male and female audiences after that person has established himself as someone dangerous. A bright smile like that is universally viewed as something genuinely good by all cultures and civilizations, the very opposite of evil and dangers. That¡¯s why, when a person who has established himself as dangerous makes that smile, it confuses people¡¯s senses of what dangerous and what is not, creeping them out whether they are conscious of that or not.


    And when a person is being creeped out, that person will be very confused on whether or not he/she should fight or flee or do nothing. His/her fight or flight instinct would be tested in that moment.


    Human psychology is weird.


    After that, the line between being creeped out and fear is all but a hairbreadth.


    ¡°How cute!¡± I snickered quietly, just enough to make my shoulders shaking a little bit. My eyes never left Bloodbeard, still judging his train of thought and anticipating for his reaction.


    He held his twin halberds firmly in his large hands. Those are the biggest halberd that I have ever seen. Are they classified as halberds or two-handed battleaxes? Well, whatever, that¡¯s the kind of topic for weapon nerds like Merleon to worry about. It¡¯s none of my business.


    The bandit lord observed me with watchful eyes, confused but still had an edge within them, full of questions. However, if I ever deemed myself as a clear enemy of his, he would strike regardless. His body language implied that to me.


    I tried to dig up all the once useless information and data related to Bloodbeard that Misery has drilled inside my head. Who could possibly anticipate that those useless trivia could come in handy one day? Shit, had I known that this would happen, I would have invested more effort in learning the lore of ROC.


    While sorting out my thought, I could listen to the two audible sounds in the room, confusion and fear.


    I could hear the shake and shiver in their short breath. ¡°That is fear boys,¡± I internally whispered to them while smiling ¡°Listen to it, smell it, feel it.¡± Of course, they could not hear that inner psychotic voice inside my head.


    I have casted this illusion on every person inside this room, myself included. If I wanted to convince them that I was something dangerous, something alien to them, someone insane, I should convince myself first, that I was such a person.


    My heart found its usual beat again, what luck. I could never convince these people that I am psychotic demon while I am scared, could I?


    I found myself wanting to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Sixteen men in the room, all fighters and killers, yet, they are afraid of a person like me, unable to move, unable to act, and allow the stage to be mine. That¡¯s hilarious, I inwardly told myself, feeding off to my psychopathic persona.


    Oops, I did not mean to spread my lips like that. It was a mistake. I got caught in my character a little too much. I have scared these bastards enough. I don¡¯t want to push them over the edge. I don¡¯t know what they would do once that happen. Human is no difference than beast when they succumb to fear.


    Clariciel, did you think these bastards are enough to kill me? What a joke! Those spiders of Iliva and that snake or those wolves were more of a threat.


    Send a dragon or something I cannot negotiate next time, something that is immune to my mind games or a real demon, something that is better than I am at this game.


    If you are watching this, remember that I fear no foe who speaks, Clariciel.


    I laughed inwardly at the absurdity of the situation and fueled my inner demon persona and ego.


    There is too much tension in this room. I don¡¯t like it. Any more tension and I will lose the control over my audiences. I wanted to push these bastards to walk the thin line between being creeped out and fear itself, not completely falling into the depth of fear. The psychotic smile I let slipped a moment ago was the reason, a mistake, it even had Bloodbeard on the edge. I shall rectify that.


    I then released my firm grip on the hair of the bandit who I had subdued. I made a gesture, gently patting the head of the bandit, ¡°Stay still. Be a good boy and I will heal you. If you are a good boy, I won¡¯t let you die. That, I promise,¡± I told him, using a different variance of a smile, a genuine one, heartfelt and warm, like a father talking to his son.


    The bandit promised me that he would be a good boy, trembling, sobbing. He thanked me. His eyes are red and tearful. He clung to my kindness to stay alive. However, it was just an illusion. The fool was completely trapped deep within the illusion I conjured. He should not thank me. After all, I am the person who drove Enferm¨¦ into his shoulder in the first place. He¡¯s better not develop a Stockholm syndrome toward me after this. That would make me truly sick in the stomach.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± I nodded my head and gently combed the bandit¡¯s messy hair with my hand as if I was his caring father.


    Just a simple gesture of kindness, acting as if I understand his pain and suffering, I have managed to return the status quo of the entire room back to where I wanted it to be. Even though I am clearly their enemy, yet, these people are unable to determine if I was really their enemy and acted accordingly.


    This is too easy, well, apart from the blood, everything has gone exactly the way I intended.


    ¡°Human psychology is weird. We are full of holes that are waiting to be exploited.¡± I was suddenly reminded of the catch phrase of the most insane woman I have ever dated. There was nothing easy about her. She is a difficult woman, more so than my beloved older sister is. She made it very difficult to be around her, to love her or live with or without her. A psychologist she is, yet, she¡¯s only making people around her crazier than they are. My older sister was merely poisonous. This woman, on the other hand, was venomous.


    Finally, I have outlined all the necessary knowledge I had on Bloodbeard and readied to confront him.


    ¡°Good, now let¡¯s proceed to the next lesson,¡± I put the usual well-crafted smile on my lips again while narrowing my sight on Bloodbeard.


    I rubbed the head of my captive, ¡°Hey, boy, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°One-eye, sir,¡± he sobbed and replied obediently.


    ¡°Pressurize your wound,¡± I told him.


    ¡°Huh?¡± the stupid bastard showed me a blank look as if he had no idea what was I talking about.


    I sighed and let go of Enferm¨¦ , walking to the front of the bandit. Then I squatted down to his eye level, grabbed his hand and put it on the wound. ¡°Hold your wound. I¡¯m getting the blade out. You want your wound to be treated, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The poor bastard vigorously nodded his head as he sobbed, clutching his wound and applying pressure. I assumed position, trying not to let the blood spewed on my body. If that happened for real, I don¡¯t have the confidence that I can retain my poker face. Without warning, I yanked Enferm¨¦ out of One-eye¡¯s shoulder.


    He hissed sharply, doubling from the pain, hitting his head against the floor. His blood streamed down on the floor. God damn it, it was unnecessary. I did not want to see that.


    I held my hand toward One-eye¡¯s back and casted my primary skill, ¡°A strange choice.¡± A golden orb of light escaped my palm, entered One-eye¡¯s back and bounced back to me immediately. The golden light danced and enveloped our body. It felt warm and uplifting like I was being touched by something purely good and holy.


    It was really ¡°A strange choice¡± like Jimmy Holland has said in his show. A skill that grants the ability to heal and completely dispel all negative statuses in the world of ROC is the least suitable for someone of my personality.


    One-eye slowly stood up and removed his hands from his wound. ¡°The wound is gone. I feel no pain? The pain is gone.¡± His eyes teared up again. He knelt before me, kowtowing and worshipping as if I was a savior of his or perhaps a saint or a merciful god. The poor bastard even kissed my smelly travel shoes as he thanked me.


    I was the one who made that wound in the first place¡­


    I could not help but sigh exasperatedly, ¡°All of you, out of this room,¡± then gazed at Bloodbeard, ¡°This is a private lesson between me and Ashtor¨¢.¡±


    The bandits hesitantly looked at Bloodbeard, waiting for his confirmation.


    ¡°Out,¡± I shouted loudly and they instinctively scuttled away like cockroaches, did not even wait for Bloodbeard to give his order. ¡°One-eye, prepare a room for me. I don¡¯t care how small. Get it ready by the time I finish talking with your leader.¡±


    One-eye bowed to me and ran out of the room, leaving only Bloodbeard and me inside the room with the flickering torches.


    ¡°You fucking fail as a leader when you allowed me to tell your man to go away like that,¡± I broke the silence, dropping my polite tone completely.


    My voice was that of repressed anger, shaking lightly, giving a vulnerable illusion of a man who was fighting really hard to hold back his overwhelmed emotions.


    Bloodbeard was completely caught off guard by the switching tone of mine. He stared at me and asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Ashtor¨¢, that¡¯s the name of the elven hero king of Murkwood who managed to stop the army of Craxus the Conqueror from destroying his land for over twenty years. The two of them met on the battlefield and fought many times but all of their battles ended up as draws. Later, Craxus the Conqueror admired his courage and strength, he accepted Murkwood as an independent vassal of his Empire. He became a heroic figure for all people who have their kingdom lost to the might of Craxus even until this very day. I named you after that elven king. Is there any reason for you to hate it and instead call yourself with this fucking stupid name? Bloodbeard, really? What the fuck is Bloodbeard? What kind of fool would call himself Bloodbeard?¡±


    I shouted at the bandit lord with the same emotional voice. I looked at him in the eyes and dared him to talk back to me.


    Bloodbeard only became more confused, staring at me, ¡°Who are you?¡± he repeated.


    I do not blame him for being like this. After all, my performance today deserved an Oscar nomination. I am a well-trained liar since the day I was bullied in elementary. I am a well-trained performer. I did not go to the circus just to learn magic tricks. I went there to learn how to perform. I am an actor. I don¡¯t need to go to an acting school to learn how to act. Living in the same house with my insane sister taught me all that I have ever needed to know about acting. If I could not act, I might as well already be dead a long time ago.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± I was feeding off on my ego and almost said, ¡°I¡¯m your father,¡± to Bloodbeard in Darth Vader¡¯s voice by mistake. Fuck, that was close. That was really close. No amount of bullshit could get me out of that disastrous situation. I originally did not intend to assume the role of his father to trick him. In fact, the words ¡°father,¡± ¡°alchemist,¡± and ¡°potion¡± served as triggered words for Bloodbeard.


    Unlike Iliva who I knew nothing about her history, I knew Bloodbeard¡¯s biography very well. Other than the extra bit of trivia and speculations about him that I was supposed to learn from reading comic and lore of ROC, I could say that I remember everything about Bloodbeard from the time I played his single mode campaign.


    Bloodbeard is one of the three unique warlords of the Empire of White Winter. At the beginning of his campaign, he commanded a large force of bandits to invade the kingdom of Zard from the North, striking terror through the land by besieging the city of Madukat. However, it was a guise, a clever tactic invented by the sharpest mind of all the tacticians living in the Empire of White Winter at that time to annex the entire kingdom of Zard into the Empire¡¯s territory.


    Bloodbeard was supposed to provide the legitimate cause for the Judgment Army of the Empire to cross the border and occupied Madukat. That Judgment Army would be hailed as the liberator of Madukat and not invader. After that, they executed one of the five warlords of Zard, the Northern Warden of Golden Triangle Region, the guy who players famously dubbed as the Teddy Bear of Zard. The Empire would blame him for failing his duty and all of the shits that have ever happened on the land and people would cheer them for that.


    With Madukat completely under their control, the Empire has secured a clear invasion path to Zard from the north. They would not have to worry about their supply line being cut or intercepted. In a meanwhile, Bloodbeard and his army would act as a decoy, invading further into the heart of Zard, going east and spreading the terrors across the kingdom.


    With a situation like that, the king of Zard, the Eastern Warden and the Western Warden raised their army and head north, trying to rout Bloodbeard¡¯s army and liberating Madukat from the Empire. And they would manage to do just that, capturing Bloodbeard, having him executed and taking back Madukat from the Empire¡¯s hand. They did that and spectacularly fell for the ploy of the Empire, losing the Western Region, the capital city, the Southern Region and the Eastern region to the real army of the Empire invading from the Western Region. After that, Zard was annexed into the Empire¡¯s land.


    Bloodbeard was just a sacrificial pawn on the chessboard. That was his ending in the canon history. However, players could change that ending while playing Bloodbeard¡¯s campaign. They could make difference choices that Bloodbeard has never thought of. They could command Bloodbeard to betray the Empire by becoming a vassal to the king of Zard instead. They could command Bloodbeard to return to White Winter and revolt against the Empire, being a real thorn in the asses of the Empire. They could do many things, including leading Bloodbeard to become the supreme warlord by uniting all three connecting continents of Escana under his rule.


    Oops, I made him waited for a little bit too long. The bandit lord was looking at me, still waiting for me to finish my sentence.


    ¡°I was there, the day Eri gave birth to you. You are this small,¡± I cut the silence with a sad smile that full of nostalgia. I made myself looking like a man who was trapped in the past, the same kind of person that Bloodbeard was. Eri was his mother, the only person Bloodbeard has truly loved.


    Throughout his campaign if player took liberty of the path of history, Bloodbeard was proposed with many political marriages from various factions as his army grew. However, the option of accepting those political marriages was always grayed out, impossible to choose. That happened because of one of Bloodbeard¡¯s negative perks, mother complex. That perk prevented him from ever marry with another woman for the entire campaign.


    Those ROC related comics that Misery collected shed more light on this particular perk of Bloodbeard. In those comics, he was showed to have many women in his harem, all of whom looking identical to his mother in one way or another.


    At the time when Misery told me that information, I was like, ¡°I wish I could unhear that. Why must I listen to that kind of information?¡± Now, that useless knowledge became a weapon of mine.


    I was supposed to act like a man who was lost in nostalgia, completely trapped in the past. My acting would not feel complete with tears. I forced myself to remember the day when Mrs. H? ??ng was lost to me. I forced myself to remember the day I lost my midnight sun. And voila, my eyes felt like they were rubbed with a fistful of chili powder as the result. Yup, perfect acting, ten out of ten.


    Bloodbeard still gazed at me with confused looking eyes. He had no idea that I was only acting. He was not of the same breed as me and my sister and my most psychotic girlfriends. He was not a demon nor a beast nor a black sheep.


    He¡¯s just a normal man who trying his hardest to survive through trouble times. That was the reoccurring theme throughout the length of his campaign. Again and again, Bloodbeard would be shown as being no more than a normal man. His complete biography feels like a case study of human nature, that man could become beast and become as evil as he could be to survive.


    At the same time, Bloodbeard would show glimpses of what he could have been, a good man, a person who was capable of empathy and acted on kindness. That was one of the reason Bloodbeard was one of Misery¡¯s favorite warlords. That¡¯s why there is no way for a person like him to win against me or betray me or see through my character. That¡¯s why I could already see the ending of this meeting between me and him. I declared at thus within my head. I would love if Bloodbeard proved to me that I was wrong though.


    ¡°I¡¯m your uncle, Ashtor¨¢. Eri is my adopt sister,¡± I told Bloodbeard with my tears drenched cheeks. That¡¯s the role I wanted to assume. That¡¯s the bullshit I originally intended to sell to him the very moment I knew that I was captured by his henchmen. How hard could it be? I asked myself.

 Chapter 34: The lying Prince

    Chapter 34: The lying Prince


    Fearless has no love for the character of Bloodbeard. In fact, among the 63 playable warlords of ROC, Bloodbeard is down in the bottom of the list of Fearless¡¯ most picked warlords. And yet, Bloodbeard was a popular character among the colossal roster of characters that ROC had to offer.


    Perhaps, people like him because of how gritty, dark and edgy his story is. Perhaps, people like him because of the way he was portrayed. He even got a standalone comic series that recounted his entire story from the day of his birth to the day he was executed.


    Fearless has no love for Bloodbeard. Yet, he remembered every tiny detail about the character of Bloodbeard because Misery has constantly drilled them into his head.


    Despite the two of them are obviously very different, Fearless has many things in common with Misery. Reading is one of them.


    Misery suffered a pretty heavy case of dyslexia and therefore, it¡¯s very difficult for him to read words.


    Fearless on the other hand, he preferred to learn things through his ears. He can read just fine, but he has always hated reading. He is an audio-learner, therefore, anything visual is never his cup of tea. In fact, the only reason that he managed to get a Bachelor in History is thanks to the geniuses of those people who made audio books and movie documentaries and the cooperation of his favorite lecturer.


    That¡¯s why when Misery told Fearless that he got hooked into a comic series, Fearless was skeptical and impressed at the same time. Out of curiosity, he asked Misery about the series. It was a mistake at that time. Misery was a little bit overly enthusiastic. He invited Fearless to his home and made Fearless go through the entire Bloodbeard series within a day.


    Even after reading those comics, Fearless could say that his impression of Bloodbeard did not improve. He still does not like the man. He thought that maybe that was the reason why he could scam Bloodbeard without a sliver of guilt inside his heart.


    The moment he woke up, he listened to the conversation of his captor until their leader, the man who they called ¡°Bloodbeard¡±, routed the two of them.


    Untying himself was very easy due to a necklace he always wore. It was a trick necklace. It looks like a necklace but it is more than that. Fearless thanked his luck that the two fools who capture him did not do a thorough body search. They took his Rolex watch, his platinum bangle, and his backpack. Yet, Enferm¨¦ was still strapped to his inner thigh and his necklace remained with him. It was lucky for Fearless that Iliva¡¯s pearl was also kept hidden within his trick necklace, thanks to that Fearless was able to learn Nord just by listening to the conversation.


    Had his captors done a more thorough body check, Fearless would have been in a worse situation. He guessed that the only reason his captors did not discover his necklace and dagger was because they actively avoided touching his chest and dick. He was lucky.


    The very moment Fearless knew that Bloodbeard captured him; he gathered all the necessary clues while pretending to be tied up. Then, with all the information that he has learned about Bloodbeard, he played along with all the information he has gathered so far.


    Bloodbeard has a blood-related uncle who he has never met before. That is a truth. Though, he is no warlord in the game, just a third rank officer who was in the service of a noble in the kingdom of Silver Snow. On a side note, Fearless could not remember the name of that man, nor his appearance, his perks, and skills. He¡¯s a third rank after all. When ROC is still a game, it was littered with over a thousand of those trashes. They have mediocre stat, skills, and perks. They have more negative perks than useful ones. They are trashes. Even if players leveled those third rank trashes to max level, they are still trashed. The only time pro-gamers employ those third rank trashes is when they are running out of options.


    Players would only learn of that information regarding the uncle of Bloodbeard while playing the Bloodbeard¡®s single mode campaign, using Bloodbeard¡¯s army to invade Silver Snow. If the player succeeded to conquer Silver Snow and that uncle of Bloodbeard was not killed during the invasion, that uncle of Bloodbeard would request a private meeting with him to recognize Bloodbeard as his nephew. Though, at the end of the event, Bloodbeard broke his uncle¡¯s neck with his bare hands to gain an extra perk <Distrustful>. Of course, the fool came to his nephew, hoping that he would be given a position within his nephew¡¯s army. Of course, Bloodbeard would break his neck.


    At the moment, Fearless is trying to trigger that particular event, making Bloodbeard recognizing him as his uncle, of course, without the dying part.


    The bandit lord scowled, staring at Fearless with confused eyes. The pinkish scars that ran across his face twisted, adding more to the folds and the creases on his face, making him resemble more of a demon. ¡°Uncle? But you are an elf,¡± said Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s face terrified Fearless no more than a barking Chihuahua. Fearless has seen worse. Beside, Fearless understood the character of Bloodbeard. Therefore, he was not afraid. Man is only afraid of things that he does not understand.


    Fearless nodded his head and patted his chest heartily, appearing to be excited by Bloodbeard¡¯s comment. His eyes were still drenched with tears. ¡°Yes, I am an elf, half-elf. My mom, your grandmother is a human. Your grandfather is an elf. He is the most talented musician in this world. There is no instrument in this world that he could not play.¡±


    Fearless knew that he has yet to answer any of Bloodbeard¡¯s questions and only made the bandit lord felt confused. However, to make this fraud work, Fearless knew that he must dictate the framework and the pace of the conversation.


    The scars on Bloodbeard¡¯s face continued to twist more and more as if the bandit lord tried to squeeze the blood out of those scars on his face. ¡°You say it like it would explain anything. My mom has never told me that I have any uncle who is also an elf.¡±


    Of course, Fearless knew that. Fearless also knew that Bloodbeard¡¯s mother seldom talked about his uncle, almost never, as if she actively avoided doing that.


    ¡°Of course, Eri is a smart girl. She would tell nobody about our identity.¡± Fearless cackled. A wide smile spread on his lips. ¡°The bounty hunters are always after our tails. Your grandfather broke a taboo among our people when he married your grandmother. I have told her to tell you about us when you grow up¡­.¡± His voice trailed off and more tears began to appear, drenching his cheeks. He started sobbing uncontrollably, leaving Bloodbeard to be at a loss for words.


    Fearless was giving himself a thumb up from within. His acting was terrifyingly impeccable. His emotions appeared to be spontaneous and eruptive. He played the character of a self-serving uncle and he stuck with it. He frantically rubbed the tears in his eyes with his knuckles, trying to smile as he sobbed, ¡°Sit down. It¡¯s a long story,¡± Fearless told Bloodbeard, casually grabbing the bandit lord¡¯s shoulder and making him sit down on one of the empty wine barrels in the room.


    Fearless immediately discovered the range of Bloodbeard¡®s personal space from the way Bloodbeard reacted to Fearless¡¯ attempt of touching his shoulder. He was surprised to find out from the bandit lord¡¯s reaction that he was more of an introvert than an extrovert despite being a leader of such a large marauding force. Fearless has always been under the assumption that Bloodbeard was an extrovert from the fact that he was a leader of a filthy large bandit horde and the way he showed his bravado in the comics. Fearless reassessed Bloodbeard in secret, changing his approach accordingly.


    Fearless casually picked up another wine barrel inside the room and placed it next to the bandit lord, as near as possible without making the bandit lord feeling like his personal space has been invaded. Fearless then sat while making himself looking as unguarded as possible. It was the same skills he used to woo women in the bars. He employed those skills against Bloodbeard this time.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s reaction really made it easy for Fearless to read him, unlike Iliva. In a way, Bloodbeard is normal and Iliva is an extreme case of abnormality. Everything about Iliva was different and abnormal, starting from the abnormal range of her personal space, the way she reacted to stares, to the way she reacted to Fearless¡¯ mind game. She was prideful yet insecure at the same time. She was pure and childlike in one moment then become mature and complex in the next. She can be honorable and despicable at the same time. She was the personification of the word otherworldly. She made Fearless constantly guessing while he was traveling with her. She made Fearless¡¯ attempt to swindle Bloodbeard look like he was playing a dating simulation on the easy mode.


    Bloodbeard appeared to be confused, still, of course, he should be. He was constantly on guard against Fearless and was a little bit defensive in his body langue. Fearless expected that the bandit lord would not drop his guard any time soon. The bandit lord has seen that well-crafted smile of Fearless in person and took part in the mind game that Fearless hosted, he would be constantly on the edge when he¡¯s in the presence of Fearless. Fearless welcomed that. It would give him a mental edge over Bloodbeard. It was an invisible advantage.


    Fearless began to weave a fantasy version tale of Romeo and Juliet to Bloodbeard. He told the bandit lord that his father was a dark elf who fell in love with his mother, a human. They wed each other in secret, against the law and tradition set by the ancient-minded elves. In the end, the two of them eloped, traveling around the world as adventurers, musician, and merchants. However, his father was a noble disposition among the elves, which made the situation worse, the elves sent assassins after the pair lovebirds, placing bounties on their heads.


    Fearless could see the disbelief in Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes. Of course, he should be like that. The story sounded far-fetched and too surreal that Fearless doubted that people would believe it. Fearless was glad that Bloodbeard did not buy that story instantly. Otherwise, Bloodbeard would make it boringly too easy for Fearless to scam him.


    Fearless continued his story, pushing it to the climax by having the Juliet of his story tragically killed by the assassins. After that, Romeo had no choice but continued to run, assuming a new identity, taking the newborn Fearless with him. The two of them always traveled under disguises and never stayed in one place for too long.


    ¡°Disguises?¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    ¡°Watch this,¡± Fearless told the bandit lord and used his ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± on the bandit lord. He became Bloodbeard while Bloodbeard was staring at him, mouth agape, eye rounded. ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Elven illusion. Impressive right?¡± Fearless lied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, ¡°It¡¯s in my blood,¡± and undoing the transformation shortly.


    ¡°Is that common for the elves? I have never heard of that.¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not common even among the elves. I have told you, right? Your grandfather- my father, he comes from a special bloodline of noble disposition. This ability is passed down within our blood. That¡¯s why our pursuers were determined to kill my father and me. It was never because he broke the taboo, see? This ability is to be remained a secret to human. It is never meant to be inherited by a half human like me.¡± Fearless put on a self-loathing smile, full of sarcasm.


    Fearless let Bloodbeard on his utmost guarded secret, even though it was just bullshit. It was just another common trick of Fearless to win a person¡¯s trust. While Bloodbeard was still trying to absorb the information in silence, Fearless moved to the next part of the story.


    When thing slowed down and the assassins who constantly chased after them were nowhere to be seen, Romeo took an orphan baby he came across during his travel as his own daughter.


    ¡°That¡¯s my mom?¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Fearless nodded his head, telling Bloodbeard how bright his mother was as a child. The memories of Alice and his own sister surfaced within his head, and a bright smile appeared on Fearless¡¯ lips. He told Bloodbeard a few of his stories. He told Bloodbeard the story of how his sister made him overcome his fear of water and learn how to swim. He told Bloodbeard the story of how Alice came into his life. Fearless just had to switch the heroine in those stories into Eri to make it genuine and believable. Fearless could feel the tears that simmered in his eyes were that of joy and pure happiness as he was telling the bandit lord his stories, proving to the bandit lord that his love for Eri was genuine.


    The body language of Bloodbeard changed dramatically as he listened to Fearless¡¯ story. It was already at the point that Fearless could hardly tell if the bandit lord was still on guard against him or not. And the bandit lord was so quiet that it became very difficult for Fearless to analyze him on a deeper level. Fearless¡¯ cold reading skill mostly relied on his good ears to analyze sounds. Therefore, Fearless would prefer Bloodbeard talked to him instead of staying silent like that.


    However, it was subtle. Bloodbeard was noticeably less confused and more anticipated. He got himself hooked into the story somewhere when Eri became the main character of Fearless¡¯ story. It wasn¡¯t that Bloodbeard has truly bought all of Fearless¡¯ bullshit, he just rode along with Fearless in his story. He breathed quietly and listened anticipatedly to the story of a young Eri that he never knew. Fearless had no doubt that he has completely sold this part of the story to Bloodbeard. That confirmed to Fearless that his understanding of Bloodbeard from those comics was correct. After that, Fearless just let his narrating skill to take over as if he was on a talk show and Bloodbeard was but a part of the audience.


    Eri, Bloodbeard¡¯s mother became the only sunshine in Fearless¡¯ life in his stories, just like Alice and his sister were. Fearless knew a few things about Eri from the comics and he tried to keep her character mostly the same in his stories. He was not afraid of bringing out the most embarrassing stories that he had to offer. Fearless knew that those embarrassing stories would only serve to make him more authentic and endearing. He picked his stories carefully and embellished them, trying to make the Eri in his stories as genuine and authentic as possible. He went on and on with his stories and suddenly stopped, becoming quiet and somber for a moment. He sobbed once, sniffing the tears off his system, using the sleeves of his robe to wipe his snotty and tears drenched face.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± Fearless told Bloodbeard, suddenly drawing Enferm¨¦ out of his waist belt and threw it at the wall. Footsteps noisily popped and reverberated throughout the room and the darkened corridor. Needless to say, it was Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards. They were trying to listen to the conversation in secret.


    ¡°My ears are sharper than most. The next time I caught any of you rude gentlemen doing something unnecessary, I promise, I will chop your ears off,¡± Fearless warned, voicing his threats into the empty corridor in a volume that he was sure that the escapees could hear.


    He audibly clicked his tongue while retrieving Enferm¨¦, making himself look annoyed as if he truly detested being interrupted in the middle of his story. Fearless did not miss Bloodbeard¡¯s defensive reaction when he drew his knife. The bandit lord was not completely under his spell yet. He¡¯s still on guard despite being completely absorbed in his story.


    ¡°Your men are undisciplined. It¡¯s a leader¡¯s responsibility to keep his men disciplined. I don¡¯t know how you have ruled over these men of yours until now. Your method is obviously not adequate,¡± Fearless put on his lecturing tone as he went back to his seat.


    Before Bloodbeard could defend himself, Fearless already went back to his story, staying true to his self-serving character. He moved at his own pace.


    ¡°Then one day, she told us that she was in love with a man. It was less than two month since we arrived at White Stone. It¡¯s hard to believe it. Yet, it was the truth. There he was, that man. I had no idea what Eri saw in him. He¡¯s just an apprentice to a famous alchemist. He has a ballooned ego and no skill or ambition to back it up.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Fearless starting to talk trash about Bloodbeard¡¯s father, starting with something subtle and light first to test the bandit lord¡¯s reaction. Fearless felt like he was watching a trained German Shepherd reacting to a stranger approach its established territory. Of course, Fearless has expected this kind of reaction from Bloodbeard. It was a touchy subject after all. It was as if there was a thunderstorm inside those eyes of Bloodbeard, muddy and chaotic. His breathing has noticeably quickened. The bandit lord was getting more defensive.


    However, Fearless took Bloodbeard¡¯s reaction as a positive sign and continued to mouth off. He did not hold back or mince word about how he detested Bloodbeard¡¯s father. Fearless knew that he was walking on a tightrope but he kept pushing it. He wanted to test the boundary and limit of Bloodbeard by talking trash about his father.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s quietness and subtle reactions actually made it difficult for Fearless to estimate his boundary correctly. The bandit lord just sat in his seat and clenched his fist tightly as he listened to Fearless¡¯ bullshit. Fearless was not sure if Bloodbeard¡¯s hostility was directed at Fearless for talking smack about his father or because he just detested the mention of his father or due to another reason. Fearless wished that Bloodbeard actually shouted at him in the face and showed an open hostility than being passive aggressive like that. Getting no clear result, Fearless opted for a safer option, putting the smack talk to a minimum and moving on with his story.


    ¡°I opposed Eri¡¯s decision to marry him, but who am I to get in the way of my sister to search for her happiness. It pained me to watch Eri married to that useless man. She was so beautiful on her wedding day. That useless man did not deserve her. It pained me even more when that day came, the day I had to leave White Stone, leaving Eri behind to that useless man. However, we had to be on our way. We saw signs of our pursuers within White Stone.¡± Fearless put on his most depressive tone, watching how Bloodbeard is taking on this part of the story.


    It was minuscule but Fearless detected a subtle change within Bloodbeard¡¯s inner world. He was not sure what kind of change that was. Therefore, Fearless continued to play it safe, ¡°We travel to our hideouts in Silver Snow, eluding our pursuers. Then, Eri¡¯ letter came. You know? It was funny. I sent her like five or six letters and I received none of her letters. We decided to write to each other every month to keep in touch. I was worried every single day. And then one day, her letters came in bulk. Five letters at the same time. Apparently, my letters went round and round with those caravans before they could reach her and it happened the same for her. She told me that she was pregnant.¡± Fearless let a small laughter escaped his lips. ¡°I split up with my father to visit her. In her letters, she told me that you might be a girl because you were very quiet. You did not turn around much. Therefore, I prepared all the girl clothes for you.¡±


    Fearless remembered that girl clothes were also another unique detail of Bloodbeard¡¯s childhood. According to the lore of ROC, Bloodbeard was made to wear girl clothes until he was eight. It was a unique tradition of the nomadic tribes that lived within the Great Plain of Zard. The nomads made the boys wearing dresses like girls until they reached the age of ten, a tradition and superstition that by wearing dresses like girls until the age of ten, those boys would grow up healthily and manly.


    Bloodbeard rounded his eyes and breathed quietly, almost inaudible, ¡°It was you?¡±


    Fearless pretended he did not notice and kept talking.


    In the comics, Bloodbeard grew up remembering that his mother made him wear those girly dresses until he was eight without being explained the reason. The reason for that is because his father constantly ridiculed Bloodbeard¡¯s mother for her nomadic heritage and those dresses. One day, when Bloodbeard was eight, his father could not take it further. He burnt all the dresses and since Bloodbeard was able to wear boy¡¯s clothes.


    Fearless knew that his story stopped from being just entertained to Bloodbeard at this point. From this point onward, Bloodbeard could not help but believe it despite all the doubts he had for Fearless.


    ¡°I was lucky. When I arrived at White Stone, it was two weeks away from Eri¡¯s due date. That man, I had no idea where the fuck he was. His wife is close to her due date and all he ever cares about is his alchemist license.¡±


    Fearless detailed the birth of Bloodbeard as if he was there. He told Bloodbeard that despite his father was never there for his pregnant mother, he was driven mad by jealousy of Fearless¡¯ bond with his mother. Fearless made Bloodbeard doubted the sanity of his father at this point in his story. In the lore, Bloodbeard¡¯s father suddenly went mad one day and killed his wife in his madness. Knowing that detail, Fearless took advantage of that.


    Fearless kept spinning his bullshit, telling that the pursuers have captured Romeo on one day. They intended to trial Romeo for treason before executing him in their elven land. As the result, Fearless has to track down his father back to the Long continent. He kept in touch with Eri through the letters delivered through the traveling caravans for months but eventually, he lost contact with her. He was not sure if it was bandits or another reason. When he crossed the Narrow Sea to the Long Continent, he truly lost all contact with Eri.


    ¡°It was my biggest regret,¡± Fearless spoke grimly, ¡°I should not have left Eri in White Stone. Had I not do that, I would not lose both my father and Eri.¡± Within his head, Fearless secretly played the accursed mating song of the cicadas, the orchestra of summer, the only kind of music that he truly hated. The tears wetted his swollen eyes again as Fearless sarcastically snickered.


    ¡°I failed to save my father and was captured. I watched him being executed.¡± Fearless let the self-mocking snickers to dominate him, ¡°The only reason that I was spared was elven hypocrisy. Those elven elders sentenced that I was not guilty. It was not a sin to be born as a half-man. It was my father who sinned, broke the taboo, and he was punished. Those hypocrites, those jokesters, they did not even have the gut to pass down the sentence to kill me. I don¡¯t even remember how many times their assassins have tried to kill me in the past under their order. Yet, they did not dare to pass the judgment. For years, I was imprisoned in a house with servants to answer to all of my requests, all but the request to free me. I was told that the blood that ran through my veins is precious and that it is my duty to maintain it. Basically, those hypocrites decided that I should be their obedient studhorse. I was to breed with whomever they tell me to breed. I was to learn all the noble etiquettes that they told me to learn. Funny, isn¡¯t it?¡± Fearless mockingly lifted his chin and asked Bloodbeard.


    The bandit lord remained in silence.


    ¡°Let me tell you that the women I was supposed to breed with are the people I called my cousins, nieces, aunts, and grandma. Those bastards told me that through inbreeding this secret ability of mine will be strengthened. That¡¯s hilarious. I refused to be those hypocrites¡¯ studhorse, so with a sharp blade,¡± Fearless poked the edge of Enferm¨¦, ¡°I chopped my dick off when their guard became lax,¡± and demonstrated the action with his finger.


    Without warning, the story became extremely edgy, going from two to eleven. If Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes were not rounded enough, they became perfectly rounded at this point.


    ¡°That turned out to be useless. Those bastards transported me to an Essence Temple and had the priestesses connected my served dick together. Oh, there is still the scar from that one time. Do you want to watch?¡± Fearless asked. His hands were on his pants.


    Bloodbeard shook his head left and right, mostly out of reflex. Fearless has expected that Bloodbeard would reject that insane offer. Though, if Bloodbeard had nodded his head, Fearless could show him the stitch marks of the said operation. They are his shame and defeat.


    ¡°After that, those bastards decided that they could not play rough with me. They decided to brainwash me slowly instead. For twelve years, I was inside that house, learning everything that those bastards could cramp into my brain. However, they made a mistake in teaching me magic. With magic, I escaped,¡± Fearless smiled and demonstrated his ¡°The magician¡± skill to Bloodbeard, teleporting himself around the room for a few times.


    ¡°How can you do that?¡± Bloodbeard asked out of reflex, ¡°You have no magic medium. You did not pray to any god.¡±


    Fearless has expected Bloodbeard to ask him this type of question.


    ¡°This is magic in its purest form. The dragons never give praise to the gods to use their fiery spells. The gods do not give praise to themselves to use magic either.¡± Fearless replied. ¡°Magic is its own thing. It does not belong to any religion or any group of people. It should not be discriminated under any circumstance no matter what kind of nature it is. Magic should be free.¡± He quoted the Greyscale¡¯s mantra.


    ¡°If you wanted to learn it, I can teach you,¡± Fearless told Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard went back to his silence, crossing his fingers. ¡°I can¡¯t bring myself to fully trust your words yet. However, assume that what you have told me is not a lie. Why are you here now? Where have you been all these years? Do you think you can just come to my camp to tell me that you are my uncle while acting all important like that?¡± Bloodbeard gnashed his teeth threateningly. Under the glow of the flickering torches, his eyes seemed to turn red.


    Fearless thanked the gods that Bloodbeard has finally talked. For the first time since Fearless started selling his bullshit, he was able to confirm if Bloodbeard has truly bought into his lies.


    A liar can only make a lying sound.


    Fearless trusted his ears more than his eyes. Unlike his sister who was adept at spotting a liar with her eyes, Fearless can only trust his ears to spot a liar.


    He was extremely glad that Bloodbeard talked. ¡°How many years?¡± Fearless asked. He answered Bloodbeard¡¯s ice-cold fury with his own. His voice went low, low as it could be to match his rage.


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± Bloodbeard asked, growling.


    ¡°How many years has it been since the last time you visited Eri¡¯s grave?¡± Fearless calmly asked. His tone was still cold as ice.


    Only silence attempted to reply to Fearless¡¯ question.


    Whether Bloodbeard bought Fearless¡¯ lies until this moment or not was unimportant. This was the moment Bloodbeard truly believed that he was Fearless¡¯ nephew.


    ¡°When was the last time you visited White Stone? Did you ever try to visit your house once?¡± Fearless asked. A mocking smile floated on his lips.


    Once again, only silence bothered to reply. Bloodbeard sat in his seat, staring. His eyes were shock and dismay.


    Three simple questions, yet their effect was greater than millions of sentences and thousands of stories. Three simple questions would be the difference between Fearless is an uncle of Bloodbeard or not.


    ¡°I understand that you were very busy after Eri¡¯s death,¡± Fearless scoffed, ¡°Living as an orphaned urchin in Kingscrown must have been really tough for you. I understand that perfectly.¡± He snickered, ¡°Playing war and soldier must have been hard as well. How many campaigns have you participated? Two? Three? Four? You must have been very busy, I have heard. What was your rank again? Captain? Commander?¡± Fearless sarcastically sneered. ¡°I understand. You must be very busy. You have your duty to watch over the lives of your men. You have a duty to fight for your empire. I understand. You have no time to visit your mom even once. I understand that perfectly.¡±


    There is no way for Bloodbeard to win this game of blaming. Fearless sneered inwardly and let that arrogant smile pasted on his lips. Two can play the blaming game but only one can win the game and it¡¯s not Bloodbeard. The advantage in the amount of information that Fearless had over Bloodbeard was overwhelming. He knew Bloodbeard¡¯s trauma and his history. Fearless knew how he should exploit Bloodbeard¡¯s weakness and trauma. Even if Fearless¡¯ lies were all making up on the spot, they were constructed to attack Bloodbeard in the chink of his armor.


    ¡°You¡­ if you have already known, then why waiting until now?¡± Bloodbeard rose from his seat and growled. His voice became significantly louder. However, it was not loud enough to match the noise of the wine barrel he used as his seat rolling on the floor.


    ¡°Unlike who have been busy with the war games and duty, I only have a grave of my sister to tend and keep and a nephew named Ashtor¨¢ who I have never met once to look for. I did not even know if my nephew was alive or not. People told me that a child like that would have died without anybody to take care of him. But you know what? I was always hoping. I stayed by Eri¡¯s grave every single day, hoping that Ashtor¨¢ would come back to visit his mom. Every single day, I believe that Ashtor¨¢ would return home. I was always afraid that Ashtor¨¢ would one day return home and I was away in this vast world somewhere, looking for him. I hated that I could not split myself into two to look for Ashtor¨¢ while tending Eri¡¯s grave at the same time.¡±


    Fearless let his lies to sink in within Bloodbeard¡¯s brain. The bandit lord stood and looked down at Fearless from his towering height, yet, their position in the blaming game was the exact opposite.


    ¡°I sold my magic to people. If anyone wanted to learn my magic, they only have to help me searching for Ashtor¨¢. If they cannot do that, they can pay me coins to fund my search for my nephew Ashtor¨¢. I don¡¯t even know what my nephew looked like so I asked everyone I have met: Have you met Ashtor¨¢? Do you know anyone whose name is Ashtor¨¢? Can you pass my words around that I¡¯m looking for a boy name Ashtor¨¢?¡± Fearless smiled. He knew that his smile alone would do all the damage. His eyes were clear of tears. Any drop of tear at this point would be redundant. Tears had no part in this blaming game. His smile alone is the only thing Fearless needed to win the guilt-tripping game against Bloodbeard at this point.


    Bloodbeard was awfully quiet. However, his silence at the moment spoke much louder than any word he could ever speak.


    ¡°I searched and searched and searched and waited and waited and waited.¡± Fearless laughed derisively, ¡°People told me that I should give it a rest. Still, I foolishly continued to wait by Eri¡¯s grave and searched for my nephew Ashtor¨¢. Every day, I promised Eri that I would find Ashtor¨¢ and I would break that promise with Eri every single day without fail. Then, people started talking about a bandit who called himself Bloodbeard. I don¡¯t know anything about him nor do I care. But people told me that bandit has a habit of doing this.¡±


    Fearless began to rise from his seat, slowly and calmly. He tried to match Bloodbeard¡¯s height but the bandit lord was taller than Merleon. So, Fearless gave up. He grabbed Bloodbeard by the back of his head and pulled him to the level of his eyes. The bandit lord offered zero resistance.


    ¡°My father was an alchemist once. He¡¯s an alchemist, more like an alchemist apprentice. That¡¯s how that bandit always began his story. He especially loved talking about that story where his father killed his mother and he killed his father at the end. He loved doing that. I have no idea why he would do that. Perhaps, the fool thinks that he could scare people with that kind of story. That makes me wanted to laugh. But, I could not. I see the resemblance in his story and the tragedy that befell on my sister and her son. I was afraid that my worst fear has taken shape. Ashtor¨¢ has died and that that Bloodbeard has stolen his story and past.¡± Fearless spoke to the bandit lord as the ranked breath of the bandit lord filled his nose.


    ¡°Otherwise, I fail to see why that bastard kept telling people of that story. That story is not one to be told like that. That¡¯s the only fucking conclusion that I can come up with. The thought that the fucker could be my nephew has never crossed my mind. I sent my people to investigate that bandit, where he came from, who he was, what he did and still, I did not believe people telling me that my nephew was a fucking bandit. So, I left Eri¡¯s grave for the first time in decades so that I can track down that bandit. I intended to meet him and asked how my Ashtor¨¢ died. After that, I will kill the bandit. I heard that the fool was inert to pain so I have prepared something for him as a gift for telling me how my nephew died. I come prepared. I was thinking that I would teach that foolish bandit what pain is again since he has forgotten about it.¡±


    That psychotic well-crafted smile reappeared on Fearless¡¯ lips and he could sense a small shudder running down the back of Bloodbeard¡®s head with his fingers. He let the bandit lord go, nonchalantly.


    ¡°When I called you Ashtor¨¢ for the first time and you reacted to that name, I did not dare to believe it. Were you not Ashtor¨¢, you would be scare and tell your boys to attack me, fearing that I would uncover the bullshit fa?ade you created. But you are Ashtor¨¢, that¡¯s why you were confused. You waited and did not call your boys to attack me. You are Eri¡¯s child. You are my nephew Ashtor¨¢. I have finally found Ashtor¨¢ after so many years. Do you know what it felt like? No, don¡¯t bother answering that. I don¡¯t fucking know the answer to that question myself,¡± Fearless began to snicker, a snicker that sounded like he was sobbing. But there was no tear in his eyes.


    ¡°For years, I have pictured that I would meet my nephew Ashtor¨¢ one day by Eri¡¯s grave or perhaps in a different circumstance. By Sinintee¡¯s cock, never had I imagined that it would be like this. This is fuck up.¡±


    Fearless swore. He sounded like a completely broken man and acted like one. He gazed at Bloodbeard with the eyes of a man whose hope was lost.


    Bloodbeard did not take Fearless¡¯ expression too well. He put his hands on Fearless¡¯ collar and hauled him to the air. ¡°What do you know about me? You are my mom¡¯s brother, so what? You know nothing about me. You think you have the right to look down on me? You think you have the right to criticize me? I am a bandit, so what? You know nothing about me. You have no right to talk down on me.¡±


    That was a natural decision. Of course, anyone would say something like that if they lost the guilt-tripping game in the same manner Bloodbeard did. Also, Fearless¡¯ arrogant and self-serving attitude played a huge part in this development.


    It¡¯s coming around in a full circle, Fearless secretly laughed within the back of his mind. He loved it when his scheme comes together.


    ¡°Did I for a moment say something like that? Have I at any moment said something that criticized your decision to be the man you are today? Do I look like I¡¯m looking down on you?¡± Fearless asked with a sneering smile on his lips, fighting his urge to teleport out of Bloodbeard¡¯s iron vice on his neck.


    ¡°You looked down on me from the moment you called me Ashtor¨¢. And even now, you are looking down on me.¡± Bloodbeard growled.


    Fearless resisted his urge to retort that it was because Bloodbeard was hauling him up in the air. Of course, he would look down on Bloodbeard from his position.


    Fearless snickered, still it was the same sneering snicker. ¡°Child, you have none of Eri¡¯s brightness, haven¡¯t you?¡± that arrogant and condescending sneer spread on his lips in full glory.


    Bloodbeard gritted his teeth and put more force into his hands. This time, he choked Fearless for real, no holding back.


    Fearless smiled. He saw his complete victory through the blackening lens of his eyes. This is the end. He gently pats Bloodbeard¡¯s head, caressing it. ¡°That¡¯s anger fool. I¡¯m angry that you rather spent time with these stupid fuckers than going home. You can¡¯t even manage them.¡± He struggled to say the words as Bloodbeard¡¯s fingers tightened around his throat. Tears started to flow from both corners of his eyes, ¡°Ashtor¨¢, come home with me, child. Let¡¯s see Eri together.¡±


    Game, set and match.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s ultimate defeat came in the form of those tears that welled in his eyes.


    The moment Bloodbeard released his vice on Fearless¡¯ neck, he was on his knees, hugging Fearless, muffling his sob within Fearless¡¯ chest. Fearless became his uncle for real since that moment.


    Bloodbeard was only a normal man, an unfortunate one. He was no beast or demon.


    Speaking about demon, Fearless secretly laughed while trying to find his breath. He hugged Bloodbeard and giving the sobbing bandit a good pat on his head as if he was Bloodbeard¡¯s mother.


    In that room, there is only but a single demon, and it is not Bloodbeard.

 Chapter 35: The lying prince and the bandit lord (This is not Yaoi pornographic)

    Chapter 35: The lying prince and the bandit lord (This is not Yaoi pornographic)


    Back when ROC was merely a game, the generals in the game are divided by rank and role. For instance, Bloodbeard is in the lower tier of the first rank generals.


    There are only four ranks in the general ranking lists, the third rank, the second rank, the first rank, and the Broken Thirteen.


    Any general who is listed in the third rank is trash, however, having them are better than having nothing.


    The second rank is the common commodity, the average Joe in the world of ROC.


    The first rank generals are serious business. Each of the 63 playable factions has at least one of them, sometimes more. They have great stats, great skills, and great perks.


    Then, there are The Broken Thirteen, just the name suggested, each of them seriously broke the balance of the game in one way or another.


    One of them is a genius among geniuses who ended the Second Great War in the lore of ROC. He¡¯s a high elf and a most sought strategist. He¡¯s regarded as the smartest person in the world of ROC by players and in-game NPC.


    One of them is an eccentric arch-magus who can cast tactical grade magic all by himself. He¡¯s a hermit, an elf who lives by the motto ¡°A <Meteor> a day keeps the healers away.¡± His eccentricity makes him more of a joke character in the grim and gritty world of ROC, except that his <Meteor> spell could literally wipe out an entire army.


    One of them is a one-man army with a Herculean strength like that of a god of war, a farmer, human and an avenger whose entire family was killed by a bandit raid. His weapon of choice when he goes to war is, of course, a freaking hoe. His character design makes people laugh, players and in-game-NPC alike until they realized the destruction he could wreak with a single strike from his hoe. There is nothing more satisfying to players than watching that one-man army sent a bunch of people flying into the air every time he swung his hoe.


    One of them is a dwarven engineer of a Viking-like insular nation, a walking cheat code who gives a tremendous head start in the Engineer research race to any army who managed to recruit him. His perks allow his faction to skip several stages of the Engineer research, allowing his army to always have better equipment and war engines than the rest of the world.


    Each of the Broken Thirteen embraces the word ¡°Ridiculous¡± to the highest level. Each of them is the ultimate luxury in the game. Just by having one of the Broken Thirteen in their army whether it is the single mode or the multiplayer mode, players have already changed the entire landscape of the war. Of course, when one of the Broken Thirteen joined an enemy faction, players would be under a tremendous disadvantage.


    The Broken Thirteen spread evenly among the three continents, four in each continent. Some of them are ¡°factionless¡±. Some of them are generals of neutral factions. Only one of them is a playable warlord.


    The Broken Thirteen make the game a lot more complex and difficult than it should have been just by existing within the game. Of course, the game makes it extremely difficult for players to recruit and will punish the players accordingly for recruiting or having one of them in their army. Regardless, the pros of having one of the Broken Thirteen on the player¡¯s side always win against the cons, hence, the name.


    One popular method that players employed against the Broken Thirteen in the multiplayer mode is ¡°If you can¡¯t recruit them, kill them.¡±  That would ensure the opposing player faction could never recruit them.


    Then, there is still the matter of role. Generals are also divided into different roles base on their unique attributes.


    For instance, Fearless is a late-utility type of general if he objectively judged his character¡¯s role. He is a jack of all trade and master of none type, and need someone to babysit him at all time through the early game to be relevant in the late game. He is without an army or allies to protect him in a war-torn world. He has no fiefdom to have an economy. Most importantly, he is not a combat oriented type general. His Might stat would make people giggle, asking, ¡°Bro, do you even lift?¡± It is atrociously low. Even with the 20 Might attributes bonus he received from equipping Enferm¨¦, he could not fight with a serious opponent.


    On the other hand, Bloodbeard is an early-melee type of general, excellent in melee combat, very powerful in the early game, even though his strength and potential does not translate well into the late game. However, he had a huge army under his command. That¡¯s the most important thing. Bloodbeard had an army. That¡¯s the only reason Fearless did not use his ¡°The magician¡± skill to escape his captors. He chose to stay and defrauded the bandit lord so that he could make use of the bandit lord¡¯s army.


    An army of bandits is still much better than having no army. Fearless was literally a beggar of a warlord. He had no army, no fund, no land and no general. Beggars do not have the luxury to choose.


    Fearless believed that the developers designed his character with the intention for him to be a part of the Broken Thirteen, Nah, at this point, it should be the Broken Fourteen.  He had many things in common with them.


    The demerits of his character are ridiculously overwhelming, similarly to the Broken Thirteen. However, his unique skills made up for that.


    ¡°The magician¡± allows him to position himself in the place where he could be most useful and allow him to escape unfavorable situations.


    ¡°What you can do, I can do better¡± allows him to be extremely unpredictable at any given time. He could turn his opponents¡¯ greatest strength into their Kryptonite at specific moments.


    ¡°A strange choice¡± is an AOE skill that allows Fearless to remove debuffs and heals his ally units or any target he intended when they are wounded.


    His skills are just as ridiculous as those of the Broken Thirteen. His perks and stats (aside from his Might stat) are also just as dreadful as theirs.


    However, he had one thing they did not have, knowledge. To be precise, it was the right kind of knowledge. The understanding of the world of Escana, its people, its politic, its future, that kind of knowledge, it is the best weapon Fearless could possibly ask for.


    Every student of history would know or at least heard of a famous phrase of Sun Tzu- an ancient military Chinese commander, ¡°Know your enemy, know yourself and you need not fear the result of hundred battles.¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s past and private information was known to Fearless, which is the most important reason that explained why Fearless could swindle the bandit lord.


    To people like Bloodbeard or Merleon, if they were to be asked to name all the weapons that they know, they will start with things like swords, spears, daggers, and all sort of cold arms. Merleon might add hot arms into the mix. That¡¯s the difference between Fearless and them because Fearless would begin by naming his weapons with ¡°Information, lies, smiles, tears, sex¡­¡±


    Bloodbeard was emotional and can be hotheaded at times despite being quite an intelligent man. He would have a personal duel with an opponent he took a liking to, even though he was in no situation to do that. He killed people who enraged him, even though they could bring him benefits. He refused political marriages despite those marriages would give him easy allies. Bloodbeard has a brain within his skull but he tended to rely on his emotion to make a judgment. People like him are especially easy for Fearless to scam, almost as easy as the most gullible people.


    Another reason explained why Fearless got to live after tricking Bloodbeard unlike Bloodbeard¡¯s blood-related uncle was that he was a great liar and the latter was not.


    Since then, things had calm down a bit, if not significantly. The tears had dried in both Fearless¡¯ eyes and Bloodbeard¡¯s. At one point, Bloodbeard became embarrassed at the fact that he, a grown man, the lord of 6000 bandits wept and sobbed into the chest of a man who he has just met. He used an excuse that he needed to change the torches in the room because they were about to burn out. He walked out of the room to recompose himself, returning with new torches and Fearless¡¯ stolen Rolex, magic coins, platinum bangle and many of his accessories.


    The two men who captured Fearless were terrified to know that Fearless was an acquaintance of Bloodbeard. However, Fearless suspected that the way he made an example of that man One-eye in front of Bloodbeard and his bodyguards was the real driving force behind the return of his accessories.


    ¡°Come home with me, Ashtor¨¢. You have no future in this land. What awaits ahead of you if you insisted on staying in this land is a certain death.¡± Fearless prophesied with a tone that he used to soothe a crying child. This was the first step he needed to take to steal Bloodbeard¡¯s army.


    However, Bloodbeard was no child. He was at least ten years older than Fearless. And he was not stupid either. ¡°How could you say that for sure? And the situation is not what it seems¡­¡±


    Of course, Fearless has expected Bloodbeard to give him that kind of reply. Bloodbeard might be an emotional man but he is not stupid. What kind of man would throw away an army of 6000 men under his command to return home, empty-handed? Only a most stupid person and the most gullible person would listen to that suggestion of Fearless.


    ¡°I have already known that the Empire has backed you in this war. No need to explain that detail to me,¡± Fearless cut the bandit lord¡¯s attempt to reason with him.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes were widened with surprise, truly shocked. That was supposed to be a secret between him and the Kingdom of White Winter, though many of his goons have already known about it, it was not supposed an information to be leaked to an uninvolved person like Fearless.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look. My intelligent network allows me to track you down to this place. It¡¯s not that hard to know what¡¯s going on between you and the empire. And above all, do you think that your boys could actually keep that secret?¡± Fearless resignedly shook his head.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Bloodbeard showed Fearless a blank stare, half-flabbergasted and half-admiring.


    ¡°Here is an old man¡¯s wisdom,¡± Fearless sighed, ¡°Better listen to it before your ignorance costs you your life. Map, do you have one?¡±


    Bloodbeard put his hand into his waist belt and procured a couple scrolls. He then unrolled the one scroll threaded in the yellowish string and placed it on the wine barrel next to Fearless.


    ¡°Torch,¡± Fearless ordered and Bloodbeard brought one of the lit torches over, lighting up the map of the kingdom of Zard. Even though Fearless did not specify what kind of map he needed, Bloodbeard was not stupid enough to procure a map of another kingdom.


    Fearless cast his sight on the parchment. There were drops of dry blood and some blackish greenish spots of mold growing on the parchment. Fearless suspected that Bloodbeard has robbed this map from traveling merchants or military commanders from some time ago. Honestly, the parchment smelled like rotten meat that was kept inside someone¡¯s armpit for months and then was slathered with molten cheese and durian paste.


    It was a biological weapon of mass destruction if Fearless has ever seen one. It probably soaked in Bloodbeard¡¯s sweat repeatedly, resulting in the mold spots and the horrendous smell. Fearless fought his urge to throw up or pinching his nose, telling himself inwardly that he has smelled something far worse. Obviously, he had not.


    Fearless was very familiar with the geography and the landmarks showed on the map. Fourteen years of playing ROC has ingrained the complete map of ROC within his head. He quickly located the city of Madukat on the parchment and pointed his finger at it, ¡°Now, I will ask and you will answer my questions. How many days has it been since you withdrew from Madukat?¡±


    ¡°Five.¡±


    ¡°How many days is it since you started besieging the city?¡±


    Bloodbeard blinked his eyes and furrowed, thinking aloud, ¡°Twenty days, maybe twenty-two?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two then, always assume the worst,¡± Fearless nodded his head. ¡°It takes five days or a week for the mountain eagles of Madukat to warn the kings and the wardens about the siege of the city, and another five or seven days for them to rally an army to reinforce Madukat.¡± Fearless then pointed his finger on two locations on the map, ¡°The king of Zard¡¯s army is already here and the Eastern Warden¡¯s here. They won¡¯t be a concern for you and your army.¡± Then he pointed his finger at a location in the western part of the Great Plain of Zard. ¡°Hyrios, the Headhunter is already here with his army.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± Bloodbeard declared. The spot that Fearless pointed at was distant away from the Western Border. The distance suggested that the Warden of the West has started rallied his army and moved north on the same day Bloodbeard besieged Madukat.


    ¡°For anyone else but this man.¡± Fearless scoffed, ruffling Bloodbeard¡¯s hair with his hand as if he was teaching a child. ¡°Ashtor¨¢, you have a lot to learn. War is a terrible business and a child like you is most ill-suited for it.¡±


    Fearless¡¯ condescending voice and his I¨Cam-so-much-better-than-you attitude struck Bloodbeard the way he has expected. The bandit lord shook Fearless¡¯ hand away, ¡°What do you even know about war?¡± he got defensive.


    ¡°More than anyone, especially you,¡± Fearless nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and replied as if it was a matter of fact, which only served to infuriate Bloodbeard further.


    ¡°How many wars have you fought? Zero. I fought more wars and battles than you do.¡±


    ¡°Craxus fought no war before he conquered his first kingdom.¡±


    ¡°Do you think you are a reincarnation of Craxus?¡± Bloodbeard mocked. His voice was full of sarcasm.


    ¡°No, but Craxus would make a worthy adversary for me.¡±  Fearless scratched his stubbly chin and confidently replied without a pause.


    Bloodbeard was stunned. He scowled his face, twisting his pinkish long scar, ¡°I can see that humble is not your strongest point.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? I am being extremely humble when I said that Craxus would make a worthy adversary. Even ten of him could not win against one of me.¡± Fearless showed Bloodbeard a confused look.


    If they were having this conversation in a chat room, Fearless would have shown Bloodbeard a confused Nick Young meme.


    He was telling Bloodbeard the truth. Back when ROC is still a game, at the beginning of any single mode campaign, players can type the cheat code <Dragonbane>, resurrecting Craxus from his grave and making the entire northern continent become united under the flag of Craxus the Dragon Slayer.


    Craxus is the invisible member of the Broken Thirteen even though he would not appear in the multiplayer mode, adding four more members of the Broken Thirteen under Craxus¡¯ control, that made five members of the Broken Thirteen on the same faction. That was the ultimate challenge the game could provide players.


    However, players could also take a step further by trying to glitch the game, creating multiple versions of Craxus within the game. Unless the players slew all the Craxus-es, down to the last Craxus, the game would not recognize their victory. This made the effort of beating the game at this point an act of masochism.


    Of course, Fearless was proud of the fact that he was a masochist.  He could beat those AI controlled Craxus-es with minimal effort with any faction of choice. Any ROC pro-gamer can do that with some amount of effort or maximum level of effort depending on the number of Craxus.


    Superior held the world record for being the ultimate masochist within the world of ROC pro-gamers, beating 15 AI controlled Craxus at once. Fearless came in third, tying with FY¡¯s best record of eleven. Though, that was the World-class AI and not Heavennet. Nobody has ever attempted to win a game like that with Heavennet as the opponent.


    ¡°Back to the topic,¡± Fearless did not wait for Bloodbeard to make a comment about him beating ten Craxus. ¡°Hyrios¡¯ specialty is light cavalry. You won¡¯t find someone better at using light cavalry than this man in this entire continent. In addition, he was descended from those nomadic tribes living within the Great Plain. The Great Plain is his home, more so than the Western Region. This man knew the Great Plain like the back of his hand.¡±


    Fearless surprised Bloodbeard with his bombardment of trivia. He even surprised at himself from his bombardment that screamed ¡°Nerd¡± all over.


    ¡°Do you know this man?¡± Bloodbeard asked.


    Fearless coughed once, ¡°He¡¯s descended from the same nomadic tribe as Eri,¡± Fearless left the topic untouched at that point and continued, ¡°The thing is this man travels light with his army. He does not need to bring much supply with him while traveling through the Great Plain.  Also, his army always has extra horses to switch around. This allows his army to ride days and nights without stopping. His men, nomadic just like him, eat and sleep on horseback.  The only time his army would stop is to forage supply and to rest the horses.¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes turned dark as Fearless continued his nerd talk.


    ¡°As long as you are within the Great Plain, you can neither hide nor outrun him. And that¡¯s just a single army. You still have two more armies to deal with. Do you have something that you want to add?¡± Fearless challenged.


    Bloodbeard pointed his finger at the location of Madukat on the map and opened his mouth, only to be shut down by Fearless. ¡°Your decoys? Is that what you want to say? You trust that rabble to hold ground against Hyrios¡¯ army? How many days would it be? Stop being na?ve, one morning is all Hyrios needs to crush them. ¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s expression spoke to Fearless that he was correct but not completely correct. At this point, Fearless has managed to confirm that all of the events happened in the canon history of ROC remained the same. He was the only difference to that history. He was an alien substance.


    ¡°Oh, I see. The Judgment Army.¡± Fearless sneered and shook his head,¡± You are really stupid enough to trust that they would cover your back? No, they won¡¯t. You can ask them to coordinate a pincer attack with you but there will be no pincer attack for you, not after you sold them out with your cute pesky trick. Do you think that nobody would realize that the decoys you left there did not add up to 4000? It¡¯s a matter of time. When that Judgment comes to Madukat, they will stay in Madukat and force the three armies of Zard to besiege it. That¡¯s the reason why you are only allowed to break a small part of the first wall and nothing else. See? They only need to reinforce that damaged part of the wall, fixing it with their magic. It¡¯s easy. They can hold out inside that fortress city for as long they wanted.¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s expression turned grim. He¡¯s smart enough to follow everything that Fearless has told him, and Fearless could see that. He also realized that Bloodbeard was clinging to something else within his mind.


    ¡°But, if they do that, the entire invasion is already lost,¡± said Bloodbeard.


    Ah, Fearless quietly muttered. He finally realized the thing that Bloodbeard was clinging to, even in the moment of his execution, his self-denial.


    ¡°You are Ashtor¨¢, Eri¡¯s son, and my nephew. Therefore, I can trust you with my secrets. I can give you everything I have,¡± Fearless told the bandit lord, placing his hand on the bandit lord¡¯s shoulder. ¡°However, to the Empire, to the world, you are just a bandit. If I was to be the Emperor or the general of the Empire¡¯s army, do you think that I would trust you, a bandit lord with the detail of my plan to invade Zard?¡±


    ¡°You are lying,¡± Bloodbeard breathed out quietly. He¡¯s getting emotional and in complete denial. His expression told Fearless that he realized what Fearless has told him was true. Yet, he could not bring himself to believe it. His knees looked like they would crumble at any moment.


    The giant in front of Fearless looked weak. He was just an oversized baby.


    Fearless being Fearless, he would not miss out that opening. When the enemy is down, hit him hard, that¡¯s Fearless favorite strategy. Fearless tiptoed, grabbing Bloodbeard by his cheeks. He brought Bloodbeard down to his height, gazing into Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I have told you, child. War is a terrible business and a child like you is most ill-suited for it. You are too unsuspecting. You are too na?ve. What awaits ahead of you if you insisted on staying in this land is a certain death.¡± Fearless carefully delivered his final attack. He kissed the bandit lord¡¯s forehead as if he was his beloved child. He did not lie to Bloodbeard. ¡°Without anyone to guide you, you can only die in this land.¡± That was the nail in the coffin.


    ¡°I have finally understood,¡± replied Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s reply confused the heck out of Fearless. Fearless has painted seven scenarios within his head of how Bloodbeard would reply him. None of the scenario matched.


    If Bloodbeard replied with a resigned, ¡°I understand¡± like that of a completely defeated man, Fearless would continue to probe his mental-attacks on Bloodbeard until he¡¯s through with the bandit lord.


    If Bloodbeard replied ¡°But you can do it, can¡¯t you?¡± due to Fearless¡¯ subtle suggestions, Fearless would say ¡°Yes, obviously¡± with his usual arrogant voice. However, he would tell Bloodbeard that he had no intention of helping Bloodbeard to be a conqueror, which then making Bloodbeard begging him. By doing that, he made Bloodbeard believed that the choice was his. Bloodbeard would believe that he gave his army to Fearless on his own according and Fearless did not suggest him into doing that.


    The other five scenarios in Fearless¡¯ head were similar. The paths that they took would be different; however, they would arrive at the same destination in the end. All roads lead to Rome in the end.


    Except that, Bloodbeard¡¯s ¡°I have finally understood,¡± was never a part of Fearless¡¯ vision. That was not Rome. The expression on the bandit lord¡¯s face was not that of a defeated man or that of a man who had all but resigned or a man who was trying to cling to his only hope.


    His ¡°I have finally understood¡± felt like the Eureka of Archimedes but with less enthusiasm. His ¡°I have finally understood,¡± felt like that one time when a complete stranger was looking at Fearless and asked, ¡°So you are Jesus?¡±


    Completely random, deranged and lunatic.


    It felt like the bandit lord has realized something that Fearless could not see or understand. Bloodbeard¡¯s ¡°I have finally understood¡± felt like he has succeeded at something. It felt like he has managed to escape the inner demon that Fearless has sowed on him.


    Fearless gave the bandit lord with his most confused look. His perfect acting completely melted away within his confused look. He has simulated the conversation so far ahead into the future, to the moment when he would literally tell Bloodbeard what to do and what not. He retraced his steps, trying to understand what Bloodbeard¡¯s ¡°I have finally understood¡± meant.


    ¡°You are that bird,¡± muttered the bandit lord, adding to Fearless¡¯ confusion.


    ¡°Bird?¡± Fearless felt like he has lost Bloodbeard completely in the dark vacuum of space. Inside his head, he was asking himself, ¡°What bird? He said that. So which bird? Am I a bird? Which part of me looks like a bird? How does that relate to the topic we were talking about? Which of my suggestions made this insane bastard thinking that I was a bird? Fuck, I¡¯m so lost¡±


    ¡°You are that owl.¡±


    ¡°What owl?¡±


    At this point, Fearless was convinced that Bloodbeard could not handle the truth and his mind has gone to banana land. He almost decided to slap Bloodbeard out of his shit.


    ¡°The one in my dream,¡± Bloodbeard said, ¡°You are the owl that appeared in my dream. I was lost in the darkness and you appeared to guide me. That¡¯s what the dream meant.¡±


    ¡°So, there is the eighth scenario. Well, all roads lead to Rome,¡± Fearless thought.

 Chapter 36: Prince and a premonition

    Chapter 36: Prince and a premonition


    Fearless talked with Bloodbeard until the light of morning peered through the rectangular arrow slits on the surrounding walls.


    30% of the time they spent talking was used up by Fearless¡¯ terrible attempts at convincing Bloodbeard to return to White Winter and lived an honest life. He could not bear to listen to the words that came out of his mouth. They were weak and without a shred of charisma.


    However, that was perfect because he wanted them to be terrible. Fearless doubted that he had the charisma to convince Bloodbeard to give up his power in a matter of a day even if he really tried. He probably needed more time than that, possibly a month to accomplish such feat. Though, Fearless believed that FY and his most insane girlfriend could achieve that accomplishment within two or three days. One day was too short of a time to change a person¡¯s mind unless there was a special circumstance involved.


    While they were having that discussion, Bloodbeard asked Fearless why was he calling the Kingdom of White Winter as ¡°the Empire.¡±


    It made Fearless realized that he has made a mistake. The king of White Winter only crowned himself as the Emperor of the North after his army has conquered one-third of the Northern Continent. However, Fearless pointed out that White Winter has annexed three of his neighboring countries. White Winter was already an Empire in all but name. Bloodbeard bought that.


    20% of the time they spent talking consisted of Bloodbeard tried to convince Fearless to help him with a strange salesperson¡¯s method. The bandit lord believed that it was Wonten¡¯s providence that he has met Fearless under this circumstance. He believed that he was meant to reunite with Fearless under the guidance of Wonten. He talked about his dream where he was lost, walking on a plain until he met a strange black feathered owl. He talked about how prophetic it was.


    There was too much of zeal inside Bloodbeard¡¯s system when the bandit lord started talking about Wonten, the god of strength and justice. Fearless found that it¡¯s nearly impossible to interrupt Bloodbeard, especially when he was talking about Wonten and Wonten¡¯s guidance.


    Trying to get in between Bloodbeard and Wonten felt like Fearless was attempting to convince a hardcore fan of AG that The Alliance was so much better than AG. Obviously, there was no fucking way that Fearless could do that, hence, he carefully listened to Bloodbeard¡¯s seemingly endless ramble. Bloodbeard¡¯s ramble on the greatness of Wonten reminded Fearless that the bandit lord was a devout follower of Wonten. It made Fearless noticed the strap of the bandit lord¡¯s waist belt was a blank mask, an idol of Wonten. Until now, he has thought that it was just as normal strap, nothing more.


    The more he listened, the more he understood that Bloodbeard¡¯s trust on him came from many sources.


    Firstly, it was the decisive information that Fearless had regarding Bloodbeard¡¯s trauma and history.


    Secondly, Fearless¡¯ acting was on point. It was genuine.


    Thirdly, it was that strange dream that continually appeared inside Bloodbeard¡¯s mind. He took that as a sign of divine, a providence of Wonten to help him. That was the decisive factor.


    Fearless zipped his mouth and let Bloodbeard did all the talking. He thought that it was too convenient for him. That strange dream of Bloodbeard was the cement that solidified all of Fearless¡¯ lies within the mind of the bandit lord. It saved Fearless at least a week-worth of effort and time to work his scheme.


    That terrified Fearless. It was too convenient to be a coincidence.


    Had Bloodbeard not tell him about the dream, Fearless would not know about it and he would not be so terrified. Fearless has learned the existence of the gods and goddesses from his encounter with Clariciel. If Clariciel was real, all the deities ruling the world of Escana were real, as well as the Demon Lords. That dream of Bloodbeard was too convenient for Fearless. The timing and the meaning of it were too convenient.


    It made Fearless believed that either a Demon Lord or a deity must have a hand in it. However, which one, Fearless had no idea.


    The power of constructing a divine dream was shared among the deceased dark god Naharis and all of his flesh and blood. That meant the four ruling deities, the twelve Valkyria, one sealed god, and the fifty-one Demon Lords; one of them must be the culprit of that dream. That sounded like one heck of insane conclusion and yet, that was the only conclusion that Fearless has arrived at.


    That¡¯s a lot of suspects to narrow down.


    Fearless felt dizzied at the grim conclusion that he has arrived at. Someone made that dream to inform Bloodbeard of Fearless¡¯ arrival, but who? In addition, for what purpose, to what end?


    It was lucky that Fearless got a break since Bloodbeard was rambling on and on over Wonten to notice the change in Fearless. The idea that someone, other than Clariciel, has already read his memory through his dream made Fearless sick. And the fact that they manipulated things around him in advance made him truly sick to the core.


    He did not expect himself to manipulate Bloodbeard in such a way. He did not expect to meet Bloodbeard in person.


    It was unplanned on his part. Yet, that dream of Bloodbeard proved that the person who constructed it has expected Fearless to act the way he did. That thought terrified Fearless.


    He felt outplayed for the first time after arrived in the world of Escana. To make it worse, Fearless had zero ideas of the identity of the person he was dealing with. His opponents, whoever they were at this time, operated on a whole different power scale comparing to all the opponents he had until now.


    In the end, Fearless just gloated that part over to focus on dealing with Bloodbeard first. He could deal with whoever created that dream later. All that he had now were a bunch of theories that he could not even prove. It was useless for him to dwell on them.


    He could only hope that the creator of that dream was not a Demon Lord. Fearless had no desire to deal with any of the fifty-one Demon Lords and their dark occultist faction. That would be the worst situation for him.


    Another 40% of the discussion time had to do with Fearless egging the bandit lord to play a mind game on him, and thankfully, Bloodbeard felt right into his trap. The bandit lord attempted to challenge Fearless¡¯ pride and his cocky attitude to say that he was all-bark and no-bite. Bloodbeard challenged Fearless¡¯ pride and manhood, using them against Fearless.


    ¡°You said that you are better than Craxus the Dragon Slayer.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Then, surely you can fight Hyrios.¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you prove it to me? Not with word but action?¡± Bloodbeard took the chance to challenge Fearless.


    And Fearless would stick to his character and replied, ¡°Must Wonten prove to mortals that he is superior to them?¡±


    Fearless would talk down to Bloodbeard with his usual I-am-obviously-so-much-better-than-you attitude. Since Bloodbeard loved talking about Wonten, Fearless used Wonten¡¯s name against him. He rejected Bloodbeard¡¯s attempt to win him over, leaving only but some obvious openings in between. Bloodbeard was smart enough to poke Fearless¡¯ pride through those openings. Then, Fearless would pretend to show signs that he was slightly perturbed by Bloodbeard¡¯s mockery.


    Sometimes, the sexiest reply that a person can say to another person¡¯s proposition is ¡°No,¡± a rejection. That works in business, life and in love. Sometimes, instead of chasing after love, a person must learn how to make love chasing after them instead. Fearless knew that trick since he was but a primary school kid. However, at that age, he had no idea about the theory behind that but he knew how it worked.


    Fearless made Bloodbeard chased after him. He made the bandit lord tried to convince him while giving out just enough positive responses to not make him give up. The worst thing that can happen to Fearless in this moment was allowing his constant rejections to tire out Bloodbeard, making the bandit lord completely give up.


    At that moment, two particulars stories in the novel Romance of Three Kingdoms surfaced within Fearless¡¯ head.


    The first was the story of Zhuge Liang rejected Liu Bei¡¯s proposition to be his advisor twice and only accepted after Liu Bei proposed to him the third time.


    The second story was similar, Sima Yi rejected Cao Cao¡¯s offer to work for him twice. The second time he even went as far as breaking his own legs to reject Cao Cao¡¯s summon. Only when Cao Cao threatened to kill him and his family, Sima Yi would accept Cao Cao¡¯s offer.


    Both stories were heavily embellished and there were many different versions of those two stories floating around. However, the moral was the same. Through rejection, those two people elevated their status and worthiness in the eyes of their employers.


    Eventually, Fearless accepted Bloodbeard¡¯s offer to be his advisor with an attitude ¡°It cannot help. Just this one time, after that, we will go back home.¡± Fearless did not miss that short-lived smirk on Bloodbeard¡¯s face when he gave the bandit lord that reply. The bandit lord truly believed that he has won the mind game.


    Then, the realization that he has succeeded to convince Fearless has finally sunk in. Joy danced and laughter erupted from within the bandit lord. That grizzly giant shook as his laughter echoed around the cobwebbed walls.


    Fearless made the bandit lord to vow a few clauses before he would officially accept his role.


    Bloodbeard agreed easily. Obviously, Bloodbeard had no idea what he has just signed up for.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless gave Bloodbeard his golden Rolex and taught the bandit lord how to use it. He gave Bloodbeard three hours to summon and explain the situation to his commanders. After that, he would meet up with Bloodbeard in the same room.


    Bloodbeard was surprised about the watch. He has previously thought that it was just a shiny golden bangle, nothing more. He naturally thought that Fearless¡¯ watch was dwarven-made. Any strange and technological looking gadget in Escana was believed to be either dwarven-made or titan-made and more than often, they cost a fortune.


    That was one of the stereotypes in the world of Escana.


    Bloodbeard was overwhelmed with emotions when he received it from Fearless. The bandit lord said that it was the first time he had received a gift, especially something like that.


    He made Fearless felt bad. Fearless has only intended to lend his watch to the bandit lord. He did not intend to give it away as a gift. However, he let Bloodbeard had it in the end. That Rolex was worth less than most items and accessories Fearless had with him.


    At the same time, Fearless informed Bloodbeard that he would retreat to the room that he told One-eye to prepare for him and rest.


    Three hours, that¡¯s the amount of time Fearless had with him to decide his course of action under the guise of resting.


    Bloodbeard sent one of his boys to serve breakfast to Fearless. It was One-eye, no big surprise, Fearless has half-expected the same person. Considering Fearless¡¯ overbearingly arrogant attitude into the equation, it was better to let someone know the terror that Fearless was capable of to serve him.


    One-eye got the short end of the stick, though he did not look like he was in anyway offended.


    However, the poor bastard had the look as if it was an honor and a privilege to serve Fearless. It seemed that Bloodbeard has told him that Fearless was his long-lost uncle and soon would be the savior of this ragtag army of bandits. Otherwise, Fearless could not explain the reason One-eye has become so demure and agreeable in his presence. He even insisted to carry Fearless¡¯ backpack for him with a Lydia¡¯s most devoted look of ¡°I am sworn to carry your burden¡± even though he had never said something like that.


    For whatever reason, One-eye decided to address Fearless as ¡°Big Boss¡±.


    ¡°No, you are the Big Boss. I still have both eyes intact.¡±


    One-eye looked at Fearless for a long time and gingerly asked. ¡°Forgive me, but is that an elven joke?¡±


    ¡°Something likes that¡­¡±


    In the end, Fearless settled with being called ¡°Advisor.¡± Technically, his attributes would make Fearless an excellent strategist in the game but not a general. Hence, being called ¡°Advisor¡± was not wrong. Furthermore, if Fearless was to allow himself to be called ¡°Big Boss¡±, he might upset more than just a bunch of people within Bloodbeard¡¯s camp.


    It sounded like he was more important than Bloodbeard and even Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders. That was never a good thing. A stranger liked him has just joined their pack and immediately become their boss, these beasts would not take it well.


    In the game, Bloodbeard had with him a handful of capable commanders at the beginning of his campaign. They allowed Bloodbeard to split his army into small units at the beginning and effectively raided multiple objectives at once.


    One-eye was one of Bloodbeard¡¯s most-able commanders despite his status as a second rank general. If Fearless¡¯ memory did not fail him, One-eye had one or two specialized perks in riding and archery.


    Fearless could hardly remember the finer details about the man. If Fearless was to sum up his gaming knowledge on One-eye, it would be ¡°second rank¡± and ¡°normal¡±. The word ¡°normal¡± was generally not a good label, especially in ROC. ROC had a colossal roster of over 5000 playable characters. Nobody, not even the biggest ROC nerds like Misery could remember every single one of those 5000. It was not humanly possible. Of course, there would be oddities among the gamers. However, generally, gamers could only remember the most appealing characters to them.


    Gamers would easily remember the characters that were the most broken, the strongest, the weakest, the most insane, the smartest, the cruelest¡­


    The character¡¯s appearance design would also help a lot. For instance, if Fearless has known Iliva as a game character, he would remember her. She was the odd one out of the Arachnid, the only albino Arachnid of the bunch and definitely the most beautiful. She made it easy for people to remember her.


    Therefore, if a person was just ¡°normal¡± in both character and look, and commanded little-to-zero presence in the game just like One-eye, he made it¡¯s very hard for gamers to remember his character.


    One-eye obviously did not receive that kind of dedication in his character appearance design from his creator as Iliva did. Nevertheless, it could be said the same for all those bandits and pirate characters. Their appearance design was more than often the stereotype of what people would imagine bandits and pirates in the medieval world would look like. They all had a beard, either long or short. They all looked sinister, fierce and angry. They often had scars, one, two, or more on their faces. In the end, they all looked the same, saved for a few unique individuals.


    Furthermore, the commanders and generals who were not among the 63 playable warlords received little details and coverage about their lives and history. Besides, only nerdy people like Misery would pay attention to people with little presence like One-eye.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Fearless followed One-eye to his new private quarter. It was a short walk from the previous room according to One-eye. Fearless only needed to cross the bailey and climbed the guard tower. During that time, Fearless got to see the structural remnants of the once famous ancient Fort Berandor. Though, in ROC and at the current time, it became known as the Bundor Bastion.


    The Bundor Bastion or Fort Berandor was the first domain of the Dragon Slayer Craxus. It was built at the entrance of the Dragonfell Canyon to guard an ancient pathway that once connected White Winter and Zard through the sea of hills.


    Fort Berandor had a unique design. It was built on a large arching rock that connected both sides of the cliffs of the canyon together. That arching giant rock was the result of thousand years of wind erosion.


    If people were to look upon Fort Berandor while they were walking on the trail of the Canyon, they would think that the Fort looked like a giant dragon resting its wings. That arching rock looked like a nest, thus it was called ¡°Dragon Nest¡±. The Bundor Bastion, the only vestige remained of the ancient Fort Berandor that stretched to the eastern hill of the cliff was the dragon¡¯s elongate tail.


    Players could only see the ancient fort in its full glory if they played the predecessor game of ROC.


    ROC was the second installment of the ¡°Escana¡± series. Its full name was Escana: The Reign of Chaos. It was the spiritual successor of Escana: Rise of the Dragon Slayer.


    In Rise of the Dragon Slayer, Craxus was the one and only protagonist of the game. The game focused on Craxus¡¯ entire life story, how he was born, how he came to known power, how he brought the entire Northern realm under his rule, and how he died as humankind¡¯s first Emperor in the history of Escana.


    On a side note, despite how Craxus was considered as one of the greatest military commander of all time in the world of the Escana series, he, unfortunately, became the butt monkey in the second installment of the series -ROC. He was a hidden character that only appeared with an activation of a cheat-code, not as a playable character but as the ultimate challenge for gamers to test their skills. Besides, his characters could be glitched into multiple versions for players to kick around.


    Rise of the Dragon Slayer was released in the November 2031 by URLOX. At that point, URLOX had no way of knowing that their game would be as successful as it did.


    It was a surprise hit in the gaming community for many reasons. The first was it came out of nowhere, from a new developer who nobody has even heard of. The second was due to its mechanic. Rise of the Dragon Slayer was something of a love letter to the old Starcraft and many other classic real-time strategy games. It played on the nostalgia of the older generation of gamers during the 2030s, reminding them of the landscape of the competitive gaming world before it was filled with MOBA games. And it delivered all the right notes of those classic games to gamers.


    Around 2035, URLOX was bought by PIPE-an American video game developer, publisher, and digital distribution company. Six years later, ROC came out, setting the world of Escana 700 years after the death of Craxus.


    Despite being the second installment of the Escana series, ROC was almost a different game from Rise of the Dragon Slayer. It was as if the developer of ROC could not decide to stick with the old mature, gritty and dark tone of the original game or be less controversial to appeal to a broader spectrum of audiences. In the end, they had to release two versions of the game. One was an R rated version to not upset the fan-base of Rise of the Dragon Slayers. The other one was an All-age version that censored out all the controversial and mature details, which became the official version for the ROC World Cup, which turned out great because it attracted a wider spectrum of audiences.


    However, that was not the only thing that was different between Rise of the Dragon Slayer and ROC. While RTDS was consistent in term of its contents, ROC was not.


    There were three developing teams responsible for creating the lore of ROC. Each of them was solely responsible for creating the lore, the culture, the setting of each of the three connecting continents in Escana. It was the result of those three developing teams¡¯ failure to find agreement with each other and thus, they just decide to do their own things.


    The old URLOX team that created RTDS decided that Karijard was the last dragon and there would be no dragon on their land. However, PIPE, the company that bought them said, ¡°Bring back the damn dragons. Dragons are cool. What fantasy world that doesn¡¯t have dragons?¡±


    In the end, the old URLOX team could only obey their employer, however, not without a term, ¡°Not on our land.¡± Thus, the dragons were back into the Escana series, but not on the Northern realm.


    One of the developing team had to listen to the selfishness of their employer and created a Jurassic Park of a Continent where prehistoric dragons roamed the earth and dominated the sky. At the same time, they had to create a setting that allowed people to live in that kind of world where the dragons were the kings and queens of the food chain. Among the three developing teams that created ROC, this team that was responsible for creating the Long Continent seemed to always draw the short straw each and every time. Every time PIPE had a crazy idea, these poor people had to go along with them. In the end, somehow, they managed to make it work, miraculously. They created the most exotic and wacky of a world, yet, it was, at the very least, believable.


    Fearless has tried playing Rise of the Dragon Slayer, out of curiosity. Of course, he would, just like a person would try to play Half-Life2 and Half-Life 1 after they had completed Half-Life 3 and Half-Life 4.


    Fearless has seen the glorious sight of Fort Berandor, where Craxus began his journey. This was where the journey began, in all honesty, for Craxus and the Escana series.


    However, the Bundor Bastion, the remainder of what once was Fort Berandor, it was a sorry sight, a shadow of its golden past, like an aged man sitting on a cliff, ancient and decrepit. Sunlight shone through the thick smoke of campfires and revealed his fractured and craggy face. Dead ivies and mosses hung on the weathered walls like an untrimmed shaggy beard. The rampart that once stood tall to protect the fort has crumbled apart, weathered, loosed and barely hanging like an old man¡¯s jaws.


    Fearless made a quiet sigh in his heart. He was trying to escape his pathetic reality by going with the flow, pretending as if he was a tourist on a sightseeing trip. However, he was utterly disappointed.


    The warm snow has stopped falling when Fearless finished his long discussion with Bloodbeard. However, there were still a few mounds of white snow piling here and there on the walls and the ground of the bastion.


    To make it worse, the tents pitched by Bloodbeard¡¯s bandit were all over the bailey and the broken rampart of the bastion. If Fearless was to type the command to search for the respect that given to an important archaeological site of this world, the message <404 error: Respect not found> would show up. Otherwise, these bandits would not even think of making camp and campfires on the site like this.


    As a student of history, it¡¯s painful for Fearless to watch such a sight.


    Those tents they erected came in many colors: white, gray, black, brown, etc. For a moment, they reminded Fearless of the circus he used to visit to learn his craft. Most of the tents were patched from all sorts of animal hides, fabrics and clothes altogether without a sense of artistic or whatsoever, a real punishment for the eyes.


    Fearless¡¯ eyes were, unfortunately, got caught in one of the tents in particular. That tent was such an atrocious of a sewing job that Fearless nearly threw up when his eyes managed to register it for what it was. It did not look like one those creations where the creators were trying too hard to create something impressive from nothing. It looked like a patch-up work of everything that the creator had with him at the time from garments, animal hides, all sort of rags and more.


    Fearless has thought that would be the worst punishment his eyes could take for the day.


    And he was seriously mistaken.


    It happened too fast and it ended just as abruptly by the time Fearless came to himself.


    As Fearless followed One-eye, walking through the pack bailey of the Bundor Bastion that packed with multiple mini-circles of bandit camps, it happened.


    ¡°One-eye, what¡¯s with that large bag? Where are you going?¡±


    A brash voice called One-eye and the demure bandit stopped, turned and looked at the source of that voice.


    Fearless saw a bunch of burly men sitting around a small campfire to warm themselves. They were using a hammered-out piece of plate-mail armor as a cauldron to grill something inside it.


    ¡°Boss summons all of the commanders to the war room. Better finish that meal of yours fast,¡± One-eye replied.


    Fearless followed One-eye¡¯s line of sight and narrowed down on a man sitting among the circle.


    That man was a shoulder taller than all the men sitting around the campfire were. His head was badly shaved, reminded Fearless of a peeled potato. A thick and briskly looking yellowish beard that resembled the bristles of broom extruded from the man¡¯s hidden jawline. A piece of charred jerky stuck out of the man¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°You have not answered my questions, fool,¡± the man violently tore that piece of jerky into two with a snapping sound. He gritted his teeth and yanked out the other half of the jerky with his large hand.


    For a moment, Fearless seemed to recognize the identity of that man from his badly shaved head and his briskly yellow beard. However, he ultimately did not arrive at a conclusion.


    ¡°None of your business. I¡¯m showing boss¡¯ esteemed uncle his room.¡± One-eye lifted his chin proudly as he told the other man.


    It was then that potato-headed of a man and his circle turned their sight on Fearless.


    ¡°Boss¡¯ uncle? What the fuck are you talking about?¡± The man furrowed his brows, putting Fearless under careful scrutiny. ¡°He¡¯s a dark elf, isn¡¯t he? And a fucking Greyscale¡­¡± he used the hand that was holding to the jerky to point at Fearless.


    ¡°Watch your fucking tongue. He¡¯s the boss¡¯ uncle and is your boss from today as well.¡± One-eye warned.


    ¡°Ah, shit,¡± Fearless inwardly cursed One-eye. He has told the bastard that he was merely an advisor, no more. He was nobody¡¯s boss, Fearless has clearly told One-eye.


    ¡°That¡¯s the first time I hear about that.¡± the man squinted his eyes, looking back and forth between Fearless and One-eye. His expression was half of confused and half of annoyed. He rose from his seat with a crisp of clinking metal. He was quite a giant of a man. Though he was not as tall and towering as Bloodbeard or Merleon, Fearless reckoned that this man must stand at 200 meters. ¡°How could he be the boss¡¯ uncle? The boss is a human for Sinintee¡¯s cock. And this flimsy looking fucker is a dark elf.¡±


    Fearless heard the clinks of metal ringing in the air again.


    ¡°Watch your tongue.¡± One-eye hissed, slowly dropping the luggage on the ground to confront that 200 giant.


    ¡°And you tell me that this thing is my boss from today? You fucking lost your mind or something? This thing looks like it came out from an exotic whorehouse of those rich fat nobles in Lamentia.¡± The man shouted, pointing at Fearless. He made a violent yanking movement with his other arm.


    It¡¯s only now that Fearless could see where those clinking noises came from.


    That man¡¯s left arm was wrapped in a long black iron chain. Connecting to that long chain was a mass of flesh and skin. It took Fearless a full second for his eyes to fully register the entire of that reddish and brownish dirty looking mass of flesh and skin; and another second to realize that the collective of flesh and skin that he saw were human beings¡­. naked women.


    Fearless blanked out.


    Those women possessed not a single piece of fabric to cover themselves even in this cold weather, all nude. Their skin was covered in filth, dirt, scrapes and the brownish patches of dried blood.


    Their bodies were filled with all manners of horrifying looking bruises that came with of all sorts of colors from whitish, yellowish, purplish, reddish, to the sunken black. Those bruises and scrapes came with all sorts of shapes and sizes, making those women looked like some kind of exotic wild animals. They did not look like human beings.


    Those women, their neck and wrists were collared to that long black iron chain wrapped around the left arm of that man as if they were his pets.


    From such a horrific image, Fearless has almost concluded that those women were all dead. But, they did not. Those obscure non-stop shaking, those quiet whimpering, those chained weakly hands that brought up to cover their mouths and muffled their whimpering and moans, those submissive casting down heads¡­ those women were alive.


    One of the women on the front most of the pack looked like she had her arms broken. They barely hung to her shoulders, lying flat on the ground, unmoving. Every time the giant bandit yanked the chain, she gritted her teeth to endure the pain.


    They were alive.


    However, Fearless did not know if their current state of being constitute as being alive.


    Fearless blanked out. His ears could not keep up with the conversation between One-eye and that giant man. That accursed mating song of cicadas was getting louder within his ear canal.


    Fearless blankly looked at that giant mass of inhumanity. He immediately deducted the identity of the bandit.


    Ekar the Cruel.


    He was also a bandit lord before Bloodbeard made him submitted. Even though, Bloodbeard never trusts him enough to command a large unit. This man was one of Bloodbeard¡¯s best commanders, a top-tier second rank general.


    Fearless has finally remembered.


    This man was one of the most standout characters among Bloodbeard¡¯s faction. He possessed a unique skill <Cruelty Level 5> at the very beginning of Bloodbeard¡¯s single mode campaign.


    This unique passive skill allowed Ekar to demoralize enemy units at a certain range around him. While most of the characters possessed the skill <Cruelty> maxed out the skill level at Level 3, Ekar started out with this skill at Level 5 and maxed out at level 7.


    Fearless felt his stomach churned. He could almost taste the bitter and sour of his stomach acid within his mouth. He forcefully swallowed it down. He wondered if he was under the effect of Ekar¡¯s skill.


    ¡°Poker face, poker face, poker face,¡± silently, Fearless chanted his mantra while locking eyes with the bandit commander.


    However, his ears could not filter out the clink of iron chains or the groans of those women amidst the song of the cicadas. His eyes, no matter how much he tried to zero in the smug face of the bandit, they would register the bruises and broken figures of those chained women.


    Those women were lesser than slaves. They were lesser than human beings. They were toys that were created to be broken and damaged. They were the painting that reflected the twisted cruelty of Ekar. They were the instruments for Ekar to demonstrate his terror to the world.


    It was not like Fearless cared about them. He did not even know those women. Who they were, how did they get themselves into such hell; it was none of his business.


    However, they brought summer to him.


    Summer was here with its accursed song, the damned song of the mating cicadas. It rang and it buzzed noisily within the depth of his ear canal. It was that accursed season again.


    For a moment, the existence that was Fearless disappeared as if he was suddenly wiped out. Only B?ch ??i Ph¨²c remained.


    The dreaded red of blood flooded his vision. The orchestra of the accursed cicadas blasted his eardrums as if he was on a rock concert. Therusty smell of blood filled his nose.


    Summer was here.


    He has successfully run from it for so long, every single fucking year. Yet, he allowed it to catch up to him when he was most unprepared.


    Summer was here.


    It was like a persistent predator that refused to let it wounded go. It would track its prey to the end of the world.


    It was an invisible collar that wrapped around his throat, a chain that kept extending itself to give him the illusion that he was free from it. And then, when he thought that he was free from it, it seized him like he was its slave.


    The first thing B?ch ??i Ph¨²c tried to do was not looking for Fearless. He helplessly searched for the comfort within touch of his magic coins inside his pockets. It was almost instinctive. He shared that bad habit with Fearless. However, his beloved magic coins, as magical as they were, they did nothing to help B?ch ??i Ph¨²c to run away from the damned tightening collar of summer.


    The pair of legs that allowed him to run for two straight days without stopping from the pack of Mangora spiders, the same pair of legs that let him traversed the Bison Prairie and crossed the scorching Gobi Desert once, they felt like they were constructed from a thousand pieces of glasses. A touch was all it needed to break the pair, let alone support his entire weight.


    A fractured noise chinked. It coursed through his entire body.


    The buzzing echoes of the cicadas¡¯ song formed a crack across the surface of that fragile pair. That damn cracked widened with every beat and chord of the damned song. It was like the weight of the entire world was about to come down crashing on him.


    Then all of a sudden, through the murky red of his peripheral vision, B?ch ??i Ph¨²c realized those watching eyes were focused on him. This was a stage. He was on a stage. B?ch ??i Ph¨²c had no business on a stage. He made a small and humble snapping sound within his head.


    The lights went off.


    The stage was pitch black.


    Then, with another snap of fingers, light returned to the stage. Fearless was there, standing right in the dead of the center of the spotlights. B?ch ??i Ph¨²c was nowhere to be seen.


    The stage belonged to Fearless and Fearless alone. B?ch ??i Ph¨²c had no business on a stage, especially this one.


    However, the damage was already done. The woefully weak B?ch ??i Ph¨²c has allowed the stage to crush him when Fearless was gone.


    His heart beat in a chaotic chord, a giant mess without rhythm or pattern. His ears were oozing with the dreaded melody of the mating cicadas. His palms drenched cold in an ocean of sweat.


    However, Fearless did not allow the earth to slip under him. He stood still and straight, with his chest stuck out. Fearless could only try to salvage the damages. It was not about whether he can do it or not. It was his role and responsibility. He had to do it.


    His tears were millimeters away from spilling out.


    No, no, no, no, NO


    Fearless silently told himself. There would be no tear. He would not show a single drop to these worms.


    Yet, his eyes felt like they were violently rubbed with a fistful of blistering pepper powder. Fearless fought to control it with his masterful acting. However, the scorching summer heat broke the valves in his eyes and the damn tears rolled anyway. No amount of acting or control could stop those damn boiling liquid from rolling.


    ¡°Relax your jaws. Relax your jaws.¡± Fearless told himself inwardly, casually faking a wide lethargic yawn to fake out the source of his tears. When a person felt dreaded, his jaws would be stiff. Fearless would show these worms no sign of fear.


    This is the tears of boredom, worms.


    Fearless gave Ekar the Cruel a sidelong bored look as if he was but an oversized maggot. He established eye contact with the bandit for a brief moment and ended it on an arrogant high note. Then, Fearless yawned again, letting another drop of boiling crystal rolled on his cheek. That was the last of its kind in this fucking morning, Fearless furiously vowed. He casually brought his sleeves up to dry the corners of his eyes of those damn tears.


    The bandit stood before Fearless, staring down at him. He was taller than Fearless but shorter than Merleon and Bloodbeard. His face looked intimidating and his natural height gave him a bonus point in term of the intimidating factor. However, he was less than a human, just a worm, a mere parasitic worm, worse than insects.


    A two meters worm is still merely a worm. Human does not cry to worms. Human is above worms.


    Fearless gave the bandit his most arrogant smile, staring right back at the bandit. He has faced a demon; a mere worm like this could never scare him.


    Fearless cursed himself for his brief disappearance and accidentally let the unassuming B?ch ??i Ph¨²c stood on the stage.


    He had only himself to curse for allowing this kind of pathetic worm, a mere stupid parasite to incur such damage on him. He cursed the fucking two meters long parasitic worm for bringing the accursed song of the cicadas into his eardrums.


    He was fury for what fury was. He has not been as angry for years. In fact, all the anger he has built up until this very moment seemed to be insignificant. Unique skill or not, he as a human has allowed himself to fear a mere worm. It was insulting. That was something he could not forgive himself.


    Human does not fear worms.


    The angry curses within Fearless¡¯ head brought forth the howling silver winds of winter.


    Winter has always been Fearless¡¯ beloved season.


    The frigid winds of screaming silver drawn out the accursed song of the cicadas and cleaned his ears with their icy tune. Tears had no place in winter, only a frigid trail of crystal on the ashen cold cheeks. The touch of the magic coins bit his fingers like frostbite. It hurt but it felt great. The frosty embrace of snow would calm his jumbled heart. His mind always felt crystal-clear and tranquil like the mirror-like surface of a frozen lake when the silver cold fingers of winter clutched on him.


    Winter was Fearless¡¯ season, always.


    Winter is here, worms, and it does not like your kind.

 Chapter 37: Prince, rain and fury

    Chapter 37: Prince, rain and fury


    ¡°Where is your magic staff?¡± Ekar asked.


    ¡°Please, do you think you have a chance if I were to use a magic staff?¡± The advisor furrowed his brows as if he has just listened to the most ridiculous thing ever. ¡°Spear,¡± the advisor commanded, staring at Ekar¡¯s lackeys.


    And they gave him a blank look.


    ¡°Give him a fucking spear,¡± Ekar impatiently told his Yellers, his bodyguards, realizing they had no idea what the advisor meant with his words. He could not wait to break the advisor and tear him from limb to limbs as he has announced.


    It finally dawned on Ekar¡¯s Yellers that the advisor asked them for a weapon.


    One of them tossed the advisor a crudely made spear, a wooden stick, slightly bent, with iron tips at both ends. The advisor caught the spear with one hand and spun it around in blurry circular motions. He gave it a few snappy and quick jabs, showing his familiarity with the weapon.


    However, One-eye thought that the advisor looked more like one of those showmen who lived and die by the crowds on the streets of Kingscrown than a fighter with the way he used the spear. Suddenly, the advisor jumped and smashed the weapon to the ground as if testing its durability. The wooden stick in his hand made a crisp sound as it hit the ground, undamaged. The advisor gave a slight nod of satisfaction as he retrieved the spear.


    Ekar¡¯s Yellers jeered, mocking the advisor as he was testing his new weapon. It¡¯s understandable. Their trust in Ekar¡¯s victory was as solid as rock. They were seasoned fighters who lived through battles and campaigns with Ekar. They were Ekar¡¯s royal guards, cruel, twisted and strong just like him. However, even if they were not seasoned fighters, they would bet all of their coins on Ekar.


    Keep laughing when you still can, One-eye thought, silently mocked Ekar¡¯s Yellers for committing the same mistake as he did last night.


    Ekar was a giant among men. Had One-eye not seen Bloodbeard before, he would have thought that Ekar was the only one of his kind.


    However, unlike Bloodbeard who was forged like a bulk of tempered muscles on the godly anvil of the Sinintee, Ekar¡¯s entire body was built of stones and marbles. Ekar was strong but slow on his feet, unlike Bloodbeard. He did not have that deceptively explosiveness or the blessing of Wonten or the inability to feel the pain of Bloodbeard. However, Ekar needed none of those. Ekar was beast of his own kind, a walking fortress on the battlefield.


    As the advisor was playing with his spear, four of the Yellers carried the Bonecleaver to Ekar. Ekar grabbed it by the handle and made a few swings as if he wanted to intimidate the advisor with it.


    However, the advisor did not give a single fuck to Ekar, just minding his own business and testing his spear.


    Eventually, Ekar¡¯s Bonecleaver rested on his shoulder, a full wingspan of a grown mountain eagle of scarred black steel. It was too long, big, thick, unwieldy and rough on the edges to be a sword. It had no point, just an unsharpened trapezoid at the end where the point of the sword should be.


    That thing looked like a mistake that came out of a weed smoking smith¡¯s furnace, unfinished, a huge slab of metal with two blunt edges and a giant handle. Yet, in the hands of Ekar, it rivaled the most destructive dwarven siege engines, a force to be fear. No armor or shield was thick enough to protect anyone from the crushing weight of that blade. Other than Ekar, Bloodbeard was probably the only one in the world could use something like that as a weapon.


    However, Ekar rarely used the Bonecleaver to kill his foes. He mainly used it to dispatch his foes with a swing to their guts, shoulders, arms or legs and incapacitated them. He always avoided hitting his foes in the neck or the head. Receiving a swing from the Bonecleaver was more than enough to incapacitate most men.


    He never finished his foes during battles. Ekar just left them like that, unable to move, lying in their pool of blood, broken, trampled, bleeding to a slow death. If they managed to live through the length of the battle, usually the strongest and luckiest or perhaps unluckiest, Ekar would come back for them. He always did, searching for his dismantled foes, hoping that they would be alive to provide more entertainment for him.


    He was a cruel and fucked up bastard, even among the cruelest and most fucked up people One-eye has ever met. He would use his fists to pummel his incapacitated foes until the light went out of their eyes. That was Ekar when he was most merciful. The usual Ekar would bring his immobile victims back with him to his tent, feasted on their blood curling screams, bathed in their blood and the smell of their innards for an entire night.


    The only person in this horde that can truly fight Ekar was Bloodbeard.


    Without saying, Bloodbeard hated Ekar despite having Ekar under his command. He had no love for Ekar¡¯s sadistic nature. Yet, he kept Ekar around. Ekar was a great fighter and a great commander. He¡¯s valuable on the battlefield.


    Compare to heavily armored Ekar who was wrapped in a mismatched set of plate mail, boiled leather, gauntlets, greaves; the advisor only dressed in his long robe. One-eye guessed that the advisor intended to win the match with his quickness.


    However, Ekar was a moving fortress and his arms were siege engines. Many have tried to win against Ekar with quickness, trying to bleed Ekar with grazes on his unprotected parts. They were all dead, and Ekar still lived.


    The advisor looked as though he was chiseled out of ice, a delicate and fine ice sculpture that the dwarves would make in their winter festival to honor Sinintee. He was ¡°fair¡± and One-eye thought that ¡°fair¡± would make a strange description for a man, but here he was, the fairest of the fair. Just by standing in the presence of the advisor, as uneducated as he was, One-eye felt like he was just as eloquence as the bards.


    The advisor reminded One-eye of an elf that he has seen once on an aristocrat slave market of Kingscrown.


    Elves, they were rarely seen out of their land. A lucky slaver captured that one. The creature was displayed on a galley for the richest of nobles to bid. Its skin was untouched pristine snow without a mark. Its hair was the glimmering light of the stars. It was as though the songs that the bards often sang came to life. That creature was the closest thing to be the nude form of the Valkyria, fair and godly. It was fairer than the wives of those noblemen, the most coveted whores of high society and probably more than the king¡¯s most treasured wives. Yet, that creature was completely paled in the sight of the advisor.


    The advisor was Niwdar if Niwdar was a male god and if her hair was dark. He was the personification of beauty itself. As fair as the Valkyria were, they were no match for their mother, the most beautiful woman of all the realms. And the advisor, he was easily the fairest man of all the realms. Perhaps, only Sinintee himself could contest with the advisor.


    The advisor was anything but a capable fighter from the way he looked. People would have thought that until they learned it firsthand. One-eye certainly did, as well as the rest of Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards during the encounter last night.


    The male Niwdar they have thought turned out to be Flok¨ª, the smiling Demon Lord for what Flok¨ª was. The bit of his blade was terrible, it burned like hot brand but his smile was even more. When that smile appeared on his lips, nobody could move. That smile was petrifying and terrifying. If a person has seen that smile once, it stuck in their head forever.


    Yet, One-eye could not help but fear for the advisor¡¯s safety. His opponent was Ekar after all.


    ¡°Master advisor, please be careful,¡± One-eye warned the advisor.


    ¡°Why?¡± The advisor casually asked, as though he has never perceived Ekar to be a threat. He looked like he was about to take a nap. He did not look like a man who was about to fight the monster that was Ekar. It was a bizarre sight.


    Ekar¡¯s Yeller laughed again, jeering the advisor. And the crowds around them laughed as well. Some people from the crowd have already started making bet on how long the advisor would live.


    They thought the advisor looked like those virgin noble boys who stood on the battlefield for the first time, yet to see blood, yet to kill a man while still dreaming of dragons and glories.


    Did he really intend to fight Ekar with a spear?


    The spear would give him range, a good choice under normal circumstance. However, Ekar¡¯s weapon and his abnormal strength would pose an extremely difficult challenge. There is no way that the advisor would win this fight without using his strange magic.


    ¡°Spear,¡± the advisor stopped spinning the spear given to him and looked at Ekar¡¯s boys again. None of them understood what he meant.


    ¡°Spear,¡± he firmly repeated.


    One of them tossed him another spear out of reflex and he caught it with his free hand.


    What?


    He¡¯s fighting with two spears? One-eye has never heard of that.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s fighting style with the two halberds was already odd. The advisor¡¯s style of using two spears was even odder. However, his arms did not look like they had the strength to wield both spears at once.


    One-eye was confused. Ekar snorted in ridicule, ¡°A jester till the end,¡± and the crowd laughed. However, the advisor still had that look of nonchalance. He did not look like he cared.


    What? Two spears? Is that even possible?


    One-eye watched the advisor with his jaw slackened. He could not imagine how the advisor would fight this battle.


    How did it become like this?


    One-eye thought that he should report this to Bloodbeard and stop this fight, yet, he just stood and watched


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless was updating his r¨¦sum¨¦ inside his head.


    Military advisor (for a host of 6000 worms)


    What a career choice!


    He felt like laughing, and he did, just a bit. ¡°What was I thinking?¡± He muttered the words quietly. His career choice could not be more stupid than this.


    Then, Clariciel¡¯s warning and the bet Fearless made with her came to his mind. She scared him with her prophecy, making him think that his problem was much more serious than it was. When a goddess likes her giving that kind of prophet, of course, anyone would take it seriously.


    Fearless cursed Clariciel within his mind and blamed everything on her. He blamed that final sack of wine that he has consumed last night. He blamed that caravan of people who died to bandits. They made him drink which lead to him being drunk. If only they did not die in such a manner, he would not be so depressed and rely on that sack of wine to do away with his depression.


    Fearless blamed everything and everyone but himself. He just wanted to go to Madukat, to see the civilization of this world, to see and talk with another human being. He has somewhat expected that his trip would not be that easy.


    Iliva¡¯s reclusive life denied Fearless ¡®chance of learning the time and date of this world. He did not even know what time it was when he began his journey. He was a little bit hopeful that he has arrived at the time when Madukat has fallen under the control of the Empire. The city would know peace for a while.


    However, Fearless¡¯ worst expectation came true. He has arrived at Escana at the very beginning of the Second Great War. This was the worst time to be in Madukat and in Zard in particular.


    Fearless cursed himself that he should have crossed the Spine¡­ without mountain climbing tools, that is not an option. Maybe crossing the Great Plain? Fuck, how many months it would cost me to cross the Great Plain with his bare feet before I could see people? Madukat was the only viable option from the beginning.


    To sum up, the reasons that Fearless found himself in this peculiar situation, it was bad luck. Fearless nodded his head.


    I have done no wrong. My career choice is a mistake, but it¡¯s not my fault. This world is the one in the wrong. Might as well fix it now.


    Fearless scoffed, playing with the two spears lent to him by Ekar¡¯s lackeys. They were crudely made from hardwood, without a shred of beauty or practicality. Their balance felt wrong in his hand. One of them was even bent like a crooked chopstick. The spears were iron-tipped on both ends, their tips rusty and damaged.


    It¡¯s hard to fight with something like these. Oh, well, they are more than enough for the job.


    Fearless advanced toward his opponent, casually, without a sliver of fear or doubt in his system.


    The whole situation turned out just as he has intended.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°One-eye, step back,¡± Fearless ordered. The bandit confronted Ekar out of reflex.


    They said that the mouth is the root of all misfortune. One-eye only realized that after Ekar stood in front of him to stare down with his superior height. He froze up under Ekar¡¯s towering shadow like a gazelle in the headlight. He knew he has misspoken.


    Was Pushover a perk in the game?


    Fearless thought, believing if ¡°Pushover¡± was a perk in the game and was assigned with levels, One-eye would be without a doubt has maxed out that perk.


    ¡°You have heard it from One-eye. From today onward, I¡¯m your boss. By the way, I¡¯m your boss¡¯ uncle as well.¡± Fearless no longer had any intention to stay in the shadow of Bloodbeard and controlled this horde of bandits from within the dark. The frozen lake of early winter inside his head reflected his path. It was clear on what he has to do.


    ¡°You gotta shitting me,¡± Ekar bent his back like a drawing bow, bringing his eyes down to Fearless¡¯ height. ¡°Something like you? Something like you as my boss? You look no different from these dogs of mine,¡± Ekar violently yanked the chain in his left hand and the collared women all fell flat to the ground. He then pulled the chain and reeled the women on the ground, leaving them groaning from the pain of their skin being scrapped by the ground.


    Fearless inwardly graded Ekar¡¯s intimidating tactic with a huge E. There was only one reason he did not give Ekar a huge capital F. It was attributed to the fact that the oversized worm has realized that those women had previously had an impact on Fearless¡¯ psyche. But no longer.


    ¡°Do you need a potion?¡± Fearless asked, looking at Ekar, concerned.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I think your eyes are pretty damaged. I cannot have a commander under my command to lead a unit while being damaged in both eyes. One-eye, give me my luggage. I think I have a potion that cures eye blindness.¡±


    Ekar looked stunned, stared at Fearless with widened eyes and abruptly broke into laughter. His laughter was like thunder, a low and rumbling crack.


    Fearless has prepared himself for an attack, a punch, a grapple or a kick. But, no attack flew his way.


    Ekar turned around, looking at One-eye and his lackeys and pointing his finger at Fearless, and kept on laughing. It was as though he has heard something truly amusing from Fearless.


    His lackey obviously had no idea why Ekar laughed like that. They forced themselves to laugh as well, the kind of awkward laughter. Their laughter started to attract attention from the bandits around them. A crowd was forming.


    Ekar kept on laughing with his finger pointed back and forth between his own eyes and then Fearless. Nobody understood why he was laughing like that, not even Fearless. He intended for it to be an insult.


    ¡°You, you are great,¡± Ekar tried to stifle his laughter, ¡°My sides have never hurt so bad. You are truly great. I thought that you were a magic caster from the robe. You fooled me, jester. That was the funniest joke I have heard. Whose court you come from?¡±


    Fearless said nothing. He was still expecting Ekar to hit him at any given moment, thus, giving him the right to retaliate. Ekar was delaying the process for Fearless.


    ¡°Jester, do you know who am I?¡± The oversized worm asked, still laughing.


    ¡°No, I have not heard. How about introducing yourself?¡±


    Ekar placed a hand on Fearless¡¯ shoulder and put pressure on it, ¡°You are funny. How about becoming my personal jester?¡± He was laughing but his eyes were not.


    ¡°That would be a problem for me since you and your people are supposed to listen to my command.¡± Fearless smacked Ekar¡¯s arm, shrugging it off his shoulder.


    The crowd hushed into an eerie silence.


    ¡°Try a different joke, jester. That one is getting old,¡± there was no longer laughter in Ekar¡¯s voice, only threats.


    ¡°I see that you have a problem with listening to my command. How about this? Let Sinintee bear witness. You and me, we fight. Loser listens to the winner. That¡¯s the quickest way for the two of us to settle this.¡±


    Ekar did not attack Fearless, therefore, Fearless had to come up with another tactic.


    Ekar laughed again. ¡°Do you think you have what it takes to challenge me jester?¡±


    Fearless almost scoffed at Ekar by reflex. A parasitic worm like Ekar would be lucky to breathe the same air as Fearless and yet, he dared to question Fearless¡¯ quality. Fearless, however, did not let his pride getting in the way of his plan.


    Fearless took two steps away from Ekar, just outside of his striking range. ¡°You mean the bet? Don¡¯t worry. I have it,¡± he pretended as if he did not understand Ekar¡¯s mockery. ¡±If I lost, you can have this.¡± Fearless removed Enferm¨¦ from the thigh strap and held it in the air, ¡°Enferm¨¦, is that name known to you?¡±


    Ekar and his lackeys showed a blank look.


    In Fearless¡¯ hand was Enferm¨¦, easily the strangest looking sword that anyone has ever seen. Its blade was a bit too long to be a knife, yet too short to be a sword, and uncharacteristically thick. The blade of a sword is supposed to be thin, thus, allowing it to puncture flesh easily, not Enferm¨¦ though. The strange wave pattern similar to that of Damascus steel on its blade only made Enferm¨¦ looking even stranger.


    ¡°The sword of Seal?¡± Fearless continued to ask. He saw no reaction from his audiences, ¡°No, really? None of you moron learn anything about history? Empirefeller? Kingslayer?¡±


    A light of recognition appeared on the face of a few people among the audiences, more importantly, Ekar¡¯s. ¡°Great, you are not that stupid after all. There is hope. Yes, this is the blade that ended Craxus.¡±


    ¡°That must be a fake,¡± Ekar said.


    ¡°Fake? See this.¡± Fearless scoffed, hurling Enferm¨¦ into the air. The five meters length of black steel that wrapped around Ekar¡¯s left arm chinked and split into halves. The chain that connected the women to Ekar has been snapped. ¡°This thing cut through anything thatis not a divine relic. Diamond, Titanite, Mithril, dwarven steel, black steel or a blob of frozen fat, it makes no difference in front of this sword.¡±


    Ekar stared at the blade in awe. It unnatural sharpness and its history brought greed into his eyes. The crowds around him buzzed like bees, staring and chatting as Fearless went to retrieve Enferm¨¦. ¡°Win this fight and you shall have it.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Ekar showed a blank face. He was thinking of something.


    Fearless had no idea what Ekar was thinking inside that ugly skull. But he would not let it affects his plan.


    ¡°Not enough? Greed is a good motivation.¡± Fearless decided that he would not give Ekar a chance to dictate the situation, ¡°How about this? Inside that bag One-eye¡¯s holding, there are artifacts of equal and more value than this blade. Still not enough or perhaps you are afraid?¡± He asked with a mocking tone.


    All eyes but Ekar¡¯s were on the large luggage on the arms of One-eye.


    Fearless¡¯ mockery visibly flipped a switch inside Ekar. ¡°Me afraid? What am I afraid of?¡± It was a low and primal-like growl like that of an angered beast. Fire burned inside his eyes.


    ¡°Of losing in front of your boys. What else?" Fearless smirked, "Of showing how weak and pathetic you are,¡± Fearless pointed his finger at the collared and chained women. ¡°I have heard that you love preying on the weak and the broken. Do you think that beating up these women made you strong? That¡¯s laughable. They don''t fight back, do they? How about picking on someone who can actually fight back?¡±


    The crowds were dead in silence.


    ¡°You are very funny, jester,¡± Ekar spoke. His voice was the cracking of red coals.


    ¡°For a man so big to be so coward, what a shame. It¡¯s fine, go back to your boys and pretend that this conversation has never happened. Also, you don¡¯t have to worry about me giving you unfavorable orders in the incoming battles. I will position you and your boys at the rearmost where no arrow or blade would harm you.¡±


    ¡°If you wanted to die so bad, so be it. Everything of yours will be mine, including that flapping tongue of yours. I will rip it off your pretty mouth after I ripped your eyeballs out of those sockets and chew on them. Your ears will be cut and feed to my dogs. You won''t have eyes, you won''t have ears or a tongue. You will arrive at the hall of Mistress Death blind, deaf, crippled and stupid after I¡¯m done with bathing in your scream and innards, and then all the dead and the living will know that you are the fool, a jester who thought he could fight Ekar.¡± Ekar gnashed his teeth.


    ¡°That¡¯s unless you win the duel, fool.¡± Fearless arrogantly scoffed, ¡°But, that suits me. Winner takes all. Your possession, your people, I will take them all. Your life, to be honest, i don''t want it. Let the gods decide decide what to do with it.¡±


    ¡°Make some space,¡± Ekar thundered. His patient and calmness have run dry.


    I¡¯m ending this before Bloodbeard arrives. Fearless decided.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The advisor suddenly stabbed one of his spears to the ground and then another one. He fixed them firmly to the ground, making them planted steadfast to the ground, immovable.


    Then he casually walked toward Ekar. He made people confused. Everything he did made people confused.


    ¡°What? Did you think that I would use those spears to fight you? Don¡¯t flatter yourself. I need no weapon to fight you.¡± His voice was unwaveringly confident.


    It made One-eye asked himself a question ¡°Then what the actual fuck those spears used for?¡±


    ¡°Keep talking while you still can.¡± Ekar advanced grimly, covered in steel like a moving fortress. The sound of his greaves crushing on the ground resembled that of rumbling thunders. With every step he made, a tremor created. It was as if the gods had decided to split the realm underneath Ekar¡¯s footstep.


    ¡°Of course, I will keep talking. That¡¯s what I do.¡± The advisor showed no sign that he was fighting a death match, banteredas he entered Ekar¡¯s sword range.


    Bonecleaver swept in a low arc and a sickening ghostly sound of breaking bones echoed within One-eye¡¯s ears. He shuddered. However, that one grown eagle¡¯s wingspan of black steel caught only empty air. There was nobody in front of Ekar.


    The buzzing crowds surrounding the two fighters died away in ghostly silence.


    Everybody could see the advisor, everybody but Ekar. One-eye could guess the confusion on Ekar¡¯s face behind his iron helmet. He probably had that same stupid looking that One-eye had last night.


    ¡°You are slow. How about changing that ridiculous weapon of yours to a lighter one? You might be able to catch me,¡± the advisor was stalking Ekar¡¯s shadow from behind, scratching the back of his head, looking very bored.


    Ekar turned around, Bonecleaver flashing and caught the advisor in his ghostly shadow, looking equally stupid as its master.


    ¡°Behind you, boss,¡± one of Ekar¡¯s Yellers managed to snap themselves out of silence.


    Ekar spun around again, Bonecleaver trailing, trying to catch a glimpse of the advisor. However, the advisor would disappear and reappear underneath the shadow of Ekar¡¯s towering back.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± Ekar roared.


    ¡°Behind you,¡± the advisor replied.


    Bonecleaver thundered in a low arc and Ekar trailing behind this time. Pebbles and dust shot up as that giant blade hit the ground. Ekar kept spinning, this time, his gauntlet swept first in an angry high arc.


    ¡°In front of you,¡± the advisor disappeared and reappeared in front of Ekar, his own blade flashing for the first time. It burrowed deep into Ekar¡¯s metal breastplate with no resistance.


    Ekar growl like a wounded beast, sweeping his gauntlet again, only catching the advisor¡¯s shadow one more time. He has come to know the wickness of that blade like One-eye did.


    ¡°Behind you,¡± the advisor said, his blade tore through the back of Ekar¡¯s plate armor with no effort. Ekar raged, flapping his arms. The advisor retreated with urgent footsteps, his sword with him, to avoid the whirling storm of death that was Bonecleaver.


    ¡°Astounding! I''m surprised that you can still swing that blade. Enferm¨¦ should have sealed your <God Strength Level 1>. You are stronger than I have thought.¡± The advisor joyfully clapped his hands and commended Ekar in the dead of silence.


    There was no noise from the crowd. It was like Ekar¡¯s Yellers had their tongue removed, the same could be said about the rest of the spectators.


    Ekar groaned, dragging Bonecleaver in a lumbering arc to strike the man in front of him. But even a child could avoid it with if Ekar wielded it around with that kind of speed. The advisor playfully skipped and landed on the blade of Bonecleaver. Ekar was brought to his knees by the additional weight of the advisor. Bonecleaver slipped out of his iron grip like a slippery fish.


    The advisor looked like a nimble mountain cat. He played around with Ekar as though that moving fortress was but an easy prey. It was so bizarre of a sight that One-eye thought that he must be dreaming.


    This was Ekar, The Cruel, the Moving Fortress, and Bloodbeard''s equal in combat?


    Has he always been so weak? So vulnerable like this? Or his opponent was so strong?


    Ekar roared. His growl was loud and painful and wheezing through the iron of his visor. Blood drenched the sole of his greaves. He charged headlong, arms swinging. The advisor disappeared again. Ekar turned around, and there stood the advisor, nine or ten steps away from him.


    ¡°Face me, coward. Stop running around with your trickery,¡± Ekar roared. His fists pummeled the ground to vent his anger. Dirt erupted as Ekar pounded the ground with his heavy punches.


    The advisor laughed, ¡°What a jester. Whose court do you come from? If I faced you with my full strength, you would have arrived at the hall of Mistress Death without knowing who killed you or how you died. And that¡¯s really boring in my opinion. Besides, I promised I would leave your life to the gods before this duel, did I not?¡±


    Ekar roared, bulled ahead. He leaped, arms swooping, desperately catching the shadow of the advisor.


    Once again, the advisor was behind Ekar with at least eight steps in between.


    ¡°Face me, coward. Do you have no honor? Sinintee is watching, face me.¡± Ekar roared. His fists pounded against the ground again.


    Ekar¡¯s Yeller finally recovered their tongue, jeering, ¡°Coward, face him like a man. Stop running around.¡±


    The advisor disinterestedly shrugged his shoulders, ¡°As you wished,¡± disappeared and reappeared within a blink of an eye, standing at where Ekar should be.


    Ekar was nowhere to be found.


    One-eye thought he was seeing things and blinked his eyes. Then, he heard the most terrible noise that he has ever heard since he was born.


    He was not sure if it was a scream. It was visceral and full of regret, but it ended abruptly by a most horrid sound.


    One-eye was not even sure what he heard. It sounded like a thud, a crack and a splash all at the same time, a truly horrid sound.


    He blinked his eyes once more, staring at that familiar looking thing.


    There was Ekar. It was Ekar. He was in the middle of a crater, lying in a pool of blood of his own, broken, squashed inside his plate armor.


    The crowds were silenced again. Then, somebody among the crowd screamed.


    "The gods ruled that you are to die. You are truely unlucky," The advisor sighed, "Of all the people in this world youcanchallenge, it''s me that you challenged."


    Amidst that commotion, the advisor stood, casually cracked his neck and yawned as if he just woke up from a long slumber, ¡°Man, this skill is broken. Devs, you might need to nerf this. This skill is OP. Actually gravity is also OP. Nerf gravity as well.¡± He spoke in a foreign tongue as though he was casting some sort of magic. Or perhaps, he was praying.


    Ekar¡¯s Yellers screamed. Their howls were blood curdling. ¡°Avenge,¡± one of them drew his hatchet from his sash. The rest picked their weapons as well. They charged at the advisor. One-eye screamed, trying to stop them. But his voice drowned out by the screams of the Yellers.


    All of a sudden, things became truly horrid.


    The sky rained people.


    Raindrops that took the form of Ekar¡¯s Yellers kept falling down from the sky. A red flower blossomed every time one of those giant raindrops hit the ground with that crunchy and splashy sickening sound. The raindrops hit people and the ground as they fell, regardless, the result was a red blossoming flower. The sound of the raindrops hit the ground drowned out the scream of the avengers, the dreaded scream of belated regret, and the howls of the forever cripples.


    It rained and it kept on raining.


    One-eye was brought to his knees, doubled, retching the viscous white foamy liquid that was the moldy bread, a charred piece of jerky and half of an ice potato that he consumed during his last supper.


    The sky rained people. Every drop pommeled the ground with a sickening sound. Every drop formed a crater of red blossoming flower.


    And then, the sky decided to stop raining. The squall of people stopped as suddenly as it came.


    One-eye looked up. It was a garden of red flowers, a love letter and fresh tributes to Mistress Death. Something hit One-eye¡¯s stomach with the force of a stampeding bison. He doubled again. His stomach was completely empty this time, for good.


    The advisor stood in the middle of that garden of running red, intently looking at the sky, as if he was expecting another rain of people. Around him, there were only blossomed flowers and groveling people and crying people who had all but crawled into fetal position and abandoned their fate to the mercy of the gods. However, there was only one true god.


    That god was beautiful. His robe was grey like a thundercloud without a drop of red. His hair was dark like a starless night. That disconnected look on his face only made him more enchanted and otherworldly.


    The god sighed exasperatedly. He looked tired and bored.


    The remained of Ekar¡¯s boys wailed louder, smashing their own head against the red wet ground, groveling and begging for mercy, fearing another squall of people.


    The god sighed again.


    His face was beautiful but cold as a sheet of ice. His eyes were even colder, like the unmelting snow of Neversummer. He was a god, completely disconnected from mortals.


    The god sighed again and Ekar¡¯s boys wailed even louder as if they were newborns again. They were completely terrified as much as One-eye, perhaps more.


    That god was their mother and father. If he loved them, they would live. Otherwise, they could only count on the welcoming arms of Mistress Death to shower them with love.


    ¡°I thought that this is a duel with Sinintee¡¯s eyes watching from above,¡± the god sighed again, still looking up at the sky, as though telling Ekar''s Yellers that another squall of people would come.


    Ekar¡¯s boys cried, apologized, groveling and earnestly smashing their faces against the ground. Their faces were red with the flower¡¯s water of their friends.


    ¡°I hope I don¡¯t get fired on the first day,¡± the god said something incomprehensible, then breathed in, ¡°One-eye,¡± he thundered.


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± One-eye replied immediately.


    ¡°Oh? You are there?¡± the god still cast his gaze at the sky as if he was still expecting another rain. Then he disappeared. ¡°How did it end up like this?¡±


    He was standing next to One-eye.


    ¡°Those fools brought this upon themselves. They had only themselves to blame.¡± One-eye firmly replied.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± the god nodded his head, never looking at the flowerbed he created as though he was perfectly satisfied with his gift to Mistress Death.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care who. One of you cut off the head of that fool who requested his own execution and put it on one of the spears I previously planted. Oh, clean up this mess as well.¡± The god commanded.


    Ekar¡¯s boys groveled, earnestly accepting their mission without complaints.


    ¡°Oh, I almost forgot. The one who executes my command will be tasked as the commander of that fool¡¯s unit.¡± The god walked away and never looked back.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Don¡¯t look back.


    Don¡¯t look back.


    Don¡¯t look back.


    Don¡¯t look back.


    Fearless inwardly updated his latest favorite mantra. The previous mantra was ¡°Don¡¯t look down¡± and the one before that was ¡°Teleport, Swap, Teleport, Swap.¡±


    ¡°Worms, even though they are not people, they look like people and bleed like people. How troublesome.¡± Fearless sighed heavily.


    He approached those women who were reduced to broken toys for Ekar to demonstrate his cruelty. Fearless did not dare to look at them directly. He focused his sight on a pebble on the ground, blurring their damaged shapes from his vision.


    He squashed down and quietly activated ¡°A strange choice.¡± A ball of golden light escaped his palm and traveled toward the bounded women. A strange choice was a single target/healing AOE skill. It was a result of an episode on Jimmy Holland¡¯s talk show.


    ¡°A strange choice¡± was a skill based on a long interview of The Alliance had with Jimmy after FY won his third MVP in the MVP voting race.


    That interview was long and almost painful because it took Jimmy over ten minutes to warm Misery up to his questions. Jimmy should have interviewed FY alone, but he did not.


    One of the questions that Jimmy asked to warm Misery up was, ¡°If you are reborn as a character in the world of Escana, what kind of skill do you want to have?¡±


    It was one of those staple questions. Yet, at that time, Fearless had no idea how prophetic it was.


    Merleon answered, ¡°God Strength.¡±


    ¡°Like that farmer general?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fair. He¡¯s your favorite character after all.¡± Jimmy nodded his head.


    Fantasy replied, ¡°Maybe something that allows me to tame ancient dragons.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s broken as hell. They might as well make a sequel Rise of the Dragon Rider with you as the main character.¡±


    FY answered, ¡°Maybe a magic that would allow me to freeze or part the sea.¡±


    Jimmy then commented, ¡°That¡¯s reasonable. You don¡¯t have to build a fleet to cross the sea.¡±


    FY¡¯s most favorite warlord is a dwarven king of Starfell Island. The unique geography of the Starfell Island made it difficult for the opposing faction to invade FY¡¯s territory at the beginning of the game. However, FY would also have a hard time to invade the opposing faction¡¯s territory. He had to build a war fleet to ship his army across the sea.


    Misery scratched his cheek, ¡°Mind control. Turning my enemy units on each other would be nice.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Demon Lord, your wish is my command.¡± Jimmy bowed theatrically to Misery and turned at Fearless, ¡°And you? Mr. First runner-up in the MVP voting? What kind of ability do you want?¡±


    ¡°You just poke at where it hurt the most.¡± Fearless comically grabbed his chest and fell down, dragging Misery and FY down to the sofa with him. Then, he bounced up right away, ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Next year, it will be mine once again.¡±


    Jimmy showed a disgusted look and asked, ¡°So? Your answer?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ Maybe something that would allow me to undo damage and debuffs to ally units.¡±


    ¡°Why? I thought that you would want an ability to fly the sky like witches or burn down a castle in a matter of second.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I said ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯. You never give me enough time to think.¡±


    ¡°What? Do you really need time to think about such a question? Let¡¯s do it again. Now, close your eyes for a moment and think. What kind of ability that you really really want to have?¡±


    ¡°Okay, I have a different answer this time. I want to have a skill that would allow me to undo damage and debuffs to ally units.¡±


    ¡°What? Again? It¡¯s the same answer.¡±


    ¡°No shit Sherlock¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you look like you had a problem with me picking that answer.¡±


    ¡°Is he always this disagreeable in your team?¡±


    The Devs probably decided to humor the fans and made it real, giving Fearless exactly what he has wished for during that episode on Jimmy Holland talk show.


    Though, it was not exactly as Fearless has intended. They even put a limit on the skill, making it a single target skill. Fearless must aim it at a living target to cast and that target must not be Fearless himself.


    ¡°That was a strange mechanic.¡± Fearless honestly thought. What makes it even stranger was that he would be healed as well if he successfully cast this skill on a nearby target. That was a nutcase of a mechanic, clunky as hell.


    That orb of light contacted with one of the women and split itself into multiple smaller orbs at the size of fireflies. After that, the fireflies danced around the women and Fearless. Out of curiosity, Fearless could not help but look down. This was the second time he succeeded in casting this skill. The first time the used the skill, the target was One-eye. But, there was so much blood that Fearless did not dare to look.


    The fireflies danced on the naked body of the women, slowly, those multicolored bruises faded. The broken bones reset. The cuts, the scabs and those festering wounds withered and disappeared. It was as if Fearless was watching a movie special effect in plain sight. Soon, the women¡¯s naked backs were spotless of wounds and scars.


    Still, they were groveling, their head planted on the ground, shaking. Healed them he did, but not completely. Ekar did more than just broke their bodies.


    Fearless was suddenly reminded of that demon who he decided to lock up in the most obscure part of his memory.


    It was the same back then. It is the same now.


    He sighed. As Fearless sighed, he noticed a few of his fireflies were flying away from those groveling women. He decided to follow them, One-eye trailed behind.


    The worms of Ekar made way for him as though fearing another rain would come. Fearless could not care less about them. The golden fireflies entered a nearby tent, fourteen to fifteen meters away from those women, and Fearless followed them, lifting that fabric served as the tent entrance.


    That unique smell filled his nose.


    Fearless nearly vomited, only his gag reflex stopped that from happening. He brought his hand up to cover his nose. One of his many magic coins was there as well, pressing against his lips. It has been inside his palm for the entire length of the fight with Ekar. It stayed there with Fearless through that rain of flying worms. That coin was still with him but its magical property was stretched to the limit this time. This was the limit.


    It was like Fearless¡¯ nose was turned up to eleven all of a sudden.


    Fearless has come to know that smell after he has arrived at this world. It had a musty smell of iron, grim, brain numbing, and then times a thousand. It had that rancid rotting smell of decaying fleshes, revolting, repelling, nauseating, and then times a thousand; and then added that permeating terrible stench of feces with some kind of sickeningly cheap perfumes in the mix.


    There was nothing on earth could smell worse than such foul stench. That was death.


    The wind winter inside his head still played its icy tune but Fearless could begin to hear the faint song of the cicadas in the background. Fearless had that nipping shudder that always comes running down his spine every time he sensed something wrong. That shudder was a signal for him, it told him to stay away from this tent, as far as possible.


    Fearless closed the tent and decided that he had enough. However, the fireflies that danced around his body left him as well, entering the tent.


    ¡°A strange choice¡± only operated on living targets and the people Fearless recognized as ally units. That consisted of those groveling women, Fearless himself and whatever or whoever inside the tent.


    Fearless could imagine what is waiting for him inside of that tent from the rancid smell it exuded. He even knew who the own that tent.


    He had enough materials for a lifetime of nightmares. He had no wish to see more. That song of the cicadas was being mixed with the howling wind of winter inside his head and it was only getting louder by the minutes. His entire body was screaming at Fearless to get the hell out of this place.


    Beyond that stained brown fabric of an entrance was something worse than the heat of summer or the song of the cicadas. Fearless knew that, of course, he understood.


    Still, his feet rooted to the ground. He was not afraid. He was fearless. Yet, his feet rooted to the ground.


    He hesitated. Fearless could not understand himself.


    What¡¯s there to hesitate? Just get the fuck out of here.


    Fearless violently scratched his head, venting his frustration on his scalp. His long uncut nails gouged into his scalp, felt like they would leave marks. Dandruff started falling like snowflakes. When was the last time he took a proper bath?


    He cursed and cursed and cursed, inwardly. He¡¯s being stupid and Fearless understood that.


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± he cursed, gritted his teeth, steeled himself and entered the tent anyway, ¡°Fuck it all.¡± He did not suppose that One-eye would understand his words. He cursed in English.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± he told One-eye and entered the tent.


    Hell greeted Fearless the moment he entered that tent in its full twisted glory.


    Perhaps because Fearless was expecting it, his senses were turned to eleven, his sight, his hearing and his sense of smell, all of them.


    On one side of the tent, the side that was lit by the morning light coming through the entrance, pallid white figures hanging upside down like freshly butchered pigs inside the butcher house. Human body they were, probably, mutilated beyond recognition, without nose, lips, breasts, genitals, ears or eyes. There was no way to tell if they were men or women once. Their stomach opened. Their entrails spilled out, some slithered on the floor, some wrapped around their open belly like serpents, and some shoved back into their lipless mouth or cutout nose.


    Fearless held his breath, pressing his hand against his nose even tighter. He steeled himself, fighting back his urges to run out of the tent. Then, Fearless¡¯ gag reflex hit the limit of stopping his stomach acid. It came out. There was no way to stop it. Whatever the content of his stomach was, it came out of his mouth in a hot pouring geyser. In exchange, Fearless caught himself a full whiff of it, that rusty, rancid and sickeningly sweet smell of death. It filled his nostrils and went into his mouth. He wanted to gag and vomit out that thing that went into his mouth, but the thing that came out was just another load of stomach acid.


    He put his hand on his mouth again, like that would help.


    Fearless thought that he should get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible. He took a step to the entrance. His step was pulled back by the ground, not metaphorically. There was something like glue on the ground, sticky and gluey. Fearless dared not to look. He took another step back to the entrance. He stepped on something slippery. It went splash beneath his travel boot. Fearless held his breath. He did not want to imagine it, whatever that thing he just squashed under his sole was. He had no courage to move forward or backward. He got stuck where he was.


    His entire body was drench in sweat and enveloped by that whiffing scent of death.


    Then, Fearless saw the fireflies danced around a pitch-black corner of the tent, illuminating a shape of a human. He cursed the stupid fireflies for dragging him into such a terrible situation. Fearless directed his freed hand forward and cast <A strange choice> at the human shape that his little fireflies illuminated.


    A fourth of Fearless¡¯ mana reserve was emptied in a hurry. A golden orb of light appeared from Fearless¡¯ pushing-out palm, lighting up the entire tent.


    Horrific images after horrific images entered Fearless¡¯ eyeballs. He gagged again, but nothing could possibly come out of his empty stomach.


    People with their skin completely peeled, people with their head grow out of their opened stomach, people who formed the shape of a giant centipede¡­


    If this were a replication of hell, Fearless would rather go to hell with no eyes to see, no nose to smell, no ear to hear and no tongue to talk or taste.


    That golden orb of light traveled through the air and enveloped that human shape.


    Human, definitely, not sure if it was he or she, burnt black. It was tied to a post.


    Fearless did not stand and watch his orb of light and his fireflies to undo that damage on that charred human. He cut off the rope that tied that charred half corpse to the post and took off his robe. He wrapped that half-corpse inside his robe, put it on his back and got out of that accursed place as soon as possible. He got what he came in for.


    One-eye was standing outside of the tent as Fearless has ordered.


    It was then; Fearless remembered that he had to keep up with his act. This was a solo act of his.


    ¡°Does Ashtor¨¢ know about this place?¡± Fearless asked


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Not another word,¡± ordered Fearless. He then locked his eyes on one of Ekar¡¯s lackeys within the vicinity, ¡°You, have this entire tent burned for me by the time I come back.¡± His words were low, the calmness before a storm, threatening.


    The worm immediately bent its back into two, three or four if it could, groveled on the ground, and received Fearless¡¯ order.


    ¡°Now, where is my room?¡± Fearless turned at One-eye and asked.


    One-eye immediately put his feet into motion and lead the way. Fearless followed him closely with the half-corpse towing on his shoulder.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Fearless told One-eye after he took no more than twenty steps. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned around. He approached those naked women who were still groveling on the ground again.


    ¡°Do you morons need me to put you all on my two shoulders and carry you out of this place? I have killed the one who has chained you, now, you are mine. Is that not obvious?¡± Fearless shouted at them, venting all of his anger on their head.


    The women stayed there, hushing their quiet cries with their quivering naked bodies. They did not lift their head to look at Fearless once.


    Fearless shook his head in frustration. He understood that he was being really stupid for shouting at these women.


    ¡°Your legs are healed. Stand and follow me,¡± he commanded in a low and threatened tone. ¡°I will not repeat my order twice.¡±


    That was the only answer he could come up with to make the women listened to him.


    Just like that, the women dragged themselves up to their feet. However, their gazes were still directed at Fearless¡¯ feet. Ekar has broken them so bad that they could not even make a simple eye contact with another person.


    Fearless sighed sharply. At the moment, he had no idea what he was feeling inside his heart. He gnashed his teeth and followed One-eye, heading for his room with those women stalked his shadow and a being healed half-corpse on his shoulder.


    This was only the first day after Fearless took his position as a military advisor for Bloodbeard.

 Chapter 38: Prince and promises

    Chapter 38: Prince and promises


    In Buddhism, there is a famous teaching: Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.


    Fearless was not a Buddhist and the context of that teaching was different, however, somehow that famous teaching summed up his lifestyle, only if the part about ¡°Do not dwell in the past¡± did not apply. Otherwise, Fearless could proudly proclaim that he was a person who solely lives in the moment, which meant that he was a simpleton who lived without thinking about the consequences of his action.


    ¡°What have I done?¡± Fearless asked himself, planting his face into his palms.


    He did not regret exterminating Ekar and his bunch. He had to do what he had to do. If nobody would volunteer himself for job, Fearless would do it. It was the same back then. It was the same now.


    Fearless slumped down on the stack of hay that One-eye has prepared for him as his bedding. It smelled funny but Fearless could not care less. Even horse manure and urine would smell like a perfume to him at the moment. His nostril still filled with the sickeningly sweet smell of death, that sickening odor. Fearless had no idea how to rid himself of it.


    That musty smell like rusted iron, the toxic stench of rotten fleshes and feces combined, it clung to his body and it stayed, sticking to him like a cheap perfume. He has thought that it could not get any worse when he was performing the burial cremate for those unlucky souls at the temple of the Dark God and the robbed caravan. The tent that Ekar erected stood to challenge that belief. That tent was hell on earth, an infested hotbed of everything that was evil.


    Fearless feltthat if he were being forced to do a sanity check at the moment, he would bomb it without a doubt. It was as if everything around him was designed to break and cripple his sanity.


    No longer had the wind of winter blown inside his mind or the chirping of the cicada. It was blank, a desert of white. Fearless truly had no idea how he should proceed.


    He told himself that if Bloodbeard was a discounted version of King Agamemnon who fought the Trojan War and Fearless was an upgraded version of Calchas the seer, Fearless has screwed up very badly in contributing to the cause.


    Ekar was a useful tool for Bloodbeard on any battlefield and outside of the battlefield.


    On a battlefield, Ekar was extremely useful since his main attribute is Might. Ekar gained a lot of Might as he leveled up. He can tank a lot of hits from his opponents and dishes out devastating counterattacks. Also, he possessed two useful skills <Cruelty> and <God Strength>.


    Outside the battlefield, Bloodbeard would send the most unruly bandits and the most treacherous one to Ekar, and Ekar would show Bloodbeard the result. The two of them would play a good cop & bad cop routine on those unruly people until those people became broken, bendable and obedient to Bloodbeard.


    Ekar would commit all the atrocities that Bloodbeard had no gut or balls to commit himself in order to terrorize their enemies. Bloodbeard only need to give an order and Ekar would execute them.


    Ekar was something of a champion among Bloodbeard¡¯s army, a discounted version of Achilles or Ajax perhaps, and Fearless has just executed him along with his troops, a bunch of discounted Achilles¡¯ myrmidons.


    However, even if Ekar was a discounted version of Ajax, he was without a doubt, a cornerstone of Bloodbeard¡¯s horde.


    Yet, he was killed too easily. His Might attribute would have made it impossible for Fearless to fight him if this was ROC the game. His armor rating would have made it impossible for Fearless to wound him. His large health pool and his high attack rating would have destroyed Fearless in a matter of five seconds.


    However, the Might attribute of Ekar, no matter how high it was, it would not protect him from a thirty meter high free-fall. Perhaps, if Ekar were a Garuda, a witch, a dragoon, or a warlock, the result would be very different.


    Fearless could only acknowledge that his skill was seriously broken.


    He did not have to fight anyone, just teleport himself to the sky and let the gravity do all the dirty work. It worked especially well on heavily armored targets like Ekar. The heavier they were, the harder the fall.


    Though, if this was within the realm of the game, Fearless would not expect the skill <The Magician> to deal any damage to targets. The developers must have never thought that the skill <The Magician> could be used in the way Fearless used it. But then, there was a five seconds cool-down limitation put on the skill despite that cool-down timer only existed in the skill description menu. So, perhaps, they had expected it to be used in that manner and tried to ban it with the cool down.


    Fearless has tried to use three of his skills <The Magician>, <What you can do, I can do better>, and <A strange choice>. These three skills had cool-down timer according to the description to the invisible menu inside Fearless¡¯ head stated with <A strange choice> had a thirty second cool-down, yet, Fearless had not experience anything like that. There was no cool-down in between. He could use them however he wanted and whenever he wanted as long as his mana reserve allowed him to do so.


    <The Magician> was already a broken skill on its own. Yet, without the existence of a cool-down timer limitation, it became insanely broken. It was then, Fearless thought about that< Meteor> loving Arch Magus, just how broken that person would become when he could continually cast his <Meteor > in a rampage, the same way Fearless cast his <The Magician>. With the help of a mana refilling or improving artifact, that <Meteor> Maniac could actually summon a rain of <Meteor>, a <Meteor Rain> if there was no cool-down limitation.


    There would be no castle, fortification, divine relic, or defensive magic in existence to stand against something like that.


    Fearless doubted that even if a Might type Demon Lord was successfully summoned into this world, facing against that <Meteor> Maniac without a cool-down timer, it would become a one-way massacre for that poor Demon Lord.


    ¡°O, Joy.¡±


    Fearless sighed again. The logics that applied in the game and Earth might not apply to this world. In this world, the game logics and the Earth¡¯s logics became mixed up in a messy jumble. This world was like the intersected area between two intersecting circles that were Earth and ROC the game.


    Fearless has been sighing for a while now. He regretted making neither the decision to execute Ekar nor the decision to make a red rain of worms.


    Fearless take pride in being a human and Ekar and his bunch are worms, of course, it was either him or them. And there was no them the moment the wind of winter started howling inside Fearless¡¯ head. Winter was not the season for worms. Their kind can only live and prosper in the heat of summer.


    Instead, Fearless was worrying about how he should talk his way out of this trouble. At the same time, he wanted to run away very badly and stopped associating himself with Bloodbeard and his bandits.


    Fearless had no doubt that if he wished to run now, there would be nobody within Bloodbeard¡¯s army could catch him. After spending a nearly fruitless morning to exterminate a bunch of worms, Fearless has leveled up for the first time since he said goodbye to Iliva, that was the amount of harvest he managed to reap.


    Ekar must have been grinding his level for sometimes, despite being the kind of parasitic worm he was. Fearless gained a total sum of two levels from killing Ekar alone. The game script seemed to recognize the little duel Fearless had with Ekar as a rebellion, which was seriously funny because that was the shortest rebellion in the history of rebellions.


    As the result of winning that duel against Ekar, Fearless has reached Level 5 now. He possessed a sum of 5 ability points from his leveling and distributed them evenly among his skills.


    He added an ability point into <Heart of Champion> to learn it and another ability point to upgrade <The Magician>.


    Fearless understood that he was a utility general by the role he was given, therefore he invested his ability points across his skills. The only skill that was not accessible to him at the moment was his ultimate skill: <Witch Lover>. It was still grayed out on his ability sheet. It would take Fearless to reach Level 10 to acquire his ultimate skill.


    After investing the second ability point into The Magician, the effective range of the skill improved, jumping from a roughly 30 meters effective range to roughly 50 meters while the mana cost to activate the skill was cut down by a fifth. Ekar¡¯s lackeys became the guinea pigs for Fearless to test his skill, and they served their purpose.


    With <The Magician>, Fearless could escape Bloodbeard and his gang any time he wanted.


    Yet¡­


    ¡°And what should I do with you people?¡±


    Those nine women Fearless has saved, he had no idea what he would do with them. Healed them he did, unchained them he did, made One-eye to give them clothes to wear he did, and Fearless had no idea what the next step to take.


    They knelt in front of him, huddling to each other, groveling still as though they were dogs. Fearless freed them of their chains and collars with the sharpened edge of Enferm¨¦. Freed them from their shackles he did, however, these women were still slaves and dogs of Ekar. Even the tiniest of movement that Fearless made would scare them. Even the sound of him clearing his throat would make them cringe.


    They have no courage to look at Fearless in the eyes. Their gazes cast down to the ground, always. If they looked at Fearless, they would look at the sole of his feet, his shadow and no more than that.


    When Fearless commanded them to look at him in the eye, it took them over a full two minutes to mutter the courage to do so. Their eyes were hollow, scarred and devoid of purpose. There was nothing in those listless murky eyes, not hope, not courage, not hatred, nothing but plain old fear.


    Words, no matter how gentle they were would not reach these women. In fact, the gentlest of words terrified these women more than anything. That alone gave an idea to Fearless of how Ekar reduced these women to such pitiful state.


    They were pitiful, looking at those women Fearless was reminded of a groveling boy on a summer evening. They were pitiful, Fearless thought. Even though he could see their exposed flesh, their chest, thighs, and more through the clothes One-eye provided, Fearless felt not a single millimeter of lust within him. He thought that they were women only in shape.


    Ekar called them his dogs, and Fearless thought that Ekar has really transformed them into his dogs. They looked like beaten dogs, forever scarred, forever cowering to man, forever distrusted the hands of man.


    Fearless sighed. He would hug them and try to mend their scars, if and only if he had the time for that. At the moment, Fearless had his hand full with his own matter. These women were nothing but a burden to him in their current state. Fearless could not picture himself relying on them for even the simplest of tasks. He could not rely on them for anything, that he understood.


    Yet, Fearless has saved these women from Ekar, not fully, but he did to a certain extent. He could not let the worms had their ways with these women again.


    ¡°Might as well considering them as a handicap,¡± Fearless quietly muttered, convincing himself that he had enough capacity to take them in. He knew that he was being goddamned stupid and he knew that. He had all the problems in the world to solve and these women should not be one of them. Yet, somehow, they did, a problem of his. He started to suspect that Clariciel all along has engineered the current development. That would explain that faint smile she had when she bid her farewell to him. Fearless mockingly laughed at himself for sounding like a conspiracy theorist.


    He¡¯s getting more and more insane ever since the moment when he first arrived at this bizarre world.


    Taking these women under his wings at the moment was the act of masochism and stupidity.


    Fearless knew that he could only laugh. What else could he do but laugh?


    If this was a business and Fearless was the owner, the decision of including these broken women with him would have run this business down to the ground. Cutting down on the burden was a logical choice.


    If this current situation was a game of ROC, Fearless had only himself to count on. It was like playing the game with a bunch of newbies who knew nothing about the game while facing a group of veterans. Fearless would not have FY on his side with his usual grand stratagem prepared for every situation. He would not Misery to run decoy for him. He would not have bases and support readily provided to him by Merleon and Fantasy.


    He was truly alone in this world, an alien.


    Within the depth of his mind, Fearless cursed the developers and his fans for including him in this world without asking for his permission. He loved this world when it was a game but it did not mean he wanted to live inside it. Only a lunatic would want to live in a world that was constantly in a state of perpetual war for the entertainment of people.


    Fearless was exhaust within his mind. He knew it¡¯s only a matter of time before Bloodbeard would come looking for him, demanding to know the reason why Ekar was killed.


    Fearless devised several sale pitches within his mind to prepare for that. His mind was working, but barely. His mind worked at the abysmally slow speed when he compared it to the usual speed, and sometimes, it disconnected for unknown reasons.


    His magic coins kept spinning within his sweaty palms but none of his problems was resolved as usual. At one point, he even told himself ¡°Fuck that,¡± and prepared to give Bloodbeard to the same treatment as Ekar and then assumed the bandit lord¡¯s identity with <What you can do, I can do better> to take Bloodbeard¡¯ army. That¡¯s a short-term solution to all of Fearless¡¯ problems but Fearless doubted that he could keep faking his identity for an extended period and his problems were growing in number at the moment.


    It was then, Fearless asked himself what did he wanted the most. He thought he might as well aim for a single target.


    He resignedly sighed, sinking his back into the stinking stack of hay that he was provided. The sound of him diving into the hay made those women cringed even further. Fearless lamented within his mind that he was really better off without them.


    Nobody in this world could give Fearless what he truly desired, not himself, not Clariciel, not the gods and goddesses and not even the Demon Lords. Fearless sighed again. He wished that someone would give him a something with high alcohol content at the moment. He would drink away his problems. He would drink until all of his problems stopped being problems.


    ¡°One at a time,¡± Fearless exhaled al the depressed air within his lungs, muttering FY¡¯s favorite phrase, ¡°One at a time.¡± That was FY¡¯s style and motto, never Fearless. FY would deal with his problem one at a time. That was the opposite of Fearless.


    Fearless took a deep breath, trying to ignore the lingering scent of death wrapping around his half-naked body. He tried to think of positive things to rouse himself up. He needed to stay positive.


    Fearless bounced off from his humble bedding and the women sharing the room with him cringed, huddled to the corners. Fearless push them into the secluded part of his mind, telling himself that he would deal with them when he had the time.


    Ignoring the cowering women, Fearless unpacked his luggage to find one of his SSR ranked items and put it on. For the first time in weeks or months, he was Fearless of The Alliance again.


    The black and gold of the uniform fit his body perfectly. It felt like it was tailor-made for him, unlike the Greyscale ¡®s loose and baggy hooded robe which he wore throughout his journey across the Bison Prairie. Fearless¡¯ left arm was 0.5 centimeters longer than his right, and this uniform fitted his body perfectly. It¡¯s bizarre. Fearless thought that it was impossible for the developers to know this detail and coded his uniform to fit his size, just like the many unresolved mysteries around this strange world.


    Fearless did not believe that he was a result of a piece of codes came to live. It¡¯s hard to believe. It was too surreal. It¡¯s impossible. He has thought about that during the time he traveled with Iliva and throughout his journey across the Bison Prairie. He theorized that he was trapped in some kind of obscured government-involved virtual reality experiments like those popular science fictions.


    Then, Fearless¡¯ ears picked up those heavy footsteps. They were rage. They were remorse. They were confused. They were shame. Fearless heard them long before the women could. He has wasted too much time thinking about something worthless, and now his biggest trouble is at his doorstep.


    Fearless took a deep breath. He opened the creaky termite-eaten door of his room and closed them behind his back. It would not take a genius to guess the identity of the person who was climbing the stairs.


    Fearless would greet that person on his own term. He slowly descended the stairs with his hands behind his back, striding with casual and regal pace.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless thought that Bloodbeard lost his tongue for a moment. The bandit lord stood and stared at Fearless with blank eyes. He looked like he was about to scream at Fearless with his thundering voice and all of a sudden, his tongue was lost and the bandit lord just stood gagged in silence.


    Fearless was not sure if the bandit lord¡¯s reaction had anything to do with his own nonchalance or his uniform. However, the sudden pause in the bandit lord¡¯s tempo gave Fearless an advantage in this conversation. Fearless seized it.


    ¡°Why are you so out of breath?¡± asked Fearless. Bloodbeard obviously did not look like he was out of breath but Fearless thought that it would be a good line to start the conversation.


    ¡°Uncle, you killed Ekar and his Yellers. Why?¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s voice boomed like thunder within the narrow stairway of the guard tower.


    Fearless immediately decided that it was not good for his own eardrums to talk with Bloodbeard in the current location. ¡°Come with me,¡± he told Bloodbeard.


    ¡°We are not going anywhere until you explain yourself.¡± Bloodbeard roared.


    Fearless activated ¡°The Magician¡± to position himself behind Bloodbeard. ¡°If you wanted me to explain myself, come with me first. Before that, calm yourself down.¡±


    ¡°You ask me to calm down?¡±


    ¡°If you, the head and the commander of this army could not calm yourself in this kind of situation, how can you lead them to fight Hyrios?¡± Fearless retorted, strolling down the stairs with his even and casual strides. He did not bother looking back at Bloodbeard once.


    ¡°Uncle, you always talk like you know everything. But do you even know what have you done?¡±


    For once, you have finally asked a very smart question, Fearless thought. If Bloodbeard did not wholeheartedly believe in that strange dream of his, it would have been very different, this entire development. It made Fearless felt disgusted for playing a puppet to whoever constructed that divine dream within Bloodbeard and manipulate the entire situation.


    If Bloodbeard was king Agamemnon and Fearless was Calchas, Fearless has been without a doubt executed in this very moment.


    ¡°Do you want your questions answered or not?¡± Fearless did not budge, ¡°If you do, come with me,¡± he told Bloodbeard the same thing for the third time.


    Bloodbeard grudgingly listened and followed Fearless in the end. If only Bloodbeard knew, that Fearless only was bidding his time to deal with the aftermath.


    As soon as Fearless was out of the guard tower, there was a buzz in the atmosphere. The packed bailey of the Bundor Bastion that Bloodbeard used to set his barrack buzzed like a beehive in the rain.


    Fearless pretended he did not see rows and columns of worms that prostrated on the ground in a hurry. It was a bizarre scene under normal circumstances. However, after Fearless taught a ten of dozens of them to fly in the morning, Fearless expected no less from them.


    These worms were religious as they were superstitious. That was a common trait of people of White Winter. A comet crossed the sky could deter them from an easily winnable battle. A lightshow of aurora would make them question the mood and the approval of the gods. Anything strange and unexplained by common sense could be chalked up as the work of the Demon Lord or the Devil or the gods. Above all, these worms were cowards.


    Fearless¡¯ sharp ears picked up the quiet prayers to Sinintee, asking for mercy and protection. Those prayers made Fearless wanted to laugh his asses off.


    Sinintee was the god of civilization and destruction, which meant he is a god of war in nature. And war favors none, war spares none, and war shows mercy to none.


    Craxus was Sinintee¡¯s beloved champion, and still, Sinintee would not protect the man from defeat, pain and death.


    All is fair in war. If Sinintee did not protect the souls of the innocence from the like of Ekar, Sinintee would not protect these worms either. Asking mercy from Sinintee is like asking mercy from war itself. These worms obviously prayed to the wrong god. They should have prayed to their Mistress Death instead.


    The souls of the living belonged to the four patron deities of Escana. The souls of the dead belonged to Mistress Death.


    If the scene was already bizarre to Fearless, it must have been a thousand times more bizarre to Bloodbeard. Fearless has killed Ekar, the master of these worms, yet these worms did not reject or hated him. They worshiped Fearless instead. That was what confused Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard asked those groveling worms to rise with a surprised voice, but there was no spine in their back. He anticipated anything but the sign of total submission and the prayers of his worms used to revere Fearless. The worms could only stay in that contemptible position of theirs until they received the permission to have their spine back.


    Bloodbeard and Ekar reined these worms with strength and terror. Fearless did the same thing, proving that he was stronger than Ekar in a duel and proved that he was also crueler than Ekar at the end of the duel. He used their horde-managing formula but with better efficiency.


    Their strategy bit their own asses. However, Bloodbeard did not look like he understood that.


    Many of Bloodbeard¡¯ worms that had a bit of brain inside their head, just a small bit but bigger than their groveling kind. They scurried and hid within their erected tents, sticking only their fearful eyes out to observe. Worms like these made Fearless wanted to laugh even more. If they were so afraid of him, they should have escaped when they had a chance.


    Then, there was the kind of worms that just woke up despite the rowdiness of the previous duel Fearless had with Ekar, looking between Fearless and their own kinds with confused eyes. Some of them instinctively copied the behaviors of the worms in the surrounding. The other did not. Regardless, they still made Fearless wanted to laugh.


    However, Fearless never laugh. He wore a calm and ice-cold mask as he walked through the ranks of prostrating worms. He returned to the place where he exterminated Ekar and the many of his bunch.


    There was something mounted on one of the spears Fearless planted to the ground, dripping red and appeared like a shaggy soccer ball. Fearless did not wish to see it. The moment it appeared at the edge of his vision, he turned his sight away. Then, there were the worms that were cleaning the mash of flowing blood that Fearless created. They saw him and immediately called each other to prostrate on the ground. Fearless did not bother to look at them, letting them groveling within that red flowing mess for as long as they wanted.


    Fearless did not command them to kneel or to grovel. They did that on their own accord. Fearless being the lover of free will, he let them do what they wanted. Fearless only turned around to see Bloodbeard with a sidelong glance once. The bandit lord was in utter confusion. He had no idea why his worms would react like that.


    He brought Bloodbeard to Ekar¡¯s tent that was but a soaring red pyre and a column of black smoke. Grey ashes and fleeting orange embers drifted in the air, carrying with them the charred scent of death. Even the fire could not wipe away the stench of hell that emanated from Ekar''s abode.


    Only then, Fearless turned around and looked at Bloodbeard in the eyes, ¡°Do you know what happened to the people who have disappeared inside this tent?¡±


    Bloodbeard had the look as though he has expected that question. He looked like a spoiled child, a spoiled forty years old child. It was honestly a punishment for the eyes, Fearless thought and kept it to himself.


    ¡°That does not explain why you have to kill him,¡± Bloodbeard defended himself.


    ¡°Do you know? Yes or no.¡± Fearless firmly asked.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes or no?¡± Fearless did not budge. He knew the answer but he wanted to listen to Bloodbeard¡¯s confession, just to make sure.


    ¡°Yes, however¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough. You don¡¯t have to explain,¡± Fearless waved his hand, much to Bloodbeard¡¯s frustration. ¡°I can imagine what you would tell me. Therefore, we should cut the chase. You wanted to know why I did what I did, correct? I will tell you right now.¡±


    Fearless could feel the sudden drop of temperature in his own voice, hinting of suppressed anger and disappointment. If Bloodbeard had the subtlety to pick that up, great, but if he wasn¡¯t, also great.


    If Bloodbeard did not pick them up, Fearless would demonstrate them in the most visually compelling manner to the bandit lord.


    ¡°One-eye made a careless slip and the secret is exposed. It¡¯s your mistake to let him know about your vows to me. It was a lot sooner than I have expected but it¡¯s only the matter of time before someone could realize that you receive orders from me.¡± Fearless criticized the bandit lord. When the bandit lord vowed to Fearless, they were alone, yet One-eye knew about the vow.


    Bloodbeard must have told One-eye.


    Bloodbeard furrowed his forehead. His deformed and scarred face crumbled, revealing only unrepentant huffishness.


    ¡°Let me remind you of your vows and the conditions I asked of you before joining your army. The first clause, I will support you in the shadow without getting in the way of your command. However, I also told you that if situations required, my decisions take precedence over yours. And if our secret would be exposed, I will reveal myself and do what is necessary.¡±


    ¡°And you think that murdering Ekar is necessary?¡± Bloodbeard gritted his teeth. Losing Ekar all of a sudden over a stupid reason must sting like a tumor appeared inside his brain over the night to him.


    ¡°Murder?¡± Fearless repeated the strange word that Bloodbeard used.


    According to the translation he received from Iliva¡¯s pearl, the word ¡°Murdering¡± that Bloodbeard spoke in the Nord tongue consisted of two words, <Rami> and <Zaar>, which meant <Man> and <Slayer> respectively. When combined the two words together, it became <Murder> or < Will Murder> or <Murdered>.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    There are only three tenses in the Nord tongue, the past, the present, and the future. To convert a clause into the past tense, people only need to add the word <Rire> at the start of the sentence. And to make it a future tense, substituting <Rire> with <V¨¦re>.


    Because the wording Bloodbeard used, Fearless was confused.


    ¡°Are you pretending that you weren¡¯t the person who killed Ekar?¡± Bloodbeard raged. In his anger, he stepped forward and used his natural height and deep voice to threaten Fearless.


    ¡°No, absolutely not. Your word confuses me a little bit. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Which word?¡±


    ¡°Ramizaar,¡± Fearless replied, ¡°I certainly did not murder him.¡±


    ¡°Are you still trying to deny it?¡±


    ¡°Look, I gave him a sentence. That¡¯s all I did. The gods decided his fate,¡± For a moment, Fearless almost carelessly replied, I merely had him exterminated.


    Ekar was no human. He was a fucking worm. Killing a worm is not an act of murder. Therefore, it was incorrect for Bloodbeard to accuse Fearless with the crime of manslaying.


    Fearless was never a manslayer. He broke many hearts, hurt and destroyed many people. However, he has never killed anybody. That was his line.


    ¡°You killed him!¡±


    Bloodbeard angrily roared. Ekar was one of his best commanders. Losing Ekar was a huge blow to the bandit lord.


    ¡°No, I gave him a sentence, leaving his fate to the hands of the gods watching above. If the gods decided to spare him, he would be alive and healthy by now.¡± Fearless explained as though he was chiding Bloodbeard like a child.


    ¡°What sentence? You killed him.¡±


    ¡°Let me give you a demonstration.¡± Fearless sighed. He immediately decided on the target of his demonstration.


    Fearless squatted down next to a groveling worm. ¡°Hey, do you think you can help me with a little bit of demonstration? I will demonstrate to your leader what I did to Ekar.¡±


    The worm desperately shook his head. His face clouded with terror and desperation. Tears and snots smeared his face in the quiet shakes. He was so afraid that he could not speak a word. Within a second, his entire body joined the shaking and the worm became a human shaped vibrator.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that. Just a little bit of demonstration. It won¡¯t hurt anybody,¡± Fearless grabbed the worm¡¯s shoulder.


    The worm screamed for mercy, incoherently was his sound as if he has just received a TPI to his jaws. The worm resorted to repeatedly hit his head against the ground.


    ¡°It won¡¯t hurt. Trust me,¡± Fearless promised and squeezed the worm¡¯s shoulder, beaming a bright smile. He could feel the shiver that ran up from the back of the worm¡¯s spine.


    The poor worm immediately turned around, clumsily scurrying away on all fours, screaming and breaking into a full run.


    Fearless exasperated. He was bored. The worm did exactly as Fearless has predicted. Fearless wished that the worm would have tried to trust his psychotic smile and braved the demonstration for Bloodbeard to see. That would be shocking, a much welcomed shocking experience that would definitely brighten up Fearless¡¯ shitty mood.


    Fearless turned around and pointed at the sky, telling Bloodbeard where to look. Not just Bloodbeard, but all the worms within the surrounding area also looked up as well. Maybe not all. There were more than several hundreds of them still kept their head down as if their heads were glued to the ground.


    Fearless activated <The Magician> once, sending himself fifty meters into the sky. Then, he activated the same skill on that scurrying-away worm, swapping their positions.


    The worm¡¯s scream filled the atmosphere. He screamed almost like that of a human. It sounded like the sound of a person would make while standing in front of death¡¯s door as his life flashing before him.


    And yet, worms are not human.


    The worm kept screaming, on and on, even when he was back to the ground, lying down in a fetal crawl. He was flailing and screaming still. He kept screaming until there was no air in his lungs.


    Fearless has perfectly timed the third <The Magician>.


    When the skydiving worm was a meter away from the ground, Fearless swapped their positions again. Fearless only had one meter from the ground to land and the worm was lying on the ground where Fearless has stood, flailing around with all of his desperation. He was physically unharmed, physically.


    <The Magician> did not carry the momentum of the swapping targets over. All the momentum, which previously applied on Fearless and his targets before using the skill, would disappear into the unknown vacuum of magic when <The Magician> was activated. In a nutshell, it showed the middle finger to the Law of Conservation of Energy.


    Fearless only realized how important this aspect of <The Magician> was from his time spending on the Prairie while pranking that herd of bison and hunting mountain eagles. If the momentum was carrying over, Fearless would have killed himself in all sort of spectacular bloody manners.


    Only when the worm has realized that he was still alive, he stopped moving. He used his hands to pat his face, his forehead, his arms and the entire body. And he cried like a newborn would.


    ¡°See? It won¡¯t hurt.¡± Fearless told the worm, looking back at Bloodbeard, pretending he did not hear that farting and excreting sounds coming from his back.


    The bandit lord stared at Fearless, jaw slacken.


    ¡°My Gods give me this ability for my service.¡± Fearless shouted, pointed his finger at the sky, ¡°Just like that, if the gods decided that Ekar should live then, he would be still alive like this fellow,¡± Fearless flexed his thumb to his behind. ¡°The fact that he died with his group, it only meant that the gods had no wish for them to live. Do you hear it? The gods said that worms like Ekar did not deserve to live. They said that Ekar was a massive fool for challenging my authority,¡±


    Fearless¡¯ voice drowned out the buzzes of Bloodbeard¡¯s worm, the howling winds, and even the cracking red pyre that carrying stench of death. The loudness of his voice was one of the things that Fearless has his absolute faith in, even dated back to his primary school days.


    The kids around him were bigger and stronger. They punched harder than he did. Their kicks hurt more. However, Fearless only need to have a louder voice than theirs. A single shout that was so loud that it could summon an army of girls to fight for him was all he needed.


    His voice, too, was Fearless¡¯ weapon. It was sharpened like the other weapons of his over the years. Fearless used it to make sure that as many of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms could hear him. Regardless, he was only bullshitting.


    It was then, the groveling worms and all the worms that witnessed the end of Fearless¡¯ duel with Ekar, they received a grim reminder. They groveled on the ground in disgrace like the worms they were for a damn good reason.


    They loudly prayed to the gods for the mercy. Then they prayed to Fearless, ¡°Merciful master advisor, Merciful Master Advisor,¡± with the same admiring tone that One-eye used to address Fearless.


    Even those worms that did not see the duel started to mimic their kind, submitting on the ground and giving praises to their gods and then Fearless.


    At first, it was just a few dozens, no more. Then, it went viral in a matter of seconds. Dozens quickly became hundreds and it kept on spreading.


    Hundreds quickly became thousands.


    Those worms did not just grovel in the ground. They started kowtowing, smashing their head against the ground as they prayed to Fearless, making that thud thud sounds.


    Fearless has certainly willed the situation to this end, however, not to such an effect. He expected only 20% to 30% of the current result. Regardless, Fearless realized that this was a chance. He seized the moment, casually shrugging his shoulders while staring at Bloodbeard to challenge the bandit lord for any retort with a faint smile on his lips.


    But Bloodbeard could make not retort.


    The bandit lord was completely caught in the moment. He looked around with a blank look on his face as if he truly had no idea what was going on in the surrounding. Fearless did not blame Bloodbeard for that.


    The atmosphere was filled with the chant of a host of thousands worms.


    If only the worms did not call Fearless as ¡°Master Advisor¡± and chanted ¡°Fearless¡± instead, Fearless would have thought that he was back on Earth, standing on the greatest stage that the Pro League of ROC had to offer. Their chants rocked the atmosphere. Fearless felt his bones grinded against each other and his blood pumped. It was such an intoxicating feeling. Fearless was made for stages like this.


    It was like a cult, those prostrating worms were the members of a cult and Fearless was their revered idol. Among their prayers, Fearless managed to pick up ¡°Avatar of Sinintee¡± among all the prayers.


    That was one of Craxus¡¯ many titles. It was one of the most revered titles that a man of the North could gain.


    Bloodbeard was obviously at loss of what to do and ran out of what to say. Killing Ekar should have a negative impact on these worms, killing Ekar should have made it impossible for Fearless to be accepted by these worms. It should have an opposite effect. Yet, as the bandit lord turned around to have a clear look at the worms, his worms, they used to be, and then Fearless, his expression was that of disbelief. Looking at Bloodbeard and his worms, Fearless came to realize just what kind of beings they were.


    Bloodbeard and the majority of his worms came from White Winter, the holy land of the worshippers of Sinintee and the Great Temple.


    White Winter was originally a very religious kingdom according to the lore of ROC. Kingscrown was the capital city of the Empire that Craxus found, and thus, it became the heart of the Great Temple to worship Craxus¡¯s main patron deity, the great Sinintee himself.


    The headquarter of the Great Temple, the Escana Lad¨¦rdoura Sanctum, which meant ¡°The Great Flame on Escana¡± in the ancient Titan tongue, was built on Lake Shore Isle, a large island in the middle of the great Lake Mirror, hundreds kilometers away from Kingscrown. Craxus¡¯ body was cremated on the ground of that sacred temple after he was killed.


    All these kowtowing worms, they were born listening to the doctrine of Sinintee and grown up believing in the gospels of Sinintee¡¯s disciples. They were a superstitious and fanatic bunch, extremists even. These fanatic worms made it easy for the Emperor of White Winter and the Supreme Priest of the Great Temple to declare wars and crusades on the neighbor kingdoms. They were willing to believe in any sigh of divinity or anything that the disciples of Sinintee told them.


    These beings, these worms, their world revolved around the doctrine of Sinintee and Sinintee¡¯s disciples.


    Sinintee advocated his followers to be more civilized and humane than their counterparts; otherwise, they would share the same fate as the extinct Titans.


    The word ¡°civilized¡± and ¡°Humane¡± in the Nord tongue did not have the same meaning as they were on Earth.


    Sinintee taught his disciples to be more ¡°civilized¡± and ¡°humane¡± than the world around them. But this virtue of being ¡°civilized¡± and ¡°humane¡± only meant stronger, smarter, wiser, technologically and culturally superior. Being ¡°Humane¡± in Sinintee¡¯s world had nothing to do with being kind, sympathetic, or being motivated by the concern of alleviation of somebody¡¯s suffering.


    Might makes right. That was the cheat code used to summon the Valkyria to the players¡¯ side during any single mode campaign. The moment that cheat code was used, there was nothing the AI can do to make the players lose, not even Heavennet.


    Might makes right. That was the world of Sinintee. Sinintee was not wrong.


    People thought Sinintee was a kind god. After all, he gave them the divine flame which previously only given to the Titans against the wish of his own father. People thought Sinintee loved them. After all, he gave them his blessing to protect themselves from their hostile environment and taught the word of wisdom.


    People were not wrong either.


    However, surely, Fearless thought, surely, at least someone among them must have realized the nature of Sinintee¡¯s love.


    Sinintee¡¯s love, it was not the parental love of a father toward his children. It was the love of an engineer toward his creations. It was the love of a scientist toward his lab rats.


    Fearless intended to use their faith against them. However, he did not intend for it to happen so fast. He thought that it would take many arduous days or weeks before he could do that.


    Fearless silently clicked his tongue. It took him only a single morning and the effort to vanquish a meager ten of a dozen of worms to convert them. It was disgustingly easy and successful that Fearless felt afraid. His plan worked too well and too successful for his liking. His easy success dreaded him with a sense of doubts as though it was a machination of someone else. Fearless refused to believe that he alone got this far and quickly with his schemes and acting. His schemes came to fruition too soon.


    He has only suspected that there was a god or a Demon Lord pulled the strings from behind the scene before. Now, Fearless was sure that he has been caught in someone¡¯s machination. Somebody with the ability to construct a divine dream was pulling the string here.


    The prayers ¡°Avatar of Sinintee¡± made Fearless suspected that Sinintee himself was the one who strung this situation together from behind the scene and Fearless was but his unknowing puppet. However, it was not a solid evidence for Fearless to conclude.


    His inner thought, Fearless did not let that showed on his face. He approached Bloodbeard, ¡°Ekar obstructed my authority, and so did his bunch. I told him to back down but he refused. Therefore, I had to demonstrate a piece of my ability,¡± lightly pounding the confused bandit lord in his chest. ¡°If I did not do that, the chain of command would be broken. I did what I have to do.¡±


    ¡°But, do you have to kill him?¡±


    ¡°Your men would question your orders and any order that came from me. It has to be done. Look, see the result?¡±


    It took Fearless a night to charm Bloodbeard and a single morning to convert Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. It had to be a record. As for the worms of Bloodbeard, they were no longer his, nor White Winter¡¯s nor the dead Ekar¡¯s. That, even a child could understand, let alone a person like Bloodbeard. The bandit lord has realized that his army was no longer his as he stood like a statue amidst the chants of his worms.


    White Winter governed these worms with lies, religion, and wars over a hundred years.


    Ekar harnessed his worms with his terror and cruelty over decades.


    Bloodbeard ruled over these worms with his might, wit and successful campaigns over half a year.


    Within a single morning, it all came apart. Fearless used their blueprints and recipes against their worms.


    Seeing the bandit lord¡¯s confusion and inner conflicts, Fearless finalized the deal. He closed the distance between himself and Bloodbeard, whispered, ¡°Ekar is a commander of yours, a commander who can win you a dozen battles. However, know this, I am someone who is above his league and even yours. I am someone who can win you a hundred wars. I think that it¡¯s very clear that having me on your side at the cost of losing a worm like Ekar is a dirt cheap price you have to pay.¡±


    ¡°Now, make your choice, Ashtor¨¢. Between that dead devil,¡± Fearless pointed his finger at the direction of the pikes he set, ¡°And great and amazing me, who would you choose?¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless watched the women ravenously wolfed down their food with such vigor and desperation. They tore the pieces of jerky and salted meat and the three loaves of moldy bread One-eye provided to Fearless for lunch.


    The time was about three or four in the afternoon, Fearless was not sure since he gave Bloodbeard his Rolex. Fearless spent hours through the morning and noon to know the faces of Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders and worked up a strategy with them to deal with Hyrios.


    He held the meeting in the format of a college seminar, letting worms to contribute their ideas and experiences. However, for once, Fearless¡¯ plan and scheme backfired on him. He gave the worms all the necessary and educated hints to fight Hyrios. Yet, the brain dead morons could not come up with a decent plan nor they had the bravery or boldness to participate in the seminar on equal footing as Fearless.


    The way he killed Ekar and Ekar¡¯s Yeller came back to bit Fearless in the ass. Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders thought that Fearless was still playing a mind game with them and the seminar was but a ruse. They knelt and swore their loyalty to Fearless at the beginning of the seminar, as if Fearless could trust a worm¡¯s loyalty. Then, when Fearless assured that his seminar was no mind game and that he merely wanted to gauge their experiences and abilities, they still did not trust him.


    For once, Fearless understood the pain of Catherine the Great, The Empress of Russia, felt when she first began to work on the Nakaz during her Reform. Catherine summoned the representatives of her people from all classes to ask them what problems they faced that needed to be addressed before she introduced new laws through the Nakaz. It was a brilliant idea at the time.


    However, most of those representatives of the Empress thought that it was a loyalty test and played a fool or too incompetent to contribute. In the end, Catherine could never execute that brilliant idea of her.


    Fearless has gone through the same thing with Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders. Even though that he has told them that Hyrios is practically invincible on a plain terrain and picking a fight against Hyrios on the Prairie is suicidal, the brain dead worms somehow still arrived at the conclusion to fight Hyrios on the Bison Prairie. They were convinced that Fearless intended to fight Hyrios on the Great Plain from his hints and agreed.


    For the first time in his life, Fearless was surrounded by incompetent people. These people, no, these worms could not measure up to his standard.


    He was incredibly bored and relieved at the same time. It is boredom as boredom is, however, good boredom. Sometimes, being boring and predictable is better than being exciting.


    Bloodbeard on the other hand, he could not understand the meaning of the seminar. He suggested that if Fearless had a plan, he should just tell them what to do instead of wasting time with a seminar. Fearless sighed and chased Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders away. As soon as he did that, he examined Bloodbeard¡¯s intelligence on the subject.


    ¡°Take the plain away from Hyrios, ¡±Fearless gave the second hint to Bloodbeard.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°That is your homework. Ashtor¨¢, you have at least three days to come up with an answer to that. I can give you the answer now. However, what¡¯s the point in that? The current stage of this war has no room for small fries and pushovers. It does not matter how many battles or wars you have fought. This one is different. The participants of this war are over you in term of ability and competency. If you remained at your current pushover state, sooner or later, you will die even with my help.¡±


    Fearless could see that that statement did not amuse Bloodbeard. The bandit lord had his pride as a fighter and a commander.


    Fearless smiled the smile of a father who tried to teach his stupid son of his mistake. He pointed his finger at Madukat.


    ¡°To the North, your employer, I mean ex-employer. Your existence gives them the right to cross the border and invades this kingdom. Now, you have crossed them once, they had all the reasons in the world to silence you if you manage to survive this encounter with Hyrios. If they can kill you, people will see them as the good guy, the liberator, the savior.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Bloodbeard tried to retort but he shut up on his own, realizing that Fearless was telling him the truth.


    ¡°To the West, the real invasion force of White Winter,¡± Fearless pointed his finger at the Western Border. ¡°Leading this army, Rogan, the best general of the Empire. To him, you are just a decoy, just like that Judgment Army in the North. You lured away the king of Zard, the Warden of the Eastern Border and even Hyrios all the way to here. You have done him a great service. However,he, too, would be your enemy if you managed to survive this war long enough. The Empire could not afford to have you running around, telling people that they hired you to raid and sack Zard to the ground, could they? After all, they are supposed to be the good guys.¡±


    Fearless smiled contently when Bloodbeard showed the expression of shock on his scarred face.


    ¡°However, they are the least you have to worry in this moment.¡± Fearless pointed his finger at another spot on the Great Plain, ¡°To the South, there is Hyrios, he is your top priority. Worry about him first, anything else comes later. He is unlike anyone you have ever faced. I can assure you that. If you faced Hyrios on a plain, not even Wonten could save you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I asked you, uncle, to help me.¡±


    ¡°And I am helping you. If I told you the answer and you just obediently listened to it, that¡¯s not helping. That¡¯s spoiling you. There is no point for me to do that. If I wanted to spoil you rotten as my nephew, I would have brought you back to White Stone to live off my wealth. Or do you want me to do that?¡± Fearless mocked.


    ¡°No,¡± Bloodbeard curtly replied.


    ¡°Good. I will tell you again that war is a terrible business and a child like you have no place in it. That¡¯s the words of an uncle to his nephew. However, right now, I am your advisor. In the position as an advisor, I will tell you that at the moment, you don¡¯t belong to a stage as huge as this. You are competent than most, stronger than most, and certainly smarter than most. However, the word ¡°most¡± consisted only of the incompetent bunch I had just chased out of this room. Being better than them does not qualify you the right for this stage.¡±


    ¡°Qualify?¡±


    Because Bloodbeard repeated the word Fearless used with such confused look, Fearless suspected that there was a mistake in the translation somewhere. That or his language was too advanced for the bandit lord to understand. Fearless immediately dumbed down his language.


    ¡°You cannot fight this war in your current state, neither your army. It took me just a morning to make them submitted to me. If you used this army to face off against any decent participants of this war, you will lose. You cannot use your hit and run tactic with Hyrios either. He will catch you with his superior mobility. You cannot face him with this army of yours either. He only needs a morning to do what I did just now. Therefore, in your current state, surrender or go back to White Winter are the only options. That¡¯s your option.¡±


    ¡°No, I will not do that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I used the word ¡°qualify¡±. If you wanted to fight and win this war, you have to be at least as good as Hyrios as a commander. You have to be on his level to fight this war. Right now you are not.¡±


    ¡°I¡­even I¡± Bloodbeard vent out his anger for a moment, slamming his fist against the wall. Then he was sullen and quiet, contemplating.


    After a while, he looked at Fearless and earnestly asked. ¡°How do I become as good as Hyrios?¡±


    ¡°That.¡± Fearless tapped Bloodbeard¡¯s forehead with his finger. He laughed, ¡°That is the first steps, child. By realizing and admitting the difference between the two of you, by asking yourself questions, that is the first step. Now, the next step is answering those questions. How do you fight Hyrios if he is invincible on a plain? How do you win against such a man with your laughable army? How do you negate his strength? I have given you the hint. Take the plain away from Hyrios. Now think hard and come up with the answer, child.¡±


    Just like that, Fearless brought himself three more days to prepare.


    Delaying is always a viable tactic. If you faced a problem that you have no solution, delay it until you could come up with one.


    Fearless watched the women had their meal while thinking. He had no appetite for food when One-eye gave him the belated lunch, thus he gave his meal to the women.


    The stench of death from Ekar¡¯s tent still clung to Fearless and it still flirted around with his nose. He could not get used to that smell at any time soon. He wanted to boil a bath and jumped into it, cleansing himself of his dead skin, body odor, and that persistent stench.


    However, that would be asking too much.


    Fearless sighed as he kept on watching the women devouring their food. If they could open their mouth any wider, they would have done that. They chewed up the piece of bread that divided to them within one big crunchy bite or two. They tore the strip of jerky given to them the same way that wolves ate their meat among their pack. However, those strips of jerky soon proved to difficult for the women to tear.


    If it was too chewy, just swallow.


    With a strategy like that, some of them soon choked into hiccups, gags, and coughs. Fearless passed his water sack to them and they drained it like it was the most delicious thing in the world.


    How many days did Ekar starve them? Fearless could not help but ask.


    Remembering the wounds that Ekar once inflicted on their body, Fearless thought that it was a miracle that these women were even alive.


    At first, when Fearless gave them his portion, they were confused and afraid. They refused to eat, shaking their head as they broke into tears. It was as though Fearless was feeding them poison or something worse. Then, he remembered that Ekar was talking trash about cutting Fearless¡¯ ears and fed them to his dogs.


    It was until Fearless assured them that it was okay for them to eat and took the first bite himself, they gingerly reached out for the food.


    Also, the person who Fearless rescued from the Ekar¡¯s tent, it was a man. He was so light on Fearless¡¯ shoulder back then that Fearless did not think that he was a man.


    The man who Fearless rescued was quite tall, probably around 179cm or 180cm. He looked solid, lean but muscular. His ears were noticeably big as if they were Buddha¡¯s ears and they were full of holes. His skin was, however, pinkish, very thin and squishy, reminded Fearless of that of baby skin or scar tissue. He was not sure if the man was born like this or if this was an effect of his <A strange choice> skill.


    Fearless double-checked the skill description of <A strange choice> just to be sure.


    <The man who left a red trail in his path like a blazing comet, he lived to set the world on fire.


    The man who became known for razing down castles faster than anyone, he was the ultimate Ender within our world.


    Yet, that man ultimately wished to heal people. A strange choice.>


    Fearless clicked his tongue as he read the bio description of the skill, it¡¯s such a stupid description, he thought and scrolled down to the effect description.


    <Fearless sends a light orb toward a targeted ally unit and travels between allies within the target range, (Medium) healing them and removing any debuff. Cannot be self-targeted, however, Fearless is always healed when this skill is successfully activated.>


    The skill description did not help at all. In the game, <Medium> Heal would allow a target to recover 35% of its maximum health. <High> Heal allowed the recovery of 70% and <Max> allowed a complete recovery.


    Fearless theorized that the current state of the man was because he wasn¡¯t fully healed. However, Fearless did not want to commit the last <A strange choice> on the man. It was an expensive skill in term of mana cost. Because Fearless could not see the exact value of his mana point, he could only intuitively estimate it.


    If the mana cost for <What you can do, I can do better> and <The Magician> required 70 mana point and 5 mana point to cast respectively, <A strange choice> demanded a rough 100 mana point to activate. Fearless has committed three <A strange choice> and over two hundred <The Magician> since last night. He could begin to feel the limit of his mana reserve at the moment. If this was the game, Fearless could see a red flashing alarm aura on his mana bar.


    Fearless was tempted to use another <The Magician> to test the effect of being completely drained of mana on himself and to see if the other man would wake up and completely healed. However, he also understood that it was an insanely stupid decision to try doing something like that. He was not in a situation where he was free to experiment on his skills.


    Besides, Fearless had no idea what kind of reaction that man would show when he woke up. That man looked like a fighter. He was built like one, muscular and solid like Merleon¡¯s people. Furthermore, the numerous scars on the right forearm and a deformity in the right wrist alarmed Fearless that the man¡¯s status as a fighter. Fearless guessed that this man was probably a bodyguard or was in a militia or something similar.


    At the moment, the man showed no sign of being in mortal danger, at least, that what it looked like to Fearless. The man breathed normally and he had pulses. However, Fearless had no idea when he would wake up. Fearless was no doctor. Fearless had no idea of what to do with this man, just like those nine women. He expected this man¡¯s psyche to be severely damaged just like the women. He saved them on a whim, but he had no idea what to do with them.


    Fearless told the women to give the man some water, a simple exercise to test them. However, the women have emptied the water sack Fearless passed to them. Of course, Fearless knew that when he gave them that task. They could not execute that order. Upon realizing that, they groveled on the floor on all fours, back to their original feral position.


    Fearless gritted his teeth. He was so very close to set loose his bottled anger on them. He had a shitty morning and his mood only worsen by the minute. He sighed away his anger and softly told the women.


    ¡°One of you, bring that water sack down this tower. Tell whomever you meet to have that water sack filled for me. I don¡¯t care who, decide it among yourself and get it done for me.¡±


    Fearless was expecting a leader figure would reveal among the women to brave through the task. However, for the zenith times of the day, his expectation was betrayed.


    The water sack, so precious that they nearly fought each other for a gulp of water before, it was now passing around like a cursed object.


    This is human nature at its darkest moment.


    Fearless sighed and pressed his twitching temples. His head hurt very badly for the first time since last night. It hurt when he was dealing with Bloodbeard. It hurt when he was scheming for the long game. It hurt when he fucked up and YOLO through the stuff with Ekar and his worms. Yet, seeing these women who were tortured together by Ekar and have gone through the same pain and suffering together, they readily betrayed each other at the last moment. It hurt Fearless¡¯ head so fucking badly.


    While Fearless¡¯ little exercise did not reveal a leading figure among the women, it revealed the weakest of them all.


    She was the one who had the water sack in the end. Obviously, she did not want it and tried to pass it to another. However, the other women united and shoved the water sack to this woman in the end.


    And the woman, when she realized that it was on her to execute the task, she instantly broke into tears. It looked like she was about to weep openly, but she just bit her lips and put her hand on her mouth to hide it and held the leather sack with her other hand.


    It made Fearless wondered what kind of horrible shits did Ekar do to make these women like that. If Fearless knew, maybe, he could undo the damage however unlikely it was. It could take months or years or decades or never to undo the damages that Ekar inflicted on them.


    Fearless understood that better than anybody. Some wounds took forever to heal while some would never heal no matter how much time has passed. He sighed again. What else could he do but kept on sighing?


    Fearless approached the woman who held his water sack while the rest of the women froze and miserably bent their back. He grabbed her trembling hands firmly and pulled her up. He cupped her chin, making sure that she would look at him in the eyes. He gently brushed her stained tea colored bang to reveal a pair of tearful green orbs.


    If Fearless had to guess, this girl was probably around 20, possibly even younger. However, her weathered haggard face, her high cheekbone and angled chin aged her beyond her years. She looked like a woman in her late twenties. The only hint of her age that Fearless had was her jaded orbs. They had that betrayed innocence.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Fearless gently brushed her tears with his thumb.


    ¡°Woof,¡± the girl replied.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Woof woof,¡± she repeated.


    It took a while for Fearless to understand that the girl was imitating the barking sound of a dog because the way she replied. He froze and wondered why this girl would do that. He could not understand, and then, a thought crossed his mind. Fearless picked another woman nearby, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Woof,¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked another one.


    ¡°Woof woof,¡± she barked like a dog as well.


    Fearless bit into the inner of his lip to vent his anger. Yup, he could finally understand why Bloodbeard valued Ekar so highly. The worm knew how to break people and he was through with his job. He was very close to evolving into a demon, probably a few years away from being one.


    He stripped these women of everything and reduced them into his dogs, literally. He did not just strip them of their clothes. Their personality, their identity, their name and everything that made them human were stripped from them.


    That explained why these women were behaving the way they did.


    Fuck


    This stuff was sickeningly familiar to Fearless. Fearless could start to feel that the case was getting out of his hands. It would be extremely arrogant of him to try to undo everything Ekar has done on these women. Fearless did not remember Ekar to possess a high Intelligent or Wisdom stat in particular. In fact, he knew almost nothing about Ekar¡¯s background other than the fact that Ekar was one of Bloodbeard¡¯s best commanders and the worm was exceedingly cruel.


    Fuck.


    Had Fearless known this, he would have never killed Ekar. He would do the exact things that Ekar did to these women with the same thoroughness but better techniques. He would have broken Ekar and stripped the worm of everything it possessed.


    It¡¯s because of worms like him¡­ Fucking worm


    Fearless pulled the girl into his chest and hugged her, wrapping his hand around her head. She was cold like a sheet of ice in his arms. Fearless felt like crying, but not for the poor girl or these women.


    However, he did not allow himself to cry in the end.


    ¡°I swear on my mother¡¯s name and on this uniform that I will protect you until you regain what normalcy of your life that you have left. If people tried to hurt you, I will break them whoever they are. I will let them know what pain is, what lost is, what broken is. I will make an example out of them so that nobody would ever try to hurt you again. But if you are hurt, I will hug you just like this. I will comfort you. I will protect you until you are strong enough to stand back on your feet.¡±


    Fearless then pushed her from his chest and held her cheeks. He pressed his face against hers, making sure that she could see his eyes.


    ¡°However, I have a condition. If you are a human, I will do that. I do not do something like that to a dog, especially if that dog was Ekar¡¯s dog.¡± He told her, making sure she understood him, ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    The girl cringed and decided to grovel, however, Fearless did not allow her to do that. His firm hands held her back.


    ¡°Do you understand me?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°Woof¡± she barked, teary and fearful.


    Fearless slapped her immediately, right across her cheek. His slap made a crisp sound on her cheek, reverberating through the room. The other women scrambled to the corners, trying to stay away from Fearless as far as possible.


    ¡°Human does not bark. Human speaks. Again. Do you understand me?


    ¡°Woof.¡±


    Fearless slapped her again, ¡°Speak. Do not bark. Look at me! Do not look away. Do you understand me?¡±


    ¡°Woof.¡±


    Fearless slapped her one more time on the other cheek. He held the girl firmly and prevented her from groveling to him. He shook her and gritted his teeth, trying to contain his anger. ¡°Try it again. I will hit you every time you bark. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Woof¡±


    Again, Fearless slapped her. The girl¡¯s cheek went red and printed with Fearless¡¯ hand shape. Her eyes that were submerged in tears, reflecting the distorted reflection of Fearless in the depth of his anger.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Woof.¡±


    Fearless slapped her again, pointing his hand toward the broken arrow slit.


    ¡°I swear to gods that I will throw you out of this window right now if you bark again. Human speaks. Dog barks. You are no dog. Do you not understand? Again, what is your name?¡±


    ¡°Woof.¡±


    Again, Fearless slapped. ¡°I will keep hitting you until you speak. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Woof.¡±


    Fearless repeated the procedure and kept his word. Every time the girl barked, he would hit her. Ekar wired her to reply to questions. Once asked, she would bark like a dog. Fearless understood that from the girl''s behavior and used it to his will.


    ¡°Answer me. What is your name?¡± Fearless shouted for the zenith time of the day.


    ¡°E¡­Erin¡­ys,¡±


    The girl uttered a magical word, so very quiet, so very uncertain. And yet, it was a magical word.


    Fearless did not cry. He decided not to cry. Yet, his eyes were broken valves. There is hope.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± He loudly shouted.


    ¡°Erinys¡±


    The name of a person is a force to be reckoned with. It gave a person her sense of identity. It had a power to change a person¡¯s life an destiny.


    ¡°Again, louder. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Erinys¡±


    ¡°Again. I cannot hear you. Shout¡±


    ¡°ERINYS,¡± the girl opened her mouth and shouted, reclaiming the identity that was stripped from her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for hitting you. I am sorry. I am sorry. I won¡¯t hit you again.¡± Fearless pulled the girl into his arms again, ¡°I will protect you from now on Erinys,¡± he squeezed her cold body and patted her back strongly. ¡°I will protect you no matter what.¡± He swore. The girl sobbed quietly in his arms. Her entire body shook uncontrollably.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to hold yourself back. Cry.¡± Fearless told her and she did, unreservedly in contrast to the other women.


    Even if Fearless had no ability to undo the damages that Ekar inflicted on this world, he can do something about it. Now, he knew that he could. Fearless strongly squeezed the girl within his arm. For the first time in the day, he felt sharp. He felt like he can do anything. He felt invincible.


    Bloodbeard was not the only one who needed to search for qualification. I, too need to earn it

 Chapter 39: The princes solving his problem

    Chapter 39: The Prince¡¯s solving his problems


    Killing Ekar was a mistake.


    Fearless did not want to admit that at first. However, once he saw how broken the women were, he regretted killing Ekar.


    Ekar was the venom that broke the women. However, he was an important ingredient to create the antidote to save these women. Yet, Fearless has killed him. It was a mistake.


    Fearless told himself that he should have kept Ekar alive to extract the antidote from the worm. Of course, doing something like that was burdensome and Bloodbeard would intervene. However, Fearless would do that regardless. He knew that he could.


    He would break Ekar right in front of the women to show them that Ekar was nothing to be fear. He would give them the courage to break Ekar, to kill the worm with their own hands and to reclaim their once stripped humanity with their own effort. That was the best option, the fastest.


    However, he has killed the worm.


    Fearless has eliminated his best option the moment he decided to kill Ekar. He underestimated Ekar¡¯s cruelty and thoroughness. He underestimated the damage Ekar inflicted on the world.


    Fearless laid Erinys down on his straw bedding. Laboriously she breathed, often sniffing in between. Her cheeks were swollen red, printed with the vestige of Fearless¡¯ anger. Her eyes were even redder, dampened with the last of her tears. Even when she has passed out from sheer exhaustion, her bony fingers still clutched tightly to hem of Fearless¡¯ jacket with an unlikely strength, refusing to let go.


    He kissed her and gently stroked her head.


    He told her to cry out, holding nothing back and she did, crying until she no longer had the strength to do so. She howled like a feral beast, unreservedly, unleashing the raging storm of pain, grief, and sorrow from within the depth of her soul. She has hollered and drowned out her emotions into Fearless¡¯ shoulder.


    Her cry was pain and rage, raw and loud as a concert of metal. Her cry was desperation, gripping like her clutching fingers, ready to latch to anything that might save her.


    That meekness and quietness that she shared with the other women were but a ruse, a camouflage, and a self-defense system that she adopted against Ekar, to avoid his attention, to save herself from more pain and suffering. But no longer.


    The pain was the instrument, venom, and the antidote.


    Ekar broke her with pain and torture. With pain, Fearless taught her that her fate was linked to his, and no longer Ekar.


    Fearless turned around and watched the other women¡¯s reaction. Confusion, fear and a little bit of something else. They still huddled in their pack, understandable.


    Erinys was their weakest. Had Erinys been their leader, their representative, it would have been a different story. Erinys would have made it so much easier for Fearless to do his jobs. Erinys would have led these women by example, her example. It would be so much easier to do away with Ekar¡¯s manipulation.


    But, Erinys was their weakest. They even united against her and forced the task upon her, probably thinking that Fearless was trapping them. Fearless guessed that Ekar must have used some kind of traps like that against them in the past to reinforce that they were his dogs.


    ¡°I will not give you the same privilege that I gave to Erinys,¡± Fearless told the women, ¡°I gave you only one chance and you all had let that chance slipped away from your hands.¡±


    He spoke to the women with a clear and reprimanded voice while wrapping his arms around Erinys, tightly hugging her fragile frame.


    ¡°Even if you became human once again, even if you are no longer Ekar¡¯s dog, I will not give you the same kind of protection or affection that I give to Erinys. If you are hurt, I will not comfort you as I did to Erinys.¡± Fearless tenderly kissed Erinys¡¯ closed eyebrows while rhythmically stroking her disheveled hair. ¡°It could have been you or you or you, any of you.¡±  Fearless pointed his fingers at the women who looked like they were the leaders of the group, ¡°You had that chance and yet, you let it slipped away.¡±


    Fearless made the women understood that his vow to Erinys was a special privilege and he rubbed on it.  ¡°If that time comes when I no longer can protect myself and this group, I will prioritize Erinys before all of you. I will sacrifice my own life if it was what it takes to protect her.¡±


    Fearless had no idea if Erinys had some leadership quality in her. However, he had no time to experiment to find that answer.


    She was their weakest. And she attained that special privilege by sheer dumb luck. The only reason that she has attained that special privilege was that these women passed up on their chance.


    ¡°It could have been you.¡± Fearless hammered that idea like a nail into their mind. ¡°Yet, you let that chance slipped away.¡± He repeated to affirm that, reinforcing that idea through action and words.


    Fearless made Erinys to become the target of these women¡¯s envy since Erinys was not their leader. He needed a leader figure to lead these women by example. But, if there was no leader, Fearless had to adapt with his new scheme.


    ¡°I will try to protect you all since I have saved you from Ekar. That, I promise to all of you. However, again, as I have told Erinys, I will not welcome dogs in my group, especially Ekar¡¯s dogs.¡±


    Erinys became a shining example. Erinys would be an example to reinforce that Fearless was no Ekar. She would be the example to teach these women that Fearless would treat them very differently from Ekar. She would become a goal.


    ¡°I will give you all two days to change, to stop being dogs, to be human again. You shall not bark like dogs. You shall not grovel like dogs. You shall not be dogs. But if you do, I will expel you from my hearth. You shall not have my protection. These bandits, these brutes, these rapers, murderers, these worms, whatever they do to you is none of my business. I would not lift a finger.¡±


    Fearless has given the women an example, a goal and a time limit.


    ¡°Until then, I will protect you from these bandits. I will feed you. I will share this place with you.¡± Fearless gave them his deadline. ¡°However, two days, that is my limit. When that time comes, I will ask you your name, you shall tell me yours. You shall speak like a human. You shall stand like a human. You shall be human.¡±


    Terror is what broke these women, may terror undo the damages it inflicted on them.


    Shock therapy might not be the best therapy for these broken women. However, Fearless had no time for the other options. He gave himself a deadline of three days to deal with his own problems. He has accepted that these women would be his handicaps, however, he could not let handicaps be handicaps forever.


    ¡°Do remember that,¡± Fearless warned the women. ¡°Also, do remember this very clearly, I will prioritize Erinys over all of you if worse came to worst.¡± He kissed Erinys again like a lover, smothering her within his arms.


    Erinys would be a drive. Erinys, unfortunately, would become a target of these women¡¯s envy. She would drive them into action through their envy. She would make them change just by receiving Fearless¡¯ love and attention.


    Erinys did not have to lift a finger. She did not need to speak a word to move these women. She did not need to become a leader. Just by being loved by Fearless, Erinys would move these women into action.


    His love, his devotion, and his kindness to Erinys would be a nail to these women¡¯s mind, making them regret on passing up their only chance.


    If terror were not enough of a drive to make these women human again, envy would be the backup. And Fearless had intended to make these women green with envy the very moment they sold out one of their own.


    They deserved that, at least.


    Fearless thought so.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The women have fallen asleep as soon as Fearless lit up the hearth. They were just as exhausted as Erinys. Taking the opportunity, Fearless rummaged through his belonging to search for four specific concoctions. He remembered packing them with him when he left the Temple of the Dark God.


    All potions are either red or green in color. Red potions restore health and green potions restore mana. A potion could only restore either health or mana, never both. That is a universal law in the world of Escana back when it was a game. There is no exception. Any substance or concoction that had a trace of magic residue within them that were neither reddish nor greenish was definitely not drinkable.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    That law allowed Fearless to identify the nature of the luggage he inherited from those deceased Greyscale magic casters with ease. However, it was not like that was a difficult job, to begin with. The owners of those apothecary satchels were very thorough and professional with the way they stored their concoctions.


    Potions were stored in a separate pocket and anything else in a different pocket of their satchel. Some of the owners were even more careful with their concoctions that they stored them in completely separated satchels. They also labeled all of their concoctions with inks, making it impossible for people to mistake the nature of the concoction unless they were illiterate in the writing of the Titan like Fearless.


    According to the lore of ROC, the Titan tongue is a dead language in the world of Escana, similarly to Latin on Earth. Nobody spoke the Titan tongue as the first langue other than the Titans, and the Titans were extinct.


    Yet, the Titan tongue and writing did not become lost just like their civilization.


    Titan was like a compulsory second langue for all the lords, nobles, royalty, scholars and magic casters of all the intelligent races to study and practice. However, they are only required to learn the writing and not the tongue. The Titan writing became something like a common academic writing for scholars and researchers among all the races. According to the lore, the goddess of wisdom Eogaill advocated the races of Escana to do that to allow knowledge to cross the boundary of races and cultures.


    The Titan Tongue on the other hand, however, did not experience that popularity.


    Many of the ancient elves, especially high elves still spoke the Titan tongue, them and a small group of people like Misery and FY.


    While Fearless thought that it was such a Misery¡¯ thing to do, the fact that even someone like FY learned that language, it made Fearless realized that the Titan tongue was a ¡°Thing¡± among the followers of the Escana series.


    Fearless could not understand how Misery and FY could commit so much of their time to study a fictional langue.


    If you could spend time to study a fictional langue, why not using that time to pick up a real langue?


    Fearless was meant to ask them that question but he ever did, not once. He understood that they loved doing that.


    Love is ever strange and ever confusing.


    While it was not uncommon for players of ROC to know certain common words or famous quotes in Titan tongue, it was bizarre for anyone to be fluent in that fictional langue.


    Not even the developers of ROC were fluent in that language, and they were the inventors of that language. Yet FY and Misery actually spent so much of their time to practice and mastered that langue through self-study and self-taught. There were only over a handful of people on Earth who were fluent in that fictional langue and two members of The Alliance were in that strange club.


    That was the length that people would go for the things they actually loved.


    That was the difference between the ¡°real fans¡± of Escana and the ¡°casuals¡±, according to Misery.


    Fearless loved the gameplay. He loved the competitions. He loved the fanfares. However, his love for the lore of ROC could never match the ¡°real fans¡± of the Escana series, that, he had to admit.


    I can¡¯t use Titan to pick up girls anyway. If I used Titan, only a handful of people could understand it. What¡¯s the point of learning it?


    That was the excuse that Fearless used to deny Misery¡¯ effort to recruit him into that strange club.


    He could learn it anytime he wanted but he refused to learn it. It was such a weird thing to do.


    Regardless, Fearless was familiar with the Titan tongue and writing to a very limited extent. After all, he has spent over a decade playing ROC and made a living out of it. Besides, the developers of ROC kept slapping the Titan writing into the face of the players at every opportunity they had. Even if Fearless refused to learn the writing, he would inadvertently become familiar with the writing at one point if he kept playing ROC for years.


    He could identify the most basic Titan runes. That and the knowledge of the lore was all Fearless needed when he packed his luggage for the journey to Madukat.  Back then, he just packed everything that might be useful for his journey, necessity, valuables and some luxuries.


    Potions, regardless of their properties are universally regarded as luxuries in the world of Escana. They are healing salves that are enchanted with magic properties through Alchemy, therefore, became more potent and valuable than the common salves. The kind of people who always possessed potions with them were those who had the wealth to buy them or the ability to create them through Alchemy. The same rule applied for <Arcane Poison>.


    ¡°There you are,¡± Fearless quietly muttered when a small jar of clay found its way into his palm. On its label, Fearless recognized four Titan runes.


    <Arcane> <Mist>


    <Arcane mist of Paralysis>, it was both the name of a non-lethal poison and a unique late game command to all the units that are associated with the banner of the Greyscale back when ROC was still a game.  When a player activated the <Arcane mist of Paralysis>command, the Greyscale units under control would throw these jars of poison like grenades toward a specific area, creating a cloud of poison that instantly disables any unit within the area of effect.


    Soldier units would be disabled for 10 seconds, 3 seconds for general units.


    This skill would not cost any mana or HP to activate. It could be activated while the units were casting other magic spells. It had no cool-down timer either.


    The primary use of this command is to buys time for the Greyscale magic casters to complete their military graded magic spells while delaying enemy units, a defensive tactic.


    Another use of this command is for offensive purpose. The command can be used to completely lock down general units of enemy faction when used in succession, allowing ally units to snipe down the stunned generals with projectiles.


    This skill transformed the Greyscale units who were supposed to be vulnerable to melee attacks into a walking terror. They are powerful at range with their spells and have a powerful disable skill to dissuade people from approaching their range.


    The developers knew that this skill was a broken skill. Therefore, they put several restrictions on this skill.


    The first restriction is to unlock the <Advance Alchemy> perk on the Alchemy Research, making this skill can only be accessed in the late game period.


    The second restriction is the amount of materials required to produce and equip <Arcane mist of Paralysis>on the Greyscale units, making this command became costly in term of gold and materials instead of mana. This restriction forced the players to tiptoe the line between cheesing the game by sniping enemy generals and being underdeveloped in the late game. The amount of gold and material used to create <Arcane mist of Paralysis>can be invested into other purposes to strengthen units or fortify castles.


    The third restriction was not really a restriction. Only a unit of 800 magic casters or more can activate this command. And then, a bunch of other restrictions to dissuade players to abuse this skills in the multiplayer mode.


    Despite that, players can still find a hundred ways to abuse this command for easy wins. Any side that picked the Greyscale faction was immediately projected to win the game because of this broke command.


    <Arcane mist of Paralysis> was one of the many broken skills in the earlier day of ROC, making the Greyscale faction became universally banned in every competition. Players cannot pick them or recruit them under any circumstance. At one point, the developers even removed this skill from the Greyscale.


    Through the years, this skill has been nerfed to the ground. Its casting range became abysmally shorter and its area of effect was reduced every year. Still, the players complained that the Greyscale is overpowered because people can still find the ways to exploit this skill for easy win.


    The developers then implemented two additional restrictions on this skill. The first restriction is by giving it the friendly-fire property. The second is the single-use limitation, forcing the players return to their base to restock this command every single time it was used. With this, the four years reign of terror of the Greyscale ended. <Arcane mist of Paralysis>became but a gimmick.


    Nonetheless, Fearless needed that gimmick for his plan to work at the moment.


    The other three concoctions were easy to find. Two of them were kept in thick crystal tubes, wrapped around by thick clothes, one red as ruby the other green as emerald.


    Fearless opened the green one, smelling it. It smelled like nail polish, the kind that Alice always used. He hesitated and could not bring himself to drink the potion. He told himself that any sane man on Earth would have done the same. He began to question if this greenish solution was nail polish and the tube was mislabeled.


    Yet, this greenish nail polish was without a doubt a mana-restoring potion. Its label reinforced that belief.


    The three runes for <Mana>


    <Restore> were inked on the tube.


    Even knowing that, it did not make it easier for Fearless to drink the solution. The concoction smelled like nail polish after all.


    What if it was an arcane poison?


    Fearless began to doubt himself and his knowledge. It is hard to believe that this greenish nail polish is a drinkable solution. It took a while for Fearless to steel himself for the leap of faith. He told himself that unless this solution was the deadliest of arcane poison, he still had enough mana for one last <A strange choice>. He pinched his nose and chucked the solution down his throat with a gulp.


    The potion had a mature bitterness and it burned Fearless¡¯ throat like fine wine. He thought that it wasn¡¯t so bad, he could live with it. He released the pinch and Oh My God, it is so wrong.


    The smell of nail polish filled his nose. It felt so wrong.


    Regardless, Fearless instantly knew that the solution that he just drank was no poison. He intuitively felt a swirl within his mana reserve. It¡¯s being restored at an astonishing rate.


    Potion is a staple commodity for the Greyscale at any time. The Greyscale needed potions to heal themselves, to restore their lost mana and other purposes.


    Back when it was a game, the Greyscale heavily depended on their Magic Research and Alchemy Research to make an impact in the game. They constantly had to invest their wealth and materials into both Magic and Alchemy Research over their fortifications.


    The Greyscale is a late game faction, created to end the game. The longer the game being played, the stronger the Greyscale became. FY was especially famous for playing this faction before he founded The Alliance.


    The Greyscales¡¯ gameplay is heavily affected by the kind of spells and alchemic artifacts at their disposal, similar to the Judgment Army of White Winter. With military graded magic, they can tear down fortresses and castles with the same efficiency as dwarven siege engines.


    The


    was a staple consumption of the Greyscale. It was a command and the name of a potion. This potion restored a fraction of the user¡¯s mana and improved their mana recovery rate. Without this potion, the Greyscale quickly became irrelevant after a few volleys of spells. A Greyscale without mana makes no difference from a civilian on the battlefield, a gun without ammunition.


    The same can be said about Fearless. He¡¯s mana-dependent. Without mana, he cannot use his skills.


    Fearless poured the red potion into the mouth of the unconscous man. Fearless was done dealing with the women, now it was this man¡¯s turn.


    Fearless expected the man to wake up, but he was only guessing. Fearless had no idea how long it would take for this man to wake up, but he waited.

 Chapter 40: The Prince鈥檚 fixing his problems (2)

    Through the narrowed arrow slits, the night wind wailed like a lost girl who was searching for her mother amidst the darkness. Her voice made a haunting presence within Fearless¡¯ consciousness. Furthermore, the red moonlight of autumn paid a visit to the room and set a heavy mood for the stage Fearless has created.


    Fearless had thought about it before but Escana had nine moons in total, each represented a spirit plane. That phenomenon was somewhat ridiculous, if not really.


    What substance was the devs on when they were making the lore?


    At times, Fearless could not help but ask that question. Usually, the fantasy worlds that people created had two or three moons and sometimes fours. Nine moons were a bit too much of a stretch. It¡¯s hard to believe that. An unbelievable detail like that would break the immersive experience of the audiences in the game.


    However, despite having nine moons orbiting their world, the people of Escana can only see three moons at most of the time.


    The nine moons of Escana appeared in four different sets of three to represent each season of the world base on their combination.


    That made no sense at all.


    Fearless was sure that the developers were drunk or high on weed when they implanted that detail into the lore.


    At some point, even the most devout fans like Misery could not help but ask if Escana had only three moons and those three moons changed their color depended on the seasons.


    However, no, the developers persisted. Each of the nine moons represented a spirit plane and the moons did not change color according to the season.


    That was a ridiculous claim. Some physics and math lovers among the fans of the Escana series immediately jumped at that claim.


    They used all the details and data that the game provided in the lore to work out the circumference of the planet Escana, its rotational speed around the sun and even its orbital path. They also worked out the size of each of the nine moons. Their conclusion: physically impossible. Since, the nine moons of Escana became something of a meme among the fan-base because the developers insistence and their effort to explain that unique phenomenon with a single word ¡°Magic¡±.


    Fearless sighed, missing the time when he could still mock this world of Escana base on its ridiculous settings. He was still waiting for the other man to wake up. The stage has been completed, yet the main actor has yet to arrive.


    As Fearless quietly added the firewood into the old and dusty hearth, he rhythmically stroke Erinys¡¯ head in the same gentle and soothing manner that Mrs. H? ??ng used to do for him. Erinys was snoring quietly, resting her head against Fearless¡¯ laps.


    Watching Erinys¡¯ sleeping face, Fearless thought of the short but blissful time he spent with Mrs. H? ??ng. He dearly missed her gentle voice, her ripe and warm scent, and especially her caressing healing touch. Even after losing her for over a decade, Fearless could remember everything about Mrs. H? ??ng like it was yesterday.


    Mrs. H? ??ng was his first love, that, Fearless could never forget, ever.


    She was his protective haven, his gentle and experienced lover, his warm hearth, and his most beloved for a moment in his life. She came to his life in one of his most desperate moments and she loved him unconditionally.


    She was there when music was pain and grief. She was there when he was most confused about the world. She was there for him when nobody did.


    Music flowed in his blood, it was his gift and everything. The day that gift became a curse that haunted Fearless, nobody was there for him but Mrs. H? ??ng. She was there when nobody did.


    As a boy, Fearless has thought that Mrs. H? ??ng replaced the music that flown in his blood and that she made him forget music for a time. But no, Mrs. H? ??ng was music, just very different from the usual kind of music. Her voice was music, loving, sweet as honey, passionate as a thousand suns. Her touch was music, caressing, warm and soothing, rhythmic. Even now when she has gone, Fearless could still feel Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s presence within himself. She left behind a world of special music.


    Fearless could vividly remembered Mrs. H? ??ng like it was only yesterday, especially her soothing strokes. When Mrs. H? ??ng hugged him and stroked his head, it was a special kind of music. It removed pain from his world.


    That music, it had its own special chords and notes. It was slow and guiding, but never felt like it was draining. It was poppy, encouraging. It told him that ¡°there would be tomorrow,¡± and ¡°tomorrow would definitely come without a doubt,¡± and ¡°everything would be all right.¡±


    Thus, Fearless played that special kind of music into Erinys¡¯ dream world. He might not possess the healing hand that only unique to Mrs. H? ??ng but he was a musician before he was a boy. He can reproduce Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s healing presence to a certain extent. He played that soothing music that he inherited from Mrs. H? ??ng, affirming to the sleeping Erinys that her tomorrow will come and she will be okay.


    Erinys has reclaimed her once stripped identity, but that was only the first step, her first step to become human once again. She had to face the demon of Ekar inside her memory. She had to find the courage to beat that demon. She will learn how to be human again on her own. And Fearless can only assist her. He can do no more than that. He can never walk the walk for her. He can only cheer and support her, but ultimately, Erinys had to rise on her own feet.


    Fearless stroke Erinys¡¯ head, trying to imagine what Mrs. H? ??ng was thinking at the time when she was stroking his head. He imagined that she must have thought that he was pitiful. He smiled a faint smile as he found Bob Marley¡¯s ¡°Everythings gonna be alright¡± swelling from within his throat.


    That song came out of nowhere. Fearless was singing The Carpenter¡¯s ¡°Yesterday¡± for a while now, before that was John Denver¡¯s ¡°Take me home, country road¡±, Fearless did not even realize when ¡°Yesterday¡± became ¡°Everything¡¯s gonna be alright.¡± He decided to humor himself with the new song. He wondered if he was singing this song for Erinys and these women or himself instead. He wanted to laugh at that idea. Was he so weak of a man that he had to reassure himself in that roundabout manner? That is not possible.


    Then, carefully, without waking Erinys from her deep slumber, Fearless rolled a piece of wood into the hearth. It sizzled, crackling up a thick white vapor when it entered the red hearth. Fearless was careful not to let the straws of his bedding caught fire ever since he decided to light the hearth. The night on the guard tower was colder than he has thought. While Fearless and Erinys had Iliva¡¯s SSR rank blanket to fight the cold, the other women and that man had only their skimpy clothes to weather through the nipping winds. Without that red fire in the hearth, there was nothing to make sure that they would last until morning.


    Fearless continued to stroke Erinys¡¯ head while freeing the music within him.


    His father being the musician that he was would have scolded Fearless for that. Music should be bidding and controlled, to be played with discipline. The notes and the chords should be played as they were designed. Every crescendo and decrescendo must be played according to the sheet with discipline to show the respect to the original composer. That was what it meant to be a professional musician.


    And yet, Fearless has never found himself agreeing with his father on this matter ever since he was a boy.


    Music is music. Music is freedom. It means to be free.


    Therefore, Fearless removed his hands from the reins and let his inner music to be whatever it wanted to be.


    The notes were a flock of birds soaring in the sky. The chords were the school of fishes swimming in the ocean. Only when they were sick of being birds and fishes, they became something else.


    Music was those sleeping women, without a sense of identity, closer to broken beasts than human. Music was a slumbering girl who was only learning to be human again. Music was a sarcastic question, full of mockery, directing at a clown who believed that nothing could faze him.


    Music was home, a place never to be seen again. Music was broken bonds and broken promises. Music was dreams that can never be realized again.


    Music was unspoken fury that could never be expressed otherwise.


    Music was unimaginably close, within the grasp of a hand but distant and unreachable at the same time.


    Music was everything that was pure and honest, untainted, un-perverted, uncorrupted.


    Then, music came to a sudden stop. Fearless thought that it was about the time he welcomed the main actor of this stage.


    ¡°How do you like my songs, Mister? You have listened to my songs for a while now. What¡¯s your opinion?¡± Fearless asked, smiling at the recently awakened man.


    The man has woken up for a while, around the time when Fearless began to free his music. Fearless has noticed that but he just carried on with his songs.


    The first thing the man did was to pat his body, checking his arms and legs, face and torso, while observing Fearless and the women with listless eyes. He reminded Fearless of the worm who participated in his morning demonstration. However, this man did that with a calm and quiet acceptance, slow and unhurried, just like a bear that just woke up from a long period of hibernation. He then looked underneath his clothes as if searching for something. After that, he just sighed and resigned himself to Fearless¡¯ songs.


    ¡°I have imagined that the hall of Mistress Death was more of a cold, dark and quiet place. I did not expect this. This is quite comfortable, a fire to warm myself and a great bard to do away with my sorrow and loneliness.¡±


    The man¡¯s reply was more chilled than Fearless has expected. His calm acceptance despite believing that he was dead intrigued Fearless. It¡¯s hard to believe that he was inside the abomination that was Ekar¡¯s abode until this morning. Fearless totally did not expect the man to be so calm. He even prepared the <Arcane Mist of Paralysis> to subdue the man if necessary.


    The reason that Fearless sung his songs was also due to the concern for the man¡¯s psyche. Music can affect a person¡¯s mentality in many ways. Calming is one of them.


    Fearless has expected the man to be anything but calm. However, he was wrong. The man did not have a look of a man who was captured and tortured by a worm like Ekar. He did not have a look of a man who has seen hell. Instead, he looked like a person who has just attained Nirvana. He looked like someone who has found peace with himself.


    Fearless found the man¡¯s case to be strange, in both ways, good and bad.


    Intrigued, Fearless played along. ¡°Not yet, however, Mistress Death will greet us eventually, all of us. It¡¯s only the matter of time. Until then, let¡¯s enjoy what we are having at the moment.¡±


    ¡°I see. That¡¯s very comforting to know. Though, I don¡¯t know if a foolish sinner like me deserved this little solace.¡± The man chuckled a bit.


    ¡°Deserving or not deserving, we are not the one to judge ourselves, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, mister bard. That¡¯s true,¡± the man snickered again, with sarcasm in his voice this time. However, that sarcasm was unmistakably directed at himself, not Fearless.


    ¡°Shushss, let them sleep some more. They¡¯re exhausted,¡± Fearless shushed.


    ¡°You are right. They look exhaust. You are kind, aren¡¯t you mister bard? How did a man like you get here?¡± The man nodded his head, asking in a lower volume this time.


    ¡°Being drunk,¡± Fearless shrugged his shoulders with a smile. He could not help but admitted being a complete moron for being drunk in the middle of his journey and captured by Bloodbeard.


    The man had a stunned look on his face for a moment. He then put a hand on his mouth to stifle his laughter.


    ¡°Sorry, I did not mean to make fun of you. That was unexpected. However, that was the funniest thing I have ever heard. I¡¯m sure a man like you must have a reason to do that.¡±


    It¡¯s hard to imagine that this man was a victim of Ekar from the way he behaved. Fearless has expected that he would resemble Erinys, broken and damaged, not like this.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind. How about you? How did you end up here?¡± Fearless asked.


    ¡°Stupid,¡± The man mimicked Fearless, shrugging his shoulders while wearing a sardonic smile.


    ¡°That is never a good reason to find yourself waiting to be received by Mistress Death, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I agree. I forget to introduce myself. I¡¯m Narik, what¡¯s your name, mister bard?¡±


    ¡°I am Fearless. It¡¯s good to know you, Narik.¡±


    ¡°My pleasure, your songs are beautiful. Are most elves great at singing as you Fearless?¡±


    Fearless pondered on that strange question for a while then nodded his head. ¡°I imagine that they all do.¡± For whatever reason, the people of this world other than Iliva and Clariciel had the tendency to mistake him for being an elf.


    ¡°You speak like you are not an elf.¡±


    Fearless asked. ¡°Do I really look like one?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you? I have heard that the elves are beautiful and great at singing. And dark elf has black hair.¡±


    Fearless combed his bang to reveal the tip of his ears.


    ¡°So you are a half-elf. I see. No offense, I have only thought that your kind is a creation of the bards.¡± Narik apologized.


    ¡°No offense taken,¡± Fearless just casually nodded his head while thinking why Narik was so adamant about him being an elf even after seeing his round ears.


    ¡°This is a coincident. People call my brother a round ear elf.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s very fast on his feet. Also, he¡¯s one of the greatest swordsmen I have ever seen. The only time he was bested in a sword fight, his opponent was the late little lord Fob?a¡­ You won¡¯t believe me but the little lord can do everything. He is an unprecedented genius. He has even beaten Hyrios in a duel with the bow at the king¡¯s birthday party when he was young. The king even called the little lord ¡°The young dragon¡±. And my brother can fight with our lord on an equal term until the end of their duel. But you won¡¯t believe it. If only you have met the late little lord¡­¡±


    Fearless nodded his head, smiling, encouraging Narik to speak more. ¡°You must be very proud being his brother. What¡¯s his name?¡±


    ¡°Narse.¡±


    Fearless paused to process Narik¡¯s latest reply. That name clicked. Narik¡¯s reply made Fearless remembered the existence of a one-arm swordsman who served Hyrios in the game.


    Holyshit


    Narse, the Hound of Hyrios, that was the title of that swordsman. He was famous for saying ¡°I live a dog of Hyrios. I die the dog of Hyrios,¡± in his final moment when he was being recruited into the rank of the Empire.


    He was also the originator of the quote ¡°Wonten is justice. He¡¯s blind, thus justice must be blinded.¡± Fearless only rephrased this man¡¯s quote when he was playing Dr. Reality in that special episode on Misery¡¯s channel.


    Hyrios liberated this swordsman from Bloodbeard¡¯s captivity after he defeated Bloodbeard. Since, this swordsman followed Hyrios to all of his campaigns and battles, even to the grave after most of Hyrios¡¯ men had but betrayed him, an extremely loyal man to a fault. He was one of the few extremely capable generals in the game who possessed a solid Loyalty rating of 100 in the game.


    When ROC was still a game, Loyalty was an invisible stat, but it existed. According to the developers of the Escana series, the main reason that they made Loyalty an invisible stat was to add more complexity to the game¡­ as though their game was still very simple with all the rules, lore and everything.


    When managing a faction, a player must keep track of the allegiance of his generals, strategists, commanders, and officers at all time. If the players thought that it was a major pain in their ass to manage this allegiance system, they can only hope to play only a few warlords who started out with a great amount of Charisma and Leadership in their character sheet.


    If a character¡¯s allegiance was toward power, the players must continually elevate the rank of that character within their faction. If the character¡¯s allegiance was fame, players must allow this character to win battles or skirmishes no matter the scale around the clock to avoid losing the Loyalty of this character. If the character¡¯s allegiance was wealth, player had to pay him more gold to keep him satisfied.


    Some characters¡¯ allegiance is more specific. They require the players to fulfill a certain specific conditions for them to be loyal to the players¡¯ faction, for instance, to be the lord of a city, or complete a vendetta against a specific target, or achieving a monumental task, or allowing them to discharge a <Meteor> every now and then within a time limit. These characters are usually the best of game characters among the gargantuan character roster of ROC in term of attributes, perks and skills.


    Then, there are characters like Narse, extremely loyal to a cause or a faction without asking for anything else in return. There is nothing in the game could sway their allegiance to their faction, not even after their warlord and faction was wiped out. They can be captured as prisoners of war but they cannot be recruited by the factions that defeated them.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    In the single campaign mode, every player has the responsibility to keep track on his or her characters¡¯ allegiance at all time. However, in the multiplayer mode, the player playing the positions of Supporter and Manager was responsible for this task. In The Alliance, this responsibility was held accounted on Misery and FY. However, after Misery changed his position to Ender 02, this responsibility fell on FY alone.


    The Hound of Hyrios was only a second rank commander, possessing average Charisma, Leadership, and Intelligence. He also possessed a couple of negative perks, making him a potential liability at times.


    However, he was famous for having a unique perk that would induce him into an advanced <Berserk> state whenever he¡¯s around any unit that associated with the Empire of White Winter, raising his attack rating to 175% at the cost of taking triple the damage from his enemies.


    Despite his many handicaps, he was one of Hyrios¡¯ best generals. He made an effective general with his decent Might attribute and was a great general killer due to the nature of his special skill <God Speed Level 2> which he would unlock when he reached Level 10.


    <God Speed> is a similar to <God Strength> in the aspect that the two of them permanently add Might points into the existing Might attribute of the skill owners.


    At Level 1, they give an additional 10 Might points. At Level 2, it becomes 20 Might points. At Level 5, the highest possible level of these skills, they grant the skill owners a whopping 50 Might points.


    The differences between <God Speed> and <God Strength> were their passive additional effects.


    <God Speed> grants additional movement and attacking speed along with critical rate to the skill owners.


    On the other hand, <God Strength> grants bonus armor rating and the <Siege> status to the normal attack of skill owners, giving them the ability to siege fortifications even without Siege Engine or Siege magic. Also, <God Strength>makes all normal attacks of the skill owners dealing AOE damage.


    Fearless has entirely forgotten the existence of the hound of Hyrios until Narik mentioned his name. This character appeared in the multiplayer mode as a general of Hyrios despite his original affiliation with Madukat. In the single mode, he only appeared in Hyrios¡¯ campaign as a secret unlockable general if the player managed to wipe out Bloodbeard¡¯s force before the fifteen-minute mark.


    It was one pleasant surprise after another.


    Fearless thought. However, before that, he had to confirm his facts.


    ¡°¡­ I have heard a skilled swordsman lives in Madukat city having the same name from my friends. He is without a right arm. Is your brother missing a right arm?¡±


    ¡°No, both of his arms are intact.¡± Narik shook his head.


    ¡°For a moment, I have thought that he was the same person.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a crazy coincidence. However, I have lived in Madukat for my entire life. I have never heard of the swordsman you have described. If he was a skilled swordsman and having only one arm, I supposed that he would be very famous. Are you sure his name is Narse?¡±


    ¡°I see¡­ Talking about crazy coincidence. His name is Narse, that, I¡¯m sure. Are you sure you have never heard of him?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡±


    ¡°I see. A friend of mine, a bard, he traveled to Madukat in the past. He told me a story of a one-handed swordsman. I was quite fond of that story.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say this. But your friend probably invented that story to fool you.¡±


    ¡°¡­probably¡­¡± Fearless nodded his head, ¡°Speaking of which, is your brother still alive?¡±


    ¡°No, my stupidity killed him. I have to apologize to him when we reunite at the hall of Mistress Death.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m very sorry to hear that.¡± Fearless customarily apologized while fighting his urge to celebrate. The background story matched. It was the same person. That Narse in both of their versions despite the differences was without a doubt the same person.


    This is a pleasant surprise. That trip into Ekar¡¯s tent was not a waste after all.


    According to the text on the character sheet, the Hound of Hyrios had a brother while he was living in Madukat. However, that person was killed during the time Bloodbeard sieged Madukat. The grief of losing his brother made him unable to live in Madukat, thus one of his few negative perks.


    Narik darkly looked down, keeping his gaze on the floor. ¡°Thank you for your kindness¡­To be honest, I think I am conflicted about meeting my brothers again. I¡¯m eager to meet them again. But I should not be. I killed them with my stupidity. I am ashamed of myself.¡±


    I see. No wonder¡­


    Finally, Fearless understood the reason behind that mask of calm acceptance of Narik.


    Fearless originally had two different plans for Narik. However, now, when he knew Narik was the supposed lost brother of the hound of Hyrios, Fearless changed his plan accordingly.


    ¡°Narik, have you ever thought about redemption?¡± Fearless somberly asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Narik immediately removed his gaze from the floor and beamed it at Fearless. On his face, a shocked look, the exact expression that Fearless has expected.


    Fearless continued to stroke Erinys¡¯ head, showing no change in his face, ¡°You told me that you have done something stupid and that something stupid killed your brothers, correct?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes, I should not have done that.¡±


    ¡°How about correcting that mistake?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible!¡± Narik growled.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°My brothers are dead. I¡¯m already dead. You are already dead. We are already dead, mister bard. Or are you mocking me?¡±


    This man lies so much that he believed his own lies.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not mocking you. I apologize for making it looks like that.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry. I misunderstood your words...¡±


    ¡°So how about redeeming your mistake?¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to anger me on purpose?¡±


    ¡°Swear fealty to me,¡± said Fearless. He adopted a lower and more commanding voice this time.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I will give you a chance to correct your stupidity and redeem yourself.¡±


    Narik hit his fist against the wall. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± He stood up from his corner and daggered a glare at Fearless.


    ¡°Listen very carefully, you have a chance to correct your mistake. However, swear fealty to me first. Then, I will give you that chance.¡±


    For the first time, Narik looked at Fearless with cautious eyes. ¡°Who are you?¡± He backed off to the wall.


    ¡°I am Fearless. I have already introduced myself to you. This place is my humble room. I have brought you here before Mistress Death could claim your soul.¡±


    ¡°Are¡­ are you a Demon Lord?¡±


    ¡°No, hell no. Do I look like a Demon Lord to you?¡± Fearless could not help but stifle his snicker at the question Narik posed. He casually stroked Erinys¡¯ head and kissed her without caring about Narik. ¡°However, your intuition is applaudable. I am similar to a Demon Lord in the way that I offered you my pact. Yes, if you wanted to have a chance to redeem your mistake, it would cost you everything.¡±


    Narik was silent. He darted his eyes around the room, stopping at the termite- eaten door while keeping a close tap on Fearless.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine to be cautious and afraid.¡± Fearless smiled.


    ¡°Who¡¯s afraid?¡±


    Fearless waved his hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong. I¡¯m not mocking you for being afraid. Fear spares nobody, not the rich, not the strong, not the invincible, not the gods, not even the demons, not even me. Fear will come and hit anybody at the most unexpected time. Fearless is my name, Fearless is who I am. The word <Fearless> might not mean anything to you. However, in my tongue, it means to be without fear. Even for a man like me, with a title like Fearless, fear will find its way to me when I let my guard down. Therefore, it is nothing shameful to admit that you are afraid of something.¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you,¡± Narik gritted his teeth.


    ¡°No, you are not. Not me from what I can tell.¡± Fearless beamed an innocent smile, ¡°Ekar, was it?¡±


    Nash wore a surprise look on his face for a moment, his eyes widened. Unsurprisingly, he immediately denied Fearless¡¯ claim. ¡°I do not fear that devil.¡± His high-pitched shaken voice and pale countenance betrayed his claim.


    ¡°I see. That explains it.¡± Fearless nodded his head, muttered to himself, and finally understood the reason behind the man¡¯s calm acceptance. With this, he has already had all the pieces to complete the jigsaw that was Narik. He told himself that he should have seen through this much earlier. Fearless scoffed, ¡°Devil? Ekar was no devil. Make no mistake. He was a worm at best, not yet a devil, not yet.¡±


    ¡°You knew him?¡± Narik breathed out.


    ¡°I killed him.¡± Fearless firmly stated.


    ¡°Lies¡­¡±


    Narik¡¯s reply confirmed to Fearless regarding his judgment. He was correct. A careless chuckle escaped his throat, which Fearless stifled it almost immediately. ¡°Why do you think that it is a lie?¡±


    Ekar¡¯s tortures did have an effect on Narik, of course, they would, considering how Ekar was thorough with his jobs. However, the tortures on Narik had a different effect compare to Erinys and the women.


    ¡°I do not fear you.¡± Narik gritted his teeth, giving an answer that completely disconnected to Fearless¡¯ question.


    ¡°He tortured you, did he? He showed you his tent, did he? He showed you what he did to his victims and did the same things on you.¡±


    ¡°He¡­I¡­he¡­¡±


    ¡°I commended you for being able to go through all of that and still came out almost intact your sanity. These women could not. Ekar broke them and made them believed that they were his dogs. And they did.¡± Fearless nudged his chin toward the sleeping women while combing Erinys¡¯ hair with his fingers.


    ¡°I¡­they¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not shameful to be afraid of a worm like Ekar.¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you.¡± Narik bellowed.


    Fearless smiled, rising from his straw bedding while doing his best to not disturb Erinys from her slumber. ¡°You have to speak that line with more conviction. Like this,¡± He wore the smile of a demon on his lips, ¡°I do not fear you,¡± and corrected the intonation in Narik¡¯s claim.


    At the end of Narik¡¯s sentence, he went upward with the intonation, making his claim sounded very weak and betraying a sense of insecurity. It sounded defensive, like it came out of reflex instead of belief. However, with a downward intonation, that line became a statement, a truth that born from a firm belief. ¡°Then, you have to repeat that line until it became real. That¡¯s how you should fight that worm¡¯s manipulation and tactics, Narik. The reason your mind was not broken like these women was because you kept on repeating that line, was it?¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you,¡± Narik incoherently replied, probably out of the effect of Ekar¡¯s conditioning like those women and Erinys. Fearless imagined that Ekar has pulled out some tricks to make Narik and the women could not help but reply whenever they were asked a question. However, unlike the women who would reply with their barks, Narik was conditioned to give reply in human tongue.


    Fearless suspected that Ekar was trying to get some kind of information out of Narik under Bloodbeard¡¯s order. Yet, a single statement, a lie that Narik continually spoke to himself, has foiled all of Ekar¡¯s effort.


    Fearless immediately put his theory to the test for the last time, ¡°You are not afraid of Ekar, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you.¡±


    Narik¡¯s insistent reply confirmed Fearless¡¯ theory. Narik kept speaking that lie like a mantra until it became a shield to protect him from Ekar¡¯s torture.


    ¡°Amazing. I have nothing but respect for you now. To foil Ekar¡¯s conditioning like that, I imagine that not many people can do that.¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you.¡± Narik repeated his lie like a broken radio.


    Fearless imagined that with that lie, Narik has fought off Ekar¡¯s conditioning. With that lie, Narik has prevented Ekar from extracting the information he wanted. With that lie, he protected himself from being completely broken by Ekar¡¯s ploys. Narik has repeated that lie until it became the truth, at least, for him.


    This was the power of the words. With words, Ekar turned those women and Erinys into dogs. With words, Narik was able to fight off Ekar¡¯s tortures. Ekar must have felt very frustrated while trying to pry the information from Narik.


    ¡°However, you are lucky Narik, very lucky.¡± Fearless cackled, spreading his arms, speaking in a theatrical manner. ¡°Because it was an insignificant worm like Ekar that you have met, not something far worse. Don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°I do not fear you,¡± Narik backed to the wall, cornering himself from Fearless¡¯ strange theatrical behavior.


    ¡°You have forfeited your life. You have expected Ekar to do the worst on you like he did to his victims. That confused him. He tried all sort of methods on you and yet you were not broken. You clung to that lie to protect you sanity. That frustrated him even more, I can imagine.¡±


    Fearless laughed, secretly readying the <Arcane Mist of Paralysis> in his palms.


    ¡°You were lucky. Ekar does not know how to break a man who has forfeited his life. I imagine that worm must have asked himself that if you, Narik, my friend, was not afraid of death and immune to the pain of his tortures, what else could break you?¡±


    It was that moment that Narik sprinted for the door. Fearless has anticipated that, swinging his fist while activating <The Magician>. His palm connected and smashed the half-emptied clay jar into Narik¡¯s face.


    Narik fell on his back, his nose bloodied and broken. The purple mist clung to his body.


    Fearless immediately backed away from the mist to avoid its numbing effect, ¡°Sorry, I cannot let you do that just yet. I¡¯m very sorry. Until you hear me out, I can¡¯t let you go yet.¡±


    Narik could not make a coherent sound. He could not stand up. He could not move a muscle. He could only lay down on the spot where he fell and listen. Fearless knew that after he has experiment the mist on the sleeping women and himself.


    ¡°Ekar could understand the primordial fears of a person. Yet, he lacked the capacity for empathy. That¡¯s why he was no demon or devil. He¡¯s merely a worm. He could not comprehend just how terrible you must have felt when you are responsible for the death of your brothers. That, my friend, is the source of your fear. That is what you are truly afraid of, the guilt and conscience of a survivor.¡±


    Fearless continued to speak why watching the expression on Narik¡¯s face turned dark with remorse and denial.


    ¡°You fear meeting your brothers. You fear meeting them in the hall of Mistress Death, not knowing how to apologize to them for killing them with your mistake. You fear that despite killing your brothers due to your stupidity, you alone would survive. I¡¯m sure you must have told yourself that Ekar¡¯s tortures were your punishment and you deserved them. Ekar must have gone insane when he heard that. You intended to wear those terrible wounds Ekar inflicted on your body like armor when you reunite with your brothers in the hall of Mistress Death. Am I correct?¡±


    ¡°¡­.¡­.i¡­.e¡­ssss¡±


    Despite being enveloped in the purple mist, Narik tried to deny Fearless¡¯ words against the odds. That made Fearless admired the man¡¯s tenacity even more.


    ¡°Lies? No, you know that, don¡¯t you? They are truths. You welcome the pain. You welcome the death. Every wound that Ekar inflicted on your body lessens your guilty conscience. They were not punishments. They are reliefs. They made you feel better about yourself.¡±


    ¡° ¡­..i¡­esssss¡±


    Narik denied with his frozen jaws. He was desperate to deny Fearless¡¯ words of judgment. Tears traced two separate paths, streaming from his eyes. Now, he looked like a man who was possessed by fear. The expression that Narik wore at the moment made more sense than that calm and acceptance fa?ade that he showed to Fearless.


    ¡°Yet, there is not a single wound on your body at the moment. Where are they? How are you going to meet your brothers now, being unharmed and unwounded like that?¡±


    ¡°¡­..s¡­..oppppp¡±


    ¡°What you fear is life, not death, not physical punishment or any tortures that Ekar can give you. That was why no amount of pain could break you. Ekar lacked the emotional capacity to understand that, being a mere worm, no more, no less. He did not address the source of your fear correctly. Was he a demon, he would have known and you would be in no better shape than these women.¡±


    ¡°S¡­..o¡­..ppppp¡­.esssse¡­.¡±


    ¡°You fear that you would arrive at the hall of Mistress Death, not knowing what became of the family of your deceased brothers. Were they captured and tortured by Ekar and Bloodbeard? Did they die suffered or in peace? Or they would live as the broken dogs of Ekar like these women? Or worse?¡±


    ¡°¡­op¡­. op¡­ I e¡­gggg¡­..u.¡±


    Narik miserably cried, sobbing on the spot.


    ¡°I imagine that you would be very much afraid of meeting them, and they would forgive you for your mistake instead of lynching you with curses and fists. You don¡¯t want that forgiveness, do you? You are afraid of meeting your brothers, unable to avenge them or protecting the families they left behind. If I was in your position, I would have felt the same.¡±


    ¡°op¡­.opp¡­ l¡­e¡­a¡­s¡­e.¡±


    Narik¡¯s current state of being resembled Fearless¡¯ expectation at the beginning, broken and damaged. His miserable look made Fearless felt bad for doing this.


    Empathy was a sword and a shield, weapon and armor. It was a familiar tool of Fearless ever since he was but a boy. If he wanted to be loved and protected, he would wear it like armor. However, sometimes, the best defense is a good offense. Empathy would be wielded as a sword at times like this.


    Fearless thought that Narik was lucky that Ekar lacked the ability to comprehend empathy. Had Ekar possessed the ability to empathize with people like Fearless, Narik would have been a broken mess, in worse shape than Erinys and the women.


    ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for making you going through this. However, I don¡¯t like that fa?ade of yours. You look like you are completely at peace when you have yet to atone for your mistakes. You understood that you have made a mistake and yet, you don¡¯t even look like you wanted to correct that mistake. I don¡¯t like that.¡± Fearless sternly said.


    Narik just wasted himself on the spot, resigned and broken, sobbing and begging in incoherent words. His snot mixed with his blood and tears, drenched his face and the ground.


    Surprisingly, even when his words were incoherent mutters, Fearless could still understand what he was trying to say.


    ¡°But you know what, Narik, my friend? I can forgive you for that. However, the fact that you, a coward, a loser, an unrepentant fool got to be freed from your guilt by lying to yourself while making yourself look good at the same time. I don¡¯t like that. Do you really believe that you are brave for withstanding Ekar¡¯s tortures? No, no, no, no, no¡­ stop lying to yourself. You want that pain. You want Ekar to inflict the maximum amount of pain on you. You wanted that to run away from your guilty conscience.¡± Fearless carried on his verbal beat down with the same theatrical voice, ¡°Coward!¡± he yelled. ¡°You did not bother confronting your guilty conscience. You did not bother to ask the most important question until I mentioned it to you. Shouldn¡¯t you be glad that I have addressed that question for you?¡±


    ¡°Can I redeem my mistake, truly?¡± Fearless mimicked Narik¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Yes, you can.¡± He immediately returned to his established theatrical voice, ¡°It¡¯s not easy. It¡¯s going to be difficult. It will be unbearable. It¡¯s going to be more painful than Ekar¡¯s tortures. Why? Because that is your true punishment. Because you are going to confront the result of your stupidity, your mistake. Because, that is not the easy way out. Dead is the easy way. Dead is an escape and atoning for your mistake is not. I can give you that. I, alone, is the only person in this world can give you the chance to do that, to redeem yourself. That, I promise.¡±


    ¡°However, the biggest questions now are: Do you have the balls to accept your atonement, knowing that it would cost you everything? Do you want that chance badly enough to swear your allegiance to a being like myself? I am a million times worse than the like of Ekar and his worms. I am a million times worse than any demon or demon lord in your myth and fables. Of course, I am. Otherwise, how can I exterminate or break them without being more terrible and worse than them? Would you still consider making a pact with a being like me? Are you that desperate?¡±


    A person does not need to be a demon to break a demon. He does not need to be stronger than a demon to do that. He only needs to be worse than the demon or in another word, better than the demon at what it does. He only needs to empathize with the demon to understand its mentality, why it did what it did. He only needs to understand the demon, its strength and weakness, its like and dislike, its thought process and behaviors, how and why it was born. He only needs to dissect a demon on an atomic level. He only needs the ability to strip the demon of everything that makes it a demon. Once that happen, a demon would be no demon. A broken demon is no demon to anybody.


    A good worm is a dead worm. A good demon is a broken demon.


    ¡°I have told you everything I want to say. I¡¯m done here. Now, you are going to make a choice. It¡¯s your choice. I¡¯m not going to do anything to force that choice on you. ¡°


    Fearless activated <A strange choice>


    A golden orb of light escaped his palm and swirled around Narik¡¯s body, dispelling the effect of the purple mist had on Narik¡¯s body. The orb then broke into tiny fireflies of light, traversing around the immobilized frames of the women, removing the effect of the mist on them as well.


    ¡°Stand! You are fine now.¡± Fearless commanded.


    Narik touched his body and stood. His hair disheveled, his face a mess, his eyes wariness and distrust.


    ¡°Yes, doubt. I want you to doubt my words. Be a smart and doubtful man, don¡¯t be a stupid and trusting man. Ask yourself, can I really give you that? Do I have the ability to deliver what I have promised? Yes, be doubtful my friend. But, before that, DO yourself a favor and ask yourself a question. Should you trust me, knowing that I am far worse than any demon in your fables and myths? DO understand that making a pact with me would cost you everything. And when I said everything, I meant everything, your allegiance, your soul, your fear, your emotions and everything else. I will determine how and when you can arrive at the hall of Mistress Death. Even knowing that, would you wager yourself for but a chance of redeeming your mistake? I am a liar, a much better liar than any demon has ever existed. The like of Fl¨®ki, Sanguine or Envy are beneath me. DO understand that my words, all of them are built upon a mountain of lies. Even knowing that, would you make that choice? Would you make a pact with me for all but a chance? Even if that chance was but an empty promise, would you make that choice?¡±


    Fearless cackled, moistening his words with the sweet nectar of deceits and threats. He doubted that even the like of Fl¨®ki, Sanguine and Envy, the worst of the Fifty-one Demon Lords, would make a better scammer than him. He imagined that those liars would beg him to be their teacher in this craft.


    Fearless quietly counted to ten within his head.


    ¡°Also, make it quick for me. I don¡¯t have all the time in the world to wait for your answer. There are a lot stupid fools in this world that are desperate for all but a chance.¡±


    That was the final nail in the coffin.


    Fearless told himself that if this world were a chessboard, Narik would make his very first piece. A man who withstood Ekar¡¯s conditioning with all but a single lie, a man like that is definitely worthy of being his first piece. Being the brother of the hound of Hyrios also elevated Narik¡¯s position on the scales of usefulness.


    A pawn, no less, but a very valuable pawn. Not all pawns are made equal, after all.


    Are you watching this Clariciel? Oh wait, I must sleep first for you to see this event through my dream. Too bad, Clariciel, too bad for you and whoever you are, the moron who think you can use me for your gain.


    Fearless quietly cackled like a demon. He¡¯s enjoying the situation. His foul mood has been lifted just by having a pawn like Narik on his side. Erinys has given him the reason to take part in the game but Narik was a different between being eligible for the game and not. No chess player can play a chessboard without a piece on his or her side. Even if Fearless gambled his life, turning it into the king piece to play the board, a king alone could not end the game with a checkmate.


    Pieces that are readily handed to you are never your pieces. We have to earn our pieces with our abilities, always.


    Fearless laughed. The majority sources of his headache have disappeared. He¡¯s enjoying the disappearance of his many sources of headache.


    Narik, my friend, you who should have been dead by now, yet you are reborn a pawn of mine instead. Be glad. Be very glad that you have run into me and not a real demon instead.


    Ashtor¨¢, I have found my qualifications and earned them, have you?

 Chapter 41: The Princes fixing his problem (final)

    Chapter 41: The Prince¡¯s fixing his problems


    Narik reminded Fearless a bit of FY, just a little bit.


    Fearless really admired FY. He looked up to FY as an older brother that he never had, a powerful leader, a great friend, a wise mentor and a great rival. He loved FY, idolizing him even, and Fearless wasn¡¯t afraid to admit it to everyone.


    It was a known fact that Fearless was closer to FY than the rest of The Alliance. The two of them often traveled together. They hung out together regularly.


    At one point, his fans expressed their doubts regarding rumors about Fearless had a crush for FY in a homosexual way and Fearless teasingly played along, admitting that he did in an interview. That did not end well, especially in the world of showbiz.


    Regardless, it was hard to not love FY. He has a good look and a charming smile. He¡¯ a gentleman. He just does everything right, most of the time. He¡¯s insanely charismatic. Yet, it is FY¡¯s genuineness that drawn Fearless to him. In fact, that quality of FY is what makes him so endearing.


    FY is incredibly genuine in everything that he does, even though he was far from being the type of person who wore their emotions on the sleeves. After all, he was born to be a politician just like Fearless was born for the piano, concealing his true emotions and making people love him is like breathing for FY.


    That does not mean that FY does not lie. He does, as much as any normal person would.


    That genuineness of FY is without a doubt his best quality. Fearless remembered the one time FY asked him regarding his future career choice.


    ¡°Why not become a full-time model or a magician or an actor?¡±


    That was supposed to be a simple question. However, it was not. FY did not mean it literally. It was a touchy topic so FY asked it in an around and about manner. And Fearless understood it immediately the moment FY asked that question.


    That was only something FY would do, feeling sorry for something that was not even his fault.


    Fearless chuckled. ¡°And allow you to be the greatest ROC player in the history? Uncontested? No way,¡± he dodgily replied as if he did not understand the question.


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious,¡± said FY, shifting his tone.


    ¡°Do you think you can win a championship without me?¡± Fearless smirked.


    ¡°Do you think I can¡¯t?¡± FY reflexively retorted. For once, FY was caught in Fearless¡¯ pace.


    ¡°Of course, what would you do without me? We are a combo, remember? One and two. Neither of us could do it without another.¡± Fearless casually shrugged his shoulders.


    ¡°Can you stop trying to change the topic?¡± FY sighed, coming to himself. ¡°It would not work on me again,¡± he earnestly said.


    ¡°If you have the chance to hit the reset button in your life, would you become a politician instead? Or would you remain a pro-gamer?¡±


    ¡°Brother, can you stop changing the topic? I¡¯m being serious.¡±


    ¡°Me too, I¡¯m being very serious. Answer my question first, and then I will answer yours.¡±


    ¡°You never play fair, don¡¯t you?¡± FY resigned. He nodded his head and affirmed, ¡°Yes, I will be a pro-gamer again.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s also my answer.¡±


    ¡°You are a moron. You know that?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong. I do regret making mistakes. My mistakes haunt me¡­ even now. However, I don¡¯t regret becoming Fearless, not a single moment in my entire life, never. That is never a mistake. I will assure you that, brother. I¡¯m not sorry for who I am or what I have become. I¡¯m not sorry for being myself. Therefore, even if I was an actor, a magician, or a model and not a pro-gamer, I am still Fearless. So, big brother, you don¡¯t have to feel sorry for me. Besides, that was not caused by your action. That, that was my mistakes. That, that was not your mistake, not anyone¡¯s mistake. It¡¯s mine. Therefore, you don¡¯t have to feel responsible for that.¡±


    Never again, the two of them talked about that topic. However, that did not mean that FY stopped feeling responsible for that. He continued to blame himself for something that was clearly not his fault.


    That part was the only thing Narik had in common with FY. He lacked the charm and the charisma that FY had. But then, nobody can be FY, not even Fearless. It was very unfair for Narik if Fearless was compared him to FY. FY was just as OP as Th¨´y D??ng was. The two of them were the only two people that Fearless could never best when he was on Earth.


    ¡°See those bonfires? They belonged to the worms that wronged you and your brothers.¡± Fearless showed Narik the host of bonfires outside the room. ¡°They are the arms and legs of Bloodbeard and Ekar. Don¡¯t waste time and energy to blame yourself, direct your anger at them, direct your hatred at them, direct your blade at them, they are your enemies.¡±


    Narik said no word, staring at the host of bonfires below the tower with his clenched fists.


    Narik thought that he was dead. His survivor guilt tricked him into believing that lie. He has convinced himself that he was dead and he believed in that lie until Fearless broke it to him. The moment he realized that he was still in the world of the living, he was completely torn, yet, grateful. He cried and affirmed his vows to Fearless again for saving his life.


    ¡°After that, you can return to the walls of Madukat to complete the obligations of a survivor. That is your redemption.¡± Fearless said, tossing a piece of firewood into the hearth and watched the embers flew up.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Narik gritted his teeth, ¡°I can¡¯t kill them all even if I had a blade with me.¡±


    ¡°When did I tell you to do something like that?¡± Fearless shot Narik an incredulous look.


    ¡°But¡­ you just told me to direct my blade at them.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Yes, I did. However, I did not tell you to waste your life, the life you owed to me, just like that, fool.¡±


    Narik returned Fearless¡¯ incredulous look with an equally confused look of his own.


    ¡°Tomorrow, I¡¯m going to filter them.¡± Fearless explained as he watched the embers rose from the hearth.


    ¡°Filter?¡±


    ¡°Yes, if they are in fact human, they will be able to live like human. However, if they are indeed worms, they will die like worms, all of them. In two days, I will hold a trial and execution for them. Their characters will be their own judges. Those deserve to die will die. Those deserve to live will live. I will be the executioner and you will be my assistant. Do you have anything to add?¡± Fearless casually told Narik his plan.


    Narik carefully listened. Then, he hesitated for a moment before asking in the most respectful manner, ¡°Why would you bother to do that? Why can¡¯t you just kill all of them if you are so powerful?¡± He managed to hide his fury and hatred extremely well.


    Fearless mentally added points for Narik for being able to do that.


    ¡°I gave you a chance for redemption. I will give one to them as well. And, as I said, I will not be the judge. Their characters, their sins, their souls will be their own judges. I am only the executioner.¡± Fearless gave Narik a stern look as he explained.


    The flickering lights from the hearth cast a shadow on Narik¡¯s face as he remained in silence.


    ¡°Not satisfied?¡± Fearless inquired.


    ¡°No, I am¡­¡± Narik flustered. He quickly put his knees on the ground to apologize.


    ¡°Lies do not work on me. So, you can drop it. Also, you don¡¯t need to kneel before me. You are my vassal, someone I deemed worthy. Therefore, do not kneel that easily. It cheapens your value,¡± Fearless commanded.


    ¡°I did not mean it. I do not intend to deceive you.¡± Narik shook his head and replied. After that, he gingerly stood up as he was commanded.


    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t. That¡¯s only a reflex. And yet, it is a lie. I know when people tell me a lie. Now, if you are not satisfied with my conditions, you can hunt them down. But, after you fulfilled your duty with me first, after you redeemed yourself first. After that, you can hunt them to the end of the world. It¡¯s your life, your vendetta, I have no right to stop you.¡±


    ¡°No, forgive me. I was out of the line.¡± Narik was smart enough to understand that was a warning, and thus immediately apologized.


    ¡°Good, at least, you are not so stupid that you have forgotten your vows this early. Now, your missions. First, you shall stay here and watch these women when I¡¯m not here. Your job is to protect them first and foremost. While I don¡¯t believe that there is any foolish worm down there have half a ball to touch them, I cannot count that out. Also, if these women tried to hurt themselves or do anything foolish while I¡¯m not here, knock them out. You have my permission to do that. Can I trust you with this job?¡± Fearless tossed yet another firewood into the hearth while asking.


    ¡°I swear to fulfill my duty.¡± Narik crossed his right arm on his chest and solemnly swore.


    ¡°Your second mission is much harder than your first. You shall not sleep a wink until I give you the permission to do so.¡± Fearless continued.


    Narik had the same look when Fearless broke it to him that he was still alive.


    ¡°That¡¯s a strange order. Right? I will explain. Right now, there is an asshole, possibly two or even more, are siding with these worms.¡± Fearless spoke, trying to contain his anger as best as he could. He wasn¡¯t sure the intention of the person or people who mess around with Bloodbeard¡¯s dream and Bloodbeard¡¯s worms yet.


    Fearless has no idea why they included him within their plan. He had no idea if they were helping him or they were toying with him. He wasn¡¯t sure if they were even on his side at all.


    Fearless did not know their intention, their identity and thus he could do nothing about them.


    If they were indeed my enemies, there would be no way that I could live through this event, Fearless told himself. As long as these characters remained in the shadow without revealing their identities like campers and stalkers, Fearless¡¯ option was vastly limited. Therefore, he intended to drag them out of their shadow. After that, depending on whom he¡¯s dealing with, he would adapt.


    It would be easy if that person were Sinintee himself or one of the Valkyria.


    ¡°These assholes are whom you and your people may call gods or Demon Lords. I¡¯m not sure which one yet. They can invade your dream uninvited. They can see your memories in your dream and thus, they can interfere with my plan. Therefore, as long as neither you nor I sleep for a wink, they know nothing of our plan.¡± Fearless explained.


    While Sinintee and the Valkyria would not be a problem for Fearless, the Demon Lords that spawned from the dismembered corpse of Naharis do. In fact, they made Fearless doubted his chance of living on Escana.


    In the game, these Demon Lords were the ultimate weapons of the Dark Occultist¡¯s faction.


    The Dark Occultist is one of the weaker factions among the playable factions in the multiplayer mode.


    Their faction does not receive a bonus in Magic Research or Alchemy Research despite being a magic based faction. They are the discounted version of the Greyscale and the Judgment Army of White Winter. They lack strength, numbers, territory, fortifications and decent generals to contest for hegemony. Worse, their warlord and generals cannot do politics. Worst, they can be counter-picked easily.


    Their units are the weakest in the entire game, only second to militia type of units. In fact, they are so weak that a bandit type warlord like Bloodbeard can put an end to their campaign in a single confrontation at any moment.


    But, the Dark Occultist faction does not need any of those qualities to be relevant in the game. They do not care about those qualities.


    Their entire existence revolves around the Demon Lords and the sacrificial ritual that summons the Demon Lords. They exist in the game to laugh at the qualities, advantages, and values that other factions had over them. They exist to trample over the normality and the common sense within the world of Escana and within the game.


    Planning, zoning and A SHIT TONS OF LUCK, any player who picks the Dark Occultist faction would need those three factors to contest for hegemony.


    The Dark Occultist faction is one of the factions that Fearless has trouble at playing. In fact, he is disastrously bad with them. He can pick this faction to play against the AI controlled warlords and the casual type of players, but no more than that. But then, there is nothing shameful in admitting that even though Fearless was a professional gamer in ROC. Not that many pro-players in the league can play this faction correctly.


    Fearless gave Narik some time for the man to digest the information. However, Narik did not look like a man who understood everything that he was told. In fact, he looked like he has just swallowed something strange and disagreeable with his stomach.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to comprehend, right? Get used to it. Now, can I hear your reply? Can you do it?¡± Fearless demanded.


    ¡°I will do it even if it cost me everything,¡± Narik swore, striking his chest with his right arm.


    Fearless intended to retort, Not everything fool, you still owe me a life, but he spared Narik from that. ¡°Do remember that even if you were to doze off for a moment, that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t fail you,¡± Narik solemnly affirmed.


    ¡°That¡¯s all. Conceal your face at all time, just in case one of the worms comes here and they might remember your face. Remain in this room until I tell you otherwise.¡± Fearless said, returning to his straw bed to lie down next to Erinys, ¡°If you have anything you want to ask, do it now.¡±


    Narik hesitated, but he asked. ¡°You have told me that I would be your assistance when you executed the worms. You have yet to tell me how I may provide you with my assistance.¡±


    ¡°I will tell you the detail when the time is right. This is a failsafe. Just in the case that you fail me and allows those assholes to deduct my intention. I can still carry out my counterplan and complete my mission.¡±


    ¡°I will absolutely not fail you,¡± Narik promised.


    While Fearless was extremely pleased with Narik¡¯ loyalty, he chose to encourage that loyalty even further, ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t believe in your vows. I am a person with very little of trust. Prove yourself to me with the result. Not word.¡±


    Something as intangible and invisible as trust can be used as a goal and a reward to encourage people¡¯s loyalty.


    FY pulled the same move when Fearless fumbled and hit the self-destruct button during that important match in his second year in the league, losing the game and the chance for the team to advance to the final.


    ¡°Oh, unplug those women¡¯s ears for me as well. I plugged their ears with straws so that they cannot hear our conversation just in cases. It¡¯s just paranoia, but I cannot just rule out... Never mind, just do it.¡±

 Chapter 42: The Fools of White Winter

    Chapter 42: The Fools of White Winter


    Lanxer drained the bowl of flavored stock to wash away the lingering acidic taste of the vitality-restoring potion in his mouth. His stomach groaned as though there was a demon growing inside, an old and familiar enemy. The royal physician told Lanxer to cut down on the potions. The old woman diagnosed Lanxer¡¯s chronic stomach pain to be born from the number of potions that he consumed on the daily basis. She said that he needed to stop drinking those health potions, otherwise, there would be no cure.


    Lanxer always gave her the ¡°I will,¡± as his reply but he never did.


    Those red acidic solutions were necessary evils. Lanxer needed them. If he could stop consuming them as a substitute for his daily meal, he would. However, he can¡¯t and that¡¯s a fact.


    ¡°Prince, won¡¯t you have some oatmeal? I make it lukewarm and diluted.¡± Kahar, the head of Lanxer¡¯s personal servants suggested as he passed the empty bowl to a maid standing nearby.


    ¡°No,¡± Lanxer promptly shook his head, checking the hourglass on the table with a quick glimpse. He pretended not to notice the mouthwatering fragrance of Kahar¡¯s special oatmeal. It had a special fragrance, a warm smell of a distant southern land that he loved, untouched by frigidity of snow and ice. It was his favorite. Yet, Lanxer knew that he would throw up to death if he tried to swallow that bowl of oatmeal down his stomach.


    The excessive usage of potion had an effect on his stomach, an effect that cannot be reverted by spells or any potion. Never again, Lanxer would experience the joy of chewing on things, the thing that was tough and a challenge for his jaws or hard or crispy, anything solid. If he were to try, forcing himself on them, he would have an intense bowel pain that would last for days. He would throw up until he was but a wrinkled husk. It happened to Lanxer and all of his secretaries and advisors, and any rich fool who consume potions as a substitute for food over a long period.


    Knowing that Kahar has prepared the food as watery as possible for Lanxer to consume.


    ¡°Prince, you have only recovered recently. You cannot go back to those potions again,¡± Kahar admonished, ¡°What you need is a proper meal.¡± He has kept repeating this same line for the last twenty years, with less hope each year. His weatherworn grey hair was the years he spent serving Lanxer.


    ¡°I know,¡± Lanxer did not argue. He had no wish to punish his sickly pale body more than he has already done. Yet, he had no idea how he could do it otherwise. He quietly nodded his head, signaling the maids in waiting to fix him his coat. They promptly put the thick white of Lanxer¡¯s royal coat on his body. The royal insignia, three swords and an impaled gold dragon fluttering on the back of the coat swiftly passed through Lanxer¡¯s peripheral vision. He has never liked that insignia. It¡¯s ugly and ominous.


    The moron that drew that insignia and the moron that adopted that insignia as their family crest should die, oh wait, they did.


    Lanxer could not understand why the people who called themselves children of the dragon would use an impaled dragon as their family crest. They were fools, and yet, their blood runs thick in Lanxer¡¯s veins. He, too, was just as much of a fool as they were. Lanxer thought that he has become the man his teacher was, cranky and sarcastic, always.


    You, too, in the end, are just another fool just like your entire family. That foolishness runs deep in your blood.


    That was the final words of Lanxer¡¯s late teacher when he quitted his job as the court educator.


    Lanxer missed him. He missed being called ¡°a fool¡± by that old man. He missed that crisp slapping sound during classes. The old man would slap a scroll on the back of the head of the princes and princess if they were distracted or being lazy in their class. He would talk down to the queen and the king¡¯s concubines if they dared to criticize his teaching method. He would criticize every decision that the Great Temple has ever made.


    ¡°Your Majesty, by Sinintee¡¯s cock, you are a fucking moron.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m smarter than you, Your Majesty. That¡¯s reality. You have to accept it.¡±


    That cranky old man was the only person outside of the royal family of White Winter who can say something like those, repeatedly, in the king¡¯s court without getting himself and his entire family publicly executed.


    That old man was a strange person. In the king¡¯s court where every man relied on lies and excuses to keep their head intact, he was the only man who dared to voice his true thoughts without fearing the retributions. He was a brutally honest man as well as being brutally arrogant. He was not afraid of upsetting anyone even if that person was the king.


    That old man was a man of many talents, a philosopher, a spellcaster, an alchemist, a mathematician, a civil engineer, a Master of War and many more. Without that old man, Lanxer¡¯s father would have never been the king of White Winter. He was the one who told Lanxer¡¯s father to separate Lanxer¡¯s education from the rest of his siblings, fearing that the foolishness of his siblings would have infected Lanxer.


    However, in the end, there is no cure for foolishness, not even the best kind of education can do that. That foolishness, it ran deep within Lanxer¡¯s veins.


    As people age, they would grow wiser, not Lanxer, not the fools of his family. Even his great ancestor, the Dragonslayer, the great Craxus himself was but a fool, making the barren and cold land of Kingscrown as the capital city of his empire, not some rich and fertile southern land.


    Lanxer sighed, hinting a faint smile on his lips, ¡°Your prophecy has come true, teacher¡±. Every time, the word ¡°fool¡± was mentioned, Lanxer would be reminded of the old man.


    The familiar roughness of coat¡¯s interior brushed Lanxer¡¯s neck, a familiar feeling. His mother has sewed this coat from the hide of the biggest fur seal to keep him warm throughout his first campaign. He was thirteen at that time, yet so much smarter and stronger than he¡¯s now.


    For decades, he has worn it. He has never gone to any campaign without this coat. Though, the coat has become significantly tighter and heavier over the years, probably heavier than his own body, wearing it has become increasingly difficult.


    His mother has sewed him many new coats over the years. For every campaign that he went to, she would make a different coat for him. There was the one she made from the mane of a snow lion, and the two from the feathers of swans and eagles. There was also the one she made from the priced hide of mash unicorn. She would nag him to do away with the fur seal coat for it was old and weathered, unfitted for a royal prince of his status.


    However, Lanxer would always tell her that he preferred this fur seal coat. It was his lucky charm. He believed that it has kept him alive.


    Along with the fur seal coat, the maids girded Lanxer¡¯s personal weapon around his waist. A thin sword, a rapier, slim and lanky just like Lanxer¡¯s body, fragile, looked like it would break into pieces if it met with mails and other weapons. It¡¯s an unusual weapon, a strange sight in the Northern Realm. It¡¯s different from the thick and long traditional swords of the Northern men, or the single edge blades favored by the elves and the dwarves. However, Lanxer knew it from the scrolls and from his teachers, this weapon was common in the elves¡¯ continent, extremely popular with the high elf¡¯s nobility and even among the elves. It was not a weapon designed for war and combat. It was a weapon created to settle disputes.


    The maids lifted the hem of the tent¡¯s entrance, opening the door for Lanxer. A bitter river wind that carried a bit of white mist rushed inside the royal tent and Lanxer founded himself shivered. The lit braziers inside his tent flickered, sizzled and cracked when met the white mist.


    Lanxer has layered his willowed body in the thick of exotic silk garments and his heavy fur seal coat until no sunlight could reach his skin, yet, he still felt the autumn river winds of White Winter with his bones and marrows.


    He envied Kahar and the maids for being able to dress so lightly without feeling the cold. Once, he was like that, young and invincible, swimming in the mid of a freezing winter without a care in the world. He missed those days.


    I hope it¡¯s warmer after we cross the border.


    Lanxer left his royal tent and the comfort of the fire, walking. Lanxer wished to experience the warm snow of Zard with his body. He has yet to see it. He has only known and loved the spring of Zard.


    Fifteen years ago, he has been to Zard as a representative of the royal family. Zard was in the green of spring and life.


    He was mesmerized by the ocean of green grasses that stretch to the horizon, beautiful pastures with blooming wildflowers. He was enamored by the sights of the wild Zardian horses running in herds across the plain.


    Their breed was rarely seen outside of Zard, they did not do well with the cold of the northern region. They were a local breed in the Great Plain of Zard, valued by the nomadic tribes for their strength, stamina, and speed. A Zardian warhorse, well trained and has adapted to the cold weather of White Winter would cost a fortune, twice the amount of coins needed to raise a small army. Yet, in this place, they were abundant, a sight of mundane.


    The farmers of Zard freely grew their fields with golden Amiga wheat, berries, and Kamara tea trees. Those were the luxury in White Winter, only the like of rich merchants, nobles and royalties could possess them.


    Lanxer was shocked. He knew rich and colorful lands as Zard existed, but only in the scrolls in the royal library and the songs of the bards. He has heard that when the warm snow fell, the land would become warmer in Zard, the exact opposite of White Winter and all the lands that Lanxer has been to.


    Brimming with nostalgia, Lanxer exited his personal tent, covering half of his face with his spider silk scarf to prevent the white mist and cold air from entering his lungs. He could not afford to allow himself at the mercy of pneumonia again. The court physician had to hold a three weeks ceremony to rid Lanxer of that disease. For three weeks, he was bedridden, barred from his works. Never again would Lanxer made the same mistake.


    It¡¯s almost noon and yet, the outside was still white with the dense river mist. The sun still hid within the thick grey cloud, a perfect weather in Lanxer¡¯s opinion. This dense mist was also perfect.


    Lanxer walked with his usual weighty long strides, his royal guards with him. The outside was so much colder than the inner of his royal tent, and Lanxer felt the cold ground itself within his bones and marrows despite all the clothes he wrapped around his body. He straightened his back as he walked, fighting off the weight of his clothes. He walked with a sense of urgency in each step without dragging his feet.


    The royal guards opened the entrance to Lanxer¡¯s working tent for him. The familiar clinking sound of abacus stones hitting each other, the constant arguing and rhythmical coughs were the royal salute to welcome Lanxer back to his icy royal seat.


    Inside this tent, Lanxer was the only one who had a working table and working chair, the rest of the people working inside the tent were on the floor, with only the carpet to shield their asses from the cold ground. They could not bother to work on tables and chairs for the furniture would have reduced their working space. They did not bother to stand up to greet Lanxer. Lanxer did not bother to demand them of such either.


    They were men who were possessed by parchments, seal, quilts, and abacuses. They were Lanxer¡¯s secretaries and advisors with the exception of Krady, the Kingdom¡¯s recently installed Master of Coffer.


    The air inside the tent was about as cold as the outside. There was no lit brazier founded inside the tent out of the consideration for all the important documents being kept inside. However, the tent was brightly lit by an artificial light source born from magic, Divine Light of Eogaill, conjured by none other than Lanxer¡¯s personal court magic caster, Levy.


    She recast the spell periodically to keep the tent illuminated for the men to work. She was a rare talent, a magic caster among magic casters in term of aptitude, born with the blessings of all four patron-deities of Escana: Sinintee, Niwdar, Wonten and Eogaill within her blood. Being born with two blessings was rare, three even rarer, but four was unheard of. Lanxer only discovered her by accident. She was the best of his bodyguards and a useful aide.


    ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡± Lanxer inquired Hados, the head of his intelligence network and the head of secretaries. He stood next to Lanxer¡¯s working table, paled and lanky, thick with animal furs to protect his corpse-like body from the cold air. His wrinkled corpse like frame was not so different from Lanxer. When standing together, the two of them would create quite the amount of topics for the royal courts to talk about.


    ¡°They will open the gates at midnight. Hyrios has left the garrison with only 3000 men. It won¡¯t be a problem.¡± Hados made a fist on his mouth to shield his white vapory coughs, moving one organized stack of papers on the table toward Lanxer with his personal stamp.


    Lanxer was glad that his ploy worked as he has planned. He had no wish to fight Hyrios in the western border. He knew he needed all the advantages in the world to fight a man like Hyrios. Fighting Hyrios on his home ground, even with a vastly outnumbered army, it felt like a suicidal endeavor to Lanxer.


    According to the intelligence he gathered, that lad has grown up a tiger among men, fierce and mighty as Lanxer thought he would. The 39 nomadic tribes of the Great Plain called Hyrios ¡°King of the Plain¡± despite he was still a Warden of the West, servant to the king of Zard.


    The last time Lanxer met Hyrios, he accompanied the previous Chancellor of the Left, his uncle, to pay respect the king of Zard and delivered gifts in his birthday party as members of the White Winter royal family. The king of Zard held a three-day festival at the time, inviting all the powerful figures in his lands to celebrate his birthday with him. He hosted tourneys and trials for three days to entertain the guests.


    Lanxer remembered all the important people whom he has met in that three-day festival in the capital. Hyrios, twelve at the time, a cub, not yet a man, he was hard to forget. Deep amber eyes, boyish and innocent, yet hinting a swell of power, intelligent and unwavering confidence beyond his age. His coppered long hair braided like the thick mane of a grown snow lion, but red and yellow like a lit pyre.


    He stood out among the ranks of wardens, princes and nobles and all the powerful figures of Zard. He attracted attention with everything he did. He brought a fully-grown smiling tiger to the king¡¯s court against his father¡¯s will, scaring quite a number of people. Yet, the way he did it, the manner which he acted made the king of Zard loved him, granting him the permission to bring his giant cat anywhere with him.


    He and the other boy, the one people called the young dragon, they were always together like brothers, perhaps, more than that despite not sharing the same blood in their veins.


    Yet, the two of them could not be more different.


    One was strong whereas the other was fast. One was big, broad and muscular with an indomitable physics just like bears of Madukat where the other one was tall, lean and graceful like the people of the plains.


    People said that the gods do not bless a man with two gifts. Yet those two, one a tiger cub, the other a hatchling dragon, they were blessed all the gifts in the world to enter the annals of history as legends and myths like Craxus once did.


    They were just as fearless as they were gifted. The king had the kids of the wardens, the nobles and his own sons to have their kid¡¯s competition. While most would throw the matches to let the princes competed among themselves, those two boys did the exact opposite despite being told not to by their parents.


    They showed no regard to the pride of the princes. They dominated their competitions effortlessly.


    The king would rule them equal again and again at the end of every competition.


    In the end, they had to settle their score with a bow.


    With his recurve bow, the tiger cub clipped the wings of a fluttering moth. The hatchling dragon did not want to lose, hitting a target beyond 400 steps with his great bow.


    The king ruled them equal this time as well and they happily agreed with that judgment.


    Yet, even when they had each other to contest, even when they have bested the princes, the hunger to test their limits was not sated. Had they not meet each other, perhaps, they would have stopped there, bored, believing that nobody in this wide world was their equal in contests.


    Their competitions were boys, too small of being worthy trophies. The two of them did not consider themselves as boys. Cubs they were, however, tiger and dragon in the making.


    The two of them participated in the tourney of the sword incognito, wearing identical featureless bronze armors. Until their parents caught them due to the cue from the giant cat of Hyrios, the pair were dominating the adults as they did to the princes.


    Watching them at the time, Lanxer felt a sense of admiration, envy and dreaded. The future of White Winter was the grim of snow and ice as long as those two boys existed. If the king of Zard at the time or the future king had the ambition for hegemony and conquest, with a tiger and a dragon at his side, uniting the continent would not be a dream.


    Despite the nostalgia, Lanxer mechanical grabbed the stamp to work on the documents. ¡°What about the state of their granary?¡± He asked, not bother to look at what Hados was doing with the scrolls and parchments.


    Lanxer¡¯s hands were a blur, stamping his personal seal and flipping the documents with the mechanical efficiency of any dwarven gadget. He did not bother to double-check the documents, trusting on Hados¡¯ ability to not commit any mistake. Lanxer doubted that even his great ancestor Craxus could stamp these documents faster with his legendary lightning sword arms.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Barely enough to feed our men for the next three months,¡± Krady¡¯s reply came from the far end of the tent. He was sitting on the ground, burying his face into the documents he recently acquired from his tax officers and Lanxer¡¯s intelligence. Around him stood mountains of scrolls and parchments of different natures, the mirror image of the state of Lanxer¡¯s working table. ¡°We might have to sack neighbor region to feed our troops,¡± emotionlessly said Krady, his quilt was mechanical and precise like a dwarven gadget, writing texts while he was reading some tax documents at the same time.


    Lanxer could hardly recognize Krady, his childhood friend and student of the same teacher from the emotionless tone Krady adopted. It was as if he has transformed into a different man.


    Unlike his cousin, general Rogan, and his brothers, Krady was no man of valor and sword even though he came from the line of military harden men.


    Krady has been known as an effeminate man who easily cried even after becoming an adult. He shook if people gave him a sword and fainted at the sight of blood. He was a target of ridicule for the valorous men of his families and even among the circles of nobility within the capital.


    Among Lanxer¡¯s circle, Krady had the least of presence. He spoke softly and did everything in a tranquil silence, without so much of a noise. He shared the love of reading with Lanxer. He loved poems more than the sword and shield. He loved debating philosophy topics more than mounting the bridle or holding reins. He admired the dwarves for their ability to create complex gadgets to serve the mundaneness of life instead of relying on the prayers to the gods and goddesses. However, he admired Math above everything. The numbers, the addition, and subtraction, the divide and multiplication, they were Krady¡¯s food and water and at the same time, the much-dreaded topic of any man of Krady¡¯s family.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Yet, that cowardly and easily cry Krady has just suggested sacking as the answer, his answer for the current problem.


    ¡°I will consider it,¡± Lanxer replied. He, too, has considered that option. If the granary did not provide enough ration for his men to march to the capital of Zard, he would order them to sack the region. ¡°Any eagle from the north?¡± He asked Hados.


    ¡°Not yet, probably tomorrow.¡± Hados coughed, clearing his throat, trying to find his breath from the coughs. He cupped his fist, hitting his chest, trying to stop the copious coughs.


    ¡°Go see the army physician, leave it to me. Come back when you feel better,¡± Lanxer voiced his concern to Hados, feeling guilty for passing his pneumonia to his most trusted person.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Hados shook his head, insisted. He unplugged a vial of red vitality potion at his belt, his fourth since the morning and drained it in one gulp.


    Lanxer knew that would be Hados¡¯ reply. He knew that unless he put Hados to the point of swords, Hados would keep working like that.


    He, too, was on a special potion diet just like Lanxer for the last ten years, a potion dependent, not so different from the rest of the people inside the tent. All of them have been on a potion diet as soon as they started working for Lanxer or after a while. Levy started around the same time Hados did, Terry a week after that, Connie two months. Even Krady has recently adopted this potion diet while fully understanding the nature and the side effect of this strange diet. Together, they consumed a year worth of potions by an army within months.


    Without adopting a potion diet, there would be no way Krady could do his job. In fact, none of them could, had they not adopt a potion diet. They need the potions to keep them sharp and awake, not to make mistakes. They need the potions to combat the fatigue of working on papers and parchments for over twenty hours a day, sometimes with no rest or sleep for two or three days in a row.


    A proper meal would take too long to prepare and consume. A proper meal would have left them tired and sleepy when they are full. A proper meal would take away their focus. However, a vial of vitality potion gave Lanxer and his people none of those problems.


    The only drawbacks of those acidic potions were the chronic stomach pain, the inability to digest solid food and their cost.


    As Lanxer mindlessly stamped the documents, he thought that he was probably the only prince and Master of War in the history of the kingdom to bring his kingdom¡¯s Master of Coffer to a campaign, probably the only one in the history of this world.


    Krady, too, he was probably the first Master of Coffer who was dragged into a campaign while being forced to revamp the new tax system for the kingdom and doing the grain distribution for the army at the same time.


    Lanxer remembered how blissful Krady was when he was appointed as the Master of Coffer of the kingdom. Finally, he has received a post that was worthy of his talent, finally a job that did not ask of him to wield a sword or wear heavy armor.


    Then, that ignorant blissfulness turned into the gray of ashes the moment Krady saw the state of the kingdom¡¯s coffer. He had the look of a man who wanted to give up on his long-held dream immediately, as soon as he saw those documents for the first time. He had the look of a man who understood exactly why the previous Master of Coffer hung himself. He had the look of a man who understood why Lanxer and the many of people working for him were potions dependent.


    As Lanxer was stamping the documents,


    ¡°BROTHER, COME OUT, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.¡±


    A voice so loud that it threatened all the mountains inside Lanxer¡¯s tent to collapse roared like a thunderstorm. A voice like that made Lanxer wondered why all the men of his family had such loudness in them and why can¡¯t they be as quiet and soft as Krady.


    Lanxer knew exactly what kind of look he had on his face. He needed no polished mirror to look. Hados, Levy, Krady and the rest of Lanxer¡¯s secretaries all had the same look on their face, the face of dread and terror, the face of resignation, the face of people who were telling, ¡°Here it comes,¡± inside their mind.


    ¡°BROTHER, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.¡±


    The tent¡¯s entrance was forcefully opened with the force of a whirling storm. Bitter winds entered the tent uninvited, with them, the white of river mist and a half-naked fool, soaking wet from top to bottom.


    ¡°STAND RIGHT THERE,¡± Lanxer¡¯s voice thundered faster than his thought. He found himself equally loud as the half-naked fool. He has always hated his own loudness. The only times his voice become so loud were when he¡¯s on a battlefield, barking orders, and times like this, dealing with this unreasonable fool.


    ¡°What? What?¡± The fool froze on the spot, hands in the air, his pimpled face surprised and confused. His long golden hair, wet, dripping water. His primed muscular frame, taut, developed from years of training, glistened from the artificial light of magic.


    ¡°DO NOT MOVE A SINGLE STEP,¡± Lanxer threatened, still trying to comprehend why would the fool who stood before him half-naked and wet like that in this bitterness of a weather.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You are about to damage those documents.¡± Lanxer pointed his finger at the collapsed mountains, the scrolls, and papers that the wet fool was about to step on.


    ¡°Oh? These? They are just papers. Who cares?¡± the fool casually replied.


    They are papers that stitch this entire kingdom together, fool.


    It was the reply like this that made Lanxer realized the despair of his teacher had while dealing with the people of his family. This was the reason why the old man rather spent the final years of his life away from the court, at peace with himself and the world, stopped fighting against the inevitable.


    Lanxer secretly cursed his entire family, his uncles, and aunts, his father, his grandfather, and great-grandfather all the way to his great ancestor Craxus. He wished that they all had a tenth of the brilliance of the hatchling dragon and the tiger cub. Just a tenth of their brilliance, Lanxer would not ask of them any more than that. Had they just a tenth of the brilliance of those two, Lanxer and his circles of secretaries and advisors would not be mocked as the walking corpses of the court.


    Had it been the case, Lanxer would not be so stressed and cranky like his late teacher in the last decades. He always felt like he would explode at any moment, unhinged and unstopped like wildfire. Yet, he had to restrain himself every time. He was not his teacher. He could not say something like,


    ¡°Third uncle, quit your fucking post as the Chancellor of the Right, right now. You can¡¯t even do a subtraction correctly. You can¡¯t do anything correctly. I can put a horse manure on your seat and it would do a better job than you. Look at the state of the coffer.¡±


    Or, ¡°Father, you have to pass your crown to someone else right now, someone who is not as stupid as you, someone who is not a member of this family.¡±


    Of course, he could never say something like those. Only the old man had the disposition to say something like those without fearing the consequences.


    This was why Lanxer has repeatedly threatened his father to quit his job as the Chancellor of the Left and Master of War if there was another fool of his family went with him to another campaign. The position of Master of War did not include the responsibility of babying fools on the battlefields.


    But in the end, this fool, the biggest fool of the fools of Lanxer¡¯s family came with him in the end. His father told him to bring this fool along. He needed merits.


    Lanxer has never understood the fools of his royal family, especially this one. ¡°Patocli, get out of this tent, right now. I¡¯m busy. I don¡¯t have time to play with you,¡± said Lanxer.


    ¡°No, no, no, you won¡¯t believe what I have brought back. Come on. Let¡¯s go outside. You have to see it.¡±


    Patocli, the biggest fool of Lanxer¡¯s family animatedly waved his arms, spilling water everywhere while Lanxer¡¯s secretaries frantically scrambled on the ground to save the documents from the water. Those documents were not even their responsibility and yet, they handled them with more dedication than Lanxer¡¯s brothers and uncles.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have the time to play with you. Go play with your royal guards or something.¡± Lanxer sternly commanded.


    ¡°It¡¯s noon and you have already buried yourself in those moldy smelling papers. That¡¯s why you are always sick. Come with me brother.¡± Patocli grabbed Lanxer¡¯s by the wrist. His hand was bigger than Lanxer has remembered, also stronger, wet and cold. He pulled Lanxer out of the tent before Lanxer could do anything.


    Patocli dragged Lanxer with him while the royal guards and Lanxer¡¯s secretaries could do nothing to stop. If Lanxer could not stop this fool, nobody in the world can, not even his foolish father.


    ¡°Patocli, you realize that I am very busy, do you not?¡± Lanxer sighed. He figured that the sooner he¡¯s done with Patocli, the faster he could return to his works. He stopped resisting.


    ¡°But you have to see this brother,¡± Patocli replied. He dragged Lanxer through the white mist and the soldier barracks until the two of them reached a large gather of soldiers.


    It was a huge gather, too huge of a size for Lanxer¡¯s liking. These people should stand guard and doing what they were assigned to do, not forming a circle like this, not making noises and arguing like this.


    As soon as they saw Lanxer and Patocli, ¡°Warchief,¡± the soldiers saluted Lanxer in hurry and formed ranks. Lanxer recognized that most of the soldiers came from the fifth and the sixth Company from their uniform. However, he also saw soldiers from the other camps mixed in, even Regan¡¯s men and Patocli¡¯s royal guards.


    Lanxer made mental notes to berate their leaders for this indiscipline.


    Patocli dragged Lanxer to the middle of the gather. There stood Regan in full armor, the second cousin of Lanxer and Patocli and general of this army.


    ¡°Lanx, look at what the kid has brought back. This is impressive.¡± Regan cackled with excitement, slapping his unnaturally big hand at Lanxer¡¯s back.


    Lanxer felt like his lungs have threatened to come out of his mouth if Regan did that again. However, he said nothing, tracing the source of everyone¡¯s attention with his reddened sleepless eyes.


    A great serpent lied dead on the ground, wet and bloodied.


    ¡°A Menace constrictor,¡± Lanxer inadvertently gasped through his silk mask.


    ¡°Oh, you know what this creature is? You know everything, don¡¯t you?¡± Regan cackled, pumping fist with Patocli, ¡°See? I have told you if anyone knows what this creature is, it would be him.¡± The two fools snickered among themselves like boys. Yet, Regan was of the same age as Lanxer.


    Regan did not notice the restlessness of the men at the sight of the dead serpent. They had never seen a creature like this within the kingdom¡¯s territories. They wondered what it was and as usual what omen it represented. Perhaps, Regan did realize that and just left the job to Lanxer, being the lazy and stubborn fool he was.


    Lanxer came closer to the serpent, admiring the creature for its size and length. Its scales glistened like obsidian.


    ¡°These creatures are extremely common in the warmer regions of Zard, especially in the floodplain of the Sandanphon River. They vary in sizes and shapes. While their kind can live in either water or land, this serpent spends most of its time in the muddy and deep water, large riverbed. It has this pair of whiskers. Earth Menace Constrictor and Forest Menace Constrictor do not have those. These whiskers are unique to the River Menace Constrictor¡­ It must have swum a long distance from the floodplain to here.¡±


    Lanxer inadvertently traced his fingertips across the serpent¡¯s body, feeling the hardness of its scale.


    ¡°River Menace Constrictors are often many times bigger than their counterparts, but they lack the ability to change their scales color to match with the surrounding environment. Though, this River Menace Constrictor is smaller than the ones I have seen¡­¡±


    Lanxer trailed off the moment he noticed the wounds on the serpent¡¯s body. A single long gashing wound started from the serpent¡¯s throat to its belly. As he analyzed from the wound on the serpent¡¯s corpse, Lanxer felt his stomach grumbled, ¡°You said you killed it, Patocli?¡±


    ¡°Oh, oh, I did, I did. I killed it on my own,¡± Patocli proudly pushed out his chest and pumped his fist against it.


    ¡°This kid is amazing, right?¡± Regan laughed.


    Lanxer did not laugh. ¡°How did you come across this serpent?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I was having a pissing contest with my guards in the bank and then I saw it swimming in the river. So I try to catch it.¡±


    Lanxer inadvertently touched his stomach, trying to stop the great demon living inside from a rampage. He felt like the demon inside his stomach would burst out at any moment if Patocli kept giving him that kind of answer. ¡°Why would you do that?¡± He calmly asked. He could not make sense from the Patocli¡¯s actions, he never could. That¡¯s why he hated this fool the most out of every fool of his family.


    ¡°I know, right? This thing is strong. It wrapped its body around me and pulled me down the river. It was trying to drown me. For a moment, I thought I was going to die.¡± Patocli answered disconnectedly while pumping fist with Regan again.


    Lanxer watched the pair of fools with eyes full of scorns. However, of course, the pair could never understand the disdain within Lanxer¡¯s expression with their numbed skull.


    ¡°But then, I remember the dagger father gives me. I used it to kill this thing.¡± Patocli drew the dagger he used to kill the great serpent from his waist belt. It was the replica of the missing fabled blade that Craxus used to kill a Demon Lord. Lanxer has expected nothing less.


    Its blade was the length of the fabled blade, being a replica, resembled both a sword and a dagger, thick with shiny wave patterned dwarven steel. Its hilt and guard lit up in the majestic gold of the serpentine scales of the last dragon. Jagged wing and barbed tail curved from both ends of the handle to form the knuckle guard. A crescent ruby lodged on the guard, eyes of the dragon, fire and power.


    ¡°Father is going to be very pleased with this news,¡± Patocli proudly waved the blade in the air as the soldiers stood around him muttered their admiration.


    Lanxer had enough of the foolishness of his cousin and his brother, ¡°Can someone give this fool something to wrap himself before he is going to freeze to death?¡± He had to wrap up the matter as fast as he could and returned to his job.


    One of Patocli¡¯s royal guards immediately parted with his coat and wrapped it over Patocli¡¯s naked torso.


    ¡°Surely, you joke, brother. This water is much warmer than the one at home.¡± Patocli cackled in his boyish voice, not quite cracked yet.


    Lanxer commanded the soldier to escort Patocli back to his tent and sent him away as he complained. After that, he ordered the crowd to dismiss.


    When it was just him, Regan and Regan¡¯s men, Lanxer gave Regan a dead glare, a glare that contained all of his built-up stress and frustration.


    The bravest man of the kingdom, matchless in valor and arms, that man raised his arms in the air, surrendered, ¡°My bad.¡± He did not bother to make excuses, knowing that any excuse that might escape his mouth would trigger a storm of thunder and fury from Lanxer.


    ¡°Go to my tent and ask Hados for the documents I¡¯m working on. Have them delivered to General Regan¡¯s tent,¡± Lanxer gave the order to one of Regan¡¯s bodyguards.


    Without saying another word, Lanxer led Regan back to his own tent, his bodyguards behind them.


    ¡°You are dismissed. I¡¯m having a private talk with the general,¡± said Lanxer as soon as they reached Regan¡¯s tent. After that, he entered the tent like he owned the place with Regan quietly followed him.


    The air inside the tent was equally bitter as the outside, yet, Lanxer felt that his entire body was adequately heated, burning on his suppressed fury. Regardless, Regan wordlessly lit his braziers, all three of them without being asked, out of concern for Lanxer¡¯s body. Lanxer secretly wished that Regan showed that concern by acting smarter instead.


    ¡°How old are you? Why are you siding with Patocli on something like that?¡± Lanxer asked, sitting down next to a lit brazier, Regan next to him.


    ¡°My bad,¡± Regan apologized.


    ¡°This is foolishness. He could have died, and for what? A mere serpent? This is why I am against having him participated in this campaign. Had it not for your vote, I would not have to bear this burden.¡± Lanxer icily said, his anger suppressed and checked.


    ¡°Calm down. The lad is already seventeen. He¡¯s old enough to fight a war. He can take care of himself. He¡¯s old enough to be his own man. Remember? You and I, we had our first campaign when we were thirteen.¡±


    ¡°We are different,¡± frosty was Lanxer¡¯s reply, ending the subject.


    ¡°He admires you, don¡¯t you see? He wanted to be like you, more so than me. He wants to prove his bravery to you, more so than anyone else, Lanx.¡± Regan sighed.


    ¡°Never for a moment in my life have I done something so stupid like that. The thing he did today, it¡¯s no bravery. It¡¯s foolhardiness. Do not encourage his foolhardiness. It would get him killed.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not exaggerate. As long as you keep him by your side, what could have happened to him?¡±


    As Regan asked that question, his bodyguard brought the documents that Lanxer asked with his quilt, writing utensil and stamp. Lanxer waved the man away, working on the documents again. He waited until the man¡¯s footsteps could not be heard. ¡°Hyrios happens.¡± He said grimly.


    ¡°Hyrios again? Spare me. I bet that he¡¯s not so different from ¡­who was that clown again? I forget his name, the clown who called himself The Invincible. You crush him with your head and I crush him with my arms. It¡¯s the same story, always. One Hyrios, two Hyrios, three Hyrios, it makes no difference.¡± Regan could not bother with the formality any longer, put his back flatly to the ground. He was the same lazy and stubborn fool that Lanxer knew.


    ¡°You have always trusted my ability to judge people. Why do you refuse to believe me when it comes to Hyrios?¡± Lanxer sighed, mechanically stamping the documents.


    ¡°This Hyrios, you keep repeating his name as if he is a Demon Lord. You fear him even though you keep talking to yourself that you do not. What has he done? Maybe he cut the head of a thousand outlaws, but so what? People spoke of his name highly because of that one time. Either you or I can do that with a single sentence. Anyone who possesses power can do that. He¡¯s not so different.¡± Regan rolled on the carpeted floor, resting his chin on his palm, smirking.


    ¡°You did not listen to my story when I told you.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a child genius. He¡¯s unmatched with the bow, the sword, the horse, correct? But so what? He¡¯s one man.¡±


    ¡°You are one man. I am one man. Our teacher is also one man. But are we?¡± Lanxer asked with more weight in his voice this time.


    ¡°You are obsessed with this kid. I have told you. You made him into a Demon Lord inside your head. He¡¯s not, I can guarantee that.¡± Regan dismissively waved his hand, completely unconcerned.


    Lanxer could not help but sigh. Without a doubt, Regan had the same foolish blood ran inside his body, just like Lanxer, his family and his great ancestors. So, Lanxer asked, ¡°Do you know how long I have prepared for this moment? To invade Zard?¡±


    ¡°Five months¡­? This is about the kingdom¡¯s coffer, right? Krady has told me.¡±


    ¡°Fifteen.¡±


    ¡°You were still quelling the serf rebellion in Neversummer at that time.¡±


    ¡°Fifteen years,¡± Lanxer corrected. He has finished with stamping the documents that were his uncle¡¯s responsibility and moved to another stack of papers, letters to mercenary armies and allies regarding the overdue installments.


    His feathered pen scraped along the paper under the flickering orange glows. Lanxer asked them to be patient and promised that the installments would be paid soon, within the length of five months, a small lie. When that time came, he would pay them, but not in full. He would apologize again, playing the delay game again until the kingdom¡¯s coffer gains enough stability and power.


    Regan was awfully quiet, no longer quipping as usual.


    Lanxer secretly wished that the lazy fool has understood what this campaign meant to him. ¡°You have never seen this land, right? I did, fifteen years ago. While you, my father, and your father were looking at the north and the west, I have always been looking at this land. I have waited, planned and moved my pieces for fifteen years just for this moment. This land has all the answers to solve all the problems that plagued our kingdoms until now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s useless to talk to me about that stuff. I do not understand complicated stuff. The old man has already tried, well, he has given up on that.¡± Regan shrugged his shoulders, immediately trying to avoid the complicated topics.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you are a lazy and stubborn fool. You did not even try to understand his lectures. You refuse to.¡± Lanxer clicked his tongue, giving up on changing Regan¡¯s mindset on the spot.


    ¡°And you are a capable fool. He said that you, being a capable fool would suffer the most out of all of us. You did.¡± Regan quipped.


    ¡°I wish he¡¯s still here. I miss being called a fool by him,¡± sighed Lanxer in melancholy. His teacher was the only one who can make his father stopped being the fool that he was, being his father teacher as well.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Regan agreed.


    The two of them found a small moment of tranquility, reminiscing of their memories with their teacher. Both of them sighed in unison, ending that tranquility and that melancholy mood.


    ¡°You have never been to the floodplain of the Sadanphon so you would never understand. It was a dreamland to me. While our people can only eat tree roots for breakfast and dinner, the people of this land have the luxury to worry about what kind of meal they would have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.


    The thought that they would have nothing to eat, starved, resorting to tree roots, grasses, bugs, mice, to pass their days, it has never crossed their mind.


    This land is generous to its people, very much so.


    They can grow anything on their fertile land, anything they desire. Their hunters and fishermen can rely on the generosity of their land to be rich. Their farmers know how to farm unlike ours. Our farmers, they only know how to go to war and commit banditry.


    They have seaports, proper ones, many time the size of the ones we have in Neversummer.


    The Golden Triangle Region, it has gold mines. The Bears of Madukat have mined those mines way before the beginning of the One Hundred Year War, and still, they mine them until today. With that kind of gold, we won¡¯t have to worry about paying our allies to keep watch on our borders. We don¡¯t have to worry about our coffer run empty.


    Don¡¯t let me begin on the other region. I can talk for days.


    Know that, it is always warmer in this land than any land within this northern realm, even in winter. You can go south to the elf land of Murkwood and still the weather is not as tolerable as this land. This land is blessed by the gods themselves. Even the old man has said so. Its weather is strange, unlike any land in this northern realm.


    I have been trying to tell my father and your father about this land, but I have failed. They only see small gains. They cannot see the bigger picture. That is why I have to plot a plan on my own, for fifteen years. Only now that I have the ability to make my ambition true.¡±


    Lanxer¡¯s enthusiasm could only be stopped by his darkening sight. He put down his quilt and chucked a red vial into his mouth.


    ¡°You should put a quit to those potions,¡± Regan commented. It was the same advice that people gave Lanxer for years.


    Lanxer took a deep breath and sighed, ¡°That¡¯s like telling my father to stop being a decadent fool,¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°That is so,¡± Lanxer shook his head in resignation and resumed with his previous works on the letters.


    ¡°So how is that story related to Hyrios?¡±


    ¡°Fifteen years ago, I have made two name lists. One is to record the name of the people I can use, the other lists the name of those I have to eliminate. Guess which one Hyrios¡¯ name is written on?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine that he is still alive until now if you wanted him dead.¡±


    ¡°His name and the hatchling dragon¡¯s name are the first two names on the list of people I have to eliminate. Yet, that tiger lives strong to this day.¡±


    ¡°Tiger?¡±


    ¡°Of course, you don¡¯t know that name. Nowadays, people know him as the Headhunter. But back then, the king of Zard called him the tiger of the plain. He keeps a tiger as his pet.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the yellow cat my father used as his coat?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but twice bigger. Its fangs are also longer and wider, almost as long as your sword.¡±


    ¡°Oh ho ho, that pet of Hyrios would be a fine gift to my father.¡± Regan cackled as his blue eyes lit up with excitement.


    The nonchalance in Regan¡¯s voice worried Lanxer, ¡°Try to understand that kid has tamed that beast when he was ten.¡±


    ¡°Horse manure,¡± Regan cursed.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not lying. My source is reliable. That kid managed to tame such a beast at the age of ten, on his own. He can do things that normal people could not. He¡¯s the only one on the list of the people I have to kill who is still living in this moment.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, he¡¯s just being lucky,¡± quipped Regan.


    Lanxer had it enough. He slammed his quilt and paper on the carpeted floor, ¡°That¡¯s why the old man called you a lazy fool. You refuse to think through. You refuse to understand things when they become complicated. I talked to you so much about Hyrios because I understand your character. You don¡¯t believe it until you meet the person. However if you met that tiger unprepared, you will die, definitely. I''m not worried about you losing me a battle or two, but if you are killed by Hyrios, that would be a different story. You would make it impossible for me to win this campaign...¡± His voice no longer contained with subtlety and calmness. He thundered on Regan and choked into a coughing fit.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Regan apologized immediately, sat up and pat his large hand on Lanxer¡¯s back, ¡°I will be careful.¡±


    ¡°Yes, do that for me,¡± that¡¯s all Lanxer could manage to say as he faked his coughs. That¡¯s the only method he knew to convince the stubborn fool to listen to him.

 Chapter 43: The Fools of White Winter (2)

    Chapter 43: The Fools of White Winter (2)


    Lanxer brushed the thick-maned neck of his warhorse to calm it down. The beast has been restless for a while. Perhaps, its keen senses have managed to pick up something, perhaps everything that a man could not from the dark of the environment. Or perhaps, it was merely confused from sheer instinctive elation, for it has returned to a motherland it has never known. The beast was a successful crossbreed of a Zardian horse and a Neversummer horse. It inherited the thick and beautiful flowing mane of a Neversummer horse from its mother and the strength, quickness and a wild feral nature from its father.


    ¡°The other side of the bank is where your father comes from,¡± Lanxer quietly whispered to the beast, ruffling its thick neck with his long and bony fingers. The beast as if it understood his word, it calmed down, playfully nibbling on Lanxer¡¯s glove.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you cold?¡± Regan trotted his warhorse to Lanxer¡¯s side, inquiring while tossing his own coat over Lanxer¡¯s fur seal coat. His warhorse was of a purebred of White Winter warhorse, a beauty, tall and towering, strong and independent, could trudge through the thickest of snow effortlessly. It neighed, restlessly nudging its head toward the sky.


    ¡°I am,¡± Lanxer replied, chuckled a bit, ¡°But this, I have to watch.¡± Beneath his smooth silk mask, Lanxer licked his chapped lips, cracked like the barren farmland of White Winter. He felt his body shivered to the mist and night wind of the Sandanphon River, yet, he could not feel the usual unbearable bitterness through his skin and bone.


    Regan as concerned as he was, he immediately stopped bothering Lanxer with the ¡°Take better care of yourself.¡± Whenever Lanxer was acting like this, there was nothing in the world can change his mind.


    He trained his sleepless eyes at the shadow of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador, quietly waiting like a predator on the hunt. He was glad that he has left Patocli to Hados on the top of the hill, otherwise, he could never be this focused.


    Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was such a beautiful city. Shrouded in the thick of river mist with only the dimmed light of the stars and torches on its walls to trace its majestic shape, Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was massive, an ancient giant, a giant among giants.


    Beneath the walls of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was fishing villages and one of the biggest trading docks on the Sandanphon River.


    Lanxer has never grown bored of looking at the ancient city of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador.


    The ancient city of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was a notable border city in the western region of Zard, a fortification to protect Zard from any invasion from the west whether it was from the vanquished kingdom of Kraig¡¯ondor or White Winter. It was built upon the ruin of an ancient Titan outpost next to the Sandanphon River¡¯s bank, therefore, retaining a few distinctive characteristics of the distant Titan society that once prospered under the patron of the Dark God Naharis.


    Lanxer remembered the excitement he had when he stopped by this ancient city for the first time on his trip to the capital city of Zard. After all, he has only known this city through the paintings and scrolls inside the royal library, the songs of the court musicians and his teacher¡¯s lessons.


    This city was unlike any architecture that Lanxer has ever seen.


    The city of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador had a unique pyramidal structure like most ancient temples of the Titan, but many times bigger, resembling a giant stairway that led to the open sky, hence its name in Titan''s tongue: the Seven Stairways.


    This ancient city was also known as the ¡°Mourning Giant¡± in the songs of the bard because it is always hiding in a murky veil of river mist during spring, autumn and winter, glooming over the Sandanphon river with its massive shadow like a crying man, sad and lonely.


    However, it was also known as the ¡°City of the Damned¡± in White Winter for its architectural resemblance to the temples of the Titan to worship the Dark God. They could not see Et¨¢ D¨¦lador as a relic of the past, a monument to study of the ancient Titan, a well of wisdom and knowledge. The idea that people could live inside the temples of the Dark God was too much for them.


    The ancient records stored within the royal library also debated the nature of these seven stairways, wondering if the city was really a Titan¡¯s outpost or a grand religious architecture built in the name of the Dark God.


    Lanxer could see why people would think that this city was a Titan outpost. Upon seeing its majestic grandeur, nobody in the right mind would think about storming or besieging this city, not even the biggest fools in the history of Lanxer¡¯s family.


    There were people who dared to test the wall of Madukat, but none has dared to do the same to Et¨¢ D¨¦lador.


    While the height of each of the seven Stairs was not the height of the famed walls of Madukat, the total height of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador would dwarf the entire golden city in its glooming shadow like a mountain to a hill.


    For generations, the Protectors of the Western Plain have outfitted these seven Stairways with hundreds of dwarven made siege engines, catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, capable of outranging any siege engine might use to point at the walls of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador. The trebuchets manned on the seventh Stair were built special comparing the rest, created to rain stones on any foolish army that dared to approach its wall. Any army that was foolish enough to scale Et¨¢ D¨¦lador must answer to those anti-infantry trebuchets first. The trebuchets on the highest Stair, the First Stair, were famously said to be able to launch stones across the other side of the Sandanphon River, on the spot where Lanxer and Regan stood.


    Et¨¢ D¨¦lador, no siege tower can reach its wall. No siege engine can penetrate its wall, without being completely demolished first. Siege magic spells had an even lesser chance. The mighty Hammer of Wonten could never reach the Stairs of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador, not when the rain of stones and arrows from the Stairs would shred through the bodies of Wonten¡¯s disciples first.


    For over thousands of years since the Great War, nobody has dared to test these Stairs of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador, not the Great Craxus, not the fools of Lanxer¡¯s family, not even the famed Heroic king of the vanquished Kraig¡¯ondor.


    Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was an impenetrable fortification, more so than the famed walls of Madukat.


    It was believed that the man who built the Fort city of Madukat for the Bears of the Golden Region was inspired by the architecture of this ancient city.


    The idea of testing the invincibility of these seven Stairways was so ridiculous that it was laughable. Therefore, Lanxer could comprehend why his father and his uncles questioned his sanity when he proposed the plan to take over these seven stairways.


    ¡°You might as well try to resurrect the last dragon Karijard to help you besiege that city,¡± Lanxer¡¯s foolish father , the great king of White Winter breathed out, as if moaning during the war council six months ago, half-naked, sweaty and exhausted. His cock still stuck inside his newest favorite concubine who he ordered to ride him like a horse. She was some distant land noble¡¯s daughter whose age was not even half of Lanxer¡¯s.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The sheer ridiculousness of that scene made Lanxer wanted to vomit, feeling glad that his teacher has quitted his post in the final years of his life. Was the old man there, Lanxer¡¯s father would not have a ball for such brainless frivolous. But Lanxer preferred that the old man would not there to witness such insanity. He would have realized that his education has failed. He would ask himself why he bothered trying.


    The old man deserved his peace after he had battled to hold this kingdom of White Winter together through five turbulent decades.


    Lanxer¡¯s uncles nodded their heads, trying their best not to ogle the exposed skin of king¡¯s favorite concubine, pretending not to hear her moan, hiding their erected lust for a girl whose age was much younger than their own daughters and sons. They did not learn from the mistake that their Great ancestor has once committed. Craxus¡¯ s Empire fell because he could not manage his lust.


    People blamed it on the woman who ended Craxus but nobody blamed Craxus for letting such event happened. Craxus lived his days by his own cock and he died because of it. That was the moral of his ending.


    As foolish as they were, Lanxer¡¯s uncles and father were educated by Lanxer¡¯s venerable teacher when they were still princes. They understood that some cities and fortifications were not to besieged under any circumstance, Et¨¢ D¨¦lador was one of them.


    ¡°One day. I swear to takedown that city in just a single day. I don¡¯t ask for an army. My ¡°Men of No Banner¡± is enough for the job. If it took me longer than that, I will chop my own head and serve it to you,¡± Lanxer claimed during the war council.


    Most treated that claim as a joke, believing that Lanxer has lost his mind to pneumonia, most, saved for three.


    Reminded of the sheer ridiculousness of that war council, Lanxer felt his blood boiled.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t need my help in this battle?¡± Regan asked, an obvious attempt to pry the answer out of Lanxer.


    ¡°You can stay here with me and watch,¡± Lanxer breathed out white vapor through his silk mask, still eyeing at the prize.


    ¡°Okay, it¡¯s about time for you to tell me the plan. It¡¯s your 3000 against their 3000, quite a fair battle in my opinion. How can you be so confident in your chance?¡± Regan probed. He has pestered Lanxer with this question for months, and still to this moment, he still asked it.


    ¡°Just wait until tomorrow morning. You will know,¡± Lanxer mysteriously replied, hushing his muffled snickers over the impatience of Regan.


    Regan¡¯s impatience reminded Lanxer again that the two of them could not be more opposite despite being the best students of the old man, especially in the art of war.


    Regan had none of the old man¡¯s patience and craftiness, the two most important traits that are required of any student of war. Yet, ironically, he has been Lanxer¡¯s equal for decades, even to this day.


    Just like Hyrios and the hatchling dragon, Regan possessed many things that can never be taught through lessons or scrolls. He could arrive at the battlefield completely unprepared, outmatched and outmanned, and still somehow won that battle at the end of the day. Those kinds of battles were the one Lanxer hated the most. They were slugfests, muddy and dirty, risky gambles, and the tide of these battles can turn either way at any time. They were messy, chaotic and uncontrolled. Yet, Regan excelled in such situations. He thrived in such battles. That quality was something Regan shared with the old man, not Lanxer and his circle of secretaries and advisors.


    ¡°Come on. Don¡¯t be such a bore,¡± Regan complained, started begging.


    It was then, a small glow so tiny and frail, almost undetectable in the thick of river mist, soared to the night sky, an arrow of fire.


    Lanxer did not miss it. ¡°That¡¯s the signal. It has begun. Levy!!¡± He commanded.


    Levy, Lanxer¡¯s personal bodyguard, and court magic caster fixed her magic staff to the ground and chanted. ¡°O Great Pursuer of Wisdom, may your Phantom Echo be heard through the land and guide us through this darkness.¡±


    The spell was


    , also known as


    . It allowed a person¡¯s voice to be transmitted over a long distance to a specific target, unheard to anyone else. Levy placed the tip of her magic staff near Lanxer¡¯s mouth as soon as she finished her chant.


    ¡°Shadow Company, Formless Company, move out. Follow the plan.¡± Lanxer passed his order to the commander of his legion of ¡°Men of No Banner.¡±


    Intrigued by Lanxer¡¯s command, Regan asked. ¡°Where is your Shadowless?¡±


    The Shadowless Company was the best and most loyal of Lanxer¡¯s Men of No Banner. Of course, when Lanxer did not mention them in his order to attack the city, Regan would find that intrigued.


    Lanxer sighed, knowing that if he would not give Regan the answer now, the stubborn fool would keep on pestering forever. He pushed the tip of Levy¡¯s magic staff away from his mouth, replied, ¡°They are already inside the city.¡±


    ¡°All of them?¡±


    ¡°Most.¡±


    ¡°Since when? How did you sneak that many people inside?¡± Regan pestered, his eyes round and wide-opened.


    ¡°Slowly, over the years. I told you that I have planned for this moment for fifteen years, right? Hyrios has recruited men to fortify the defense of this city five times in the last ten years. Each time, I sent him a hundred of my Shadowless. Not all of them made the cut, but over three hundred of them did.¡±


    ¡°Hyrios did not suspect?¡±


    ¡°I have personally selected the local of this region before I trained them into my Shadowless. They speak with Zardian accent. They understand the customs and traditions of this land since they are born locals. Hyrios would not suspect them. Some of my Shadowless even joined the rank of Hyrios¡¯ personal army. The rest, I have them disguised as traveling merchants and slavers, entering this city in this spring and summer.¡± Lanxer explained.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you are so confident about felling this city in a day. You crafty fool.¡± Regan muttered his admiration, clenching on his reins to contain his excitement.


    Lanxer did not attempt to reply. He told Levy to patch him to the commander of Regan¡¯s Fourth and Fifth Company. While Levy chanted her spell, he sighed, ¡°Gods make games.¡±


    ¡°Men make plans,¡± Regan completed the phrase. It was a phrase that their teacher always repeated.


    ¡°Except that you don¡¯t plan. You never bother to,¡± Lanxer sighed again. If only Regan did, if only he was willing and patient, he would have been Lancer¡¯s better, probably.


    Levy has finished her spell. Lanxer held the tip of Levy¡¯s magic staff again, firmly commanded, ¡°Relay my order, Fourth Company barricades and block off the area. I don¡¯t want a single person to get out of your circle, not even a child. Fifth Company, burn the dock, destroy any vessel that you may find. After that, block off the river as well. Follow the plan.¡±


    Lanxer would have the entire region around Et¨¢ D¨¦lador contained for weeks, as long as possible until the combined army of his, Regan¡¯s and the Judgment Army of the Great Temple reached the treasured Flower of Zard, its capital.


    Lanxer sat on his warhorse and watched as the Stairs of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador lit up in the flame of combat. He has instructed his men to be very careful about that. However, within the heat of battle, anything could happen.


    ¡°Gods make games, men make plans,¡± He quietly repeated his teacher¡¯s quote. He wished that the flame would not reach the granary. Otherwise, Krady would kill him with his nonstop bitching for days to come.


    The torches of Regan¡¯s Fourth and Fifth Company began to lit, forming a giant circle around the fishing villages underneath Et¨¢ D¨¦lador. The rich trading dock of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador burned by the torches of the Fifth Company, with it drifting embers and ashes.


    The familiar song of clashing steels began to reach Lanxer¡¯s ears. Its melody has once boiled his blood, making him eager to take part in the combat to prove himself, but no longer. Its melody could not even wake up the demon sleeping inside Lanxer¡¯s stomach.


    His blood was just as cold and bitter as the howling blizzards of Neversummer.


    The only person, the only one who was capable of making his blood boiled, was heading north, completely fell for Lanxer¡¯s carefully laid ploys.


    A pity. Had it not for his blinded love to the late hatchling dragon, he would not be tricked that easily. The moment that person managed to regain the famed walls of Madukat, Lanxer would have planted the flags of the impaled dragon on the Flower of Zard by then.


    A quick war, short and clean, predictable, such was always his forte, his fire and claws.


    Lanxer was fine with such a result. His blood would not boil. He would feel no accomplishment from such ending. But, that was but a small price for his ambition of a lifetime. The land of Zard was his dream for fifteen years.


    Lanxer¡¯s tired and sleepless eyes never left Et¨¢ D¨¦lador. Regan kept him company, fully believed in Lanxer¡¯s victory, quipping and talking until Patocli joined their conversation. Lanxer remembered talking with them but he did not remember what they were talking about for the length of the night.


    When dawn came, the golden flags of the impaled dragon flew on the great Stairs of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador. Columns of dark smoke grimly rose from its walls, darkening the sky.


    The impenetrable Et¨¢ D¨¦lador has fallen, fast and in the most disappointing manner, the Flower of Zard even quicker and more disappointing. That conclusion, Lanxer can predict.


    Yet, the Tiger headed north. It was such a disappointing and sad conclusion.

 Chapter 44: The Fools of White Winter (3)

    Chapter 44: The Fools of White Winter (3)


    The great serpent coiled its body unhurriedly.


    For a moment, it seemed as though Lanxer was born without a pair of lungs inside his back. He forgot how to breathe, intoxicated and infinitely humbled to the creature¡¯s majesty.


    Lanxer watched unblinkingly, in awe, as the alien-looking creature in front of him shifted its massive body. Its great scales chimed like wind-bells as they collided.  ¡°What are you?¡± He asked the creature absentmindedly. He has yet seen anything like it.


    People said that the children of Craxus were born with obsessions in them. It was true at least for the fools of Lanxer¡¯s family. Regan¡¯s were fable swords and opponents of equal might. Krady¡¯s were dwarven gadgets and numbers. Lanxer¡¯s, his were beasts and wars.


    Lanxer has been to many lands during his years of campaigns and conquests. He has seen many exotic beasts, creatures that were so small and insignificant yet made Lanxer worshiped the famed boundless creativity of Niwdar, creatures that made him felt small and insignificant, creatures that made him felt glad that he had a chance to witness them, creatures that made him wanted to discover the world of Escana in full.


    With his eyes, Lanxer has seen creatures so massive and so majestic that even the bones of the last dragon Karijard, which adorned the throne room of the Imperial Palace, seemed dull.


    The Titanic Whales of the North Sea, gargantuan, its fins massive, twice the size of the great mast of Neversummer¡¯s biggest warship, a beautiful beast. They were known to be the protectors of seamen. Their benevolence can only be humbled by their massive size. There were countless stories of ships that were swallowed in whirlpools and storms being saved by the grace of a pod of passing by Titanic Whales. Old seamen often told old stories of shipwrecked sailors being guided to nearby islands or landmasses by the benevolent beasts as they clung to their floating driftwoods.


    The Iron Kraken, the mortal nemesis of the Titanic Whales and sailors, Lanxer had yet a chance to marvel such creatures in full, only the damage they wrought, scars, the proof of their mighty strength printed on the hull of a Neversummer warship. However, he knew from stories that it was the equal of the Titanic Whales within the sunless depth of the North Sea.


    Lanxer has seen the fabled unicorns of Murkwood, all white and fair. They possessed a tremendous mystical power within their blood. Male-haters they were, all of them, born like that, created like that by Niwdar herself, loathing the touch of a man. Only female, the fairest of elven maidens who know not the touch of male could ride them. The unicorns can run on water as though land. Their eyes can penetrate the thickest of mist. Their blood can heal wounds and lift curses. They were not to be mistaken with the common wild horses, being one of Lady Niwdar¡¯s most beloved creatures.


    Lanxer has come to admire the Smiling Tiger of the Great Plain. Striped in black and gold, the cat¡¯s grace can only be matched by its ferocious strength and fearlessness, its weight was twice that of a snow lion, endowed with twice the muscles. Lanxer has heard of another type of the Smiling Tiger living in the long continent, much smaller in stature, yet possessing the same ferociousness to fight a grown Earth Dragon that many times their size.


    Beasts made Lanxer realized that he has always been the strange one of his family since he was a boy. His family, when they saw an exotic beast of any kind, the men would hunt them as trophies, the proof of their prowess in hunting and combat. The women would try to make nice coats out of their hides and feathers, proving their accomplished needlework.


    Lanxer was opposite. Lanxer, Krady, and Regan, the three of them have always been the weirdest kids of the imperial family since they were young. But, Lanxer has always been the weirdest of the three. He had the habit of quietly observing beasts from a distance while asking himself all kind of silly questions. If the beasts tolerated his presence, Lanxer would respectfully approach, looking at them from up-close to paint them with his brush.


    Those paintings were Lanxer¡¯s prized trophies.


    It was our cursed nature, children of Craxus, spawns of the dragon.


    Dragons were known for their obsession. They obsessed with gold and shiny treasures, but their trophies even more. The last dragon Karijard famously kept the skull of the four dragons that he slew within his lair as trophies. As he bled to death, he requested Craxus to leave his trophies alone, which Craxus honored it.


    Dragons were strange creatures, bizarre and confounding, beasts that were not beasts, yet not quite one of the intelligent races that Sinintee meant to create either.


    The dwarves and elves often tell stories of the time when Sinintee freely shared the Divine Flame to Escana. The beasts that feared and stayed away from the great flame remained beasts until this day. The beasts that sought the flame, shared and learned to wield its power stopped being beasts and reborn in the godly form of Naharis one way or another.


    Interritus, the all-father of dragons, not yet a dragon at the time, it neither steered away from the Great Flame nor learned to wield it like the other beasts. The four-legged serpent did something stupidly impossible and unthinkable. It swallowed the Divine Flame into its belly, hogging the Divine Flame to itself.


    Since then, the Divine Flame was lost forever.


    The Divine Flame burned Interritus¡¯ body through and through, yet Interritus lived, refused to die, and morphed into a different form by the power of the flame.


    Its body bloated, bigger than the biggest mountain. Its scales melted and tempered by the heat of the Divine Flame, became harder than tempered Titanite. Its blood boiled like magma, hosting the magical properties of the Divine Flame.


    People said that only a dragon could kill a dragon, or a god, or Demon Lord.


    Craxus, the man who killed the last dragon was also a dragon, a dragon in human form. He had the strength of a dragon, the blood of a dragon and the immortality of a dragon.


    When Lanxer heard that bedtime story for the first time, he was proud of his bloodline, proud of being a child of Craxus, but no longer as he grew up. That story explained why the people of his family were like that, selfish unrepentant fools. That story made Lanxer fed up with dragons and being a dragon-spawn.


    Yet, the great serpent in front of Lanxer revived the boy within him.


    Scaly like the serpent that Patocli killed in yesterday noon, but majestic was its serpentine frame, many times the size of the biggest whale Lanxer has seen yet.


    Dark was its adorned scales, like polished onyx, a lustrous black, gleaming with the splendor of a thousand stars. Long was its impressive long snout, stretched wide, a toothy smile contained the absolute confidence of a tyrannical predator.


    A pair of whiskers, grey, garnished the creature¡¯s snout, long and majestic unlike those of the mud-dwelling catfishes or River Menace Serpent.


    Ivory antler adorned its head, silvered like polished Titanite. Long untamed dark mane traced the serpent¡¯s back, wild and flowing, graced the creature with the elegance of a feline despite its serpentine look. Four griffin¡¯s legs sprouted out of the creature¡¯s frame. Its talons sharp as razor, large as a stone pillar.


    ¡°What are you?¡± Lanxer quietly asked the great serpent, admiring.


    Suddenly, Lanxer found himself locking eyes with it. Most beasts, despite their massive frame and feral nature, were terrified of all the intelligent races, men included, but not this one. This serpent was anything but a beast. Its eyes contained no fear.


    Its eyes, intelligent, unforgiving, deep, oppressively dark like a starless sea, yet enchanted, like polished gems, embellished with an ardent halo of fire glowing from within.


    Lanxer motionlessly stood and watched the great serpent, breathless, soaked in its exotic magnificence. His fingers slowly roamed around his waist, habitually searching for brush and scroll, but he found none.


    It did not take long until Lanxer felt something was amiss. He could not find the reflection of his sickly willowy body within the serpent¡¯s dark massive eyes. He thought he was locking eyes with it, but he was wrong. He was looking at it but it did not look at him.


    Within that deep starless sea, Lanxer found the reflection of the Imperial Palace of Kingscrown buried within a furious howling blizzard. Lanxer turned back on the serpent, finding his kingdom covered in a frigid tombstone of ice and snow, ashen, desolated and ruined.  He inadvertently turned to look at the serpent again. An inferno burned in its glowing halo. The world billowed in flame, blackened in smoke, embers, and sooth, and Lanxer was right in the middle of that inferno.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Again¡­


    Lanxer languidly woke up to the fragrance of healing arcane incense, the same kind that he was familiar during the time he was bedridden with pneumonia.


    Lanxer blinked his eyes, feeling crushed by a mysterious weight.


    Silvered feathers of mountain eagles rested on snow lion¡¯s hide, exotic spider silk buried beneath, along with Lanxer¡¯s fur seal coat mounted his chest. With his lanky arms, Lanxer quietly pried away from the layers of clothes wrapping around him, trying to make sense of his surroundings.


    He was inside an unknown room, white oaken door with a large bed and thick cushion, adorned with exotic furnished decorations. A large painting of galloping wild Zardian horses running toward the halo of dawn above Et¨¢ D¨¦lador hung on the wall, high and prideful, that was the clue for Lanxer to determine the identity of the owner of this room.


    Kahar was there, so did Levy, just in time to help Lanxer removing the crushing weight on top of his chest. They helped him sat up. Lanxer filled his nose with the arcane mist to freshen his mind. ¡°What happened?¡± He remembered riding his horse through the sooth covered streets of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador with Patocli, teaching the boy the rope while making sure that his soldiers would not commit the act of plundering.


    ¡°You passed out, Your Highness,¡± Levy replied disapprovingly.


    Kahar poured some diluted fire wine into a silver goblet and handed it to Lanxer. The ripples inside the goblet made Lanxer realized the draught within his throat. His tongue soured with the ever-present taste of vitality potion.


    Lanxer inwardly groaned. It was decisively bad, ¡°How long?¡± There was a mountain of works to be done, yet he fainted, again. His fleshless knuckles whitened as he clutched the silver goblet.


    ¡°Half a day, Your Highness.¡±


    Kahar¡¯s disapproving reply woke the demon living inside Lanxer¡¯s stomach from its slumber. It growled, thrashing around violently in an unhinged rampage.


    Lanxer squeezed his eyes shut and pretended not to notice the demon¡¯s presence. He ended the draught inside his throat in a large gulp. The liquid smelled like dwarven fire wine but did not taste like fire wine. It was so diluted that it would be an insulted to be called a wine.


    He stood up in a rush, languidly. The ground beneath his feet suddenly slipped, spinning. Was Levy not there, he would have hit the ground.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Levy shook her head, supporting Lanxer¡¯s weight with her arms. Her grips were firm, making Lanxer realized that she has become stronger while he has become weaker.


    Kahar immediately dropped the salves and potions that he¡¯s pouring to support Levy, pulling Lanxer to the bed.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Lanxer apologized, trying to find the strength needed to support his soft legs.


    ¡°You can stay rested, Your Highness. Master Hados is handling the business in your stead.¡± Levy advised.


    ¡°That¡¯s all the more reason for me to be up.¡± Lanxer shook his head. While Lanxer could trust Hados with his works, the amounts of works loaded on Hados¡¯ shoulders would break him. And Lanxer really needed Hados to stay healthy for the length of this campaign.


    ¡°I know you would say that. It¡¯s fine. We can handle it.¡± The oaken door opened and Krady¡¯s voice resounded. He entered the room, stroking the bridge of his nose to combat his tiredness, blinking his sunken sleepless eyes. His unshaved stubble colored in straw, dry and drained of life just like the color of his hair. Krady has truly become a part of Lanxer¡¯s circle of walking corpses with that kind of appearance.


    ¡°What¡¯s the state of the granary?¡± Lanxer immediately asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe from the fire. Combined with our current rations, we can last for another four months and two weeks. Enough for the march to the capital,¡± Krady answered.


    ¡°Good,¡± Lanxer nodded his head, habitually. His preparation was shaping accordingly, ¡°Good.¡±


    However, his mind was not at ease. The images from his dream made Lanxer restless. It felt prophetic. This was the second time in his life that he came to know what¡¯s a Divine Dream was.


    The first time, he witnessed Regan fell off his horse, laid dead on the ground, bleeding black blood as the cursed spear tore through his armor. This time, it was that great serpent and the fate of White Winter.


    ¡°Casualty?¡± Lanxer asked.


    ¡°Hados reported three hundred wounds and twenty-three dead, all under your Men of No Banner¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Lanxer nodded his head. He has expected similar numbers.


    ¡°Hey, can you sit down first? So I can sit down as well,¡± Krady found a chair inside the room, standing next to it, asking with a fake courteousness in his voice. He was obvious in his effort to make Lanxer rested.


    Lanxer chuckled, sighed and yielded to his soft legs. Kahar and Levy assisted him to sit down on the bed. ¡°Have the White Robes arrived yet?¡± He inquired.


    ¡°They are currently boarding at the dock.¡± Krady flopped down on the chair, deflated.


    Lanxer¡¯s eyes flickered. He found Krady¡¯s answer strange, as if the latter was thinking when he replied. So, Lanxer pressed, ¡°How many ships they brought with them?¡±


    ¡°I counted more than seven hundred.¡±


    Krady¡¯s answer, again, felt strange to Lanxer. Numbers were Krady¡¯s fire and claws like war to Lanxer. Krady was always precise with his numbers. ¡°Exactly how many?¡±


    Krady paused for a moment. The pause was more noticeable this time. ¡°¡­Twelve hundred and fifty-one,¡± He replied as if he has just given up on something.


    That¡¯s about five hundred ships more than Lanxer¡¯s original estimation. He remembered asking for seven legions of Judgment Army from the Great Temple. That should be around 700 to 800 warships. Within his head, Lanxer reflected the latest royal documents regarding the amount of reserved grain stored inside the local granary of Lamentia, Whitestone, and other major territories of White Winter. Even the total of that amount did not add up to an extra five hundred warships. Thus, Lanxer deducted that those extra warships did not come loaded with supplies, but something else, perhaps, someone.


    Lanxer felt his belly grumbled. ¡°Who¡¯s leading the White Robes?¡± Lanxer found his voice strangely quiet and low in exhaustion, almost deflated as if he has already known the answer to that question.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t met that person yet,¡± Krady agitatedly scratched his nose, avoiding Lanxer¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Krady,¡± Lanxer called out on his childhood friend¡¯s lie with authority in his voice.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Letrailos,¡± Krady muttered a name.


    It was the previous crown prince of White Winter and the current Supreme Priest of the Great Temple.


    Levy muffled her long sigh. Kahar pressed his temples. Krady had a ¡°That¡¯s the reason I lied¡± on his face.


    Lanxer closed his eyes. His blood boiled. His stomach demon audibly sounded the war horns. His bony fists whitened, betraying bulging greenish veins.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Yet, Lanxer was surprised at how composed he was. He hated Patocli. He loathed his uncles and aunts. He detested his father and stepmothers even more. However, Letrailos, that fool made Lanxer sick with contempt. He could not stand to breathe the same air with that fool.


    That fool has nearly cost Lanxer the entire Battle of Thunderbound with his foolhardiness in the past. He had the knack to mess up everything.


    Letrailos was the reason why Lanxer has banned the royal princes whose abilities he did not recognize from participating in his campaigns.


    Now, the fool was back to haunt Lanxer again, this time not as a crown prince but as the supreme ruler of the Great Temple.


    Why can¡¯t he just be content with being the head of the Great Temple?


    Lanxer breathed in and out, deeply, in and out, in and out, mimicking his late teacher¡¯s breathing technique whenever the old man had to deal with the amount of horse manure that Lanxer¡¯s father and uncles left him to clean at the imperial court. When Lanxer reopened his eyes, he pointed his finger at the silver goblet on the table.


    Kahar knowingly refilled the goblet with diluted wine and handed it to Lanxer. Lanxer drained it completely, ¡°One more,¡± he asked.


    Kahar refilled the goblet, and once again, Lanxer drained it in a single gulp. ¡°What¡¯s that fool doing here?¡± His voice was unbelievably composed.


    ¡°Regan is questioning him at the moment. He said that he can handle this.¡± Krady unrolled a scroll and started reading.


    ¡°So he sent you here as his messenger?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the gist of it, so do me a favor and stay rested for the moment. Also, if you want to rest for the day, nobody would say anything.¡±


    Lanxer sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.  He could not laugh at Krady¡¯s poor attempted joke, ¡°What¡¯s the time?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Quarter past four,¡± Krady took out his hand-wound pocket watch and replied.


    It was the same golden orb, which Lanxer has swiped from the gifts of the Starfell Island dwarves to his family five years ago. It was round and cladded in gold, slightly bigger than a swan egg, a strange object that garnered no attention from Lanxer¡¯s father, uncles, aunts and siblings.


    Shiny dwarven swords of unparalleled sharpness and godly looking armors caught the attention of the men. Intricate ornaments adorned with the most polished jewels caught the fancy of the women.


    Lanxer was more interest with signing the treaty with the dwarven delegation at the time, more than the gifts until he saw that golden orb. It was such a strange gadget, delicate and extremely detailed. Lanxer could feel the amount of workmanship poured into such a tiny object and saved it as a gift for Krady.


    ¡°Two hours, no more,¡± He gave Krady his estimation. He doubted Regan¡¯s ability in dealing with Letrailos¡¯ shamelessness. Letrailos was a fool, a shameless fool. That¡¯s what made him difficult to deal with.


    ¡°After that, I will see that fool,¡± Lanxer declared his ultimatum.


    ¡°I expect no less.¡± Krady sighed. ¡°Hados sent you this,¡± He tossed Lanxer a scroll waxed by the seal of a gold Menace Constrictor crowned by three crescent moons. Lanxer has been expecting it for weeks.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The noble house of Sadrian, one of the richest and most powerful noble houses of the Western Region has kindly vacated their entire mansion for Lanxer¡¯s army, clearly displaying their subservience to the new ruler of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador.  They approached Lanxer¡¯s army first, ahead of the other noble houses, probably caught the wind of Lanxer¡¯s loss of consciousness on the street. For years, Lanxer has been their primary patron and business partner, in secret, investing his gold in their horse stables and many other businesses. They were about the second smartest of merchants that Lanxer has ever known. They knew which wind to sail their mast, which was not, capable opportunists. Their pledge of subservience to Lanxer¡¯s army has opened the door for the other noble families to offer their pledges.


    Kahar briefed to Lanxer the entire process of how he ended up sleeping inside the mansion of the Sadrian. Nevertheless, Lanxer has already predicted that the moment he saw the giant painting of Zardian horses on the wall.


    Lanxer asked Levy to bring him his quilt and ink, which she reluctantly obeyed. Lanxer answered the letter Krady passed to him while keeping Krady company with the various topics, the most notable was the number of rations they needed to feed thirty thousand mouths just in the case that their original plan would be messed up by Letrailos¡¯ presence and his paladins.


    Krady suggested creating an independent unit to gather supply in advance and set up a supply line across the western territory for the whole army. That plan had many risks but Lanxer approved it.


    Other than Letrailos¡¯ unwanted presence, everything was according to Lanxer¡¯s plan.


    The two of them decided to avoid talking about Letrailos if possible. Lanxer had no confidence to stay calm and composed for two hours when Letrailos¡¯ unwanted presence was the topic of their talk.


    While Krady was not a man of valor or a master of sword and reins, he knew war, though not as much as Lanxer or Regan.


    But then again, Lanxer and Regan were the extreme oddities of their families. They were already in the mid of their forties, and still, neither of them have sired a child nor known of a woman¡¯s touch. War and campaigns interested them more than the fickle heart of any maiden or the topic of bedding matters. Their family has long given up on convincing them to change.


    Krady was an oddity of his family, a part of their trio, but not so much like Lanxer and Regan. He was expecting to see his first grandchild at the end of this winter.


    Krady could fight a war, but not with a sword, spear, bow or arrows in his hands. His weapons were abacus, quilt, and scrolls. If possible, Lanxer wished to elevate Krady to the seat of Chancellor of the Right, even if that meant he would have a conflict with his uncles and father. Krady was in a way, Lanxer¡¯s equal just like Regan.


    ¡°Hey, do you know of any noble house that wields a black serpent on their banner?¡± At some time, a question propped inside Lanxer¡¯s mind.


    ¡°No, as far as I can remember, no family on White Winter used a black serpent.¡±  Krady squinted his eyes.


    ¡°Me too¡­¡± Lanxer mumbled his words.


    Lanxer did not consult Krady about that strange dream of his. Again, he kept it a secret, just like he did before.


    He was not completely sure the meaning of that dream yet. The great serpent he saw in his dream made him suspected the betrayal of the Gold Serpents of the Southern floodplain. But, the great serpent Lanxer saw was armored in black scales. Its oppressive visage and air of majesty belonged to that of a ruler and conqueror, the opposite of the Gold Serpents. It was anything but an opportunist beast.


    The doom of White Winter that Lanxer saw in his dream, he wasn¡¯t sure if it caused by that black serpent. He only saw the doom of White Winter through its dark eyes. He wasn¡¯t sure if that serpent was the bringer or a prophesier of that destruction.


    However, Lanxer knew that he could change that fate. Once, he has challenged fate and won.


    White Winter can be saved, still. It did not fall when his teacher was still alive. Therefore, it would not crumble, not on Lanxer¡¯s watch, not when he¡¯s still alive. The Master of War vowed in secret.


    ¡°Are you sure that thing is not a dragon?¡±


    Krady asked a strange question. Nobody would mistake a dragon for a normal serpent, the differences between the two were like a unicorn to a horse.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The first dragon was believed to have black scales. That thing was burned by the heat of the original flame, so it would not be strange if its scales were black.¡±


    Dragon, is that what you are? Lanxer could feel hi eyes flickered by the recognition. He was indeed a fool. The answer was right in front of him and yet, he refused to realize it. That serpent was a dragon, a dragon of different scales, a dragon of a different form.


    Lanxer saw Krady gave him a strange look, one that of doubt and concern, ¡°I remembered that the serpent I saw had no wing,¡± he said absentmindedly.


    ¡°Then, it¡¯s definitely not the first dragon.¡± Krady¡¯s reply was as Lanxer has expected, ¡°Anyway, what¡¯s the deal with it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, I just suddenly remember something I have read a long time ago.¡± Lanxer lied. He has managed to gather the first clue to his dream, a royalty. However, Lanxer was still confused about the dream. He remembered the banners of all the Royal Houses of the northern realm, none of them wield a black dragon on their banner.


    It¡¯s not that easy¡­


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Brother, it¡¯s good to see you healthy and well.¡±


    The moment Lanxer arrived at Regan¡¯s hastily established headquarter, Letrailos was there to greet him with a smile, a smile that contained all the shamelessness in the world within it.


    Healthy was the one word that nobody used to describe Lanxer and the people of his circle. But Lanxer did not want to correct that.


    That shameless smile was just as maddening as Lanxer remembered. Lanxer¡¯s eyes, loaded with disdain, swept Letrailos¡¯ frame from top to bottom. Letrailos remained the same fool that Lanxer has not seen in years. Lanxer saw Regan¡¯s apologetic face at the edge of his vision, tired and helpless as Lanxer has pictured. Even the mightiest general of White Winter stood no chance before this shameless fool. Letrailos¡¯ shamelessness was one of the many reasons for Regan¡¯s inability to deal with him, his disposal as the first-born prince of White Winter and head of the Great Temple was another reason.


    Letrailos¡¯ hair shone in gold just like Lanxer and the rest of his family. However, unlike the straight golden lock of Patocli and Lanxer¡¯s father, Letrailos¡¯ hair was wavy and curled like his mother the queen. His was brimmed with vitality, tended by aromatic oil, rich and lustrous like that of a maiden. A Doura, a tiara shaped after the Divine Flame adorned Letrailos¡¯ golden lock in the glistening of coppered gold and rubies as though setting Letrailos¡¯ head on fire.


    Letrailos¡¯ eyes had so much gold that they became unbearably blinding to Lanxer. His chin was spotless, plugged clean of facial hair as usual. His lips colored in glistening scarlet, moistened by some kind of oily southern lips balm. Letrailos appeared as though he has never aged a single day since the last time Lanxer saw him, without a wrinkle on his forehead or a strand of grey on his head. Letrailos donned a white vestment of a holy man that buttoned in gold rings, a golden dragon humbled to the fiery sun resting on his chest. His hand held an ivory scepter adorned with rubies and diamonds.


    Letrailos rushed to Lanxer, hugging him with a stifling air of familiarity that Lanxer was not accustomed to.


    Lanxer scowled his eyes, full of disgust. He did not bother to hide that disgust.  He grabbed Letrailos by the shoulders, pushing the shameless fool away with his lanky arms.


    ¡°Ah, you are just as cold as ever,¡± the shameless fool chuckled and put some distance between Lanxer and himself.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Lanxer did not waste his time and jumped straight to the topic.


    ¡°Brother, I thought that you would need my help. This is such an important campaign after all.¡± Letrailos pumped his chest, his lips a boastful smile, laced with frivolousness.


    Lanxer stood. His hand rested on the handle of his rapier, clutching. He spoke no word. His steady gaze expressionless and unforgiving, a cold flame burned, reminding Letrailos of a distant disgraceful memory, a nearly successful execution.


    Letrailos¡¯ golden eyes flickered. His smile broke, no longer boastful and frivolous. He tightened the grip on his ivory scepter and put more distance between him and Lanxer. He gulped audibly, blinking his eyes, seeking help from his chosen paladins.


    By the time Letrailos¡¯ paladins understood the meaning of his blinking eyes, Regan has drawn his long sword and Levy has completed her chanting her spell. Regan¡¯s bodyguards, too, have freed their weapons, ready to strike down any fool that dared to interrupt Lanxer.


    ¡°Let us not do this brother. I want no quarrel with you, especially you.¡± Letrailos said, exaggeratedly fixing his fiery tiara. He¡¯s trying to remind Lanxer that he was now the Supreme Priest of the Great Temple and no longer just a crown prince with that simple gesture. A smile curved on his scarlet lips, betraying a small flickering self-reassuring composure.


    Lanxer remained silent, undaunted. His gaze remained unyielding and fierce. His hand moved a small distance, just enough to shine a glint of silver on Letrailos¡¯ face with the blade of his rapier.


    ¡°What do you think would happen when you struck me down right here right now, brother?¡± Letrailos asked. ¡°You are the smartest of all of us. I suppose that it would be extremely easy for you to imagine that scene.¡± He smiled a daunted smile, not fully believed in his own words.  ¡°Unlike that fool, you can see it,¡± he nodded his beardless chin toward Regan, ¡°Or this fool,¡± his gaze then fell on Patocli for a moment, betraying a clear enmity.


    Lanxer wordlessly widened the glint of silver reflected on Letrailos¡¯ face. His expression unchanged.


    A bead of crystal fattened on Letrailos¡¯ temple. His tiny composure wavered even more, ¡°Do you honestly think that I would have come here unprepared, brother? Me?¡± the shameless fool changed his tactic. ¡°I¡¯m not as smart as you, brother. But, I¡¯m not a fool, neither am I reckless like them,¡± Letrailos blinked his eyes, full of doubt and full of fear, did not even believe in his new approach. Yet, he continued to push his luck, ¡°Strike me down if you are prepared to face the consequence, brother,¡± gulping quietly.


    Lanxer wordlessly freed his rapier. His wrist flickered. A ring of metal sounded and every man stood inside the room held their breath. Letrailos squeezed his eyes and hissed sharply, clenching his jaws as if expecting the worst. Slowly and gingerly, he opened his eyes to the sound of Lanxer¡¯s sheathing rapier and the ringing of gold on the ground.


    Lanxer has only cut a golden button on Letrailos¡¯ vestment with his rapier.


    ¡°Yes, of course, by Niwdar¡¯s tits, of course,¡± Letrailos laughed with his chattering teeth at the realization that he has just evaded Mistress Death¡¯s bony clutch. His face drained of color. He wiped his sweat, ¡°Of course, you would not do that, brother. By Niwdar¡¯s tits, you would never do that. You are always cautious and full of distrust. You believe that even if you have struck me down, you can still rule over my white robes and paladins. Yet, you could not deny the probability of that hastily made decision of yours would end up in ashes and doom your campaign. What was our teacher¡¯s favorite phrase again? Gods make games, men make plans, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Just in case that you are too dull to understand, that button on the ground is a warning, the only warning I would give you as a royalty to a royalty.¡± Lanxer coldly announced.


    ¡°You have become soft, brother. You never gave me a chance before, didn¡¯t you?¡± Letrailos continued to wipe his sweat.


    ¡°Do you think I dare not kill you?¡± Lanxer asked menacingly in a low and deep voice, his hand has never left his rapier.


    ¡°You would never ask me that question if you really intended to kill me, brother.¡± Letrailos¡¯ eyes flickered, clinging to a small hope, a small hope so small that he obviously did not even believe in. Letrailos¡¯ flesh apple awkwardly moved as he gulped, again. He¡¯s playing a dangerous game, a gamble with his life as his stake.


    Lanxer gnashed his teeth and removed his hand from the rapier. He clicked his tongue, ¡°You are right,¡± and straightened his posture.


    Letrailos finally heaved a sigh of relief. His eyeballs bulged. He wiped his dripping sweats. ¡°Of course, you are too smart and meticulous to do something like that, brother.¡± He absentmindedly spoke those words as if to reassure himself. His teeth chattered still.


    ¡°You are right. I would not kill you. I can¡¯t kill you, not like this,¡± Lanxer admitted.


    Letrailos self-reassured and nodded his head, his golden eyes brightened, ¡°Yeah¡­ you would¡­¡±


    ¡°Until I discover who talk you into this utter foolhardiness and execute that brave fool.¡± Lanxer cut in, ¡°Until I gain a valid reason to execute you as the Master of War of this kingdom, you will live as our kingdom¡¯s current Supreme Priest,¡± Lanxer spoke with casualness in his voice, not the fake casualness that Letrailos had, real casualness. It was a statement, not a warning, not a threat. He only stressed the word ¡°current¡± to make Letrailos understood his position. He shredded away any false hope that Letrailos harbored with him, leaving none.


    Letrailos visibly palpated. His expression betrayed fear and doubt. The word ¡°How?¡± inaudibly formed at the corners of his lips.


    Letrailos¡¯ expression of utter confounded and dreaded did little to brighten up Lanxer¡¯s mood. ¡°You are smart,¡± Lanxer said, looking sternly at Letrailos¡¯ paled visage, ¡°Smarter than this lazy stubborn fool,¡± glancing at Regan


    ¡°Oi,¡± Regan complained immediately, scowling.


    ¡°And smarter than this reckless fool,¡± Lanxer glanced at Patocli for a short while, then stared at Letrailos with a steady gaze, cold and emotionless. ¡°Yet, not smart enough to realize that you were merely used as a puppet for someone¡¯s ambition in the end. Not smart enough to know where is your limit. Not smart enough to put a quit to your envy. Not smart enough to realize that in the end, you are just another fool of this family. You are equally foolish as these two fools, if not more.¡±


    Letrailos gritted his teeth and choked his adorned scepter. His face changed from the ashen white to the scarlet of his lips. He looked at Lanxer with fury, then directed that fury and hatred toward Patocli.


    Just when Lanxer thought Letrailos would do something stupid, Letrailos decorated his face with his usual shameless smile. ¡°Brother, you are really the smartest of us all. If only you are not so clouded by your prejudices, you would see that I am a far better company then them,¡± It was as though the anger and shame he displayed before were staged.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Lanxer scratched his stubbly chin and pondered, ¡°Well, at least, I was not caught by an illusion that I can win a war with another nation just because I won a few battles with some untrained fire-farrowing demons.¡± He made sure that his words to Letrailos this time were as caustic as his stomach demon.


    ¡°Do you really think that this kid would make a better king than me?¡± Letrailos hissed, glaring at Patocli. His eyes darkened to a coppered color, no longer blinding in gold.


    ¡°No, absolutely not,¡± Lanxer replied flatly, ¡°The two of you are equally bad of a material to be kings.¡±


    Letrailos clicked his teeth, ¡°Then why?¡±


    ¡°This fool would never kill his siblings just because they pose a threat to his claim for the throne.¡± Lanxer glanced at Patocli, warmly, ¡°Or he would ever be so blinded in envy like you. He would not dream of killing me just to prove that he is the smartest of our siblings. He would not dream of killing this lazy fool here just to prove that he is the bravest.¡±


    Letrailos blinked his eyes. With that blink, darkness evaporated completely from his eyes, ¡°That¡¯s why I keep telling you that you are quick to prejudice, brother. Those were mistakes of my youth. I have grown up from them. I have become a better man.¡± A thin smile spread on his lips.


    Lanxer smiled as well, greeted that much- welcomed-familiar smile with his own, identical. ¡°Sure, you have changed. You have changed so much that I almost did not realize you.¡± Lanxer spoke, maintaining that thin smile on his lips, ¡°You have grown to be an even more shameless man.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate that you are so blinded by your prejudices, brother.¡±


    ¡°I believe that dragons are obsessive and stubborn, incapable of being repentant. Unrepentant fools, we all are, brother.¡± Lanxer smiled, spreading his chapped lips.


    ¡°How unfortunate,¡± Letrailos muttered grimly. ¡°I think that¡¯s enough chitchatting between brothers, don¡¯t you? It¡¯s about time I should go back to my tent to offer my prayer to Almighty Sinintee for our victory in this campaign.¡±


    Regan confirmed with Lanxer through his eyes, lowering his sword. Levy promptly did the same, lowering her magic cane but without canceling her spell.


    Letrailos exited the room, not without bumping into Patocli¡¯s shoulder first, ¡°A mere kid like you¡­¡± he hissed.


    Patocli did not meet Letrailos¡¯ gaze, looking at his own feet instead.


    ¡°Do remember that your White Robes, all of them, are under my command? If you try to give them an order that conflict with mine, consider surrendering that Doura and that scepter.¡± Lanxer reached out to Letrailos with a slightly louder voice than usual.


    Letrailos did not reply.


    As soon as Letrailos and his entourage of paladins walked out of the room, Regan¡¯s bodyguard took a sigh of relief, relieving all of their tension.  Regan hastily slipped a chair underneath Lanxer¡¯s ass, making Lanxer realized just how soft his legs have become. Patocli knelt next to Lanxer¡¯s chair.


    ¡°Unpleasant fellow as always,¡± Regan sighed.


    Lanxer nodded his head, ¡°Levy, set up your Windless Trope around his perimeter. I want no echo, no whisper, no bird, and no letter go out of his tent untracked. If he¡¯s so stupid to contact his source out of anger, we will know.¡± Lanxer did not provoke and humiliated Letrailos without a purpose.


    Levy received the order and went out of the room immediately.


    ¡°Good job on holding back,¡± Lanxer asked Patocli.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of him,¡± replied Patocli, smiling fearlessly.


    ¡°You should be.¡± Lanxer said, ¡°He¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m stronger,¡± Patocli replied confidently.


    A familiar reply, one that made Lanxer inadvertently turned his gaze at Regan. ¡°Physically, but that means nothing on a field of chaos.¡± Lanxer then removed his gaze from Regan¡¯s mysterious expression, ¡°That means nothing if he struck you down with a dagger when you are most vulnerable and most unguarded. Craxus our mighty ancestor is invulnerable in combat, a warrior of no equal, yet, he too, fell because of a dagger buried in his chest when he was most vulnerable. Never forget that!¡± Lanxer admonished the boy.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Patocli replied obediently.


    However, Lanxer knew, his entire family made of unrepentant fools. The boy only said that to please Lanxer¡¯s solemn mood. Unless this boy went through the same experience as Regan, he, too, was incapable of change.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry. Be wiser,¡± Lanxer scowled, asking, ¡°Do you know why I have made you swear to stay silent and unreactive whenever you are around him?¡±


    Patocli shook his head.


    ¡°Your unpredictability is your only viable weapon against Letrailos, not your physical strength, not the dagger and the spear father gave you, not the sword and armor Regan gifted to you. Never think otherwise! If you spoke to him, if you reacted to his taunts, he would know what kind of fool you are. That makes you become a clear target for him. However, if you remained silent and stupid in front of him, he would look down on you. He would underestimate you. He would think of you as an easy target, a target that he can leave alone until he dealt with us first.¡± Lanxer rubbed the boy¡¯s head, not sure how much of his wisdom the boy would absorb.


    Within his head, Lanxer tried to link Letrailos with the black alien dragon in his dream. It could not be Letrailos this time, not Letrailos.


    Letrailos had the arrogance but lacked the noble and majestic air of that dragon. He, too, lacked the tyrannical strength Lanxer felt from that great serpent. He''s lacking in many things.

 Chapter 45: Prince and the day of reckoning

    Chapter 45: Prince and the day of reckoning.


    Erinys slept peacefully like a baby with little to no nightmare haunting her sleep. Even in her sleep, she desperately clung to Fearless with her babyish grip. Hers was weak and feeble like a newborn, yet contained a small hope.


    You have no luck at all¡­


    Fearless gently combed Erinys¡¯ damaged bang with his slender fingers, kissing her closed eyelids. He felt Narik¡¯s curious gaze on him but Fearless did not care. He thought that Erinys really had no luck. She has suffered Ekar¡¯s twisted cruelty to the point that she would readily cling to any source of hope, even if that source of hope was Fearless himself.


    Of course, it was Fearless who promised and gave Erinys that idea. He told her that he could trust him, which she did.


    Fearless allowed a sarcastic smirk to spread on the corners of his lips. He was anything but a haven or a protector, never was and never will be. He was a black sheep, a manmade demon designed to end all demons. He was a destroyer, an Ender.


    Alice knew that. FY knew that, my friends knew that, my fans all knew about that¡­


    Fearless was the least qualified person to inspire and protect someone else. Yet, Erinys had her fate bounded with him.


    Sweet Erinys, you have no luck at all¡­


    Fearless kissed Erinys again, softly. He wished that he had the healing power of Mrs. H? ??ng. He wished that he had the inspiring power that FY possessed. He wished that he had half the strength that Alice had.


    If only that was true¡­


    Fearless sighed and quietly roused Erinys up. He fixed her damaged hair with his fingers, kissing her forehead gently. He asked Erinys a few questions.


    Did you have any nightmare?


    How are you feeling?


    Are you hungry?


    Fearless asked the doe-eyed girl with a warmth voice, gentle and caressing as a spring wind. Erinys gingerly answered him by shaking and nodding her head. She did not bark like a dog but neither did she spoke like a human.


    ¡°Answer me, who are you, my dear?¡± Fearless whispered. His voice caressing, still, but contained an edge within.


    ¡°Erinys,¡± Erinys replied. Quiet was her voice, soft and feeble as if shy and afraid.


    ¡°Again!¡± Fearless commanded. His voice was quiet but cold, allowing no mishap.


    ¡°Erinys,¡± the girl repeated. Her reply was meek, still, like a newborn cub. But, no longer contained any fear or shyness.


    ¡°Good girl.¡± Fearless complimented, kissing her forehead, ¡°You are my girl Erinys. I will protect you.¡± He encouraged her with his kiss.


    If Ekar broke Erinys with his twisted conditioning, Fearless would reverse that process with his own style of conditioning. If Ekar has made Erinys barked like a dog to reinforce the idea that she was not human, Fearless would make Erinys repeatedly speaking her name.


    Identity is something a person must continuously reinforce, either through word or through action. Identity is something a person builds through time and practice. It is not something that appears over the night.


    If Fearless were a psychiatrist, he would have approached Erinys¡¯ case differently. However, he was Fearless. He told Erinys that he had a plan for her and if she were willing, he would execute that plan.


    Erinys¡¯ face instantly betrayed confusion and terror. The brutality and viciousness, which Ekar has inflicted on her, resurfaced. Her first Lego piece, the one Fearless has assembled for her, Erinys, shook.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I will not force you to make that choice. Take it slowly. Think and make a decision on your own. I will give you some time. Just remember this, as long as you are my girl, as long as you are by my side, I will allow nothing and nobody on this world to hurt you.¡± Fearless entwined his fingers with Erinys¡¯ whitened fingers, squeezing on them with force.


    While he was encouraging Erinys with his kind words, Fearless pointed a finger at Narik, gesturing the man to hide.


    Narik was not dull. He wrapped himself in his blanket and lied flatly on the ground.


    ¡°One-eye, if you have arrived, just knock on the door the next time.¡± Fearless put more volume to his voice as he turned to face the termite-eaten door.


    Slowly, the door opened, creaking noisily. One-eye appeared with food and water on one hand, a white gown and a prop box on the other.


    Erinys instinctively shivered, hiding behind Fearless.


    One-eye¡¯s face reddened. He must have felt embarrassed. He wasn¡¯t sure if Fearless has woken up or not and tried to peek through the door holes. But Fearless caught him before he did that.


    An abashed smile paled on One-eyes¡¯ lips. ¡°Master Advisor, you know it is me?¡±


    ¡°Your footsteps are as loud as a stampeding bison¡¯s,¡± Fearless scoffed, ¡°It¡¯s hard to miss that.¡±


    ¡°My apologies,¡± One-eye respectfully bowed, presenting the food in front of Fearless.


    ¡°No need. My ears are created sharper than any normal person.¡± Fearless chuckled arrogantly, ¡°I have tasks for you. ¡°


    ¡°Whatever you wish, Master Advisor,¡± One-eye replied.


    Fearless chuckled. That was the most genie-of-the-lamp-like answer that he has ever heard. ¡°Good,¡± Fearless curtly encourage One-eye¡¯s good conduct. He promptly feigned clearing his throat and assumed a commanding tone. ¡°First, gather all of Ashtor¨¢¡¯s commanders to the war room. Second, tell the new leader of Ekar¡¯s unit to wait for me below this tower. That fool still owes me a report since yesterday. Lastly, gather your boys and prepare a stage for me on the rampart. I have a speech to deliver to the troops by the end of this day.¡±


    ¡°As you wish,¡± One-eye respectfully replied and went out of the room, pumped with purpose.


    Looking at One-eye¡¯s eagerness, Fearless wondered if he has really broken the bandit.


    Does this guy have a negative perk that allowed himself to be easier to be manipulated?


    One-eye¡¯s eagerness made Fearless felt incredibly weird. But he quickly shook off the notion, ¡°Narik, wake the women up. Let¡¯s have a breakfast.¡±


    Narik did as he was told.


    Fearless shared his food with Erinys, Narik and the women, but he did not touch the food. Narik and Erinys noticed that, offering him their portion. However, Fearless shook his head. He had no appetite, still. He felt a gnawing hunger within his stomach but he had no appetite for any food. The stench of Ekar¡¯s abode still haunted his nose canals.


    Fearless waited for Erinys to finish her portion of bread and grilled potato to instruct Narik to leave the room, standing guard.


    Fearless told Erinys to strip, which she did readily, without any hint of shyness, without thinking twice. In his entire life, Fearless has never known that a woman¡¯s act of stripping can be that unsexy.


    Erinys body was an empty canvas, pure and untouched, without a hint of scars and damages that reflected Ekar¡¯s twisted brutality. Hers had the right amount curves, modest and shy, containing the allure of a rosebud.


    And yet...


    Erinys was anything but a rosebud. Ekar had done a number on her and the damages of his infestation on her soul were unhealed still.


    Fearless sighed and lamented at his lack of carnal lust when he looked at Erinys¡¯ birthday suit. He was a massive pervert, the kind of pervert who let his own dick made choices for him, the kind of pervert who allowed his dick to destroy his life, the kind of sleazy pervert who had no hope to redeem.


    However, Erinys made Fearless began to question if he was a saint who swore an oath of abstinence or perhaps, he was currently experiencing ED for the first time in his life. That brainless bastard of Fearless has never been so limp.


    Fearless sighed again and soaked a piece of cloth with fresh water to scrub dead skin, dirt, and sweat off Erinys¡¯ body.


    A bathing-play has never been as unsexy as this. This was child care, literally.


    Fearless lamented inwardly as he cleaned Erinys. After that, he dressed her in the white gown that One-eye brought earlier.


    Erinys¡¯ skin trod the thin line between light and medium color, tinted with a bit of pink, like baby skin but not quite, probably a side effect of Fearless¡¯ <A Strange Choice> skill, making it rather difficult for Fearless to select a perfect dress for her.


    That¡¯s why Fearless asked One-eye to get him a gown colored in the white of snow. That kind of whiteness would make it easier for Fearless to doll up Erinys.


    One-eye lacked the perceptiveness, apprehension, and appreciation for beauty that Fearless had, that Fearless knew because if One-eye did, he would not be a bandit. Therefore, Fearless did not have any expectation on One-eye¡¯s choice from the beginning.


    While the color and texture of the gown were far from Fearless¡¯ ideal, it was enough for him to cast his special magic on Erinys.


    The gown was a high V-neck with open back, made out of wool. It showed sign of worn, loose needlework, rough texture, barely qualified to be a ball gown of a rich man¡¯s wife.


    However, in a way, that kind of roughness and the worn-out seam was perfect. They served their purpose to compliment Erinys¡¯ modest beauty.


    Erinys suffered a bit on the chest since the gown was not tailor-made for her, loose. Her chest was by no mean lacking. Hers was peachy, shy and maiden-like, modest. Those peaches still had some room for improvement, considering how Erinys was obviously malnourished. She was frail and lanky, her ribcage showed. If Erinys put up some weight, her chest would be still shy and modest, but never humble.


    Fearless cast an illusion, enhancing the volume of Erinys¡¯ peachy bosoms with a long strip of wool wrapping underneath her gown. The pair rose skyward, proudly to match the volume of the white gown, not quite there yet, but close.


    ¡°Do you have any trouble breathing?¡± Fearless asked.


    Erinys shook her head.


    ¡°Yes or no?¡± Fearless ordered, trying to condition Erinys with a good habit.


    Erinys quivered, almost barked like a dog. She stopped herself just time, putting a hand on her mouth. Her expression betrayed terror, remembering that Fearless has threatened to kick her out if she barked. Then slowly, like a scaredy cat, she formed an inaudible ¡°yes¡± with her lips.


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear you,¡± Fearless was adamant. His voice was cold and unsympathetic, harsh and bitter like a winter wind, allowing no leeway for Erinys.


    Erinys tried to reply, but that word ¡°yes¡± could never left her lips no matter how hard she tried. Tears traced two broken streams on Erinys¡¯ paled cheeks. Erinys was trying still, desperately as her shoulders quivered uncontrollably. Her lips reformed the word ¡°yes¡± again and again, but no sound came through.


    Fearless sighed, drying Erinys¡¯ teary cheeks with his thumb, giving up on the exercise for the moment. He fixed her dress and held her hand. Her palm was extremely cold and drained of color. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I would not cast you away, Erinys.¡± He kissed her moistened brows. ¡°Can you feel my hand Erinys?¡± He squeezed her paled and cold fingers, raising their clutching hand to Erinys¡¯ eye level.


    Erinys timidly nodded.


    ¡°These hands of mine were blessed with a myriad of miracles and spells by countless gods and goddess the very day I was born. I am a person who was born loved by gods. With these hands, I can do almost everything. I can perform almost every miracle. However, more importantly, when I am holding your hand like this, I am sharing my magic and miracles with you. Can you feel them?¡± Fearless asked.


    Erinys nodded readily.


    Fearless could see that Erinys merely nodded her head because she was told.


    He showed her one of his magic coins. Fearless squeezed the coin into their tightly clutching hand. He then curled his other hand, flexed his index finger and tapped it like a magic wand on their clutching hand. ¡°Open it,¡± Fearless said, stopped gripping Erinys¡¯ fingers.


    The mentally scarred girl timidly did as she was commanded. Two golden coins appeared within her pallid palm. Her misty eyes rounded with surprise.


    ¡°Hold my hand again,¡± Fearless collected the two golden coins, place them on his right palm, urging Erinys to hold it. Erinys did as she was told. Fearless cast his magic, and the coins doubled again within Erinys¡¯ opened palm. Again, Fearless repeated the magic. Four coins became eight.


    ¡°One day you would be capable of performing a miracle like this,¡± Fearless smiled, stopping his magic performance since he had run out of magic coins. He gently kissed Erinys again.


    ¡°These coins, too, have a magical property. They are artifacts, all of them. They make people braver and stronger than they are.¡± Fearless put one of his magic coins on Erinys¡¯ left palm and balled her fist, making her squeezed it.


    ¡°These coins originally belonged to a famously weak man. He was weak, detestably so. He cried easily and hid behind his sister whenever he was hurt. He hated to argue. He hated fighting more than anything. He was laughably weak, so weak that any woman can beat him. Yet, while holding this coin, he captured the most devilish of a demon and successfully destroyed it. He gave me these coins. Now I share with you one of mine. Keep it. It will give you strength and courage.¡±


    Erinys held the coin as if it was a treasure within her left palm. Fearless grabbed Erinys¡¯ right hand and held it firmly, ¡°Now, you are protected by the power of that magic coin. Also, I am sharing my miracles with you by holding your hand like this. Just like this, nothing in this world can hurt you, sweet Erinys. No force in this world can separate you from me.¡± He reassured Erinys and kissed the back of her right hand. ¡°Therefore, my sweetest Erinys, have no fear. Whenever you are afraid, trust in the power of this magic coin, trust in me and my miracles.¡±


    Erinys blinked her eyes and nodded. Her fingers that Fearless held firmly no longer quivered. The difference was small, tiny and almost undetectable but starkly different. That difference was between zero and one.


    Only then, Fearless continued to work his illusion on Erinys¡¯ hair. He was baffled. He failed to understand the logic of his skill <A Strange Choice>. It healed Erinys, barring no scar on her skin, yet her hair did not receive such treatment. Her hair was damaged still, dry and full of split ends, frizzy. Hers was sandy in color, hinted with a bit of copper, reminded Fearless of her feral cry when he told her to cry freely. Fearless treated Erinys¡¯ hair with a few drops of water and used his long fingers as a comb. He liked that wildness of her hair. It reminded him of Alice¡¯s.


    Alice has always been a tomboy girl since Fearless first met her, suffering from the result of being the only girl among her five siblings. The absence of a mother figure in her entire life did no favor to Alice. Her father was a kickboxer and an owner of a kickboxing gym, a macho man to the core. Alice grew up wearing boy¡¯s clothes and playing boy¡¯s games.  She played sports with boys. She even went to school wearing boy uniform.


    She was hopeless with makeup and dresses, used to. The final prom night of her junior college years marked the first time Alice wore a dress in her entire life. It was also the first time she put on makeup. During her college years, she depended on Fearless to do her makeup every single day. Otherwise, she would go to her class, parties and social gatherings without makeup, and inadvertently became a frequent topic among her friends.


    As soon as Fearless¡¯ thought drifted toward Alice, he felt his eyes stung as though they were rubbed by a fistful of pepper powder. Before any drop of tear would drop, Fearless treated his eyes with the roughness of his dark sleeves.


    Shit, fucking hell, have I always been this quick to tear up?


    Fearless gritted his teeth and focused on completing his illusion. He used Enferm¨¦ to trim away the uneven part of Erinys¡¯ bang. He combed and tied her hair into a refreshing ponytail with a grey ribbon to reflect her untamed quality.


    Then, Fearless began to work on Erinys¡¯ tear-dried face with some fresh water. Her skin tone forced Fearless to use a bit of white powder to hide the darken bags under her eyes and her swollen cheekbones. He gave Erinys¡¯ brows, eyelashes and lips a colder color to compliment her untamed coppered brown hair, just enough to highlight the prettiest of her facial features.


    Once he finished, Fearless took a few steps away from Erinys to marvel his work.


    Passable


    Fearless nodded his head as he graded his illusion. With better props, he could achieve a better illusion. However, under the circumstance and with the level of props that he was provided, Fearless has already made the most out of them. To complete his illusion, Fearless gave Erinys a leathered sandal.


    ¡°Twirl, Erinys, slowly,¡± Fearless instructed and Erinys complied.


    Passable


    Fearless nodded his head again and secretly glanced backward. Fearless cursed himself for being the kind of sinful man that he was. He was extremely good at playing with a woman¡¯s jealousy. Gods gave him that talent, and Fearless has indeed made full use of that talent.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The women¡¯s expression betrayed their ire and envy. Their regret and resentment were not subtle, far from subtle. It was apparent that Erinys was, unfortunately, the target of their ire.


    Fearless was glad that Erinys was not too dull to recognize that resentment and envy directed at her. He explained to Erinys of her options and choices again, pretending as if he did not notice the resentment and envy of the other women.


    ¡°Will you go down there with me? Or will you stay here and wait for me?¡± He asked Erinys.


    In the end, she could only make a single choice out of all the options Fearless gave her. Erinys meekly reached out for Fearless¡¯ right hand, holding it and following him from behind.


    When Fearless opened the door, Narik¡¯s expression told Fearless that his illusion was a great success. Fearless immediately ordered Narik to return to his post.


    Slowly, Fearless escorted Erinys down the watchtower like a proper Lady. Fearless did not bother to teach Erinys to walk like a Lady or talked like one.


    To Fearless, being a Lady had nothing to do with being able to talk like a Lady or walk like a Lady. As long as Erinys can be herself, as long as she can conduct herself in an undaunted manner, without caring about what people might think of her and able to impose her will on them, Erinys would be a proper Lady.


    The white of Erinys¡¯ gown reflected a stark contrast to Fearless¡¯ black and gold uniform. Hers were pure and modest. His was flamboyant, cold and arrogant. Together, they made quite a pair.


    The new commander of Ekar¡¯s unit was already there, standing like a statue. The worm¡¯s eyes flickered on Erinys, entranced by her beauty for a few seconds until he remembered about Fearless.


    Fearless maintained a steady gaze on the worm.  He then decided to greet the worm with a sunlit smile, speaking not a word.


    Fearless smiled a lot. He smiled all the time. Yet, nobody has ever called him a cheery person.


    Fearless smiled when it was sunshine and rainbow, like everyone would. But, he also smiled when it was dark and rainy. He smiled when he watched his own house burned to the ground. He smiled when people needed him to smile for them. He smiled when he himself needed them, his smiles, cheap as they were to move forward. He smiled all the time. Yet, nobody has ever called him a cheery person, not even the most obvious and dulled person Fearless has ever met.


    The worm was already completely drenched in his own sweats when he showed up to report. However, when that sunlit smile appeared on Fearless¡¯ face, the worm was literally drowning in his ocean of sweats. His expression reflected terror and terror only. Then, unknowingly, he cast his sight on his shadow, shaking, shaking, and shaking haplessly while giving himself to Fearless¡¯ mercy.


    And mercy, Fearless had none for worms and demons. He scoffed as though muffling his devilish snickers.


    The worm curled his body, dropping flat to the ground, trying to make himself smaller. He made Fearless wanted to break into a hysteric laughter.


    If you are so terrified of me, what are you still doing here? Why are you still here? What could you possibly hope to achieve by staying here?


    Fearless tried to put himself into the worm¡¯s position, thinking as if he was the worm. Still, he could not understand.


    Fearless felt a small tremor crossed through his body, a quiet quiver, not his. Without looking, Fearless held the quivering hand that was holding to the hem of his dark jacket. It was such a small hand, calloused, frail, scarred and afraid. It was a hand of a person who wholeheartedly desired to say that she had no wish to be down here, walking among the worms of Bloodbeard. Yet, she followed Fearless by her own choice, a choice that was guided by instinct rather than reason.


    ¡°Erinys don¡¯t look down, look up.¡± Fearless warmly commanded the girl without looking at her. He had told her if she was too terrified of looking at these worms in the eyes, she must try to look at them in the between of their brows.


    Fearless still maintained his steady gaze on the quivering worm who was stupid enough to mistake his own name for Erinys.


    Worms are stupid after all.


    Once the worm has realized that Fearless was not talking to him, he hit his head against the ground with a loud thud.  Funnily enough, the very moment the worm groveled, the worms within Fearless¡¯ vicinity started to grovel as well.


    Has my smile always been this scary? Or did it become scarier after I have arrived in this world?


    Even without looking, Fearless could tell that Erinys was looking at her own quivering hand, the hand that he was holding. ¡°If you can¡¯t do that, return to the room,¡± he coldly told the girl as the number of the groveling worms started to soar.


    A small shudder ran across that tiny hand. Fearless could feel Erinys¡¯ terror through that shudder. He could feel how terrified of her to be around the worms of Ekar and Bloodbeard. Their darken shadows on the ground alone terrified her. Their voices made the dog, the very dog that Ekar trained and designed, resurfaced. One night was too short of a time to break that dog completely. One night was too short of a time to erase that dog from its entire existence. That mongrel bit Erinys, gnawing on her broken soul, demanding her to grovel on all fours, barking. Yet, the terror of being disowned by her only haven, her only protector, was the chain that held that feral dog back.


    You are my girl. And, as long as you are my girl, do not show a sign of subservience to the like of Ekar¡¯s and Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. It¡¯s normal to be afraid of them. However, never kneel to them, never show a sign of weakness to them. Can you do that for me?


    He has told her that she is a human, was and will forever be. She is his girl and will be his girl as long as she remembered her promise.


    Fearless squeezed Erinys¡¯ tiny hand inside his palm, reminding her that she had him, his coin and his protection. He said no word. He has said enough. He has explained to her enough, any more would be redundant.


    Erinys tightly squeezed her trembling fingers, cold from her sweats. She held on to Fearless¡¯ fingers. ¡°Good girl,¡± Fearless encouragingly complimented Erinys without looking back, firmly held her hand.


    ¡°And you, what were you thinking when you put the head of your previous leader on the pike?¡± Fearless asked coldly, directing his stern gaze at the nape of the groveling worm in front of him.


    The worm looked up at Fearless, up to his chest, no further. He did not have the courage to see Fearless eyes to eyes. He shook his head, confused and terrified. His entire body quivered.


    ¡°What is that shaking mean? I don¡¯t understand it. Tell me in word.¡± Fearless scowled his brows, yet his sunlit smile still pasted on his lips. His words were cold and devoid of warmth. Fearless inwardly lamented at how much he enjoyed bullying this worm. He felt bad, somewhat, for himself at how bad he was.


    ¡°I¡­I¡­I¡­¡± the worm stuttered, sweating still, shaking his head like a brainless worm he was.


    ¡°Too stupid to understand my question or too brave to defy my authority, which one are you?¡± Fearless chuckled. His shoulders shook. His eyes told a different story.


    ¡°I¡­ I would not dare,¡± the worm hit his head against the ground. His entire body shook like a vibrator.


    Fearless squeezed on Erinys¡¯ cold fingers, wishing that she realized that how miserable it would be to fear something like this worm. He had no idea if she would understand that. He could only wish.


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Fearless feigned a sigh, ¡°Rise,¡± he warmly told the worm. His voice was frivolous and playful.


    The worm looked up at Fearless, ¡°I don¡¯t dare,¡± unsure.


    Fearless hissed coldly, ¡°Rise.¡±


    The worm instinctively rose as he was commanded.  However, his back still bent like a drawn bow, pulled by the weight of his terror.


    ¡°Do you know why I planted two pikes on that ground?¡± Fearless asked with authority, his eyes glaring.


    The worm shook his head haplessly, completely terrified and stupid.


    ¡°Since you are too stupid to understand, I will try my best to explain it to you. One of the pikes is for Ekar¡¯s head. The other pike is reserved for yours. If you were smarter, you would have realized that when you mounted Ekar¡¯s head on that pike.¡± Fearless explained. His words laced in ice and snow, they cut like blades.


    ¡°Please spare me¡­I swear¡­ I swear to never fail you.¡± The worm stuttered, dropping to his knees, again, thudding his head against the ground.


    Of all the replies, the worm adopted the most boring one. Fearless has expected the worm to humor him with something like, ¡°Please, I have a family,¡± or some cheap and cheesy bullshits like that. Fearless has always loved it when the worms and the demons captured by him told him something like that.


    ¡°Of course, you would. Otherwise, I would have to plant two more pikes on that ground.¡± Fearless smiled, patting the worm¡¯s shaken shoulder. His long fingers dug into the worm¡¯s shoulder blades, ¡°Now, wake your men up, all of them, and have them assembled outside the rampart. I will have a mission for them. I expect you to finish assemble your men by the time I finished my today businesses. If you can¡¯t do that, do me a favor and consider running away. I will enjoy hunting you down and putting your head on the pike myself.¡± Fearless cackled, feeling the gripping terror inside the quivering worm with the tips of his fingers.


    Fearless left the groveling worms on the ground cold, wet and afraid. He strode slowly but confidently, his pace shorter than usual to match Erinys¡¯ strides. Wherever he went, Bloodbeard¡¯s worms greeted him, bending their back to him or dropping flat on the ground. He swept his eyes through their ranks as he walked, an emotionless gaze, unforgiving, bitter cold to deter their lustful gazes from Erinys¡¯ body.


    Fearless has taught Erinys to answer their gazes with a cold gaze of her own, one that betrayed no emotion, one of scorn and disdain. However, from the expressions of regret on the face of the worms alone, Fearless could tell that Erinys has made little to no progress with her assignment.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s bodyguards bowed to Fearless and showed him the direction to Bloodbeard¡¯s room. There, Fearless met Bloodbeard¡¯s harem in the flesh for the first time. They sat and lied on a large mattress consisted of numerous animal hides spreading on the ground.  Until this moment, he has only seen these women in cutscenes and comic pages before.


    Fearless¡¯ first impression of them was that these women were auditioning for a role. Their hair shared the same greyness of marble that mixed with a bit of green of iron oxide, all braided identically. A beauty mark rested on the entrance to the deep cleavage of their heavy and generous bosoms. Those mounds, Oh God, they were so generous and heavy that they seemed to spill out of their pampered scanty dresses at any moment.


    Fearless scanned the room quickly. His eyes flickered, collecting only the information that he needed, no less.


    Stay down, you brainless fuck


    He cursed his brainless dick, desperately killing his lust in its fetal state.


    Bloodbeard was kneeling on a piece of animal hide, half-naked, facing an opened window, wholeheartedly praying to the idol of Wonten in his hands. His back was pinkish, deformed with scars. Fearless¡¯ Rolex was on Bloodbeard¡¯s left wrist. Fearless stood and quietly watched the Bloodbeard at the room entrance, servicing the round and swooning eyes of the bandit lord¡¯s harem with a customary nod to acknowledge their presence.


    The women quickly became conscious of Fearless¡¯ presence, flushed and panicked. They hushed, fixing their uncombed hair and dresses, fighting each other for a small murky copper mirror with little noises. Their moistened eyes swooned with complex emotions.


    Fearless did not miss any of that. He turned around, walking outside and waiting. He discreetly pulled Erinys near, pecking an innocent kiss on her cheek, ¡°Just a reminder, you must absolutely not break eye contact with these people, especially these people.¡± Fearless quietly whispered into Erinys¡¯ ear. ¡°Stare at their brows and clench your teeth. I need you to do that for me Erinys. Can you do that?¡± He asked, his voice stern but warm.


    Erinys blinked her eyes and nodded. Her hand shivered, but her eyes betrayed a strong will. That strong will was but a fabrication, a product, a fake. It was equally unnatural as the sunlit smile that Fearless often wore on his lips, but not quite there yet, far from being a completed product. It was still raw and unpolished, but serviceable.


    It would do for now. She has only learned it this morning.


    ¡°Yes, just like that. Stare at them until they break eye contact with you.¡± Fearless planed his lips on Erinys¡¯ cheek again, squeezing her frail fingers within his hands.


    ¡°Uncle,¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s voice suddenly boomed. He went out of the room to greet Fearless, his eyes brightened, ¡°You could have called for me.¡± His eyes flickered on Erinys, surprise and enamored for a moment before ultimately focused on Fearless.


    ¡°You look like you were having quite a conversation with Wonten. I am not rude enough to interrupt.¡±  Fearless only nodded his head once.


    Bloodbeard invited Fearless to his room.


    ¡°That can wait,¡± Fearless waved his hand, being subtle about the state of lack of robe of Bloodbeard¡¯s harem.


    Bloodbeard gave Fearless a questionable look for a moment. However, he understood Fearless¡¯ intention immediately. ¡°Women, get dress quickly. Stop making my uncle wait,¡± The bandit lord thundered.


    Fearless would love to believe that he was imagined it. However, the entire building seemed to shake when Bloodbeard shouted. He could feel Erinys choked the life out of his fingers. Fearless reassuringly rubbed on her fingers, trying to give Erinys a bit of warmth. Fearless thought that Bloodbeard would make a good competitor for him with that kind of loudness.


    Bloodbeard got what he asked for. The women knocked on the wall, subtly giving Fearless their permission.


    ¡°Uncle,¡± Bloodbeard gestured with his arm.


    Fearless entered the room, doing his best to act as natural as he could, all while feeling the heated gazes of Bloodbeard¡¯s women focused on him. Fearless quickly scanned the room again and baffled by the dress code of Bloodbeard¡¯s harem. They have certainly put on more clothes over their body. However, their revealing dresses only served to emphasize their rich and heavy bosoms, and otherwise served no purpose. Fearless also noticed the apparent amount of white powder on their face and chest.


    Fearless turned to send Bloodbeard a subtle glance. However, the bandit lord had a look of no concern on his face.


    ¡°I ask One-eye to borrow a few props from your ladies. I hope that does not displease you.¡± Fearless preempted the conversation. His lips flirted with the faintest hint of an inviting smile. His eyes blinked once, a flame of ardent dissipated like a wisp of smoke, an illusion.


    Ah, shit¡­


    It was a old habit, no more, no less. Fearless did not plan for that. He instantly regretted.


    Shit


    Fearless, out of his terrible habit, struck a match that he has never meant to strike. Bloodbeard¡¯s women caught fire immediately, lit like dry pyres. They burned as though they had never known fire.


    ¡°Uncle, if you need anything, just asks,¡± Bloodbeard replied heartily, completely obvious to the exchange between his women and Fearless.


    ¡°Yes, you only need to ask.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ask me if you need something.¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s women hastily replied, all smiling, obvious in their effort to get Fearless¡¯ attention with their unique poses to accentuate their generous bosoms. Their ripe and heavy bosoms were literally spilling out of their low cut V-neck dresses, displayed for Fearless to feast his eyes.


    Bloodbeard laughed heartily, ¡°Good, good, as expected of my women,¡± still completely obvious to the apparent complexion of his women.


    Fuck, are you fucking blind or what?


    The bandit lord made Fearless asking himself if he was being tested. However, the lack of concern in Bloodbeard¡¯s laughter made Fearless doubted his own ability to judge people.


    Suddenly, the interaction between Bloodbeard and his harem reminded Fearless of the useless knowledge that Misery drilled into him.


    Bloodbeard loved these women. He loved to pamper them with jewelry and dresses even more. He taught them to walk and to talk like his mother due to his Oedipus complex. He slept with them, but not the kind of sleep sharing between man and women. He restrained himself whenever he¡¯s around them, fearing that his strength would have squashed them to death from his previous experiences.


    Bloodbeard could not feel. A poison his father fed to him when he was young damaged his sense of touch. To make it worse, he possessed a rare skill <God Strength Level 2> which gave him an unusual amount of strength twice the amount that Ekar possessed. That combination made it a death sentence for any woman Bloodbeard who wished to fornicate. Even though Bloodbeard has learned to control that strength as he aged, he still feared that his condition would kill these women if he were to join with them. Therefore, Bloodbeard resolved to force his lust on the women that he had no feeling for every time he felt his lust for his harem.


    However, there was a strange thing about Bloodbeard story. When Bloodbeard was executed by Hyrios, his story ended. There was no mention about his harem after that.


    What happened to these women?


    Did they grieve for Bloodbeard?


    Did they rejoin for the death of their captor?


    Those questions about the ending of Bloodbeard¡¯s story were left unanswered in both the campaign and comics. Thus, players and fans of ROC can only speculate.


    Everyone had his or her own theory.


    Misery believed that these women must have committed suicide out of their love for Bloodbeard. Fearless remembered trashing that theory, telling Misery that these women would not love Bloodbeard. If they had any emotion for him, it would be under the effect of the Stockholm syndrome. That emotion would not be love. They were Bloodbeard¡¯s captives after all.  And Bloodbeard did himself no favor either, restricting their freedom to the minimum.


    Misery argued with Fearless until Fearless let him win the argument.


    Fearless simply did not care. Bloodbeard was one of the most boring characters for Fearless to study.


    Misery, I was right, see? I am always better than you are at reading people¡¯s character.


    Then, he thought about all the women who were brutally raped and killed by Bloodbeard. Fearless inadvertently sighed.


    They were real. Those women existed, did...


    He sighed again, then he noticed Bloodbeard¡¯s questioned gaze. He sighed again, languidly, wearing a sad look, ¡°Even if you dolled them to make them look like Eri, even if you make them talk like Eri, walk like her. There is only one Eri in this world and she is already dead.¡±


    Fearless blinked, rubbed his thumb around the corners of his eyes in sorrow, pretending to wipe off his tears. Fearless did not speak harshly as if he meant to criticize Bloodbeard. His voice was quiet and somber. He spoke as if he was talking to himself.


    Bloodbeard went quiet for a great length, ¡°I know,¡± he said admittedly.


    ¡°As long as you know,¡± Fearless sighed again, languidly. He has obviously noticed that he has put a damper on the mood for Bloodbeard and his harem.


    Fearless feigned clearing his throat and turned at Erinys, ¡°This is Erinys. I will train her as my apprentice from today. Erinys, say thank you to these kind ladies. They are generous enough to lend you this beautiful dress.¡±


    Fearless introduced Erinys to Bloodbeard and his harem to change the topic. They have already noticed Erinys and her dead-fish stare without Fearless having to introduce her. It would be harder if they pretended to not notice her.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s women greeted Erinys warmly while thoroughly checking her with their envious eyes. They did a better job of not betraying their true thought this time, neither through their gazes nor through their voices.


    However, Erinys stayed silent, as Fearless has instructed her. She did a better job this time with her assignment. She spoke no word. She wordlessly stared at Bloodbeard and his women with her fabricated even gaze, cold and empty, devoid of emotion and thought.


    It was the kind of gaze that struck people out of their comfort zone.


    Erinys betrayed no sign of weakness through her expression. If Erinys has revealed any sign of weakness and loss of composure, only Fearless could feel it. Her empty gaze was unwavering and unfaltering.


    ¡°Magnificent, right?¡± Fearless lightly elbowed Bloodbeard, chuckling.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Bloodbeard agreed only for the sake of agreeing, his voice showed that he had no idea what Fearless was talking about.


    ¡°Her great aptitude for magic aside, her spirit alone is praiseworthy. She possesses a tremendous potential. It¡¯s hard to believe that yesterday, she was still groveling like a dog of Ekar.¡± Fearless chuckled.


    ¡°She was?¡± Bloodbeard asked in disbelief.


    ¡°Yeah, of all the women Ekar broke, she¡¯s alone remained unbroken. Ekar broke her body, her arms and legs, but not her spirit. That alone makes her worthy of being my apprentice.¡± Fearless chucked again, entwining his fingers with Erinys¡¯ to boost her courage, sensing that she was approaching her limit. He warmly smiled, caressing the back of her hand with his lips. ¡°What say you Erinys? My talent, my strength, my magic, my miracles, you will inherit them all. What say you?¡±


    Erinys replied to Fearless with her empty gaze as she has been previously instructed.


    ¡°Magnificent,¡± Fearless laughed.  He noticed the subtle envy of Bloodbeard¡¯s women had when he kissed Erinys¡¯ hand.  ¡°Let¡¯s wrap the small talk here. Ashtor¨¢, how far have you gone with your homework?¡± He changed the topic once more.


    ¡°I still have no idea what to do,¡± Bloodbeard replied as if he was ashamed.


    Fearless arrogantly scoffed, ¡°If you could find the answer to that question within a night, you would be a general of the Empire by now.¡± He said all of that while judging Bloodbeard¡¯s reaction along. It seemed that the bandit lord has gotten used to Fearless¡¯ antics and arrogance. He seemed like he did not mind that comment at all. Fearless continued with the topic, ¡°Keep thinking about it. You still have one more day to complete this assignment. Stay in this room, keep thinking and avoid all distraction. When dusk comes, go to the courtyard, there is an important lesson for you. Perhaps, you will learn something useful.¡±


    Fearless said and left the room, pulling Erinys with him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Good job holding it, Erinys.¡± Fearless pulled Erinys close to kiss on her brows. He could feel her shivers. ¡°Good girl, you were brave,¡± he said, supporting her weight with his arms.


    Her eyes started to become misty. Fearless immediately used his thumb to prevent the liquid from ruining her makeup.


    ¡°I still have a lot of work to do today. Do you want to follow me till the end? Or will you retire?¡± Fearless asked kindly.


    Erinys shook her head, firmly held onto Fearless¡¯ hand.


    ¡°That¡¯s my girl,¡± Fearless kissed her again, gently and Erinys closed her eyes in anticipation. She started to get used to his behavior.


    After that, Fearless went to the war room to meet Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders, minus One-eye and Ekar.


    Fearless gave them assignments and a deadline. He told them to gather their men at the courtyard at dusk even if they could not complete their assignment on time. Fearless did not tell them the consequence of failing the assignment. He only smiled.


    The worms bowed to Fearless and ran out of the war room, rushing to meet their deadline.


    Fearless smiled, watching the worms scurried away like cockroaches. He has successfully separated Bloodbeard from his horde and assumed the command over the entire horde of 6000 worms.


    While Bloodbeard was locking himself inside his room with his harem, trying to make sense of Fearless¡¯ cryptic hints, thinking about winning against the impossible odd that was Hyrios, thinking about proving himself to Fearless, thinking about proving his own worth in this world, his army slowly became Fearless¡¯ as time passed.


    At this pace, I could convince this entire army to betray Bloodbeard within three weeks. Except, I don¡¯t have three weeks.


    The longer Fearless could separate Bloodbeard from his horde of worms, the better the chance for Fearless to consolidate all of Bloodbeard¡¯s power to himself¡­ if only Fearless had any desire of being a master of a horde of worms. Fearless no longer harbored a wish to tear Bloodbeard away from his worms. That wish died when he met Ekar.


    Fearless sat down on the same wine barrel that he has sat during the night he cast his charm on Bloodbeard. He pulled Erinys to his laps, hugging her. He playfully landed his lips on her neck and cheeks. She only closed her eyes and let Fearless did whatever he wanted.


    Just like that, his dick went completely limp again. ¡°Are you tired?¡± Fearless asked.


    Erinys shook her head.


    ¡°Good,¡± Fearless complimented her, gently patting Erinys¡¯ head. ¡°Do you still have my coin?¡±


    Erinys obediently showed her opened left palm.


    ¡°How is it? These worms, these brutes were not so scary now, huh? Before, you would have knelt to them. Before, you would have frozen on the spot, let alone staring at the brows. That¡¯s the power of the coin.¡± Fearless smiled, reinforcing his illusion on Erinys.


    Erinys timidly nodded her head, fully believed in Fearless¡¯ illusion. He kissed her brows and balled her left fist. ¡°Keep the coin close. It¡¯s yours now.¡±


    For the first time, Fearless saw something resembled of a smile appeared on Erinys¡¯ lips as she clenched her left palm. He blinked his eyes but that smile on Erinys¡¯ lips seemed to be a mirage, a result of his imagination. It never existed.


    One day


    Fearless inwardly promised, sealing that promise on the back of Erinys¡¯ hand.


    The noises from the bastion¡¯s courtyard disturbed Fearless¡¯ thought. He looked out of the windows, watching Bloodbeard¡¯s worms scurrying in actions. His thought darkened.

 Chapter 46: Prince and the day of reckoning (2)

    Chapter 46: The Prince and the day of reckoning (2)


    The state of inactivity and purposeless is the worst situation that could happen to an army if only death is not a thing.


    That state of inactivity and purposeless could be said to have a worse effect on a horde of brainless worms of Bloodbeard.


    That was one of the reasons Fearless gave the worms a proper assignment and deadline. He wanted to keep them busy with a sense of purpose through the assignment. The deadline served as the deterrent against procrastination, empowering the sense of purpose in the worms.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s worms were creatures that only lived in the moment, in that aspect, Fearless could relate to them. However, they had no brain to think for themselves regarding the consequences of their actions or their future paths or the capacity to think of the greater picture. They had no regard for human¡¯s life. They can only see what is in front of them and act on their desires. They can only listen to orders from their leaders and they are not even good at that. They were worse than a pack of hungry wolves.


    Despite all of that, six thousand was not a small number by any mean. The original number of Bloodbeard¡¯s horde was even greater than that. And still, Bloodbeard was able to manage them. There must be an explanation for why Bloodbeard can manage such a large number of worms.


    Fearless has only summed up the reason behind why this horde of worms, all chose to follow Bloodbeard and not their own selfish desire had something to do with Bloodbeard¡¯s and Ekar¡¯s capacity for cruelness. However, he has never dissected that because all the spontaneous things that kept flying in his direction. He killed Ekar without thinking twice about the consequences. He took in the burdens that were Erinys and those broken women. And then, there was Clariciel and probably one of her blood relatives who stalked Fearless in his sleep. Fearless has never had the time to deal with his problems one at the time. He tried to deal with them all at the same time just like taking multiple quests at the same time in an RPG game.


    As he observed at the worms from the opened windows of the war room, Fearless began to understand more about the nature of this horde.


    In a way, Ekar and Bloodbeard were the perfect kinds of personnel to lead these worms, more so than One-eye and the other commanders. These two commanded respect through fear and force.


    Bloodbeard was the lawmaker. He just dominated them through sheer physical strength and cunnings. Without either one of the two, this entire horde could never function. They could not stick together to form a horde of worms the way they were. They would follow their small groups and bands, doing whatever they desired.


    Ekar, on the other hand, taught the worms the consequences of not listening to orders through his twisted sadism and he had the strength and thoroughness to impose his will on them. His twisted sadism and cruelty have ironically made Ekar into something of a law enforcer for these worms. He was the keeper of order for this horde. He kept them in place, preventing them from being indulged in their own selfishness, preventing them from deserting and all.


    Bloodbeard was the chain that bound this horde together and Ekar was the glue that solidified it.


    That explained why Bloodbeard was so freak-out when he received news that Fearless has executed Ekar. Ekar was not just Bloodbeard¡¯s Ajax or Achilles. He was more important than that.


    The longer Fearless observed and listened to the worms, the more he understood them and their horde.


    Back when the world of ROC was still a fictional world, a game, a world of fantasy, Fearless did not think much about why Bloodbeard and Ekar were cruel and twisted as they were. He simply did not care. He never made the effort to ask himself those kinds of questions. He trashed that cruelness as being a common trope, a setting, no more. Fearless has never dwelled deep into that.


    Yet, with that new understanding, nothing has really changed. Fearless found his goal remained unaltered, his plan similar. The only difference was the amount of disgust he had for these worms.


    That¡¯s great, because while I lack the capacity for gore and horror that Ekar has, Ekar¡¯s capacity for commanding fear is far from reaching my level.


    Clariciel, you know what? I did not run into these worms. They ran into me.


    Fearless scoffed as he removed his gaze from the worms. Erinys watched him with round eyes. Her expression betrayed her confusion, unsure of the nature of Fearless¡¯ smirk. Fearless patted Erinys¡¯ head, ¡°This is going to be a long day,¡± he said, standing up and ended his short break.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless collected a piece of firewood, a strand of straw, and a small rock as he toured the courtyard. He sent one of One-eye¡¯s men to deliver the items to Bloodbeard.


    ¡°You need these to win against Hyrios. This is your second hint, just in case you are too stupid to figure out with only one hint.¡± Fearless said, ¡°Pass my words exactly as they are, without missing a single word, without any alteration to my nephew,¡± and shushed the pallid looking worm away.


    The poor worm, his face was completely drained of colors. He should be happier. After all, Fearless just gave him the only opportunity in his entire life to trash talk his fearsome leader right in front of his face and walk away intact.


    Fearless fought hard, preventing himself from breaking into a hysteric laughter when he imagined the confusion on Bloodbeard¡¯s face the moment the bandit lord saw those items.


    Bloodbeard was told that he could not face against Hyrios¡¯ army. He could not run or hide. How else could he fight Hyrios?


    Taking the plain away from Hyrios.


    Fearless has told Bloodbeard these words to confuse him and kept him occupied. Now with these three items, Bloodbeard could only use all of his intelligence to find the link between the first and the second hint. However, the more he thinks, the more confused the bandit lord would be.


    This was Fearless¡¯ biggest practical joke yet, and yet, he could not show it to Fantasy.


    Only Fantasy can appreciate this kind of practical joke.


    Fantasy has always been an imp, a real prankster. That one time when Fearless found himself deserted on a tropical island was the result of one of Fantasy¡¯s pranks went extremely wrong.


    Fantasy was the kind of person who needed his daily dosage of pranks as much as Fearless needed his alcohols. Fantasy always found a way to prank people even though they were expecting his pranks and kept their guard up all the time. He was the kind of person who would switch the entire content of Fearless¡¯ wardrobe with women clothes. He installed an extendable boxing glove into the working table inside the office of the team owner. He was the one who rigged that one dart game and sent FY to North Korea for his winter adventure.


    When shits happened, everyone can always count on Fantasy¡¯s ability to make them laugh.


    I wish you could see this Fantasy.


    The thought of Fantasy brought a small chuckle to Fearless.


    While it was a practical joke, those items, which Fearless sent to Bloodbeard, would keep the bandit lord away from the matter, the only matter that really mattered.


    Those three items would incense Bloodbeard as though rubbing salt to injury. They would make Bloodbeard invested all of his cunningness and attention in the wrong direction. Those three items, meaningless to everybody, insignificant to the world, would be important to Bloodbeard and Bloodbeard alone.


    Their existence alone injured Bloodbeard¡¯ stubborn pride. They existed to prove that Fearless, his esteemed uncle did not have a complete trust in his cunning and ability as a leader. Thus, Bloodbeard would try to prove Fearless¡¯ wrong, desperately.


    Those three insignificant items would blind Bloodbeard, in the same way, those promises of wealth and power that the Empire used to blind Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard was proud of his ability as a leader and everything Fearless has ever done was pointing out how terrible a leader Bloodbeard was. Bloodbeard was confident of his cunning. Yet, Fearless pointed out that he was merely a sacrificial pawn on a bigger chessboard, someone¡¯s pawn, and yet Bloodbeard did not even realize that without being shown.


    His identity as a leader was being questioned. His cunning was being doubted. The only thing Bloodbeard has left with him was his strength, his purpose and his faith in Wonten.


    In turn, they, too, would be tested.


    Ekar was thorough, wasn¡¯t he? I am more thorough than him, Ashtor¨¢. But you don¡¯t know that yet.


    You should have washed your hands when I gave you the chance to do so.


    Fearless passed through the quiet courtyard, Erinys with him. There was no snow today as well, just like yesterday. Yesterday, at this time, it was rowdy and noisy, packed with worms. Now, it was just Fearless and Erinys, and a few of One-eye¡¯s henchmen running around with logs on their shoulders, trying to build a stage on top of the rampart according to Fearless¡¯ order. Fearless¡¯ eyes inadvertently attracted to the two pikes he planted in the middle of the courtyard. Ekar¡¯s head mounted on one of the pikes, swarmed by a cloud of buzzing insects.


    That sight nearly made Fearless doubled from his gag reflex. But, Fearless pretended to act normally.


    As soon as he has walked to the other side of the rampart, there stood Ekar¡¯s unit in a big square, looking stupid and terrified. Their new leader stood in attention, waiting.


    The other units were given assignments, all of them. They were all busy with their respective assignment. Yet, Ekar¡¯s unit alone was told to stand and wait in front of the rampart, doing nothing.


    Being treated differently like that terrified them, extremely so.


    They were the unit of the fool who challenged Fearless and died. They were the unit, the only unit that was stupid enough to even thinking about avenging Ekar. With that in mind, they received a different treatment from the other unit. They were being treated differently by Fearless, that made them terrified.


    Fearless ignored them. He would make them wait and doing nothing. The longer he made them wait, the more ominous the situation would become for these worms of Ekar.


    Fearless would make them questions the reasons they were being treated like this and what kind of orders he intended to give them. He would let them scare themselves.


    In the meanwhile, these fools would serve as a warning to the other units. The state of inactivity of these worms of Ekar scared them.


    By now, they had learned that Fearless was capable of indiscriminately killing them if they upset him. With that in mind, when they looked at these worms of Ekar being forced to stand and wait, doing nothing whereas everyone else had their jobs, they would feel a sense of foreboding. They would work hard to complete the assignments Fearless gave them.


    If that is not what a sense of purpose is, I don¡¯t know what is.


    Fearless hid his smile, strolling with Erinys followed him like his shadow.


    He did not realize that outside the weathered rampart of the Bundor Bastion were a gather of villages, their remains to be exact. In reality, he was too absorbed in his schemes to even process that information when he looked out from the arrowslits of the watchtower.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    These villages were probably one of the many reasons that Bloodbeard chose the Bundor Bastion as his base of operation. These villages provided an abundant source of provision for Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.


    As Fearless stared at the destruction that Bloodbeard and his horde wrought, he began to understand more about the reason why the Empire chose this moment to invade Zard.


    Autumn is the season of harvest, which means it is the perfect season for war.


    The granaries across the territory of Zard were filled through the months of autumn, which make it easier for the Empire to steal the grains in large bulks. Also, the people of Zard are concentrated on their important harvest and became lax with their defense.


    Fearless has never really questioned the reason why Bloodbeard chose the Bundor Bastion as his base of operation, nether Misery, and his fans. They all knew that Bloodbeard was told to use this place as his base and they saw the Bundor Bastion as a place that is easy to fortify and defend, and no further. They did not look beyond that.


    What else?


    Fearless swept his eyes through the villages from the hill where the Bundor Bastion located, counting over hundreds of houses. He estimated the populations of these villages had, over thousands.


    Fearless started to sweat. He double-checked the images he was looking at with the map of Zard. His magic coins started spinning within his palm. Fearless had no idea if Bloodbeard was able to see what he was seeing when the bandit lord raided these villages.


    Bloodbeard was treated as if he was a vanguard of the Empire, a general in all but recognition.


    Bloodbeard was given the easiest slice of the cake and the juiciest, Madukat and the entire Golden Triangle Region.


    That was why the fool was so blinded.


    Fearless listened to the famous roaring winds that came out of the Dragonfell Canyon. They were loud as thunder strikes, but primal and haunting as the roars of a dragon. These winds have kept Fearless awake through yesterday night. These winds were not just loud; they were strong, strong enough to toss any fool dared to venture into the Canyon into the sky. A tiny pebble carried by these winds had enough force to shatter armors. Unless people used the secret pathway, the one that Craxus used to invade the lair of the dragon Karijard, nobody can cross the Dragonfell Canyon and the Karijard Corridors.


    According to the lore of ROC, the locals believed that these winds were born from the wandering soul of the last dragon who could not find its way to the great hall of Mistress Death. They believed that the soul of last dragon Karijard haunted this Canyon, crying out for Craxus¡¯ name for vengeance still. However, according to the speculation of fans, this phenomenon might be the side effect of the ¡°magic¡± that caused the warm snow phenomenon unique to Zard. Since the Karijard Corridors spread from the Northern territory of Zard to the Western Territory, it became a natural borderline to fend off any potential invasion from White Winter.


    Fearless has just learned of another layer of the invasion plan of the Empire.


    If Bloodbeard were really treated a general of the Empire, he would be tasked to set up a domain in this place. He would be tasked to fortify and set up footholds across this region for the Empire.


    For fuck sake, he had enough manpower to do that with this horde, if only the Empire would support him with their Judgment Army and Imperial Army.


    That would cut off the entire Golden Triangle Region from Zard. Then, slowly, the Empire can choke the life out of Madukat and freely invade Zard without fear of being trapped by a pincer attack.


    But of course, Bloodbeard did not know that. He saw Madukat as his target, as he was told.


    In his mind, Fearless instantly thought of the 14<sup>th</sup> Prince of the Empire, a sickly person, the one that the fans of ROC dubbed as the Zombie Dragon of the Empire, Lanxer de Craxus Aurus Ert¨°nios.


    Lanxer, The golden son of Craxus.


    His face was pallid as snow and devoid of color. His frame lanky, only skin and bone. His eyes were sunken in purple bags, sleepless. He was the strategist and the brain of Warlord Patocli¡¯s Imperial Army. He was unanimously believed by the fans to be the smartest person in the Empire¡¯s history, one of the Broken Thirteen, a prodigy in the art of war, a master of espionage and counter-espionage.


    ¡°Tiger, you have disappointed me greatly. Is that all of your talent amount to?¡±


    ¡°I only curse the gods that they did not give me enough time¡­¡±


    ¡°Patocli, don¡¯t be me, don¡¯t be our father, don¡¯t be Craxus. Be wiser, be better than all of us.¡±


    ¡°Promise me, Regan¡­¡±


    By the time he died, the Zombie Dragon has nearly united the entire Northern Continent into the Empire¡¯s land. The fans believed that if only he had more time, he could have conquered more land than Craxus ever did.


    So this is what¡¯s that he has envisioned.


    The Zombie Dragon leaked the information of White Winter¡¯s coffer to Hyrios on purpose. He made it looked like he has uncovered the secret pathway through the Karijard Corridors. The constant bandit raids on the Western borders, the siege of Madukat, all of this preparation, all of this effort was merely used as a feint. He did not want just a slice of a cake. He wanted the entire cake. I have already known all of these but¡­ wow WOW.


    DAMN.


    ¡°For fifteen years, I have prepared for this moment.¡±


    DAMN, he wasn¡¯t kidding.


    A feint within a feint within a feint, a triple-threat. DAMN


    Fearless was just a gamer, a player, so was Misery and the other. None of them could see this even if they have learned the campaign and the lore by the heart. That was because they only saw Escana as a fictional land and ROC as a game. They took in the information provided to them by the campaign as it is. They did not analyze deeper into it. They were more interested in the story and the character of the warlords and the fantastical aspect of the game.


    As players, they saw the land of Escana through bird''s-eye view. They saw the topography of the lands, not as the lands for what they are. They did not see farmlands as farmlands or villages as villages. They only saw what the game wanted them to see, territories and battlegrounds. The economy system implemented in the game did this no justice. The campaigns Fearless played, the lore and the comic pages they have read did not reflect this kind of information either.


    They had to see this land with their own eyes and linked that information with the bird¡¯s-eye view map to really see what¡¯s going on.


    With this many layers, no wonder the like of Hyrios was deceived. He thought that the countless attacks on his land were a feint to mask the real finishing blow. He thought the siege of Madukat was, too, a feint. He thought that the Empire¡¯s real intention was the entire Golden Triangle Region. But this, too, was a feint.


    This is the real reason why he planned a joint attack with the king and the Eastern Warden with such speed. That¡¯s why he raided this place first. He wanted to secure this place all along. Madukat was the second priority


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Fearless inadvertently let his true thought leak out. His magic coins were spinning like a top. His respect for the Zombie Dragon deepened.


    FY, you definitely have to see this for yourself. We know he is broken, but not this broken. FY, the Zombie Dragon is probably smarter than you are. We might have been wrong¡­


    Shit, Ashtor¨¢, you are fighting in a wrong league. This is beyond your capacity and level. You are like a kindergarten and these guys are like professional working adults.


    How in the hell Hyrios could not see through this scheme when he first raided this place? Why did he keep chasing after Bloodbeard? What did the Zombie Dragon do to mask this information?


    Then, Fearless noticed Erinys¡¯ expression. He blinked his eyes, clearing the dark clouds inside his head, squeezing on her pale fingers. He scanned his surroundings and a thought promptly propped into his head.


    Shit, I was careless.


    ¡°Were you from this region?¡± Fearless asked. He should have realized it in the beginning.


    Yet, Erinys shook her head. Fearless did not expect this result.


    What? I am wrong? How is that even possible?


    Fearless was surprised that he has arrived at the wrong destination. He looked deep into Erinys¡¯ eyes while searing for an answer that explained the disturbance on her face.


    ¡°Ah.¡± A small sound leaked when the realization hit Fearless.


    She is afraid because¡­ of me?


    Fearless used Erinys¡¯ clear eyes like mirrors. He was smiling. That was nothing new. He has always been smiling.


    But, it was not one of the smiles he employed against Bloodbeard and his worms. It was not one of the smiles he used to make women swoon over him either.


    It was the one that his fans knew very well.


    This is no longer a game. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. This is not a fucking game.


    Fearless told himself the very words that he kept repeatedly telling himself while he was inside the Mangora Forest. He breathed deeply to recompose himself. He then pulled Erinys close to kiss her brows. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. This matter does not concern us. We are fine.¡± He reassured her.


    Who wins, who loses, this is not my problem. This is not even my world.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fearless did not doubt the reason he inspected the state of the villages that was sacked by Bloodbeard and his worms. He did not look for survivors. He had no hope to save more people. He wanted a justification for the judgment he was about to pass down on these worms of Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard and his horde had done a number to these villages. It was only now that Fearless could clearly see the volume of destruction that Bloodbeard¡¯s horde possessed.


    He has seen Erinys and the other women who suffered the same fate. He has seen Ekar¡¯s abode. He has seen that caravan, all dead. He cried for them and performed a burial cremate for them. But, they were just a small number, insignificant on the grander scale.


    Six thousands of worms in total, that was not a small number. When such a horde of worms gathered, the destruction they brought with them rose exponentially according to their numbers.


    The reason Fearless has realized that this site was a gather of villages and not a single big village was due to the wooden enclosures around these villages. Each of these villages had their own enclosure, a wooden fence, built by pikes or planks at adult¡¯s height to fend off wild animals and perhaps their neighbored villagers.


    These villages were built around a large reservoir and a monastery like flower petals.


    According to the event of Bloodbeard¡¯s campaign, Fearless remembered that Bloodbeard has attacked this Bundor Bastion at night to set up his base.


    This event happened before Bloodbeard launched the attack on Madukat. From that knowledge, Fearless estimated that it has been around two months since Bloodbeard occupied this place as his own base.


    No wonder Hyrios was so hasty. He thought that he was running out of time. Two months are enough for Bloodbeard to set up multiple fortifications across this region.


    If only that Teddy Bear were not so grief-stricken and were more useful¡­


    Fearless saw many things as he trotted through the ghostly villages. A strip of wool tightened around his nose and Erinys¡¯, saving their noses from the punishment of the stench of death.


    Bloodbeard must have allowed his worms to freely sack this place to heighten their morale.


    Houses burnt and sacked, the local monastery of the four patron deities defiled. The houses of the Faceless God alone were spared from destruction, but they were abandoned and filled with cobweb and dust. The streets were filled with rotten corpses and bones, dried blood and the evidence of the carnage.


    Fearless was filled with disgust. He thought he has seen enough and turned his attention elsewhere.


    Bloodbeard has chosen one of the many granaries among the ghostly villages to store his rations, probably because it was the nearest to the Bastion¡¯s rampart, easier to transport rations and easier to defend. There, Fearless met one of Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders, the one Fearless has previously ordered to report to him of the amount of ration Bloodbeard had.


    The worm and his henchmen instantly stopped what they were doing and kneeled the moment they saw Fearless and Erinys approaching them.


    The worm¡¯s name was Ironback if Fearless remembered correctly.


    Ironback, did this worm take a knife to his back and still unhurt or something?


    Fearless had that thought when he first listened to the worm¡¯s introduction. He can¡¯t remember if the worm existed back in the game.


    Fearless asked the worm of his job progression. The worm replied that he has counted over 440 stones of grains and still counting.


    Fearless has no idea how to work his math with the ¡°stone¡± unit that this world¡¯s men used to calculate weight.


    Men used ¡°Pebble,¡± ¡°Brick¡± and ¡°Stone¡± as their standard units of mass. The dwarves, elves and the high elves also had their respective systems and units. That, Fearless knew. However¡­


    How many kilograms is one ¡°Stone¡±?


    Why have I never asked myself this basic question?


    Fearless stared at the apparatuses that Ironback¡¯s worms used to weight the stored grains, square stones around Fearless¡¯ own head and a bronze scale large enough to carry a grown bison.


    Fearless mysteriously nodded his head. He did not ask the worm ¡°how many months those 440 stones of grains could feed 6000 hungry mouths?¡± knowing that if the worm could not answer that question, Fearless would make a fool of himself.


    The worm heaved a sigh of relief, patting his own chest.


    Too soon, fool.


    Fearless pointed his finger at one village in particular, the one that had Bloodbeard¡¯s worms stood guard around its enclosure. ¡°Is that where the captives are being kept?¡±


    Ironback confirmed.


    ¡°How many people are being kept inside that village?


    ¡°How many men?¡±


    ¡°How many women?¡±


    ¡°Why are they being kept?¡±


    ¡°What is their purpose?¡±


    ¡°How are they fed?¡±


    Ironback¡¯s spine became crook and more crook with every question he was unable to answer. He started to sweat heavily.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you know the answer?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a commander of a one thousand man unit?¡±


    ¡°Who knows the answer?¡±


    With the exception of the last question, Ironback could only shake his head with a begging look pasted in his eyes to Fearless.


    ¡°Of course, Ashtor¨¢ should know the answer. He¡¯s the leader. But why don¡¯t you know the answer to these basic questions? You are a commander. You command a thousand man unit, not five hundred, not one hundred, ONE FUCKING THOUSAND. This kind of basic questions, you must know.¡± Fearless thundered.


    ¡°Master Advisor, please spare me. I¡¯m stupid.¡± Ironback melted his own spine into molten iron, hitting his forehead against the round, crying.


    ¡°Leave the rest of your job here to your second in command and come with me,¡± Fearless gritted his teeth angrily.


    Ironback stood up in a hurry. But, he slipped, fell flat, hitting his face against the ground.


    ¡°Are you testing my patience?¡± Fearless asked.


    The worm shook his drained face and ran. He took his anger and terror on his second in command, shouting, telling the other worm to take over his job. He then promptly returned to Fearless.


    Fearless ordered Ironback to lead the way to that village and the worm immediately did just that.


    As soon as Fearless reached that village¡¯s entrance, he found that his worries were unnecessary. He thought that these worms since they were stationed all the way here from the rampart; they must have not known the incident with Ekar. Thus, he brought Ironback with him.


    However, these worms, they knewn who he was. They did. They obviously did.


    The worms dropped to their knees, worshiping Fearless as though he was a god, ¡°Merciful Master Advisor. O Avatar of Sinintee, your greatness has no boundary¡­¡± the worms chanted their praises in complete unison as though they have practiced this.


    Fearless did his best to hide the amount of disgust he had for their shameless attempt to flatter him. Their expression made Fearless imagined all sort of stories that Bloodbeard¡¯s worms were weaving about him. They probably imagined that Fearless was just about as cruel as Ekar, if not more.


    That suits me just fine.


    Fear is the perfect instrument to rule these worms.


    ¡°Open the gate,¡± Fearless shouted and the wooden bars in front of the village entrance lifted slowly.

 Chapter 47: Prince and the day of reckoning (3)

    Chapter 47: Prince and the day of reckoning (3)


    Fearless sat on the bank of the reservoir, Erinys beside him, resting her head on his laps. Fearless stared at the rolling ripples on the lake, playing ¡°A crown of iron¡± with a heart-shaped leaf pressed against his lips. The blades of grass at his feet colored in the vibrant red of autumn, an unusual sight on earth for sure, but this was Escana. The grass growing on the bank had so much red in them that it almost intolerable for Fearless, as if reflecting his inner rage monster.


    Fearless knew that he needed to be calm, more so now than ever, more so than any game in the Final of a ROC World Cup that he has ever played.


    It¡¯s almost an hour since he inspected that accursed village. Yet, still, Fearless has yet managed to calm himself down. Fearless focused on the song, finding his tranquility within the ominous chords and the draining notes. ¡°A crown of iron¡± was the theme song of the Empire back in the game. Its chords were arranged ominously, full of suspensions, as if preluding the chaos and bloodshed for those who stood against the war machine of the Empire. Fearless found it was such an irony that he was playing this song to find his peace.


    Fearless thought that he was being stupid. If he wanted to find peace, ¡°A crown of iron¡± was a terrible choice. However, sometimes, a man had no control over his action, music made that choice for him.


    His thought kept returning to that accursed ground.


    Before Fearless called Ironback to accompany him to that village, he has already sensed its strangeness.


    That entire village was locked down by hundreds of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms, armed by bows and arrows, crossbows and bolts. There were guard towers erected around the village enclosure, each stationed by a fully armed squad. These worms guarded this village with a clear sense of purpose and duty, completely different from the rest of the lazy worms of Bloodbeard. It was as if they were guarding a national treasury.


    That¡¯s why it was baffling to Fearless that Ironback, a commander of a thousand man of Bloodbeard had no idea what the purpose of that village was. It was stupidly baffling.


    The moment Fearless went inside that village, the captives gathered at the entrance and watched him with hollow eyes. Fearless was surprised to find that none of the captives was bounded by shackles or collars or chains. They were obviously given an incredible amount of freedom by Bloodbeard¡¯s worms, to the point that they were allowed to possess primitive wooden weapons.


    A bunch of questions propped up within Fearless¡¯ head when he looked into those hollow eyes. Some, he could immediately answer. Some only create more unanswered questions within his head.


    However, the more he thought, the stranger the case became. He felt a strange cloud of rage ballooned within his belly but he had no idea where that rage came from.


    Fearless¡¯ eyes flickered around the gathered captives, counting over four hundred. He counted fast. However, the number was much lesser than the original number that he has expected. Fearless has expected that there would be at least one thousand captives, one-third of the total population from the number of houses that he has previously counted.


    By questioning the guards and Ironback, Fearless quickly discovered that Bloodbeard has sold most of his captives to traveling slavers. He did not quite believe in his ears. Thousands of people were sold to traveling slavers. How? He could not imagine that scene.


    Ironback also told Fearless of the number of women who were distributed evenly among Bloodbeard¡¯s ranks as pleasure workers and toys.


    Fearless listened to the worm while hiding his disgust and fury. He has yet seen those women, perhaps, he has not paid enough attention, Fearless told himself.


    The guards told Fearless that half of the captives inside this village had mostly died from wounds, sickness or hunger, or killed.


    Among the captives locked up inside that village, most of them were grown men. There was no elderly people or children as if Bloodbeard has these all executed to avoid wasting provisions on them.


    At first, Fearless was confused by why these villagers were being kept like that. He could not understand. He found no reason for Bloodbeard to keep these villagers like this. If Bloodbeard wanted to use them as servants and slaves for his horde, they would not be kept isolated in this village. They would be chained, collared and whipped into servitude. If Bloodbeard wanted profits, he would have sold these people to slavers just like the thousands of people before them.


    Why did he keep these four hundred?


    Fearless gazed into the hollow eyes.


    What is Bloodbeard¡¯s intention?


    What does he want from them?


    Fearless repeatedly asked himself those questions while observing the captives. There was something strange about them. It was as if he understood the case and yet not at the same time. It felt strange and eerie.


    When Fearless asked the worms guarding the village regarding the number of provisions given to these captives, they told him the number readily. Just by a quick estimation, Fearless could see that amount was far from enough to support this group of four hundred. He pressed on, ¡°How long it has been like this? Has this amount change, increase or decrease, since the beginning?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the worms replied, shaking their head.


    From their reply, Fearless deducted that Bloodbeard did not intend to sustain this group of captives.


    Then why did he keep these four hundred?


    Grudge? Setting example?


    No


    Fearless could not find the logic within Bloodbeard¡¯s action.


    Why?


    By Fearless¡¯ standard, Bloodbeard was a fool. However, Bloodbeard was far from being a complete moron. A complete moron would be a perfect description for the new leader of Ekar¡¯s unit and One-eye, but not Bloodbeard.


    Why?


    Fearless observed the captives for clues. He thought he was onto something from looking at those hollow eyes, something intangible and invisible. However, he could find none in reality.


    He cursed, wishing that his observation skill were at the level of his sister. Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s nearly photographic memory and incredible observation skill could probably pick up some hints just by observing these captives. Her observation skill was so great that she could instantly spot a liar with her eyes. When she and Fearless were together, they became a perfect lie detector.


    Since Bloodbeard kept these people, it¡¯s only logical to conclude that he must have wanted something out of them. Therefore, if Fearless had to look for hints, these people would be his source.


    However, Fearless could not see anything. These captives all had that hollow expression on their faces, devoid of hope and will for future. They all had that same haggard look with swollen cheekbones and skinny frames. They had bruised and wounds.


    What is the purpose?


    Fearless could not see how keeping these people in this environment would benefit Bloodbeard in any way. Thus, he decided to interact with the captives. He approached a captive, leaving Erinys at the entrance. Ironback followed Fearless from behind, sword gleaming. The guards nocked their arrows and drew their bows.


    ¡°Do you know why you are being kept like this?¡± Fearless asked the man a brutal question.


    It was a brutal question because it was asked with an emotionless voice. It was a brutal question because it lacked a sense of decency and sympathy. Fearless was even surprised by his coldness. Of course, if he approached a person with that kind of brutality, his answer would not aid Fearless¡¯ work progress. Fearless did not expect otherwise. That was the basis of a conversation.


    Of course, Fearless understood that better than most people. If he wanted to coax this man to give him answers, even if this man had the answer to Fearless¡¯ questions, this man would not give Fearless the answers unless Fearless became even more brutal.


    There were a thousand methods for Fearless to approach people and to coax them, but that brutal question should never be one of the methods.


    Fearless thought that there must be something wrong with him. He decided that he would approach a different man.


    ¡°Do you know why you are being kept like this?¡±


    This time as well, Fearless repeated that question with an unchanging brutality in his voice. There was no sympathy or warmth in his own voice. Fearless thought that he must have been affected by this strange atmosphere. He reset his emotions and approached a different man, ¡°Do you know why you are being kept like this?¡±


    That fuckup question kept repeating itself within Fearless¡¯ mouth, again and again, and again and again. Fearless had no idea why he kept asking that question. He told himself that if he asked this question like this, it would be better that he asked Bloodbeard in person.


    It was weird and uncharacteristic of Fearless to be this brutal to people, he could clearly sense that. And yet, Fearless could not stop himself from repeating that question to every man he approached.


    Some men gave Fearless something for his brutal question. That something was quite a strange substance. Fearless has yet to decide what that substance was. Then, Fearless approached the women.


    Most of the female captives who gathered at the entrance stood in a large group of the thirties. They were armed with sharpened stakes and pikes. They showed a reaction to Fearless¡¯ approach, a reaction that unmistakably born from terror and distrust.


    Thus, Fearless told Ironback to stay back and the rest of the worms on the guard towers to lower their weapons.


    Fearless slowly approached the women. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. I will never hurt you.¡± He spoke to them warmly, approaching them until the swaying point of their pikes and stakes were centimeters away from poking his body.


    Ironback decided to intervene but Fearless has already predicted that, raising a hand to stop the worm from interfering.


    Yeah, this is me¡­


    For the first time since he arrived at this village, Fearless felt like he was himself.


    ¡°My name is Fearless. I know that it may look this way but I¡¯m not with these brutes. I¡¯m here to help you,¡± he whispered to the group in a volume that only a few of them who stood at the front most could hear.


    They looked confused, unsure and afraid. In their confusion, they instinctively turned to look at one woman, helping Fearless to identify their leader.


    Their leader was anything but pretty. Hideous she was, like a monster in those horror zombie flicks, deformed by a sick horrendous burn. Her scalp was all but eaten by cracks of charred scabs, oozing heinous yellow goo. Her face was grimly hidden underneath layers of bandages, hiding facial muscles and brown scabs, beyond nauseating, compelling even the toughest-minded men to avert their gaze. Her lips inflamed, wretched, a choke full of burst water bubbles.


    However, without a doubt, she was this group¡¯s leader. Her eyes, sunken but far from hollow, glaringly shone in a defiant blue, penetrating, full of distrust and hatred. Her eyes contained an indomitable will, authentic and proven unlike that fabrication of a gaze that Fearless taught Erinys. With these eyes alone, she could strike fear into a man¡¯s heart, reminded Fearless of a person, a sun that shone at midnight.


    Fearless found his heart tightened. An old friend of his was there, inside his chest, squeezing the beats out of his heart. His breath ran thin and quiet. However, not once has Fearless averted his gaze from those glaring blue orbs. The longer he gazed at them, the more painful it got, a much-welcomed pain, a morbid addiction of his.


    ¡°I hate my lack the strength to fight these brutes.¡± Fearless gritted his teeth, ¡°I hate my inability to not provide you protection at this moment. I hate myself for not having the ability to save you all right here right now. However, I promise you that this situation will change. Please give me some time.¡± Fearless whispered. He gazed into those blue orbs and the other thirty pairs.


    His voice, emotional, quivered by a perfectly contained yet unadulterated anger. A trained performer he was, not this time, there was no need for that performer to appear. His eyes reflected their doubts, terror, the brutalities they suffered, darkened and hollow as if he was one of their own. His eyes reflected a pitch-black sky, hollow of hope, harboring a fear of deceits and traps.


    However, word alone was far from enough to win the trust of those forbidding blue orbs.


    A small star appeared on that pitch-black sky, a faint glimmer, weak and doubtful. She was probably the youngest of the clique, and the most innocent, hiding beside her leader and a myriad of swaying pikes. Hot dew swelled within her innocent windows.


    Fearless reached out his hand to clean it. Sharpened points stabbed his reaching out hand like thorns, drawing red.


    Before Ironback and the worms did something stupid, Fearless stop them cold with a pointing finger and a sharp glare. His will was perfectly contained within his fierce glare, no word was spoken.


    The worms froze on the spot like a statue.


    Fearless has expected that result. He meant for this result to happen.


    This is more like me¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I will never hurt you. I will not let them hurt you as long as I am here. I promise,¡± Fearless whispered kindly, paying no attention to the red dripping arc on his wrist.


    Those blue orbs blinked once and the forest of sharpened stakes parted slowly, afraid still but lack in distrust.


    The hand that picked roses must know the point of sharp thorns. A small graze and a few drops of blood were a cheap price for the trust of these scarred and tormented souls.


    Fearless did not wait to ask the leader for permission. He slowly brushed that innocent dew with his thumb. ¡°It¡¯s terrifying, I know. But please, you have already lived thus far. Don¡¯t waste it. Please hold on for a little bit longer. Give me two days. I promise that I would save you all.¡± He spoke earnestly, warmly looking into the misty eyes of that scarred soul.


    ¡°I will make it right. I promise. Please hold on for just a little bit longer.¡± Only these words, Fearless said them with strength and resolution despite the volume of his quiet whisper, his eyes were looking into the feral blue orbs of the leader of the clique, his hand holding hers.


    That young girl sniffled, followed by another and then another. The leader of the clique only looked into Fearless¡¯ eyes, her eyes full of distrust still, her cracked lips quivered with unspoken words as she squeezed Fearless¡¯ palm.


    Fearless lightly nodded his head, ¡°I won¡¯t promise that I can bring justice to you. But I promise that these scoundrels will pay for this.¡± He told her and she quietly choked the life out of his fingers.


    After that, the women readily spilled everything Fearless needed to know regarding their situation.


    Ice was the name of the leader of these women, a fitting name. She told Fearless everything. Everything... from how Bloodbeard and his worms overran her village within the dark of the night, killing and sacking and raping. How she protected herself by pouring the boiling animal fat on her lamp over her body. How she lived and led this group of hers within the enclosure of this accursed ground.


    Ice told Fearless everything he asked with a lucid voice, emotionless, cold and unapologetic.


    ¡°Two more days, I beg you. Please, hold on for just a little bit longer,¡± Fearless whispered to the group his parting words. His eyes steamed white just like theirs. He held their hands, all of them to convey his sincerity before he left. He stole a quick kiss on Ice''s cracked and burned lips, much to her surprise, ¡°Thank you for surviving and telling me this story. You have done a great job of protecting your friends. You have done something that even a man like me probably could never do. Please continue to do so. Two more days and this hell will end. You have my promise.¡±


    As soon as Fearless stepped outside of that village enclosure, he gathered Ironback and the leader of the guards Moss, questioning if they understood the meaning of the village and if they understood the meaning of his actions.


    Neither of them could give Fearless an answer. Thus, he asked if they were blinded.


    ¡°You have seen what I was doing with those men and those women. And still, you have no answer?¡±


    The two of them deliriously shook their head.


    ¡°Ironback, you a leader of a 1000 man unit aside, Moss, you are a leader of a 500-man unit. Don¡¯t you want to be more than that? Are you really satisfied with just being a leader of a 500-man unit forever? Is this the end of your ambition? Also, the new leader of Ekar¡¯s unit is a great fool. He cannot do shit. Soon, I will dismiss him and reassign that unit.¡±


    The two moronic worms in front of Fearless turned at each other, looking confused and unsure, then turned to stare at Fearless.


    ¡°Moss, don¡¯t you want to lead a 1000-man unit?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°Then do me a favor, be smarter, be more attentive, be more responsible starting from this moment. You guarded these people for almost two months and still, you do not know why you must keep them alive like this. How is it even possible?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my stupidity, Master Advisor.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to tell me that you are sorry. I only ask you to be smarter and more attentive from now. If you have received an order, ask yourself why were you given such order. If you cannot do that, ask your leader.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master Advisor.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Good, I find the way you set up your guard around this village acceptable. Keep up the good work. Fatten these captives up for the next two days. Give them more food and water and tell them to keep it a secret from Ashtor¨¢.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master Advisor,¡± Moss repeated the same reply. On his face, it was an expression of doubt and confusion.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare YES, Master Advisor when you don¡¯t even understand why I give you that order.¡± Fearless pretended to snap, gnashing his teeth.


    Moss wordlessly curled his body by instinct.


    ¡°Show them kindness. Win their hearts. You will be their leader soon. Those four hundred will be added to your unit soon, along Ekar¡¯s men. They will be your men and women soon. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master Advisor.¡±


    Obviously, the fool did not understand anything. But Fearless had no need to go deep into that.


    ¡°Ironback, right now you are a leader of a 1000 man unit. Right now, I am lacking a personal unit and a right-hand man to execute my will on the field. Do you think that you are up to it?¡±


    ¡°Master, I would not fail you.¡±


    ¡°Prove it with your action. From now on, when you receive an order, either from me or Ashtor¨¢, always ask the question why. You must learn what¡¯s going on around this army at any time. You must be even more attentive and smarter than Moss here.¡±


    In the end, Fearless never explained to Moss and Ironback the meaning of his action. The two fools were too dull to see through that. Their eagerness for promotion clouded their sight even further. If FY were there, he would probably be proud of Fearless.


    The art of speaking many words to say nothing at all and the art of making empty promises were something FY initially taught him to deal with the media and fans.


    Fearless told the two worms to gather at the rampart at dusk and left with Erinys at his side.


    Fucking Ekar, that fucking disgusting worm. Should not give him such a quick dead¡­


    Ashtor¨¢, don¡¯t expect any mercy from me this time. There is no excuse for you this time.


    The moment Fearless has confirmed the purpose of that village, he knew exactly where to point his finger at. He knew the perpetrator of that insanity and the one who decided to adopt such insanity.


    That village was created to breed more worms for the horde of Bloodbeard, a place to turn good men into worms. It was a place created to drive people to think like worms, to act like worms and to live like worms, an absolutely disgusting place.


    Fucking hell, in the game, it was just a stupid mechanic¡­


    The amount of provision provided every day, the number of women and men, and the falsehood of freedom, those conditions were ideal to transform these people into worms. In the game, Bloodbeard¡¯s army increased proportionally to the number of their successful raids and skirmishes. He converted his captives into his bandits.


    Ekar, even in death, you are a major fucking pain. Fucking worms.


    Never before has Fearless cursed his lack of interest in Ekar¡¯s character like this.


    That place taught its captives to deal with their own hunger and scarce provisions by stealing and robbing, preying on weaker targets. That place taught its captives to yield to their desires and freely acted on their desires, raping, robbing, killing, whatever they wanted.


    Is this the real reason why Bloodbeard¡¯s army kept multiplying with every successful raid and battle?


    Fuck, it¡¯s just a fucking mechanic.


    Fuck you Ekar. Fuck you Bloodbeard. Fuck this world. Fuck you all.


    Fearless focused on playing his song. However, he kept relapsing. He stared at the ripples on the lake and concentrated to count the number of ripples. He desperately kept his fury under the control. He did not bother to heal that wound on his left wrist.


    Even though he has told Erinys to rest, she could not, probably sensing his anger.


    You don¡¯t know pain. Is this why you do this kind shit?


    To understand pain? Is that even a reason? Is that your excuse?


    Fearless took his fury to his song. He felt a strong itch to talk, to voice out his fury and ire, otherwise he might go insane at any rate.


    Fuck you. Born as human and choose to live as a worm. What the fuck? You have a fucking brain inside your skull. Why are you using it for this kind of shit?


    Because you feel no pain? Is that what it is?


    Or do you believe that by turning all the people in this world into worms like you are, you will stop being a worm?


    Fearless was a balloon full of hot air. Fearless felt like if he didn¡¯t blow out his hot air, he would explode. He wished that he had a convenient power to wipe all of these worms of Bloodbeard and Bloodbeard himself in an instance, something like an ability to drop a nuke on these worms or something simpler like a Death Note.


    If only Kira was an actual god, Fearless would definitely join his religion and even speak of his gospel.


    At one point, ¡°A crown of iron¡± became The Cranberries¡¯ ¡°Zombie.¡± Fearless just drown himself within its chords.


    But then, he never got the chance to complete the song. The lack of drums, bass, and electric guitar did not prevent Fearless from playing the song, but a tear in the leaf did. Fearless was seethed with fury, crunched the torn leaf within his palm. He thought that he might go mad at any rate. Perhaps, he has gone mad. Otherwise, he should have stormed Bloodbeard¡¯s room and stick Enferm¨¦ right through the worm¡¯ ribcage by now.


    ¡°After that, I don¡¯t know¡­ nuke these worms to kingdom come or something¡­. Arggggg¡±


    Fearless had no idea how long it took him to reset his emotion. If that were a game of ROC, he would have rage-quit by now. He tried to think about something else, his next priority.


    The Hound of Hyrios


    Fearless did not find the Hound of Hyrios among Bloodbeard¡¯s captives. He searched but he could not find that person. Fearless asked the whereabouts of that one-arm man but it seemed that the women have even seen that man.


    However, Fearless did not expect that his search for that person would be so easy. That person was a secret character in Hyrios¡¯ single mode campaign and did not appear in the other campaigns.


    Fearless imagined that person would be locked inside a dungeon or a jail, not that worm-breeding-place. It made more sense to Fearless when he imagined that. Bloodbeard would not allow such a dangerous person roamed around with that kind of false freedom.


    The affiliations of the Hound of Hyrios were linked to two warlords, Hyrios and the Teddy Bear. Thus, Fearless tried to dig up the memory he had regarding those two specific campaigns.


    In the Teddy Bear¡¯s campaign, if players decided to take liberty at the canon history, the Teddy Bear would snap out of his grief and become extremely reckless due to the assassination of his protector and strategist.


    Despite the lack of military experience and many other weaknesses, that Teddy Bear could surprise the heck out of everyone, especially in one of his Bad endings. He was a rare character, loved by many fans for his Bad endings rather than his Canon ending and Good ending.


    Usually, the other playable warlords had one or two Bad Endings, one Canon Ending, and one Good Ending. That¡¯s the norm. The Teddy Bear, however, had seven Bad Endings in total, the most out of all the playable warlords. It was as if people just loved to see him suffer. He was a character that was doomed from the start, destined to fail, fated to suffer.


    The Teddy Bear was not a Might type general like Bloodbeard or Iliva, which meant he possessed a terrible HP, armor rating and damage rating. He cannot use spells either. His skills did not support combat situations. The number of his negative perks were equal to his positive perks. His other attributes were also terrible for a warlord with the exception of his average Leadership.


    Thus, players and fans gave him the nickname ¡°Teddy Bear¡± due to how soft and weak he was. The only type of Bear that cannot fight is a Teddy Bear, hence the nickname.


    The Teddy Bear¡¯s character was designed with a common setting among the many warlords in ROC, meant to be protected by his fortifications and supported by his followers rather than riding warhorse into the battlefield like Hyrios or Bloodbeard.


    The Teddy Bear was a warlord designed for a defensive oriented play style. The correct way to play the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction is by using his massive wealth to support ally forces. He can send his gold and provisions to his allies. He could help them to develop technology or build fortifications. He was more suited to play as a Supporter or a Defender role in the Multiplayer mode.


    Yet, in his campaign, the Teddy Bear mostly acted like a Raider-type general similar to Bloodbeard and Hyrios, and sometimes even Ender 02. However, that was not his role. His attributes did not support that kind of play style.


    It was as if he had a death wish, the Teddy Bear would lead his force and charge headlong into his enemy¡¯s lines without a proper military tactic to back him up. He advanced without logic or rationale to support his actions. He fought with reckless abandon. Of course, with that kind of recklessness, it was unsurprising that he deservedly had those seven Bad Endings. Thus, his single mode campaign was one of the hardest campaigns for new players who were still learning about the game.


    In his campaign, no matter how early players crushed Bloodbeard¡¯s faction with the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction, the Hound of Hyrios never appeared. It was such a strange thing. The Hound of Hyrios only appeared during Hyrios¡¯ campaign. Thus, he was remembered as the Hound of Hyrios and not ¡°The Hound.¡±


    Fearless has never questioned why this character only appeared in Hyrios¡¯ campaign and not the others. The game treated the Hound of Hyrios as a secret character and thus Fearless had taken that information as such. He has never questioned, nobody did.


    Why?


    Since Fearless has never asked himself that question before, he asked it now.


    Did the Hound avoid meeting the Teddy Bear?


    By the time Fearless asked this question, the sun was red like a yolk, descending on the eastern sky.


    Fearless did not forget that he had a speech to deliver to the worms of Bloodbeard. He turned to look at the rampart, a wooden podium has been completed.


    It¡¯s about the damn time.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    All of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms had already returned from their missions, standing in separated big squares in front of the rampart, their leaders in line in front of them, either had a look of expectant on their faces or a look of terror and dread when they saw Fearless.


    Fearless saw Bloodbeard standing among the lines, talking, probably questioning the leaders of his troops regarding of the assignment Fearless has given them.


    When Bloodbeard¡¯s eyes met Fearless, Fearless quietly flexed his thumb over the rampart, signaling the bandit lord to get up there. Bloodbeard did, quite reluctantly parting with his worms. However, Fearless can see through that reluctance that Bloodbeard displayed was only a guise, after only knowing the bandit lord for just two days.


    Fearless approached the worms, chasing after their report despite already knowing the result from reading their expression alone. He complimented those who have completed their assignments. Those who didn¡¯t, Fearless only said that they will have another chance to redeem their failure.


    Slowly, Fearless walked toward Ekar¡¯s unit. He has made them stood on the same spot through the length of the entire day, from morning to dusk, without giving them any order. And from the look of it, they did, standing on this same spot, without eating or drinking, most of them.


    When Fearless looked at that sight, he understood that their loyalty was shaped by Ekar¡¯s fear tactics. Fearless has only reaped the harvest that born from the seeds that Ekar sowed.


    In a way, Fearless owed them an explanation for making such an order.


    ¡°Do any of you know why I make you stand in this place for this entire day?¡± Fearless asked. A brilliant smile on his lips shone almost as brilliant as the red setting sun.


    The new leader of Ekar¡¯s unit whose name Fearless has yet to learn shook his head. His lips white drained of blood. His face colored by the marvelous combination of fatigue and terror, only to match by the glistening effect from the amount of sweats oozing out from his forehead.


    ¡°Anyone? It does not have to be your new leader. Come on, someone give me an answer.¡± Fearless swept his eyes through the rank of Ekar¡¯s units. Wherever his eyes swept, the worms gazed at the ground, avoided meeting his gaze. If they had dared to meet his gaze, they would not stand in this square from morning to dusk.


    Fearless sighed disappointedly and turned his back against them.


    ¡°Well then, I will give you an entire night to think of the answer. Otherwise, the same thing will repeat tomorrow. You, all of you will stand here from dawn to dusk to think of that answer,¡± said Fearless as he climbed the rampart. He has finished giving them his reason for making them stood through the day.


    Suddenly, Fearless turned around, smiling like a sunflower, ¡°Otherwise, run, all of you. Tonight, it¡¯s your chance to escape, your only chance to escape me. Use a horse or whatever may suit you. I am a patient man. I can wait. I promise that I would wait until the first light of dawn to shine on this land. Only then, I would take my time to chase after you. Until then, surely, you must be able to cross a considerable amount of distance. How do you like that suggestion?¡± Fearless beamed his sunflower smile on all of Ekar¡¯s worms. Only his eyes were not smiling.


    He prevented the worms from deserting with all but a single smile and a bluff.


    ¡°Leaders of Ekar¡¯s unit, all of you, at morrow dawn, you must be able to report to me of the people in your unit who decided to leave us tonight. If you miss a name, just a name¡­ well, what should I do to you?¡± Fearless scratched his stubby chin, pondering, ¡°Hmmmm,¡± dragging the suspension, making the worms even more nervous.


    ¡°Ah, I know.¡± He excitedly clapped his hands together with a childlike innocence. ¡°The area around your previous leader resting place is a little lacking in decoration, don¡¯t you think?¡± Fearless asked coldly whilst that warm and beautiful sunflower smile still pasted on his lips. His voice and expression could not be more mismatched. ¡°I believe that it needs some decorations. Tonight, I will plant more pikes on that ground. Though, I have to admit that I am a little dull. I have no idea what to decorate on those pikes. Leaders, maybe you can provide some helps. Hmmmm?¡±


    With that, Fearless has made sure that no fool among Ekar¡¯s unit would be allowed to escape alive through this night. He has given them a chance to escape yesterday night, but they didn¡¯t. He climbed the rampart, this time for real.


    He scaled the stairs slowly, escorting Erinys with him.


    Bloodbeard has already been waiting for Fearless atop the rampart. ¡°Uncle, you are scaring them.¡± Bloodbeard spoke to Fearless. He was smart enough to realize what Fearless was doing with his army just by talking to them. He understood that Fearless was merely scaring his army to teach them that Fearless was the one in charge of it now, aside from instilling a sense of purpose.


    Bloodbeard was keen. The bandit lord could obviously start to see a connection between his own assignment and his men¡¯s assignments. He obviously believed that other than instilling fear and discipline into the troops, Fearless was preparing for the battle with Hyrios. However, Bloodbeard kept his mouth zipped, probably because he has yet seen the complete picture that Fearless was painting.


    Bloodbeard was guessing, only guessing at the moment. That explained why he did not complaint about the second hint that Fearless gave him.


    Bloodbeard was keen to see all of that, but unfortunately not keen enough to see through another layer of Fearless¡¯ plan.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need your soldiers to love you to make them fight for you. You only need to make them fear you to make them obedient. Isn¡¯t that what you have been doing?¡± Fearless replied with his usual arrogance.


    ¡°But not to this degree,¡± Bloodbeard sighed a bit.


    ¡°I have a perfect reason to instill this amount of fear on these fools. Or are you afraid of watching your men suffered this kind of hardship?¡± Fearless mocked. His lips curved arrogantly.


    ¡°¡­ No, uncle. You can do as you wish with them.¡± Bloodbeard sighed again.


    ¡°That was stated in the clauses, right?¡± Fearless did not hold back on his arrogance.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bloodbeard admittedly replied with a little pause.


    ¡°Good job on holding it back.¡± He said quietly.


    One sentence that meant for both Erinys and Bloodbeard, however the two of them would understand that sentence differently.


    Erinys did not react to his word, staring blankly at the setting sun as she was previously commanded. Bloodbeard, on the other hand, reacted, twisting his neck. The bandit lord stared at Fearless.


    ¡°You were upsetting me on purpose? All this time?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m training you. If you cannot control your temperament, your enemies would take advantage of that sooner or later.¡± Fearless scoffed.


    ¡°I thought that it¡¯s just your character¡­¡±


    ¡°It is my character, fool. And quit that stupid grin of yours. That¡¯s disgusting. Real man doesn¡¯t grin like that.¡± Fearless twisted his face to show Bloodbeard his open disgust.


    ¡°¡­well, this is the first time you praise me for something,¡± Bloodbeard replied, blushing as if he was a maiden in love. He was not completely desensitized to Fearless¡¯ arrogance, he was making an effort to cope with Fearless.


    It was such a big wonder that a small compliment, one that recognized Bloodbeard¡¯s effort in coping with Fearless¡¯ overbearing attitude, would do to the bandit lord. If this were a dating game, Bloodbeard¡¯s affection parameter would have exploded beyond the maximum value at the moment.


    Fearless has done nothing but smashed Bloodbeard¡¯s pride with every chance he had for a moment like this. Winning a person¡¯s affection was just this easy, even if that person was Bloodbeard.


    Fearless aligned the podium, leaving Erinys to stand alone, holding to her coin. For whatever reason, Bloodbeard decided that it¡¯s cool to climb the podium with Fearless.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡± Fearless furrowed his brows and asked.


    ¡°¡­I thought that you told me to come here to relay your speech¡­¡±


    ¡°The fuck? I have told you that this is a fucking lesson. I¡¯m still teaching you, right now, and I don¡¯t require your help.¡±


    ¡°¡­but¡­¡± Bloodbeard had a doubtful look on his face as if he questioned Fearless¡¯ ability to address 6000 worms with his voice alone, without the help of <Echo>.


    ¡°Get down. Stand on my left, watch and learn,¡± Fearless snapped. In his entire life, nobody has ever questioned the title ¡°Loudspeaker¡± which he gained since his primary school years.


    Fearless took a deep breath. ¡°Maggots, can you hear my voice?¡± he thundered with the volume of a dragon¡¯s roar.


    Erinys had to close her ears by reflex. Bloodbeard wore a stupid ¡°Oh, I see¡± look on his face when Fearless darted him a provoking gaze.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you?¡±


    Bloodbeard¡¯s worms replied confusedly and disconnectedly. Fearless took that as his cue to continue.


    ¡°Just in case you have not known who I am by now, I will introduce myself. I am Fearless, Prince of The Alliance, greatest champion to the Reign of Chaos.¡±


    Fearless deliberately kept his name and the name of The Alliance untranslated. Technically, he wasn¡¯t lying¡­ yet.


    ¡°Maggots, do you know why I call you that? Maggots, all of you, nothing but a bunch of maggots. That¡¯s all you were in the past and are at the moment, and that¡¯s all you will ever be in the future, maggots.¡±


    Can¡¯t you see that you are cursed, maggots? The lot of you? Have you ever asked why you are the way you are, maggots? Have you ever look at the night sky and searched for your star?


    If you have not, I have already done that for all of you. I have spent an entire yesterday night to search for your stars. I have spent a night to ask the gods.


    You are cursed. I tell you. You are cursed, all of you, from the moment you are conceived within your mother¡¯s womb.¡±


    GOD, this is fucking therapeutic. If I don¡¯t get this shit out today, I might as well go insane tomorrow.


    Fearless took another deep breath and thundered again.


    ¡°The gods and their disciples cannot tolerate your presence. They forbade your existence in their sacred sanctuary. Nature loathes you. Fire does not bless you. Strength will not aid you. True will not find you.


    You are cursed from the very moment you were born. The first flame made a grave mistake when you were merely a fetus in your mother¡¯ womb, it forgot to give you its blessing. You are human like everyone else, but only from the outside, only your look. Deep inside, you know that you are not. You are beast, no worse than that, maggots, the lot of you. You are unneeded. You are cursed.


    Look at the night sky, search for your star, and tell me that I am wrong. Deny me! Maggots, tell me that I am wrong.


    Search for your star! No, before that, have you even looked at yourself first? You defile the sacred ground of Escana with every step you take, smearing everything you touch with that putrid smell of sludge, feces, blood and mud that emanate from your body. The fields, that you have set your feet on would die and wither, its soil would harden, frosted and barren. The lives that were touched by your hands would be destroyed.


    You cannot create or grow anything with your accursed hands. You can only live by stealing and robbing things that are not yours. And for what? Just to live another day so that you would repeat the same things tomorrow and even the days after tomorrow?


    That¡¯s pathetic and miserable. That¡¯s pitiful.


    Yet, that¡¯s your star. That¡¯s your fate.


    That is who you are and what you will be to the day you die.


    Let that thought sink in to your head, maggots!¡±


    Humankind¡¯s History has showed that it¡¯s always easier to blame something or someone rather than addressing the obvious elephant in the room, on Earth and on Escana. It is always easier to antagonize someone else or something else for your suffer rather than pointing out your mistake. It¡¯s easier to blame the star you were born under, your fate and your destiny than blaming your action.


    The Great Temple and the Imperial Family of White Winter got away with facing the result of their mismanagement and crimes by blaming everything on the witches. They got away with that in the canon history of Escana, unsurprisingly since the game developers took their inspirations from similar events from Earth¡¯s history.


    ¡°You all are maggots, but that is perfect. You are cursed by that star that you are born into. And that¡¯s great.


    Craxus was born like that.


    Don¡¯t believe in the story that you were told by people who knew nothing. Don¡¯t believe in the story told from the mouth of people who cannot see stars.


    Look at the night sky, the star of Craxus shines even this day still. It tells us his story.


    I tell you Craxus was born cursed just like you all. Sinintee did not give him his blessing from the moment he was born. Wonten did not give him his gifts either.


    He was no king from the day he was born. He was no son of a noble or son of a rich man. He was born a lowly peasant. And he was cursed from the very moment he was conceived just like you lot.


    Nobody has told you that. But it is true.


    Craxus was meant to die, doomed by his fate, eaten by Karijard.


    Yet, he wasn¡¯t. He became the greatest hero this land has ever had, his name, a legend. No child grow up in this land and know not of his name.


    Craxus, the great Dragonslayer, the little Conqueror, the Great Emperor.


    He was born cursed just like you all. He was born fated to die like a maggot, yet he was not.


    How? How did Craxus overcome his star?¡±


    Fearless paused his speech for over twenty seconds before started again.


    ¡°Before I tell you that, I will give you a prophecy.


    You all are going to die. All of you. You will be killed by Hyrios, king of the Great Plain. His army is coming for you. You can run now, back to White Winter or wherever you came from, but that¡¯s useless.


    Hyrios will find you. That¡¯s the decree of your star. His arrows will find you. His horses will trample all over your corpses. Your skulls will decorate his throne. That¡¯s all you worth.


    You were born maggots and you will die as maggots.


    That is the will of your stars. You were born only to be killed by Hyrios, all of you. You accursed beings, you were born to glorify Hyrios and his legend.


    Do you loathe such unjust fate of yours?¡± Fearless shouted.


    A few hundreds of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms answered. ¡°Yes.¡± Seethed with fury.


    ¡°Do you loathe such fate? Answer me!¡± Fearless shouted again. ¡°Do you loathe it?¡±


    A few hundreds suddenly became 6000. ¡°Yes.¡± The air shook, trembled to the fury of the frenzied worms.


    ¡°Louder!¡±


    The worm received Fearless¡¯ order, shouting from the top of their lungs.


    ¡°Louder! Louder! Let all the winds on Escana hear your voice. Let the gods know your will. Do you loathe such fate?¡±


    The frenzied worms of Bloodbeard shouted back in perfect harmony. Their voice drowned out even the famed wailing winds of the Dragon Corridors.


    ¡°Good. Great. I will now tell you how Craxus won against his star.


    He fought. He fought against Karijard. That¡¯s how he won against his fate.


    Fighting. That¡¯s the only way you can win against your star. So, fight, I tell you. Fight against your star. Fight against your accursed destiny.


    Fight, and you may die just like your star have dictated. Fight and you may prove that your star is right all this time. Run you will die, hide you will die, fight you might die as well.


    So what?


    We will die eventually, all of us.


    Will you die running and hiding like cowards? Will you die as maggots?


    Or will you die fighting for a chance to win against your star?


    Fight! I tell you.


    Fight and you may arrive at the hall of Mistress Death a human.


    Fight and you may win.


    If you don¡¯t fight, how can you win?


    You cannot win over your star by running. You cannot win over it by hiding. You win over your star by fighting against it.


    If you don¡¯t fight, you won¡¯t win.


    So Fight, maggots! Fight and I will lend you my help.


    Know that Fearless of The Alliance is with you in this battle.


    Fight, fight to tell this world that you are more than the maggots they think you are.


    Fight! Fight to prove to the gods above that they have wronged you!


    Fight! Fights and make the gods admit that they have wronged you.


    Fight! Make the gods correct their mistakes.


    Fight, maggots.


    Fight, maggots fight!


    Fight and prove that you are not maggots by winning.


    Fight to prove that you are human.


    Fight!


    Fight!¡±

 Chapter 48: Prince and the day of reckoning (4)

    Chapter 48: Prince and the day of reckoning (4)


    Back when the world of Escana was just a fictional land, a game, there were four morale states of an army: low, normal, high, and maximum.


    At low morale, the attack rating and movement speed of the troops would receive a penalty, a minus 15% in both attributes. At normal morale, normal, no penalty or buffs. At high morale, the troops would receive a bonus 15% in attack rating and movement speed and another 5% in maximum health. Finally, at Maximum morale, troops would receive the same 15% buffs in attack rating and movement speed, and 5% maximum health with a one minute buff of ¡°Dauntless Ones,¡± which prevent their morale from being lower during that one minute.


    Many variables controlled the morale of an army, for instance, victories and losses, the number of provisions provided, skill and perk effects of your own and the opposing generals. However, those variables were not consistent enough to be relied on during the entire length of a game.


    You would win some battles and lose some, normal things. Sometimes, you just have to fight battles without provisions because your Supporters screwed up their jobs, which most likely would happen at any moment. Your generals and warlord might provide you a skill to manipulate your troops¡¯ morale but if you face off against an enemy like Ekar, your skill would be negated, situational but this would happen more than often.


    In the end, the most reliable variables to control the morale of an army were a general¡¯s Charisma and Leadership attributes. The higher those two attributes, the higher the morale and morale recovery bonus that an army had.


    In the single mode campaign, players had an option to give a speech to his or her troops via the <Rouse> command, which was unfortunately unavailable in the multiplayer mode. The <Rouse> command would allow a general to give his troops some pep talks before battles, giving a momentary buff to their morale. The higher the Charisma attribute of the general, the more the morale that the troops would gain.


    The <Rouse> command has been through a cycle of nerfing, removed and put back to nerfing again. But ultimately, it was removed from the multiplayer mode for a good reason. Players can exploit this <Rouse> command through characters with both high Charisma and Leadership attributes, making their troops forever staying in the Maximum Morale state despite suffering losses after losses even when they were deprived of provisions for months. Characters possessed both high Charisma and Leadership like the Zombie Dragon of White Winter was notorious for allowing this kind of exploit to happen.


    Observing Bloodbeard¡¯s worms, Fearless believed that he, at least, had induced them into a High Morale state. If only he had the perks <Orator> or <Governor> with him, he could possibly get them into Maximum Morale, if and only if this was a game.


    Fearless scrolled the invisible window within his mind:


    Fearless/Human/Male/ Warlord <Level 6>


    Status: Married


    Wife: Ilivardary Kront''tarr Queen of Spiders.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    MIGHT


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    21 (+20)


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    LEADERSHIP


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    94


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    POLITIC


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    86


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    CHARISMA


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    116 (+10)


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    INTELLIGENT


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    97


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    WISDOM


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    118


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    <table width="641">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="641">


    Perks:


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="641">


    -Champion of champions: Eligible for any military or civil position to gain EXP


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="641">


    -Philanderer: Can engage with multiple opposite-sex characters at the same time. Can reverse the <Marriage> status of any opposite sex character to <Single> to form marriage pact.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="641">


    -Harem Prince: Can form marriage pact with multiple warlords of opposite sex regardless of races.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="641">


    -Orb of Universal Wisdom: Suffer no language barrier


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    Fearless¡¯ attributes have increased as he leveled up. Though, Fearless can¡¯t say that he felt different in any way. He still had no idea how the numerical value of his attributes would affect him and the world around him, in what form and to what extent.


    His MIGHT stated that Fearless could never win against Ekar, Well, Ekar died like a scrub of a worm that he was. Ekar was not even a challenge. Fearless¡¯ WISDOM attribute said that he has grown a lot wiser as a person. However, Fearless really doubted that since he did not feel wiser at all.


    If he did, Bloodbeard would have been a pile of ashes by now, alongside his worms. Yet, the bandit lord still lived, his worms still defiled the air with their sickening presence. The longer they lived, the bigger the chance that Fearless¡¯ schemes might be undone.


    How the fuck am I wiser? If I was wiser, I would have gone with a more simple plan.


    Does that also mean that if I removed Iliva¡¯s Orb of universal wisdom, I will be less charismatic? How the fuck is this shit even work?


    The Orb of Universal Wisdom, despite its name, would grant a bonus of 10 points into the CHARISMA attribute instead of WISDOM.


    This happened due to a minor bug related to the coding of the Goddess of Wisdom Eogaill, which dated back to the release of the Rise of the Dragon Slayer. That bug created some unintentional effects to some blessings, artifacts, magic spells and more, most things that related to Eogaill.


    Since the production of RTDS was rushed to meet the deadline. This minor bug was never fixed when RTDS was released to the market.


    Then, someone pointed out this bug and made a Reddit page about that instead of emailing the developers.


    Many of the unintended mistakes related to this bug, which that person pointed out, achieved Meme status among the fans of RTDS because the way he wrote that Reddit page. The Orb of Universal Wisdom, however, did not. Nevertheless, Eogaill its creator did.


    Fans joked that Eogaill would have an anxiety attack whenever she¡¯s around people outside of her family. She would freak out inwardly and became godly clumsy, thus, messing up her blessings over and over again.


    The developers of RTDS released patches to fix the bug sometime later. However, it was already too late. The damage has been done. Eogaill has already solidified her status among the fans as a legendary shut- in and clumsy goddess. Eogaill¡¯s presence is the synonym of an anxiety attack and misunderstanding among the fans.


    Fans bombarded the developers with troll emails, begging them to return that bug to the game.


    At one point, the developers of RTDS said ¡°Fuck that¡± due to constant pressures from their fans and thus allowed the fans to take part in shaping the lore of Escana. They released a patch to put that minor bug back to their game, making Eogaill¡¯ clumsiness canon in the lore.


    I don¡¯t want to live in this world¡­


    The thought that Eogaill was really such a pitiful woman made Fearless depressed about his prospect in Escana.


    The God of Justice and Strength was blind, deaf and mute.


    The Goddess of Nature was biased and emotionally scarred.


    The Goddess of Wisdom and Truth could barely do anything right despite her Wisdom and Intelligent.


    And the only God who lived up to his image is a warmonger, a God of War, an asshole who believed that the core of perfection and civilization was war.


    I don¡¯t want to live in this world¡­ Earth is already shitty enough¡­.this one¡­


    Fearless sighed, fidgeting out of depression, scrolling the invisible pages inside his head back and forth for no particular reason.


    While Fearless¡¯ attributes and perks still made no sense to him, at least his skill did.


    He can use his skills at will. However, he still had no idea how his perks would affect him. They were passive perks, both the <Harem Prince> and


    perks. And it was not like Fearless needed these perks to achieve the results that they provided him.


    Do people really need these perks to do things like these? It is not like I need an Orator perk to deliver a rousing speech.


    Fearless absentmindedly observed Bloodbeard¡¯s worms as dusk set in and completely painted Escana with its depressing dark strokes. Then he noticed that Erinys was getting drowsy. Her eyelids started drooping.


    Really? It¡¯s still 7 pm.


    Fearless peeked at his golden Rolex, the one he gave to Bloodbeard and amazed. He gave Bloodbeard¡¯s worms his last command of the day to focus on their ambition and dream, to be discipline until he gave them the permission to relax otherwise.


    That meant no pleasure and no wine.


    Fearless made sure the worms understood his will and the repercussion of going against that. Fearless then cut his unfinished businesses with Bloodbeard¡¯s worms short, allowing their leaders to take over.


    After that, Fearless spoke to Bloodbeard, pretending to be obvious to the bandit lord¡¯s idolization for him. He asked the bandit lord¡¯s impression about the speech, which Bloodbeard admittedly replied that he was far from reaching Fearless¡¯ level. Fearless sighed and told Bloodbeard that if that was the case, the bandit lord had a lot to learn, further damaging Bloodbeard¡¯s pride as a leader with his words.


    Fearless then asked Bloodbeard regarding the progression of the homework he was given. Bloodbeard¡¯s reply told Fearless something he has already known, he was an absolute genius and Bloodbeard was a scrub.


    The bandit lord was trapped in the illusion that Fearless conjured, unable to see what¡¯s really going on. He can only see what Fearless intended for him to see.


    Fearless shortly escorted Erinys to the watchtower. He saw One-eye and his men were preparing to deliver dinner to him. Fearless told Erinys to bring dinner to Narik and the other women, a simple command which even for a mentally broken person like Erinys could do quite well. The real test for Erinys was when Fearless told her to communicate to the other women and Narik to have dinner first without waiting for him.


    ¡°No barking. If you do I would know,¡± Fearless quietly whispered into Erinys¡¯ ears. His lips wore an amorous smile, his arms wrapping around her thin waist to mask his true intention from Bloodbeard¡¯s staring eyes. He playfully kissed Erinys on her cheek and lightly pushed her up the stairs.


    ¡°If you need women to serve you, I can pick someone better than her,¡± Bloodbeard commented as he watched Erinys emotionlessly aligned the stairs, showing no response to Fearless¡¯ advance.


    ¡°She¡¯s fine the way she is.¡± Fearless scoffed, waving his hand, ¡°What I seek from her is not a lover. I want to make an apprentice out of her, someone to inherit my talents and miracles, someone who would aid you better than One-eye and Ekar in the future. I am teaching her to be indifferent to my charm and a man¡¯s approach. Once she masters this, she would be a lethal weapon.¡± Fearless told Bloodbeard in an indifferent voice. The amorous air around him faded as if a mirage. ¡°If she can resist my charm, then she can humiliate Sinintee himself if Sinintee was to descend to this place to woo her.¡± His eyes became cold and sharp like a blade. ¡°Or she can pretend to react to Sinintee¡¯s charm and wait for a chance.¡± Fearless used his index finger to slit his own throat as his lips curved into a childlike smile.


    Bloodbeard could not hide his shiver. He stood and stared at Fearless, his eyes reflected a mix of complex emotions.


    ¡°Was it always like this to you, uncle?¡± Bloodbeard asked a strange question. His scars twisted, making Bloodbeard became even more terrifying than he looked. Only his eyes betrayed his thought. That alone told Fearless of Bloodbeard¡¯s true emotion.


    Finally, finally, finally!!!


    Fearless betrayed not a sliver of his excitement to Bloodbeard. He was ecstatic. His effort to stay in character has finally come into fruition. His lips twisted into a scornful smile, neither sorrow or happy, and he turned his back on Bloodbeard, heading toward the direction of the keep where Bloodbeard¡¯s room and the war room located.


    ¡°Have you not questioned why I have escaped my captors for all these years while publicly searching for you and yet, my elven people did not catch me? Don¡¯t you find that part of my background conflicting?¡± Fearless darkly asked. His back still turned to Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s footsteps followed Fearless closely from behind. The sound of the bandit lord¡¯s footsteps reflected his uneasiness.


    ¡°You did not even realize that part of my background was conflicting. That¡¯s why I have told you that a child like you does not belong to this stage, at least not yet. If I was an enemy spy or an assassin, you would have been killed by now.¡± Fearless coldly said.


    Fearless told Bloodbeard such bullshit background and Bloodbeard believed it, Fearless was sure Bloodbeard was not a match for him. That backstory of his was full of holes waiting to be asked and poked, full of contradiction, and yet Bloodbeard believed it without raising a question.


    Despite the tone Fearless adopted, he pirouetted playfully to gaze at Bloodbeard. Bloodbeard¡¯s expression remained unchanged, showing no response to Fearless¡¯ empty threat. His expression showed that he fully believed that Fearless would never do anything to hurt him.


    Fearless shrugged his shoulders, playing along with Bloodbeard¡¯s belief, ¡°But then, if there were a spy or an assassin who possessed half of my talent and charm, that person would not approach you in person. At this moment, you are not worth it.¡±


    Bloodbeard again showed no reaction to Fearless¡¯ obvious attempt at upsetting him.


    Great


    ¡°My heart is cold,¡± Fearless removed the frivolous air around him and adopted a sober expression. He lightly punched Bloodbeard¡¯s chest, ¡°But that is not a disadvantage. Because my heart is cold that my eyes can see the world better than most people. My ears can discern lies. My head can out-scheme people by a hundred steps. My father, Eri and you are the only families that I have ever had. I don¡¯t need someone else in my life.¡±


    Fearless smiled. His bullshit backstory, his mannerism, his acting, Erinys¡¯ exercise, they were meant for this moment. They were meant for Fearless to have this conversation with Bloodbeard.


    Thank god that you are not so stupid to not see my hints.


    Bloodbeard was an emotional person, impulsive and brash. He listened to his feelings more so than his cunnings, the completely different from the image of the person who Fearless was trying to portray. This difference allowed Fearless to have an opportunity like this, a chance to deepen his emotional connection with Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard looked at Fearless as if he pitied him as if he tried to imagine the pain and suffering that Fearless has gone through from the bullshit sob story that Fearless gave him.


    Perfect. Someone just gives me an Oscar award already.


    Fearless sneered as if he could detect Bloodbeard¡¯s pity and became disgusted by it. ¡°Instead of giving me that worthless pity, do your best to not to die in the incoming battle.¡± He quickly turned around, walking, ¡°Now that I have pointed out the confliction in my background. Don¡¯t you have any question?¡± He asked with a light playful tone as if he desperately tried to change the topic.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that you would tell me that you had already killed them because you are great and they are not.¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s reply showed to Fearless that he would do well at a social gathering. His voice hinted a bit of playfulness, just a bit.


    Perfect


    Fearless pretended to play along. Pity is a multipurpose tool. It can be a shield, a sword, a flower to woo a woman¡¯s heart or a lock-picking tool to a person¡¯s soul or anything as long as the person wielding it knew what he was doing with it.


    Fearless has already mastered this tool since he was thirteen. He would drag out this emotional connection and pity that Bloodbeard had for him just a little bit longer, waiting for the perfect moment.


    Here lies Ashtor¨¢,


    He, who knows no pain,


    Dies in agony.


    Fearless has already prepared the perfect lines to write on Bloodbeard¡¯s grave when he was sitting on the bank of the reservoir. He thought about carving a tablet to put on Bloodbeard¡¯s grave as soon as he returned to his room.


    As for Bloodbeard¡¯s worms:


    Born humans,


    Chose to live as worms,


    Thus, died a worm¡¯s death.


    A reminder to all.


    Born humans,


    Live a human¡¯s life


    Die a human¡¯s death


    That would be the perfect lines to put on the common grave of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The only problem with those lines would be that nobody other than Fearless could read them. But that¡¯s fine.


    Fearless walked Bloodbeard to the war room, asking the bandit lord of his knowledge about Hyrios on while walking. The vast of Bloodbeard¡¯s knowledge about Hyrios came from rumors, mostly exaggerated nothing solid, and nothing helpful. His information came from various sources, traveling merchants, slavers and bandits.


    Within the last five years, Hyrios and several border noble houses of White Winter were caught in a constant flow of conflicts regarding territory disputes and bandits. According to Fearless¡¯ knowledge, these disputes and skirmishes only served as a ruler for White Winter to measure Hyrios¡¯ ability as well as a feint to prepare for the real invasion.


    ¡°If you were able to capture Hyrios, where would you keep him? In that village down the hill?¡± Fearless then asked a strange question,


    Bloodbeard did not suspect a thing and carelessly replied with all the honesty in the world. Fearless then told Bloodbeard to don his armor before arrived at the war room, parting the bandit lord shorty.


    Fearless arrived at the war room first, leisurely lighting all the braziers in the dark room. He used his free time to simulate his conversation with Bloodbeard on the topic of Hyrios ahead.


    Bloodbeard did not know Hyrios, not his strength, not his character, not his weakness either.


    No wonder you got crushed by Hyrios despite your cunnings.


    Hyrios was designed to squash Bloodbeard and his horde, his arch nemesis. In the game, their relationship was like that of a cat and a mouse. Hyrios had all the right tools to kill Bloodbeard. Of course, Bloodbeard had no way of knowing that. And, that¡¯s why he was crushed so one-sidedly in the canon history.


    From all the information Fearless gathered thus far about Bloodbeard, from comic pages, from the campaign, from Narik, from Ice, he could paint the complete painting of Bloodbeard¡¯s modus operandi.


    During the attack on the Bundor Bastion and Ice¡¯s village, Bloodbeard first silenced the guards inside the Bastion before he conducted a night raid on Ice¡¯s village and the other villages underneath the Bundor Bastion. It was a quick and clean attack that did not trigger an alarm to the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction. No one escaped Bloodbeard¡¯s horde in that attack.


    After that, Bloodbeard simultaneously attacked unfortified targets like small villages and towns around the region with small bands of a few hundred, prompting the Teddy Bear to react by splitting his army to deal with Bloodbeard.


    It was simple yet effective.


    It was a disaster for the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction since they had no idea just how many worms Bloodbeard brought with him. They had not even realized that their post on the Bundor Bastion has already fallen. They were ambushed and overwhelmed by Bloodbeard¡¯s horde many times, on their own land.


    It was disastrous to the point that they had to give up on several smaller fortifications to consolidate their forces in Madukat to dissuade Bloodbeard from attempting to attack the city. Yet, they believed that they had the situation under the control, waiting until Bloodbeard siege their city to send out eagles asking for help.


    It was one terrible military decision after another for the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction. But then it was understandable, the strategist of the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction was more of a politician than a strategist. He did well with politics and schemes but ultimately did not understand war.


    Bloodbeard got cocky from winning against the Teddy Bear, as thus met his just end. Perhaps, if the Teddy Bear¡¯s faction put up a better fight, Bloodbeard would not dare to venture deep into the Great Plain and met his end there.


    ¡°How good are you with the bow?¡± Fearless asked Bloodbeard when the bandit lord arrived.


    ¡°I can hunt animals with it¡­¡± Bloodbeard replied.


    ¡°Hyrios can strike a target beyond the range of two hundred steps with his bow. And he won¡¯t miss,¡± said Fearless, examining the sturdiness of Bloodbeard¡¯s mails with his fingers. He made Bloodbeard twirled around and around like a complete moron until he was satisfied. ¡°Better put some boiled hides on top of these chains for better protection.¡±


    ¡°¡­so?¡± Bloodbeard furrowed his brows, asking his chance against Hyrios. His eyes brimming with hope. He was smart enough to understand that Fearless was preparing him for the battle against Hyrios.


    Fearless shook his head and clicked his tongue, ¡°When your army is clashing against his, you must never let him out of your sight. The moment you do, his arrow would find you.¡±


    Bloodbeard pondered for a while, ¡°¡­I have asked it before but you speak of Hyrios as if you knew him.¡±


    ¡°Naturally, he¡¯s my sixth-highest pick warlord. Of course, I knew him.¡± Fearless proudly replied. He then scratched his chin, realizing just how confusing he has made the case for Bloodbeard.


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t understand.¡± Bloodbeard stared at Fearless, unblinking.


    ¡°Never mind. Think of that as a rambling of an old man. Hyrios, that boy, I was able to see him in battle once¡­ he¡¯s great. However, if I fought him, I would win ten out of ten.¡± Fearless scoffed, ¡°But that is not because he is incompetent. His compatibility with me is the worst. His mind works like a launched arrow. He flies true to his target. He¡¯s honorable, prideful and protective. If you had just one of these three traits, you are already a prey of mine. Hyrios possessed all three of them. He can¡¯t win against me even if I gave him a handicap or two.¡±


    Fearless turned his attention at a great shield lying at a corner of the war room. He pointed his index finger at it, ¡°Try lifting that and give it a few swings,¡± which Bloodbeard did easily with one hand.


    Looking at how easy Bloodbeard lifted the great shield, Fearless thought that if he signed up Bloodbeard¡¯s name into the World¡¯s Strongest Man contest, the bandit lord would be instantly a favorite among the fans.


    Fearless had three hundred of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms prepared the shield since morning, a two-meter in length and one meter in width of hardwood, five centimeters thick of wood, reinforced with a layer of bronze plate hammered into the wood and two layers of boiled bison hide. Its sheer size and weight made the thing more of an exotic gate styled for somenobles with no appreciation for beauty and art than an instrument of war. Yet, that triple layered great shield that easily weighted over two or three hundred kilograms felt like a feather within the strong and muscular arm of Bloodbeard.


    The skill <God Strength Level 2> which Bloodbeard possessed was no joke. Fearless suspected that the bandit lord was probably strong enough to wield a battery ram as a weapon.


    It seemed that the last time the bandit lord tried to choke Fearless within his palms, he did not actually mean to do that. Bloodbeard must have held back, otherwise, Fearless¡¯ neck would be snapped within a second.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s strength was herculean, something beyond the realm of physics and Fearless¡¯ understanding. Fearless imagined that even if he stabbed Bloodbeard with Enferm¨¦ to seal his <God Strength Level 2> the bandit lord would still enough strength with him to wield this great shield properly.


    Bloodbeard strapped his forearm to the great shield, holding its thick knot firmly. He swung the great shield with different postures, trying to get a good feel about it. Fearless could hear the wind wailed in agony every time Bloodbeard swung his shield.


    ¡°Try to move around, let¡¯s see how agile you are with it,¡± Fearless said.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s footwork was deceptively nimble for someone of his size. Bloodbeard moved the bulk of his body with his new massive great shield with a physics-defying explosiveness. His agility was baffling for someone of his size. Bloodbeard¡¯s movement made Ekar looked like a snail.


    And Fearless has thought that Merleon¡¯s father was already ridiculous. That old man belonged to the same weight class as Bloodbeard, Super Heavyweight. However, his footwork was as nimble as a fighter in the Middleweight was. Due to that reason alone, Merleon¡¯s old man reigned supreme in his weight class and the Heavyweight class, uncontested for years. It was until he was forced to fight in the Cruiserweight that the old man suffered his first loss in his entire career.


    Bloodbeard was even more ridiculous. Fearless made a quick estimation of Bloodbeard¡¯s weight with the addition of the great shield¡¯s weight within his mind, Probably 550 kg, fuck, what I am looking at.


    The bandit lord somehow was able to move with the blinding agility and speed similar to that of Alice, someone in the Flyweight class, probably. Bloodbeard¡¯s existence alone was a middle finger to the law of physics. Fearless imagined that those friends of Merleon whose major was in Sport Science would love to have Bloodbeard as a sample for their study.


    The only way for me to kill someone like this is by running a dagger to the back, through his skull.


    ¡°Even the strongest fighter could not defend against an attack he could not see,¡± Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s words echoed within Fearless¡¯ head. She was the Empress of dirty fights. That¡¯s why she won all of her battles.


    Fearless observed Bloodbeard¡¯s movement and planned the bandit lord¡¯s execution within his mind. ¡°Great, but you will need more than that to survive a battle with Hyrios.¡±


    ¡°Is he as scary as they said?¡± Bloodbeard asked, resting his great shield on the ground. The entire floor shook the moment he did that, reminding Fearless jsut how heavy the shield was again.Yey, Bllodbeard did not even have a drop of sweat on his face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have the habit of giving people credits that they don¡¯t deserve.¡± Fearless replied curtly. He made it clear that a confrontation with Hyrios was a grave situation for Bloodbeard.


    ¡°Anyone could tell that¡­¡± Bloodbeard mumbled quietly, trying to cope with Fearless¡¯ arrogance in his own way.


    Fearless did not miss that. However, he chose to ignore. ¡°I will equip your bodyguards with great shields as well. Stay behinds the shields at all time when you fight Hyrios. Do that and perhaps you may live through this battle,¡± Fearless sighed darkly to clearly express the threat that Hyrios posed.


    Then his brows furrowed, ¡°By morrow dusk, if you still have not completed my homework, you stay back and watch. I will fight Hyrios.¡± He spoke to Bloodbeard with a stern voice.


    ¡°Wait, WHAT? No, FUCK NO. Is that why your hints are so cryptic? YOU planned this from the beginning!!! You are not playing fair uncle.¡± Bloodbeard thundered, loudly butting the shield against the floor. He thrust his face against Fearless, shouting. His rank breath killed Fearless¡¯ nose. His saliva flew in the air like a drizzle.


    The bandit lord has finally seen another part of Fearless¡¯ grand illusion, a little bit late. Bloodbeard now saw Fearless¡¯ harshness and criticism for him was an attempt to keep him away from the battle, a pampering love of a father to his child. This love meant that Fearless had no trust in Bloodbeard¡¯s ability from the very beginning. It proved that if the situations arose, Fearless would tuck Bloodbeard away to keep him safe from the battle rather than allowing Bloodbeard to prove himself.


    Fearless did not imagine that. He could feel the entire keep made a cricking echo, a noise as if it was about to collapse into rubbles.


    Fearless impassively rubbed off Bloodbeard¡¯s saliva on his face, showing no concern to the bandit lord¡¯s pressure.


    Bloodbeard was a confrontation speaker, so, was Fearless. Bloodbeard had his towering size and scary looking face to empower his speech, his voice too, was naturally loud, a natural advantage. He only needed to get in front of the person he was talking with to make his point. But that made you raw and unpolished as a speaker compares to me, Fearless thought. A person like Bloodbeard rarely found the need to polish his speaking technique.


    Compared to Bloodbeard¡¯s natural advantages, Fearless¡¯ weapons were crafted, manmade and far from natural. He pasted an indifferent smile on his lips, knowing well that this smile would confirm the bandit lord¡¯s thought and drove him madder. ¡°I have told you that was a qualification. You have to earn it. If you can¡¯t do that, you have no place in this war. It¡¯s beyond you and your capacity. Take part in a war like this would only have you killed.¡± Fearless matched Bloodbeard¡¯s heated outrage with his icily cold voice, devoid of warmth and emotion. ¡°If you insisted on continuing on such foolishness, I will cut you down.¡± He made it clear to Bloodbeard that his word was not a threat. It was a statement. His hand already rested on the handle of Enferm¨¦.


    Bloodbeard stared wordlessly at Fearless for a long time. ¡°¡­ you won¡¯t.¡± He muttered surely.


    ¡°Oh, I will, child. I will chop your arms and legs if I must. You won¡¯t die from that. I will assure you that. My magic will prevent that from happening. After that, I will bring you back to Whitestone. Then, I will regrow your lost limbs in front of Eri¡¯s grave as I apologized to her.¡± Fearless told Bloodbeard with the same conviction that he had when he made his promises to Erinys, hinted a cracking of anger from within. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you hate me for the rest of your life. I have the conviction to go through that. My heart is cold, boy. My love is cold as well. I have already told you that just now. My love for you would not cloud my judgment. If you want to test me, we can do it right now.¡± Fearless dared Bloodbeard.


    This drama has advanced one day further than Fearless has predicted, thanks to Bloodbeard¡¯s ability to pick up the hints that Fearless gave him.


    ¡°¡­You have told me that I am the last person whom you love that is still alive. And you would go so far to keep me alive even if it means to make me hate you forever?¡± Bloodbeard asked with a rattled voice. He stared hard at Fearless in disbelief.


    ¡°I have failed Eri once, never again.¡± Fearless replied curtly. His words were short and unapologetic as if daring Bloodbeard to test his resolve.


    All the hints that Fearless has given Bloodbeard ultimately led to this destination. His mannerism, his cold decisiveness, his arrogance, his lecturing voice, they were prepared for this moment.


    With that line, Fearless knew that he has cemented within Bloodbeard¡¯s consciousness that his love for Bloodbeard was an unconditional one. He did not care if Bloodbeard truly hated him. Regardless of Bloodbeard¡¯s thought, he would do what he needed to do.


    In the world, there is no greater love than this one, an all-giving, an unconditional love. There is no greater love than this one.


    Bloodbeard still stared hard at Fearless. His facial scars sharply twitched, his brows collapsed, his eyes betrayed his rattled soul at the realization.


    This was love, this was something he has missed from his entire life.


    This was the theme of Bloodbeard¡¯s Good Ending in the campaign. Nearing the end of his conquest, Bloodbeard had all the power and wealth within his reach, still, his life felt like it was missing something. Thus, he put a stop to his world-domination conquest, soul-searching instead. He would only discover his answer while breathing his last as his children held his fingers, crying. However, this time, the only ending await Bloodbeard is a Bad Ending, a most traumatic one. That, Fearless can already predict within his cold and calculating mind.


    Bloodbeard made a conscious attempt to hold his tears back. If Bloodbeard were a woman, this would be the moment he launched himself into Fearless¡¯ chest, crying. But he was a man, a totally different creature from woman. Man had his stubborn pride, a stupid and worthless pride in Fearless¡¯ opinion. It needed more than this to make Bloodbeard do that, but, that was unnecessary.


    A bottled emotion had more weight than an emotion that was all but already erupted. The longer Bloodbeard kept this emotion in his chest, the more weight it carried, the more painful it would be when Bloodbeard realized that he was betrayed.


    Bloodbeard cleared his voice, feigning a fake calmness, ¡°Whatever you said, uncle. You win,¡± He raised his two hands, conceding.


    ¡°Good, now pack your stuff. We are going back to Whitestone.¡± Fearless nodded his head, removing his hand from Enferm¨¦.


    ¡°NO, fuck no, that was not what I meant. I still have until morrow dusk to give you an answer, am I correct?¡±


    ¡°Technically,¡± Fearless relied coldly.


    ¡°What do you mean by technically?¡± Bloodbeard furrows his scarred face and retorted.


    ¡°If you could find the answer, you would have found it by now. The fact that you don¡¯t have an answer at the moment showed that you lack the qualification.¡± Fearless sarcastically told Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard stared at Fearless in disbelief again, a different facet of disbelief. He then took a deep breath and sighed, ¡°You gave me your words. I still have until tomorrow to give you the answer.¡± He decided to put all the fighting with Fearless to a stop, knowing that he could never win against Fearless on this argument.


    ¡°Technically,¡± Fearless repeated, shrugging his shoulders.


    ¡°¡­ I can already see how you killed those elven folks who captured you. You must have pissed them all to death.¡±


    ¡°Not all, just one.¡± Fearless replied bluntly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting caught in your traps. So can we go back to Hyrios now?¡± Bloodbeard exasperatedly resigned, refilling the braziers with firewood instead of continuing the meaningless war of words with Fearless.


    Fearless nodded his head as if he approved Bloodbeard¡¯s decision, ¡°Most people have heard of Hyrios¡¯ legend with his bow, what they don¡¯t know is how Hyrios created his legend. What is his skillset? What is his weapon? Hyrios goes to battle with two bows at his side, a normal recurve bow and a metal-stringed elven great bow.¡± Fearless switched back his usual lecturing voice as if the previous drama did not happen.


    Bloodbeard listened intently, completely caught in the illusion Fearless has conjured.


    ¡°If Hyrios decided to fight you seriously, he would use his great bow. When that happens, keep your distance at least seventy steps away from him. You can at least avoid or block those black bolts that Hyrios shot at that distance. Know that they are as strong as ballista¡¯s shots. Don¡¯t even try to block those bolts with your shield within seventy steps or lesser, Hyrios would tear you and your shield apart.¡±


    ¡°Wait, how can I fight Hyrios when we are seventy steps apart?¡±


    ¡°When did I tell you to fight Hyrios in person?¡± Fearless wore a confused look on his face to mirror the look on Bloodbeard¡¯s face.


    ¡°What? But aren¡¯t you preparing me to fight against him?¡±


    ¡°Technically.¡± If there was one word could be used to infuriate Bloodbeard, it would be this one and Fearless knowingly used it.


    ¡°¡­¡±


    Fearless could take a picture of Bloodbeard¡¯s face and made a meme out if it if he had his phone with him at the moment.


    ¡°If you want to know the complete plan, earn your qualification first.¡± Fearless parted with Bloodbeard, rubbing more salt to the wounded pride of the bandit lord with his final words, proving to Bloodbeard that his love for him was indeed a cold one.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Despite Erinys has returned to the room hours earlier than Fearless, no one has touched the dinner. Fearless almost concluded that Erinys has failed her task until he checked it with Narik.


    Narik confirmed to Fearless that Erinys has indeed told him such. However, Narik and the rest of the women made the choice to wait for Fearless to return. Fearless rewarded Erinys by pulling her into his chest, kissing her with affection. ¡°Good girl,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Next time, don¡¯t wait for me.¡± Fearless then addressed his group, ¡°The food is cold now. Eat when it¡¯s still hot,¡± he lit the hearth to reheat the food. After that, Fearless and his group had their dinner around the hearth.


    Fearless did not bother to check Narik regarding his promise. The man¡¯s eyes betrayed a clear conscience, unashamed.


    On the side note, One-eye provided Fearless and his group a sack of strong wine, which Fearless fought very hard to pretend that devil sack did not exist. It was one of those rare occasions in Fearless¡¯ life, which somehow or some way he managed to stop himself from drowning himself in the intoxicating odor of alcohol.


    As soon as they finished their dinner, Fearless gathered the women to check on their progression. Two of them managed to say their name despite the difficulties, which Fearless congratulate them and gave them his promises, verbally.


    They gave him a look, a look of wanting. A look of desire, not sexually. It was a desire to be loved tenderly, to be cherished and consoled like Erinys. Their eyes flickered between Erinys and Fearless, shifting between envy and desire.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. I hope the rest of you can follow the example of these two by the deadline. Now, go to sleep. You must be very sleepy by now.¡± Fearless nonchalantly pretended to not notice the two women¡¯s desire and told them and their group to go to sleep, prompting them to look at Erinys with the red of hatred.


    If that would fuel you to be human again, so be it.


    In his mind, Fearless sighed, telling Erinys that she had no luck, like at all. Of all the people in this world that Erinys had to rely on to live, it was Fearless. She could rely on people with more decency, someone who was upright by nature, kind and ¡­ being the complete opposite of Fearless.


    You, of all the people in this world, have to be stronger in a hurry. Or else, you won¡¯t be able to know what normality is anymore.


    He looked into Erinys¡¯ clear eyes, hoping that one day she would understand this thought of his. If she doesn¡¯t, he would tell her, making her understand that at all cost. If only she had half the strength that Ice possessed, Erinys would be better off.


    The only woman who was able to stick around Fearless for a long time and be normal and upright thus far was Alice. No one else was able to do that. She had the patience and selfless personality to stick with him for over a decade. She has seen him at his worst and lowest moment. And still, she was able to shine like a morning sun within his twisted life. She too was an unfortunate woman. She deserved someone much better than him, always.


    Fearless hid his thought by tightly wrapping his arms around Erinys¡¯ delicate frame. He affectionately kissed her on her hair, forehead, eyelids, and lips. He brushed her bang with his long fingers, amorously planting his lips on her ashen cheek, masking his attempt to whisper into her ears, ¡°I will leave you in this room with these women. I have some business to do with Narik now. Make a bed and wait for me. Also, these women will probably attack you the moment I go out of this room. They are probably that stupid¡­¡± Fearless can feel Erinys¡¯ desperation through her quaking body. She unconsciously held his hand, clutching, desperately searching for miracles. ¡°You still have my coin so it¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if they were smart enough to go for the low blows, to not leave a mark on your pretty face or not cause damage to your dress. But, I hope they do, because my punishment for them will be very harsh. Regardless of their intention and stupidity, there is one thing you can do if you are my girl, dearest Erinys. Give them that look, stare into their brows. Wait for your moment and punch as hard as you can to one of them. It¡¯s up to you to decide your target. Just make sure that your punch land on the face. Scream at them, roar at them, shout at them. Teach them that you are my girl. The moment I return, I will drill that into their head.¡±


    Fearless kissed Erinys on her forehead again and left, Narik followed him by his order. He closed the termite-eaten door behind him, leaving Erinys to fend herself.


    Whether Erinys passed or failed this test, it made little difference to Fearless. It was both a test and a lesson, an important experience for Erinys.


    Fearless inwardly cursed himself, telling himself that because his character was like this, the only people can stay around him for a long time was his family.


    But they were already lost to him¡­


    Narik followed Fearless, down the stair until Fearless stopped him. ¡°Here¡¯s good. I can see that you have questions.¡±


    ¡°Master, I really don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Narik finally came out with a question. It took him a while to gather his courage to tell that to Fearless¡¯ face.


    ¡°Ask away.¡±


    ¡°You have told me that you intended to filter these scoundrels today but¡­ I don¡¯t see that.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Fearless nodded his head. He commandingly demanded, ¡°Tell me, what did you see?¡±


    ¡°It appears to me that you are rousing them for a battle against the Western Warden¡­¡±


    Fearless nodded his head again, ¡°Before I answer your question, let¡¯s try an exercise.¡± Fearless extended his arm, showing Narik his open left palm, ¡°Try to steal from me.¡±


    Narik looked at Fearless and his open palm, confused.


    ¡°Do you not understand my order? I say, steal from me.¡± Fearless repeated his order.


    ¡°But¡­ there is nothing¡­¡±


    ¡°Precisely!!!¡± Fearless nodded his head, putting a coin on his palm, ¡°How about now?¡±


    Narik gingerly picked up the coin, still unsure.


    ¡°Now do you understand?¡± Fearless asked.


    ¡°Forgive me¡­¡± Narik shook his head.


    ¡°These worms had nothing on them, not hope, not ambition, not love, not wealth, nothing. That¡¯s why I gave them hope. I gave them an ambition. I showed them a future, a better future where they might be better men, a dream where they can be kings and nobles.


    Tomorrow, I will reinforce this dream and this ambition of theirs. I will show them the most vivid painting and the most perfect illusion that I can conjure.¡± Fearless found himself hissing more than he has intended. He then snapped his finger in a loud crisp, ¡°And then just like this, I will turn that beautiful dream into ashes. Taking their lives is easy, but that is too merciful of a judgment for these worms. I would kill them twice if I could. What they took from Erinys, what they took from people was not just wealth. These worms took away their dream and future. They took away their lives. They took away their loved ones. They took away many things that meant more than life itself to these people. The wounds they inflicted on these people will become scars if these wounds ever healed. But even if these wounds became scars, these scars would never fade. They will remain, forever.


    Therefore, it is only right that they understood the pain and the suffering of their victims as I gave them the most agonizing deaths within my capability.


    They would arrive at Death¡¯s door betrayed, crushed, knowing what deprived meant, deprived of hope and dream, hollow.


    I¡¯m merciful enough to give them a chance to show that they are human deep inside, even if they never give their victims a chance.


    But now that they have made their choice, a choice to live a fucking worm life, I must give them the harshest punishment possible.¡± Fearless said his pieces and smiled.


    Narik was speechless, dead in a ghostly silence. Anyone would if that person were sane. Otherwise, he would laugh, prompting Fearless to laugh as well. What else but to laugh?


    The fact that Narik did not laugh proved that he was still sane.


    Since Narik¡¯s mouth was literally glued, Fearless knew that it was on him to dispel the silence. ¡°Bloodbeard is cruel, Ekar crueler. But even the two of them combined and multiply by a thousand, adding all the cruelest Demon Lords to that list, that level of cruelty is still below my level. That¡¯s whom you have sworn an oath of servitude to. Having a second thought yet?¡± He mocked.


    Narik made a fist, pumping his chest, ¡°Master, I have sworn my loyalty to you. My life is yours to wield. Please don¡¯t look down on my resolution.¡±


    ¡°Well then, if that¡¯s the case, let¡¯s go and meet your brother. I think I know where he is being kept.¡±

 Chapter 49: Prince and the day of reckoning (5)

    Chapter 49: Prince and the day of reckoning (5)


    Whether I remembered Narse, the Hound of Hyrios or not, This would happen eventually, I told myself. Rescuing Narik¡¯s brother was just an improvised add-in to my plan.


    I scouted my battlefield first, on my own, using my identity as Bloodbeard¡¯s uncle to exam the dungeon needless of any excuse. However, I had a perfect excuse, ¡°Security check.¡±


    What could be a better reason?


    The dungeon, which Bloodbeard used to keep his more important captives and pleasure toys, located on the western side of the keep which followed by a stairway to the basement, the opposite direction that leads into Bloodbeard¡¯s chamber. The entrance to the dungeon lied at the end of the west side corridor, guarded by two of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. I relieved them of their post, telling them to go and find One-eye and Ironback, relaying my order to the two of them to gather all of their men at the bank of the reservoir.


    ¡°It¡¯s urgent. Do it now,¡± I ordered them to leave, but not before I rewarded each of them with a golden coin, one of my beloved magic coins, my fourteenth birthday present that I have received from my magic mentor.


    The worms left just like that, gleeful by the glow of the magic coins in their palms, barely had the time to look at the marvelous war paint on the face of Narik for just a moment before skittering away. The two worms probably have never even seen Narik. However, I did not put makeup on Narik¡¯s face for them. The makeup was meant to deal with people who have seen Narik and knew his face, just in case my plan went extremely wrong and he was discovered by one of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.


    The props I used to doll up Erinys were originally meant to put on Narik¡¯s face at this moment. Narik¡¯ war paint was predominantly white from the whitening powder, added with several strokes of black from the soot at the bottom of hearth and a few dots of red from the colored lip balms. Narik¡¯s war paint made him looked like a smiling demon, my favorite kind of demon, the kind that I absolutely loved to break.


    I descended the stairway alone, Narik stayed back to guard the entrance.


    I met the warden of the dungeon, asking him a couple of some strange sociable questions, nothing important, nothing important to him that is¡­


    I asked him his name, his friends, his best friends and any relative of his that was also a part of Bloodbeard¡¯s horde. He was confused by my questions but he answered honestly. At that time, I thought to myself that I would reward his honesty with a swift death, a painless one.


    Once, I have ascertained the information that I needed, I began to tour the dungeon. Then, suddenly, I erupted. I gave the jailers a good scaring. I talked down to them, acting as if I was displeased by everything that I found inside the dungeon. Then, I spoke in cryptic lines as if I was a prophet. When I have confirmed my target among the other captives, I bid the jailers of the dungeon a prophetic farewell in double meaning, not that the stupid worms would understand my words, but it mattered not.


    I stabbed Enferm¨¦ on the dungeon wall, right at the entrance, acting as if I was furious. I told them I would leave it there and come back to collect it while re-examining the dungeon at morrow dawn.


    As soon as I was out of their sight, I told Narik-my first pawn and cohort to time his attack. I wanted him to cut my head at the count of three. He was confused, freaked out by the order, thinking that it was another loyalty test until I have to explain my plan to him.


    I snuck in the shadow of the stairway until I gained visual confirmation of the warden of the dungeon with the other jailers who were clutching their heads and arguing with each other, trying to make sense of my orders.


    The maximum casting range of my <What you can do, I can do better> was around ten meters. The distance between my target and I was around twenty.


    However, <The Magician> can be cast in silence, which giving it the ability to be parallelly cast with my <What you can do, I can do better>. When casting these two skills at the same time, I can bypass the maximum range limitation of <What you can do, I can do better> and switch place with my target as himself. The moment that I learned that <The Magician> can be lined up for parallel casting, I knew it could be used in this manner.


    I was the warden of the dungeon and the warden was dead. Nobody realized that. Only Narik and I knew that at that moment.


    Too quick and too perfect of an execution!


    I only feared that Narik would fail his task, but he did not. It was a quick kill, clean and in absolute silence.


    This was the third time I used these two skills in this manner, once on an eagle and once on a bison, but this was the first time I have used them on a human target¡­ That was an incorrect statement¡­worm target¡­ now, that¡¯s correct


    The first thing I did while playing the role of the warden of the dungeon was doing something that he has never dreamed to do, considering how terrified he was.


    Openly, I cursed myself. I cursed Fearless in front of the jailers.


    ¡°Who does he think he is?¡±


    I began with that sentence, not so bad, not as terrible as the ones followed after that. Venomous words kept spewing from my mouth, envy and hatred, unadulterated malice that laced in madness. I kept talking while checking my new attributes, perks, and skills. There was nothing worthy of note. The worm had no perk and skill to distinguish himself. His Might was at 25, making me think that perhaps, physically I was not so much weaker than these worms after all.


    I kept cursing Fearless while plucking Enferm¨¦ out of the wall. The other jailers, my audiences, petrified as they watched my performance, confused and afraid. I did not just talk shit about Fearless. I made my audiences became a part of my performance by making them nodded their head out of pressure.


    ¡°What can he do that I cannot do?¡±


    I asked as the jailers became stupefied, unable to answer. I looked at one of the worms, the nearest one, the one within my arms reach.


    Enferm¨¦ suddenly traced an angry arc in the air, a red arc. Blood flared up, splashing on the moldy wall of the dungeon, a grim red, an angry red. Despite not wanting to see that accused redness, somehow, my eyes were semi-conscious about it. They kept drawing to that redness of life.


    Is this¡­ this guy¡¯s habit?


    This dungeon warden probably had a love for blood. I told myself, trying to suppressing my urge to vomit.


    Assaulted by the sudden pain, the worm clutched his eyeballs that were all but gone. He screamed and screamed and screamed.


    The rest of the worms, all four of them were shocked, staring at me with their mouth agape. With just a single casualty at hand, their brainless skulls did not have the processing speed to update my status as an enemy of theirs at real time. I was quite sure that these worms were more of the Internet Explorer type than Chrome type.


    The war pick hanging at my belt freed itself in a rude arc.


    <What you can do, I can do better> did not just copy my target¡¯s appearance, skills, and perks. It copied the clothes and weapons that my target had on his body as well. That I have already known, but can I actually use these copied weapons? That question has been never answered until this moment.


    The claw of the magic conjured war pick tore through the ribcage of the worm who stood next to me with a sickening crack. It did not help that he was wearing but a dirty tunic on his body. He grunted and dropped to his knees.


    That war pick which my <What you can do, I can do better> copied was not just an optical illusion, it was a physical copy, a physical manifestation of the original version. That left me only three more questions to figure out regarding the effect of this skill of mine.


    At that time, I had no idea that the pick had punctured the worm¡¯s heart. I only knew that I have broken his ribcage with the war pick from the noise.


    It was then that the remained of the brainless worms have finally realized that I was a red dot on their minimap, an enemy, their enemy. It was about the damn time. They made me looked like I was Bruce Lee or Mike Tyson of the 2060s with their sheer incompetency alone. And I was never a fighter, at least not the confrontational kind of fighter like this.


    The worms drew their weapons in a panic, but not before Enferm¨¦ claimed yet another victim among them. I lunged at that pitiful worm who was struggling mightily to free his sword from his sheath, Enferm¨¦ headlong. I felt the length of Enferm¨¦ pieced his heart with my fingers. His blood soaked my palms, spewing on my chest as soon as I freed Enferm¨¦ from his chest. The feedback I received from Enferm¨¦ suggested that the worm¡¯s ribcage was made out of jelly, offering no resistance at all.


    The remaining worms started screaming, asking if I have gone mental. I gave them a reply, telling them that I was brought by the witch hunters of the Great Temple all along. I was promised of wealth and position. I told them that the advisor, the great Fearless of The Alliance has already seen through my guise through his earlier inspection.


    ¡°He tried to give me a chance to redeem myself, to turn myself in. The nerve of him. Fuck him. Fuck his mercy. I will kill you all. And then, I will kill him.¡± I told them.


    The two of them shouted aloud, trying to alarm Bloodbeard¡¯s worms who were standing guards at the entrance to no avail, amidst the painful groans of the blinded worm. I have made sure of that. This stage was designed by my own design, for me and me alone, no extra cast was allowed.


    I smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t bother. They are with me. Right now, they are distracting One-eye and Ironback, removing them from the granary and waiting for my signal to burn down the granary. Well, after I¡¯m done with you two. Let¡¯s see how you all can fight Hyrios and his army on an empty stomach,¡± I cackled like a devil.


    The two worms darted their eyes at each other for a moment, communicating a joint attack through their glance. One of them moved to my right, the other to my left, swords and dagger gleaming, reflecting the grimly red glow of the flickering torches on the wall.


    I straightened my sword arm and solely focused on the opponent on my right. As a weapon, Enferm¨¦ was lacking in length. However, I can make up for that by straightening arm and leaning forward, creating an illusion that my weapon was longer than it actually was, a useful trick that Merleon has taught me.


    I completely ignored the one on my left, prompting him to attack my flank. And he did exactly as I have predicted, his sword sweeping in a wide arc.


    I timely undid my transformation and activated <The Magician>, switching my position with the worm on my right. The worm¡¯s gleaming blade tore through the neck of one of his own, killing him in the process. It took him a few seconds to understand everything that had just happened. He let go of his sword, looking back and forth between his companion and me. He opened his mouth, trying to say something. I never knew what he wanted to say, Narik snapped the worm¡¯s neck with a furious flash of his blade.


    The worm did not fall to his knees immediately. He took a few steps, somehow, staggered as if he was drunk. His head hung to his chest. His mouth gaping, his eyes wide open with horror, staring into mine upside down. And then he toppled, heavily smashed to the ground.


    I collected myself and pointed my finger, signaling Narik to finish off all the worms on the ground but the blinded one. He has already known the plan but I have to remind him again, just to be sure.


    Narik nodded his head and passed to me the tunic of the dungeon¡¯s warden, dripping red, soaked with the hot and sticky blood of the dead man. It took me two seconds, maybe three or four to gather my courage to grab it. It was the longest four second in my entire life. It felt like infinity.


    I stripped and put on the bloody clothes according to the plan, cursing myself that I should have given Narik a fucking hammer instead. Less bloody, less nightmare fuel.


    My sanity went down to negative values as I felt the blood of the dead worm sticking on my body. I smeared his blood on my face and neck.


    After that, I walked toward the isolated cell, which Bloodbeard used to lock the Hound of Hyrios alone, ignoring the terrified look of the other captives. With Enferm¨¦, I cut the chains apart. The Hound¡¯s entire body was as hot as burning coal and soft as virgin tofu. He was unconscious, feverish. I tried to put his arm over my neck to bring him to Narik. However, his right arm felt strange. It was metallically rigid and ghostly cold. It was a world apart from the heat that emanated from the entire body of the Hound. I lifted the Hound¡¯s long sleeve to check the condition of his arm. It was a grim black, from his barely connected shoulder to the tips of his finger. From that look alone, I immediately knew that this arm was already gone and beyond repair. I had no time to think, putting the Hound on my back and backpacking him to Narik.


    I folded my uniform and put it on my arm and made Narik dressed the butt naked corpse of the warden with his bloody tunic. After that, I tossed him Enferm¨¦, let him staging the evidence in the very manner I told him. Then, we split according to my plan. I headed for the rampart and Narik would bring his brother to my room to hide him.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s worms were already in a state of heightened alert the moment I arrived at the scene. One of One-eye¡¯s worms was there to receive me, panic by the blood on my naked body. The worm¡¯s face was pallid white despite the red glow of his burning torch cast on his face. I waved my hand and told him to lead me to where One-eye was.


    5000 of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms were there, standing in front of the rampart. The other 1000 spread among the camp, guarding strategic locations.


    They stirred when they saw me half-naked and bloodied. The worms belonged to Ironback¡¯s and One-eye¡¯s unit had already roused the entire horde awake according to my plan. They were a buzzing swarm of angry worms, ready for blood, ready for combat. That meant that One-eye has already made them known of my little drama. They gathered in front of the rampart, the very position that I have made them stood when I delivered my speech. I can feel their eyes upon me as I climbed the rampart. Lit torches and braziers cackled, lighting my path to the top of the rampart with a furious red. Orange embers left their lit torches and braziers, drawing to my figure as they hopped onto an amorous nocturnal whirlwind, danced around me with every step that I took as they expired into the night.


    The higher I was to the top of the rampart, the quieter the worms became. When I was on top of the rampart, there was no buzz in the air.


    Ironback and One-eye were already standing on the rampart waiting for me, with them the rest of Bloodbeard¡¯s commander. The two of them had already prepared a dozen of lit braziers around the podium according to my instruction. They noticed the blood on my body, became horrified and concerned. I told them that it was not my blood, relieving them of their worries.


    ¡°One-eye, have one of your boys brings Ashtor¨¢ here,¡± I told One-eye.


    ¡°I have already done that.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I nodded my head, saying no more, waiting for the final cast of this drama scene to arrive.


    When Bloodbeard arrived at the scene, he climbed the stair in a hurry. That hastiness and urgency atmosphere that he exuded making him look bad to his worms because I have set a standard prior to this with my dramatic entrance. That urgency made him looked amateur and incompetence, especially under this circumstance.


    When he saw the blood on me, he was freaking out, asking me the same question that One-eye and Ironback have previously asked me. I told him the same answer, except that I adopted an even more nonchalant tone this time.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Bloodbeard asked as soon as he heaved a sigh of relief from listening to my reply.


    ¡°Explain!¡± I calmly ordered One-eye and Ironback to do my job for me.


    Ironback explained to Bloodbeard that I have predicted a night attack to the granary and secretly ordered him and his unit to guard it with their lives until morning comes while being extremely cautious of any trickery.


    One-eye told Bloodbeard that I have given him the secret order to mobilize the entire army the very moment he was notified of an attack of some kind. I also gave him the permission to capture and interrogate anyone they might find guilty of espionage.


    Without adequate provision, Bloodbeard could not fight a war. He can continue to raid for supply and provision, but that would not sustain his 6000 worms for a long time. His army mobility would be severely limited. He can only go raiding around the Golden Triangle Region. Without provision, Bloodbeard could not venture far into the Great Plain, much less reaching the Easter Border of Zard or fight a war.


    Immediately Bloodbeard understood how grim the situation was from One-eye¡¯s and Ironback¡¯s report. His face darkened as he listened to the story of his commanders. ¡°Uncle, how did you know that?¡± He begrudgingly asked me as if asking me why I did not let him into this operation earlier.


    The fact that I let his commanders knew the plans and not him, it only confirmed that I had no trust in his ability whatsoever. I pretended not to notice that pain in Bloodbeard¡¯s voice. ¡°The same way I locate you and your army, the same way that I know about you before you know anything about me.¡± I calmly explained, ¡°My Shadow whispered to me. He¡¯s inside my room, guarding my apprentice at the moment.¡±


    Bloodbeard, Ironback, and One-eye inadvertently turned the head toward the highest floor of watchtower where my room located.


    ¡°He commands my eyes and ears. He knows everything that happens inside this army and he would whisper what he has seen and heard to me.¡± I casually shrugged my shoulders.


    ¡°Since when?¡± Bloodbeard stared at me in disbelief. His question was too ambiguous for others to understand, not me.


    ¡°That¡¯s the wrong question to ask.¡± I put on my lecturing voice, ¡°The three questions you should have asked are: How many of your men that are actually your men? How many of your men are actually my men? How many of them are your enemies¡¯ spies?¡±


    Bloodbeard was stupefied. His face cold with horror and dread.


    Espionage and counter-espionage was the known specialty of the Zombie Dragon, the real brain of warlord Patocli¡¯s army. He was the brain of that army while Regan was the muscle. The spy network that the Zombie Dragon created was one of the reasons why the Empire was so successful with their conquests.


    According to the lore, one of the many the reasons why Bloodbeard was so successful with his raids across the Golden Triangle Region was tributed to intelligence he received from the Zombie Dragon¡¯s spies.


    ¡°One-eye, your boy told me that you have captured them.¡± Bloodbeard immediately turned at One-eye and grimly asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡± One-eye replied.


    ¡°Have you interrogated them?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± One-eye nodded, ¡°They are very stubborn. They refuse to speak the truth. However, I found these things on them,¡± producing two golden coins within his palm.


    ¡°Strange coins. I have never seen coins like these,¡± Bloodbeard examined the coins within his palms.


    ¡°They kept telling me the same lie, that Master Advisor rewarded them with these coins and told them to relieve our guard around the granary.¡± One-eye vexedly gritted his teeth.


    Bloodbeard glanced at my direction out of reflex due to the sudden mention. His gaze harbored no doubt.


    I gave Bloodbeard a shrug as if I found that statement amusing, ¡°That¡¯s cute. If they wanted to divide us, they can make a better lie than that,¡± I chuckled and extended my hand, prompting Bloodbeard to give me the coins.


    They are definitely my coins. Of course, they are my coins.


    ¡°Oh,¡± I made a surprise sound the moment the coin fell into my palm, fully capturing my audiences¡¯ attention on me with that sound. ¡°I have seen these once.¡± I played with the coins, chuckling as if I have just found an interesting toy. These two coins are a little special, trick coins they are like the rest of my coins. Despite their weight, they are hollow inside, acting as cases for me to keep my other coins.


    Of course, only I would know that. I focused on one coin and pressed my thumb on its hidden switch, triggering its secret mechanisms. The coins immediately split open and ejected a tiny roll of fabric. Bloodbeard and his commanders gasped. I nonchalantly repeated the process with the other coin. It produced another tiny roll on my palm.


    I slowly returned my coins to Bloodbeard¡¯s hand, which he tried to receive, then looking at me all confused as if asking why I did not give him the coins. I showed him my empty hands, both the one that I have kept the coins and the one that had the rolls on it.


    ¡°Ohhh¡­¡± Bloodbeard and his commanders made a sound as if this was the first time someone showed them this kind of sleight of hand, making me extremely confused. These lowlifes of all the people should have seen a sleight of hand like this once in their entire lifetime. Or perhaps, my distraction technique was so clean that they did not catch it? ¡­And I was nowhere near the level of my mentor¡­


    ¡°Interesting things, right?¡± I asked, chuckling. ¡°I''m surprised that you can find these little buggers on them, One-eye. It¡¯s either that you are competent or damn lucky. Anyway, good job.¡± I praised One-eye while pouring my attention on the rolls after catching a glimpse of One-eye¡¯s smug look.


    I unrolled the first one, ¡°No provision, no battle,¡± and tossed it to Bloodbeard, daring him to read the words for himself. If you can read them, I would give you a slightly less painful death.


    M¨¤y ?ang b? l?a- It wrote


    I¡¯m deceiving you.


    But of course, there would be no way that Bloodbeard could read Vietnamese letters. I unrolled the next roll, ¡°No leader, no army,¡± and again, tossed the roll to Bloodbeard, letting him figure the words on his own.


    ?¨¢ng ch?t s? ch?t- it wrote


    Deserve to die will die.


    The same thing happened again. There would be no way Bloodbeard could read this one as well. He can only trust my bullshit translation. He squeezed the rolls within his palm and shuddered at the meaning of the phrases that I have read to him.


    The schemes were my cunnings. Those writing were my arrogance, my trolling. But, they understood neither. Boring, someone relieves me of this boredom.


    At the same time, a few of One-eye¡¯s men came, reporting the situation inside the dungeon to Bloodbeard. I told them to bring the only survivor to me. They shortly returned with the blinded worm. I ended his suffering with <A strange choice>. The worm blinked his eyes, suffering no more pain and realizing that he was able to see again. He got down to his knees, crying and worshiping me as if I was a living god. ¡°Merciful Avatar of Sinintee,¡± he praised.


    No God of War is merciful, fool.


    I told him to quit it and described the event he has experienced inside the dungeon to Bloodbeard instead.


    When the worm finished telling his story, I matched my story with his. Bloodbeard was furious. He roared and ordered a witch-hunt among his army, trying to find the rest of spies by forces or by tortures. His decision stirred his worms with anxiety.


    I have already expected that, stopping Bloodbeard. Cruelty and fear were the right tools to reign these worms, but not like this.


    I told Bloodbeard that he¡¯s doing it wrong. Then, I showed him my method.


    I spoke to Bloodbeard¡¯s worms, telling them the entire story, everything that has transpired from Bloodbeard¡¯s perspective.


    I made them understand that the Empire had only intended to use them as sacrificial pawns and once they have outlived their usefulness, the Empire would eliminate them. Having Hyrios dealing with them just make it easier for the Empire.


    I told them everything. I told them that the Empire was their enemy, Hyrios was their enemy and even their star was their enemy. I told them that they were fated to die. I showed them a grim future, their future if they had not met me. I showed them that I could read their stars. I showed them that I could save them from the malicious ploys of the Empire. I promise them that I would lead them to win against their fated undoer Hyrios.


    Then, I spoke to the spies among the ranks of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms as if they existed. I promised them that I would not conduct a witch-hunt to search for them. I promised them that I would be merciful. I spoke as if I was trying to convince to join me instead. I told them that their existence and abilities were more important to me than to the Empire. I promised them three times the gold they received from the Empire if they choose to work for me. I promised to free their families if they were held hostages against them. I promised to treat them better than the Empire could ever do. I promised many things, things that I could not possibly deliver, but I made them sounded believable. My promises were poison but they were sweet as honey.


    But of course, that was unbelievable since the stories of my cruelty have been spread around the horde for two days. My promises sounded like empty promises.


    I told them to freely desert Bloodbeard¡¯s army at night. I forbade Bloodbeard¡¯s worms to chase after them. But if they wished to work for me, I had told them that One-eye would erect a large blind around my watchtower soon. I would forbid anyone to guard or stand around the blind¡¯s perimeter. All spies are welcomed my room through the guise of the night, with the blind aiding them. They would feel no shame from being exposed their identity to their friends and companions. They would suffer no repercussion. I gave them the freedom to make their choices. I showed them my kindness. I showed Bloodbeard¡¯s worms my kindness, further cementing their loyalty toward me.


    Fear was the instrument to instill discipline into Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. However, it was definitely one of the worst instruments to instill loyalty. Loyalty cannot be instilled, but it can be inspired. To inspire loyalty, kindness and genuineness are the best tools.


    I told the invisible spies among Bloodbeard¡¯s worms that I could interrogate their compatriots who were captured by Ironback and One-eye and uncovered their identity, all of them. However, I would not do that, I told them. I would give them a chance to make a choice out of my kindness.


    ¡°A choice to be my enemy, my ally or stay neutral if you don¡¯t have the courage to stand on one side.


    But if you chose to be my enemy, if you killed my men, these men who I have sworn to protect, you shall know my wrath.¡±


    I ordered One-eye to execute the two worms he has captured, setting the example for Bloodbeard¡¯s worms to see. Two heads fell down and mounted on pikes according to my order.


    With that, there is nobody can find the evidence of my schemes, whether they are gods or Demon Lords, at least until Narik and I went to sleep or passed out.


    ¡°Know that, I execute them to set an example. This is the fate of my enemies. Be warned.


    Do not mistake my mercy for weakness.¡±


    I kept talking, going back to address the worms of Bloodbeard. I assured them of their safety. I assured them of their future, that their fate can be changed as long as they followed me.


    As soon as I finished my speech, Bloodbeard¡¯s worms clapped their hands and cheered to show me their support. Their volume spoke of their support rating for me. If I convinced them to vote for me as their President at that moment, they would all vote for me, that, I was sure. If I were to tell them to take on a dragon, they would.


    ¡°If they refused to be my ally, my Shadow would track them down and assassinate them in secret,¡± I told Bloodbeard and his commanders in a volume, which only they could hear.


    Bloodbeard and his commanders watched me in awe, realizing just how awesome I was again. But, even this was not enough, I wanted to reinforce that fact inside their head and even their subconscious. The best way to do that would be the repetition method. I would remind them just how awesome I was again and again.


    I would make them hopeful and remain hopeful until that hope was snapped inside them, torn and destroyed, lost as they died in the most painful manner. That included every single one of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.


    ¡°Now, for real, sleep well and have a good dream, all of you. I¡¯m not talking to those having nightshift tonight, of course.¡± I shouted my final orders to Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.


    The worms laughed at my most boring joke.


    After that, I dismissed he worms, telling One-eye to do as I bid. Only Bloodbeard remained on the rampart with me. He showed his worry about the fact that I might meet the spies of the Zombie Dragon on my watchtower. However, I told him to worry about his homework instead. I told him that I can protect myself and I have my super bodyguard Shadow to protect me.


    Then I asked Bloodbeard of his opinion regarding my l speech and method. His reply was ¡°How can I be like you?¡± A question, a very genuine question that reflected his admiration for me as well as his wounded pride as a leader.


    Gid Gud.


    I meant to say that. But no, ¡°It¡¯s a process. You have to learn it, slowly, each and every day. Slowly, you will improve. But first, you have to watch and to learn from a good teacher, someone like me for example. You have to look, but not just looking. You have to observe my behavior and question the meaning of my every action and behavior.¡± I told Bloodbeard.


    Then I probed a few more questions, which left me a bit disappointed.


    People said that the longer you stay by someone¡¯s side, the more of their weaknesses you would uncover. I have only been around Bloodbeard for two days and I had uncovered a lifetime of his weaknesses.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    You are not even a second-rate schemer. You are a third rate.


    This entire drama was an illusion, a triple layers illusion to reinforce my speech at dusk. The fact that Bloodbeard can only see the first layer of the illusion made it extremely boring to me. Anyone could see that first layer of the illusion because it was designed like that.


    A real strategist, a real schemer on my level and FY¡¯s level and perhaps the Zombie Dragon would have seen through the third layer.


    The second rate ones might or might not crack the barrier between the second layer to the third layer, but they would definitely crack through the second layer of this illusion. They would have seen through my lies regarding the spies of the Empire and they would admire me even more.


    I created an invisible enemy from nothing, an invisible enemy for them to fear and dread, an invisible enemy to show the worms of Bloodbeard my ability as their Messiah. I would not just speak as if I were their Messiah. I acted like their Messiah by defeating this invisible enemy as if I was fated to save them. I made full use of this chance to show them my kindness to win their loyalty. I made the second speech to reinforce my first speech. All the worms that died during this event, they died with their blood on my hands so that I can be a Messiah.


    The second rate schemer would see this through this layer of my illusion, believing that this was my ultimate intention and unable to see further. They could not fathom the fact that there was another layer to the illusion.


    I¡¯m thorough, more thorough than Ekar ever was.


    I inwardly told Bloodbeard. But of course, the bandit lord could not read my mind.


    Suddenly, I was reminded of that incident where Misery was tricked, humiliated and mocked for his dyslexia.


    That time, it was also a triple layers illusion. Nobody could see through the end of that illusion of mine other than FY.


    People saw what I have done was an act of revenge, most of them did, and they were correct, mosstly. That was what I meant for them to see. But, revenge, there were a thousand and one directions for me to avenge Misery, what I have done was not one of them. That asshole got away without being truly punished for what he has done, neither his fans nor his team. If I really wanted to avenge Misery, I would have broken them, all of them, all those who participated in that shit and the originator and still making myself a sympathetic hero in the end. I won¡¯t be a villain because it would be a proper revenge.


    Misery was smart enough to see through the second layer of my illusion. He saw what I did at the time was an action to put myself in the headlines and removed him from the target of the media at the time.


    In a way, he was correct.


    The media did not care about what kind of turmoil it would stir. It did not care how much damage it would cause to a person¡¯s life. It did not care about anyone else in specific. It existed to give its audiences what they wanted. Therefore, I created a scandal, a real scandal for the media to hop onto and forgot about Misery¡¯s story, effectively removing him from the spot line.


    My team owner, manager and the league officials all gave me a stern warning in the regard of what I have done. Some of them could see through the second layer of my illusion, giving me a sympathetic kind of warning.


    But FY was the only one who understood the real reason why I did that. He saw through my illusion and scheme, even though he has never approved of that action of mine. If Th¨´y D??n was alive at that time, she too would have understood.


    I made an example out of that asshole who started that bullying shit. That asshole sold a fucking war and what I did was buying it. I bought that war and returned a favor.


    What I have done was unpardonable in any civilization or society. It was horrifyingly disgusting. It was excessively cruel and I made it known. But I needed to show people that I was the kind of person who could do that against an enemy of mine without remorse.


    There is an ancient Chinese proverb, which summed up my strategy quite well: Kill one to warn a hundred.


    It has been a legit strategy since ancient time and still even in modern warfare. The first strike at the beginning of a war must always be the most devastated and the most lethal to set an example, thus allowing the attacker to gain a mental advantage over his enemies.


    I fought only one battle to win all the wars that might or might not happen in the future by making an example of that asshole. It¡¯s a simple method but effective. A warning to all of my potential enemies that might or might not exist of what kind of monstrosity I could be. If Bloodbeard a dear person to my heart, this would be the first lesson that I would teach him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The three waning moons of autumn shone above me, one red, one silver, and one gold, reminding me again that I was no longer on Earth as if I had not known that by now.


    A nocturnal wind blew by, frivolous and playful, amorously caressing my naked chest like a lover, just the way I liked it. I took a deep breath, welcoming the frigid embrace of my invisible lover just before I poured yet another bucket-full of water over my head.


    That water bucket was recently drawn from the old well near the keep. It was cold as ice, probably unforgivingly cold for most people, not me, never me. I drew yet another water bucket from the old well and splashed upon my head. I felt reborn as the well water violated my skin with its frosty touch. My headaches flushed down to the ground with the water.


    Taking a cold shower has been one of my daily enjoyments. I took shower twice a day, sometimes three and four if I can. Since the day I has arrived at this world, I only managed to take a shower once and I was nearly killed for that.


    This world is shitty.


    A world where you cannot even enjoy a good shower is a shitty world.


    There is nothing that anyone can do to convince me otherwise.


    I scrubbed my drench body with my long fingernails, literally clawing out the dead skin and dirt. I thought that as soon as I reached Madukat, the first thing that I would buy would be a nail clipper. After that, I would definitely search for a shaver and a hand mirror.


    I can tolerate the growing stubble on my chin to an extent, but never my uncut fingernails. They had to go as soon as possible. I trimmed them regularly when I was an aspiring pianist and even after when I became a pro-gamer. If I left them uncut for long, they would get in my way when my fingers hitting the keys. However, now, even when I had no key to play and hit, having my nails grew long and uncut for such a long time felt gross still.


    My nails were so long that they actually drove me insane. There were so many times that I have thought about biting them off or cutting them with Enferm¨¦, both sounded like a disaster to me personally. For a moment, I thought that the legendary Titan King Aramog¨®th and even the dark god Naharis would weep red tears, knowing that I have used Enferm¨¦ like a Swiss knife and useful tool for my daily purpose.


    In the lore, Enferm¨¦ was the first divine relic that was forged by a mortal. It took the Titan King Aramog¨®th one hundred years to forge this blade, a ceremonial dagger to use in a ritual dance to worship Naharis. The blade of Enferm¨¦ was forged from an alchemical alloy that contained meteoric metals, Titanite and diamond dust. Even the heat of the Divine Flame could not damage it. How Enferm¨¦ was forged, it was an arduous journey for the Titan King Aramog¨®th, a long story.


    Pleased by the workmanship, the Dark God Naharis gave the blade his blessing, a unique blessing, the only one of its kinds. Enferm¨¦ was given the ability to seal away the abilities, magic, and miracles regardless of purposes, natures and scales of anything it cut. There were only twenty-four items in the world of Escana that Enferm¨¦ could not cut, its closest brothers and sisters, divine relics of the same rank.


    In the game, Enferm¨¦ conferred an additional 20 Might points to the character who equipped it. It also granted the <Seal> attribute to that character melee attack, allowing the character to seal his targeted enemy¡¯s abilities for the duration of five seconds with his normal melee attack.


    Enferm¨¦, when equipped by a character with lots of Might like the Hound of Hyrios, Hyrios, or the Sword Saint himself, it became one of the most cancerous items in the game. It rendered the opposing and enemies generals completely ineffective in melee situations against the owner of Enferm¨¦. But then, Enferm¨¦ was far from being the most cancerous item in the game. That title belonged to another divine artifact.


    In the hands of mine, Enferm¨¦ was a multipurpose tool, a kitchen knife most of the time.


    Well, Aramog¨®th is already dead, so is Naharis. Also, it¡¯s better to be used by my hands than be left forgotten in that dark temple.


    As soon as I returned to my room, I asked Narik regarding the condition of his brother. I pretended not to notice the reason why one of the women in my group greeted me with her face knelt close to the ground.


    Damnnnnn Erinys, you actually manage to do that.


    I was actually surprised that Erinys was able to execute that order of mine. It¡¯s hard to believe that it was only yesterday that she was a broken and beaten dog of Ekar.


    Narik told me that his brother was extremely feverish and his condition would worsen if his right arm remained. The festering wound that the Hound of Hyrios had on his right shoulder had killed off his entire right arm, that explained the rigidness that I felt earlier. If this right arm were not surgically removed, the Hound would definitely die from infection.


    Narik asked my permission to lend him my Enferm¨¦. His face gravely bitter, knowing that this would be a very difficult operation.


    I pondered for a full second. This was one of the ¡°What if¡± scenarios that the fans of ROC just loved to discuss.


    What if the right arm of the Hound of Hyrios remains intact? Would he become even a better swordsman? Or would he never achieve the same level of swordsmanship as he was without his right arm?


    What if the Hatchling Dragon never dies?


    What if Craxus were never killed?


    It was one of those ¡°What if¡± scenarios, except that this time, there was no need for that.


    I raised my hand and activated <A strange choice>. Fireflies filled the room, swirling around the body of Narik, his brother, Erinys, the women and me with their golden glimmer.


    Tears traced two flowing streams on Narik¡¯s cheeks, messing up my masterpiece of a war paint. I told Narik that he had no need to thank me or reaffirm his oath. It was only natural that I would save his brother. ¡°That¡¯s a perk for being my pawn,¡± I told him, thinking that I had to reapply makeup for him in the morning. If somehow I could see Narik¡¯s loyalty rating for me during this moment, it would show the sign of infinity instead of any numerical value.


    Then I approached that woman who Erinys punched on my instruction. ¡°What happens? Did you slip and hit your face against the floor or something?¡± I asked her in a kind voice.


    She shuddered, could not provide me with a reply. She did not dare to nod her head, which made me inwardly glad. At least, she was honest.


    I played along, cupped her chin to make her look at me in the eyes. I gently brushed her bang with my fingers.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make the same mistake next time. Be careful where you tread.¡± I warned her, a smile on my lips.


    ¡°There is a limit to how much you can depend on my kindness. DO not test it. The reason that I did not hug you, kiss you, love you and treasure you like Erinys is due to your eagerness to betray one of your own. All of you had the option to put that water bag to the ground or returned it to me, but you did not. You push it to Erinys, believing that it was another trap similar to what Ekar has devised for you. You betrayed one of your own to save yourself. I will not criticize that decision. I will not blame you for that. I did not go through the same pain and suffering that you all did. I don¡¯t have the right to judge you for that, but even if I did, I would not. That¡¯s why I am still extending my kindness to you all. However, I can say that I do not admire that decision. I don¡¯t like it. Thus, your current treatment.¡±


    With my long fingers, I combed her unkempt hair gently and slowly as I spoke to her and her group. Despite my fingers were touching her hair ever so gently, they spoke a different language. They robbed the girl of her freedom. They were oppressive as tyrants. They told her of my authority and power over her life. This girl alone would feel the brunt of my authority and power over her group.


    ¡°Erinys, she was your weakest, wasn¡¯t she? But no longer. If she can be that strong just in two days after Ekar¡¯s death, you too can. All of you. I gave you a two days deadline but that was a lie. I made that lie to test you. Now, that I have seen what you are capable of, I don¡¯t need to keep testing you. You are a part of my group as long as my business with these worms is still going. That¡¯s a promise. If you are strong enough to band together and slip on this floor together, you are strong enough to reclaim your identity and humanity together. You don¡¯t need me to baby you. You don¡¯t need my help. Act as you wish, live as you wish. Let nobody tell you what to do, how to live. Live properly and strongly like a human. That¡¯s all I have to say to you.¡± I warned the woman and the rest of her group in a low voice, low as I could possibly be. ¡°One last time, be very careful with your step next time. Don¡¯t hit your face against the floor again.¡±


    I was sure that they would never try to gang up on Erinys again, no matter how jealous they were. I thought that once I was done with Bloodbeard, I can unload these women to Ice. From what I have seen, Ice was a great leader. She was strong enough to organize her clique within that village in order to survive it. If she could handle a life inside that worm breeding ground, she can handle these women as well.


    Only when I have finished my businesses with the women and Narik, I gave Erinys my undivided attention. I held her hand and planted my lips on her fingers before pulled her into my chest. I squeezed her within my arms, rhythmically stroking the back of her head. I can feel her fear and relief. I released Erinys of my bear hug, staring into her clear eyes. They were no longer dry and hollow or without emotion and warmth. I rubbed my nose against hers and kissed Erinys on her quivering lips. Her eyes moistened. ¡°It¡¯s only natural that you are afraid. If I was you, I would be afraid as well. You have done well, sweetest Erinys. Remember this, fear exists to be conquered... Do you know what¡¯s that mean?¡±


    Erinys shook her head. Her tears flew.


    I brushed her teary eyes with my thumb, drying the tears. ¡°Hold tight to my magic coin. Find your courage within it. One day, you might perhaps find out the meaning of this phrase,¡± and kissed Erinys again.


    You see? It is difficult to be with me. Your luck is the worst sweetest Erinys. The only women who can stay around me long are either the crazy one or the strong one. But you are neither¡­.


    I tucked Erinys into our bed first and hung my jacket next to the hearth to dry it. I joined Erinys in our bed, gently cuddled her inside my arms, thinking of all sort of things while stroking Erinys¡¯ head and lulling her into a deep slumber in lesser than ten minutes. Soon, Narik and I were the only ones who were still awake in the room.


    Then my ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming from below the tower. Slowly, the sound of footstep got louder.


    I loudly snapped my finger twice to alert Narik and then pointed at the door. Narik was not too dulled to understand my signal. He unsheathed his sword and readied himself into the position for combat.


    Eventually, my ears could hear no footstep. A knock on my door.


    What? Really?


    I stared at the termite-eaten door in disbelief.


    I invented that part about the Empire¡¯s spies trying to destroy Bloodbeard¡¯s army and did not expect to meet one myself.


    The reason was that Bloodbeard was so much of a scrub that I wouldn¡¯t think the Zombie Dragon could dispatch his spies to watch out for this army.


    But then, the Zombie Dragon was known for his thoroughness as well. He was the type that allowed no potential mishap on his overall grand scheme. Therefore, I would not be surprised that he has installed spies in Bloodbeard¡¯s army.


    However, I was more surprised that his spies, the spies that the great Lanxer de Craxus Aurus Ert¨°nios had painstakingly trained would be willing to betray him this readily. If all I needed to make his spies turned against him was a speech, I would be damned. If that was true, I would be very disappointed at how the Zombie Dragon trained his spies.


    Narik crouched, readying for a lightening lunge attack.


    And I was surprised yet again.


    At my doorstep stood one of Bloodbeard¡¯s women.


    ¡°You are¡­?¡± I asked. Bloodbeard only introduced her to me as one of his women but he has never bothered to tell me her name or theirs.


    ¡°Atuc, milord,¡± she replied.


    Her name was directly translated as a name of a flower in a Nord dialect. Iliva¡¯s pearl of Universal Wisdom has just input another new set of language into my head.


    Her long lashes quivered softly the moment I came into her view in my half-naked state, flickering a feverish haze. Her lips red as a blooming poppy curved into a bewitching smile.


    ¡°My husband tells me that you are missing a tender at your side¡­ He tells me that One-eye is useful but he is not the sharpest tool around ¡­ And he is not a woman so he doesn¡¯t know a man¡¯s heart¡­so my husband sends me here to take care of your needs¡­. I make some late night supper for you and your companions¡­ I thought that you would be very famished by now¡­¡± She stuttered, staring at my naked chest. Her breath abated. Her face flushed brightly.


    She revealed a wooden basket at her thin waist while leaning forward, consciously teasing my eyes with her bouncy chest. The tops of her exquisite white breasts practically spilled out of her tight gown. Her grey hair spilled as she leaned, revealing her sexy white nape thick with sweet inviting pheromone.


    ¡°I see,¡± I absently replied.


    Her words contained no lie, not that I can detect one while my eyes became lost in the bottomless depth of her cleavage. However, I was sure that Bloodbeard certainly did not mean for her to attend my sexual urges¡­


    I tried not to gulp but boys I did, trying to put my lust and my plan on a balance. But, it seemed that the scale tipped into the direction of Atuc¡¯s rich and bountiful chest.


    Shit, this is never a part of my scheme.


    One more day¡­ one more fucking day¡­ don¡¯t mess it up now¡­ don¡¯t fucking mess it up now.


    Fuck, ambushing me with a honey trap at this moment should be considered a foul move. Bloodbeard, that devil, to think that he is capable of making such a move.


    Earlier, I have told Bloodbeard that I did not need anyone to protect me despite his constant nagging. I have thought that he has given up on that¡­ but to think that he would use this move instead.


    I blinked, finally made it passed Atuc¡¯s breasts, only to be lost again within her inviting jaded eyes. Within the depth of her eyes, I saw my reflection. I was already smiling a charming smile, an inviting smile that struck a match in Atuc¡¯s heart. My eyes feverish, lost in the haze of passion, mirrored Atuc¡¯s steamed eyes.


    Everybody''s got plans... until they get hit.


    Suddenly I was reminded of that Mike Tyson¡¯s quote.


    Shit.


    Bloodbeard was merely trying to be a busybody and yet, this is a fucking genius move.


    Atuc was anything but a good woman even if Bloodbeard was a good husband of hers in reality. And I was anything but a good man. I am bad. A very bad man.


    I can never reject passion, especially when passion came searching for me.


    That¡¯s who I am. If the person who stalked me in my dreams has seen my memories, he/she would know that I was not the type to reject this passion.


    If I rejected this passion, I¡¯m definitely not Fearless.


    Worse, I might give them a hint to what I am after. If they were on Bloodbeard¡¯s side, I¡¯m fucking screwed this time.


    Suddenly, I was lost at what to do. I could barely think. I was not sure if I should chase Atuc away, denying Bloodbeard¡¯s good intention. With her being around me, my mobility would be severely limited.


    While I was still thinking, my hand, guided by the will of passion reached out for the basket on Atuc¡¯s hands. Fuck me. I was a slave of passion, a puppet stringed by my own desires. ¡°I¡¯m very thankful,¡± Our fingers touched for a short moment, not accidentally as it may look, and she reflexively withdrew her hand as if scalded. Then regret clouded her jade orbs, angry at her impulsiveness. I chuckled mischievously, extending my hand to her, waiting. The other hand I put at my back, waving it around, hoping that Narik would understand my intention. Luckily, I heard the sound of him sheathing his sword around the time Atuc shyly gave me her hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad that it is you, Atuc¡± I ambushed her with a few cryptic words, staring into her jaded orbs. Atuc¡¯s eyes revealed that she was genuinely confused by my words. I affectionately planted my lips on her fingers once and then twice, before slowly bringing them to her white neck, suggestively hinting a kiss. Her long lashes closed, quivered with desires. I took my time and sniffed her exquisite womanly perfume, ¡°You took my breath away the moment I first see you. You are the most beautiful woman I have seen yet.¡± I whispered a white lie into her ears.


    She blushed furiously, her eyes glistened with delight.


    If Bloodbeard sent the others, I would tell them the same white lie. I just cannot flirt with any woman by telling them that Alice was the most beautiful woman in my life and Iliva have already shattered the standard of how I viewed beauty.


    I turned, pulling Atuc into my room. I introduced Narik to her. His war paint scared her at first. He looked like a smiling demon with tears trickled down on both corners of his eyes, a demon who cries and smiles at the same time. Narik remembered to stick to his role, pretending to be mute, only conversing with a bullshit kind of sign language that only he would understand, allowing me to interpret it however I wanted.


    And then, my eyes fell on Erinys¡¯ sleeping face.


    The haze inside my head slowly lifted, replaced by a whirlwind of white. My thought suddenly became clear as the surface of a frozen lake.


    I remembered Ekar and his unforgivable atrocities. I remembered my promises with Erinys and Narik. I remembered Ice and her people. I remembered what I had to do.


    I looked at Atuc again, more opened to her passion this time, thinking while maintaining a charming smile on my lips. My free hand unconsciously removed from the familiar touch my magic coins and reached for Enferm¨¦¡¯s handle, fidgeting on its smooth hilt for seconds, pondering as if it had a mind of its own.


    This might be a great opportunity in disguise.


    ¡°Will you stay here with us or will return to Ashtor¨¢¡¯s place tonight?¡± I knew that I have just asked a stupid question, but I intended to go through with it.


    ¡°¡­.my husband commands me to stay here and serve you¡­.¡± Atuc replied feverishly, apparently did not offended by that question. She confirmed my reasoning.


    Only then, I pretended to notice my unbecoming dress code and apologized. I turned and pointed my finger at my jacket, which Narik immediately understood my intention, he grabbed it and passed it to me as if he has been my personal butler for years.


    As I was receiving my jacket from Narik, I leaned, pretending to fumble my step and dragging Atuc with me. I caught Atuc when she was about to hit the floor, pulling her into my chest. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I should have watched my step,¡± I softly whispered, more amorous than apologetic as my arm tightly wrapped around Atuc¡¯s waist.


    Before she could say anything, I suggestively put a finger on her lips, ¡°I know a very beautiful flower that blooms by the lake. But it only blooms at night time so people rarely know about its existence. Will you forgive my mistake by allowing me to escort you there and show you of that flower?¡± I brought my lips closed to her cheek and whispered.


    She blushed furiously. Her long lashes shivered as she nodded her head once. I smiled charmingly, helping her to stand up.


    I don¡¯t have a habit of saying no to passion especially when passion comes searching for me. I only blame my star for this.


    I passed the food basket to Narik, telling him to leave but a single portion to me. I tucked a red potion vial into Narik¡¯s palm, telling him to administer it to his brother if his condition suddenly took a bad turn. I then gave Narik my prediction very quietly and affirmed his responsibilities again so that Narik was sure of my intention.


    After that, I held Atuc¡¯s hand and escorted her down the watchtower. I asked her if she wanted to see a miracle. She absently nodded her head, her thought was lost in the haze of her passion.


    ¡°Close your eyes. Don¡¯t open them until I told you so,¡± I whispered into her ears and she obediently closed her eyes, biting her lips to contain her excitement.


    With a dozen of <The Magician>, I whisked Atuc away from Bloodbeard¡¯s camp without anyone noticed. Teleport and Swap, teleport, teleport, and swap, I kept repeating the process until the two of us stood side by side at the lake.


    I told her to open her eyes and introduced her to that flower that I have mentioned. I did not lie about it. I made that flower bloomed under that moonlit night.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When the sun was red on the eastern sky, I acted according to my schedule despite my entire body was literally screaming at me. This marked the third night in a row that I have remained sleepless. My hip was killing me. I wished for a hot mug of coffee or a can of energy drink to make through this day¡­ but it was just wishful thinking. I dapped my face with a splash of cold water, desperately to stay awake.


    There was no spy came knocking my door last night, as I have expected. If a spy of the Zombie Dragon was that useless to be moved by such tricks, I would be extremely disappointed.


    Erinys was by my side with her hollow gaze as I went to inspect Bloodbeard¡¯s troops. They hailed me this time rather than submitting themselves to fear like the day before. Their voice mixed of fear and admiration. They feared me because they had known my cruelty and they revered me because of my abilities.


    FY, this has to be a new world record.


    It¡¯s either that I was too great and too perfect or these worms had never had a real leader in their entire life.


    I truly have become the leader of this horde in just two days according to my schemes.


    From the moment I met Ekar, I had no intention to be recognized as Bloodbeard¡¯s uncle, the person who became the leader of these worms through nepotism. If I led these worms, I had to be their leader and not just a person who was assigned to be their leader.


    It¡¯s more painful to be betrayed by someone you admired and looked up to, someone that you recognized as your leader.


    The result of my scheme fully displayed before my eyes. I¡¯m sure that the great Niccol¨° Machiavelli would have approved me if he were to witness my entire plan. However, he might criticize me for dragging this battle longer than it should have been, which increased the risks of failures and mistakes, making me more vulnerable.


    When I crossed the courtyard, I noticed that Ekar¡¯s unit has already stood in a square formation before the rampart in attention, waiting for me. I pretended not to notice them again, going straight for my morning appointment with Bloodbeard¡¯s commanders. I nodded my head, showing the least amount of approval to the result of their reports. Again, I gave them assignments and deadlines. To the commanders who have failed to finish their assignments in the day before, I told them to finish theirs at dusk.


    After that, I went to meet Bloodbeard in his chamber. He asked me if there was any spy visited me last night, I replied to him that the only spy that knocked on my door last night was his.


    Bloodbeard chuckled. He told me that Atuc was the most attentive of his women, therefore he commanded her to be my attendant.


    Indeed, she has attended my needs and hers very well¡­


    ¡°She¡¯s a lovely lady,¡± I replied mysteriously when Bloodbeard asked if Atuc has served me well.


    If you had given her the password for a nuclear launch¡­you have already been vaporized by now


    ¡°However,¡± suddenly, my voice became stern, ¡°Instead of worrying about me and my need, you should have invested that time to complete your homework.¡±


    Bloodbeard stared at me and helplessly sighed.


    ¡°You won¡¯t be given extra time to complete your homework. The deadline is still at today dusk.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ I know¡­¡± Bloodbeard sighed again, doing his very best to cope with my antic.


    ¡°Today, you don¡¯t have to stay here. You are free to go around. See what you wanted to see. Ask whomever you wanted to ask. This is the last hint I will give you, no more. At dusk, if you don¡¯t have an answer still, don¡¯t even bother talking to me about war or battle.¡±


    Bloodbeard sighed again.


    I have realized that sighing was how Bloodbeard was coping with my unbearable arrogance.


    After that, I paid Ekar¡¯s unit a visit. The new leader of Ekar¡¯s unit reported to me of his unit¡¯s situation and everything else I demanded, but the answer to my question, ¡°Why are you being treated like this?¡±


    No one among Ekar¡¯s unit dared to answer that question.


    ¡°Then you will stand like this. From morning to dusk, today, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and even the days after that, until someone among you give me an adequate answer.¡± I coldly spoke to them before I turned around, leaving.


    ¡°Our previous leader has tried to kill you and we also took part in that¡­¡±


    A voice shouted out to my back.


    I turned, looking at the direction of that voice. The fact that the worms of Ekar all turned to look at the worm who shouted that answer helped me to identify my target.


    I approached him slowly, a smile on my lips. Ekar¡¯s worms flinched and made way for me. A mismatched smile on my lips, my eyes was stern but my smile was warmth. I stood in front of the worm, clapping my hands to set up an eerie mood.


    I kept clapping my hands without saying a word for over ten seconds. The longer I clapped my hand, the more terrified the worm became. I was sure that it was the longest ten second in his entire life. It felt like ten seconds to me, but for him, it must have been an eternity. The worm was sweating an ocean where he stood. If his sweats can be purified and used as a drinkable source of water, I was sure that I have solved the water shortage problem on Earth. His face drained of blood, a sheet of pallid green, sickly as fucking vampire. His eyes fell to my shoes and remained there.


    ¡°Finally,¡± I said, still clapping my hands, ¡°Finally, someone is brave enough to give me an answer.¡± My tone switched from jolly to stone cold. ¡°What¡¯s your name, brave man?¡± I stopped clapping my hands.


    ¡°Rrrrrrr,¡± the worm opened his mouth, ¡°Rrrrrrrrock, Mmmmmmasttter Advisor.¡± It took him almost twenty-second to make that reply.


    I did not blame him.


    ¡°I am convinced that you must be the bravest man of this unit Rock. How should I reward your bravery Rock?¡± I asked.


    The worm hit the ground in a flash, groveling. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t dare. I have made a mistake.¡± This time, he did not stutter.


    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t. Stand¡­¡± I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up, ¡°STAND!¡±


    The worm stood up in a hurry. His eyes met mine for half a second, a mistake, he knew that immediately and dropped them to my shadow on the ground.


    ¡°You were right when you tell me that the reason why I made you stood had to do with the fact that you and your leader has once tried to kill me. That¡¯s correct. But that is still not the answer I¡¯m looking for. Tell me Rock, what is the purpose? What am I after by making all of you stand like this?¡±


    The worm turned himself into a vibrator. He shook his head for dear life, with his head, his entire body as well.


    Of course, if Rock could answer this question of mine, he would not be here, standing like this. If that was the case, he has already fled this place and this horde a long time ago. I have given all the warnings and second chances that I had to give. Any smart person would have realized that a long time ago.


    ¡°Hmmmm. Since you are only half-corrected, I will give you a half-reward. How does it sound, Rock?¡±


    The fact that I asked Rock this question made his prospect even more terrifying.


    ¡°I don¡¯t dare. I deserve no reward, Master Advisor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a fair man. I treat my subordinate fairly. If I don¡¯t give you a proper reward, I have already failed my duty. Come.¡± I grabbed his sweaty hand and pulled him out of the formation of his unit.


    ¡°Stand here in a minute. I will come back,¡± I made Rock stood in front of his unit, facing them. I went to get a wooden chair and a large sack of water and a chunk of jerky of some unknown source as well, which I saw among the camp. I did not even know the identity of the owner of those items, but I did not care.


    I returned with them, making Rock sit on the chair, giving him the water bag and the jerky.


    ¡°Drink when you are thirsty. Eat when you are hungry. But you are not allowed to stand up from this chair until you or someone among this unit gives me a complete answer to my question. Don¡¯t even think about sharing food or water to your unit.¡±


    After that, I left Ekar¡¯s unit standing for an entire day again. Rock became the most hated worm among that unit, whether he has realized it or not, just by sitting in that chair, eating and drinking while the rest of his unit had to stand. I directed the hatred that they had for me toward Rock with a single move.


    I did not visit Ice and the captives inside that accursed village. I merely asked Moss regarding of their situation. I told him to keep fattening them and telling them to wait.


    Wait for what?


    I never told that to Moss. After that, I spent my time overseeing various unfinished constructions of Bloodbeard¡¯s worms.


    I had them demolished a few hundred houses among the ghost of the abandoned villages, using the materials from the demolished houses to make new constructions.


    I made the worms to move their provision to a safer location, easier to guard.


    I made the worms reworked the enclosures and the defenses around the abandoned villages according to my instruction. Some part of the enclosures were completely torn down, others reinforced to the point that they could potentially withstand the brunt of siege engines. I made the worms completed the long ditch that spiraling around the ghostly villages per my designs since yesterday.


    The smell of tars filled my nose as I was doing my inspection. Carts and wagons filled with a haystack that slathered with black tars were being moved into specific positions base on my instruction.


    I looked like a master foreman with years and years of experience. However, the sad reality was¡­ I knew a jackshit of what I¡¯m doing. I had a design in my mind but I had no experience with this shit. Back in the game, I only had to left- click on the command <Fortify> to fortify a specific target. I needed no engineering knowledge and whatnot to do that.


    For the first time in my life, I was grateful for the life-changing dart that landed me on the History major in my college. At the time, I was already a full-time pro-gamer and a world champion. However, my adopted parents were very concerned about my future and career. They have done a ton of researches about the life of a pro-gamer and they were clearer about that than I was. After all, a pro-gamer¡¯s life and income are never stable. It¡¯s full of up and down.


    One moment you are at the top of the world and the next moment, you could be on the street and unemployed.


    A ROC Pro-gamer has to live from paycheck to paycheck, and the decision of the organization that he represented. You don¡¯t know when you would be traded for another player from another team or worse, waived by your own team and no pro-team would even consider to pick you up. The average life of a ROC pro-gamer can be very short, from five to ten years. After that, if that person could not land a manager role for a pro-team or a coaching job or a career related to the world of ROC pro-league, it¡¯s unemployment.


    Knowing that my adopted parents convinced me into picking a college course as insurance in the case that my career as a pro-gamer derailed. At the time, I had no idea what course I wanted to pick. I thought about music for a minute and decided not to enroll myself in a music course. Music was still a curse, a painful reminder and nothing else at the time. Therefore, I used a dart, a blindfold and a spinning circle to decide my future path. That dart landed on History and my sister held her stomach, dying with laughter. History was the least suitable subject for me. I initially intended to give it a trial runs for the sake of it, after a few months, I would consider something else. Looking back, it was a miracle that I made it through those four years to earn my bachelor.


    Thanks to those four years, I had at least a generalized picture of what I was supposed to do with these worms of Bloodbeard. I gave ¡°Take the plain away from Hyrios¡± as a hint to Bloodbeard and with that in mind, I had to make it looked like I was going for that end game with my preparation. That¡¯s the hardest part.


    I gave them these laborious assignments to instill a sense of purpose and unity into them. However, that was not the only reason. These assignments must be able to give Bloodbeard the idea of how I would strike at Hyrios, serving as a distraction, taking his attention away from my magic tricks that already happened. Last but not least, I wanted to soften these worms through their labors, thus allowing my final strike to happen.


    At noon, Atuc came to deliver my lunch, pouring honey words into my ears. I playfully pinched her nose, telling her that I would give her my reward at nightfall.


    When dusk settled over the horizon, I relieved the worms of their assignments. To those that were unable to meet my deadline, I made them work for some extra hours to ensure of their job completion. Then, I dealt with Ekar¡¯s unit before approached Bloodbeard.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°We will ambush Hyrios in this place.¡± Bloodbeard firmly stated his thought.


    ¡°You don¡¯t expect that I would nod my head with that kind of answer, don¡¯t you?¡± I asked mockingly. My expression betrayed an open disgust toward such blunt reply.


    ¡°Certainly not. You gave me two days to figure out. That means you want me to be specific,¡± A smirk floated on Bloodbeard¡¯s lips. The bandit lord continued, ¡°You have set up a perimeter defense around these villages. However, your defense has an obvious flaw. If I can see through that, Hyrios can easily break through your defense.¡±


    You are only half-right. My defense has flaws because I don¡¯t have a fucking clue how to set them up in the first place.


    I gave Bloodbeard my poker face while remaining silent, prompting him to keep talking.


    ¡°That is because you intend for him to charge straight into this Bastion with his army. Once his army is at the foot of the Bastion, you would trap them, lighting those villages on fire. With his retreat cut off, Hyrios would have no choice but to enter this Bastion.


    Once inside the bastion, his horses would do him no good. He had to fight on foot. We have the keep, watchtowers, and the rampart. My archers will have a great advantage against his. My army, you have cut off their retreat, thus, they had no other choice but to fight Hyrios and win. Therefore, they won¡¯t desert or surrender. We have a better chance of winning this battle over Hyrios.¡±


    This is the only part which you got right¡­


    Still wearing my poker face, I raised my voice a little bit, ¡°And why would Hyrios enter the bastion? He can open a blood path through the burning villages, escape and return another day. Before that, there are a thousand ways to fight you and your ill-discipline troops. Would he not consider that flaw in the defense a trap? Would he not realize my plan when he charges through those villages? That¡¯s recklessness and foolishness, why must he fight like that?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s honorable, prideful and protective. You have said it yourself. I will use my captives as baits and shields. I will torture them. I will make them suffer in front of him. Because he¡¯s an honorable man, he will try to end the battle as fast as possible, to save his people. Furthermore, because he¡¯s prideful, he only sees me as a mere bandit lord, not an accomplished general like Regan, he would not suspect an ambush especially when facing someone like me.¡± Bloodbeard took in my questions as confirmations that he was correct, elaborating his plan to me.


    Again, you are only half-correct¡­ But the fact that you can come up with a disgusting plan like that¡­ means that you are just as disgusting as Ekar... though not nearly as disgusting as me...


    ¡°Hyrios would definitely enter the bastion because he sees me. I am the bait. You give my personal guards and me the great shields so that we can act as bait. Once Hyrios see me, he will go straight for me, believing that he can end the battle the moment he kills me.¡±


    I blinked my eyes, still revealing no emotion on my face.


    The location was different, the people involved were different, the prelude to that battle was different as well, yet that plan was mostly the same. This was the gist of one of the ten great battles that the Zombie Dragon and Hyrios have fought each other in the canon history, which Hyrios was thoroughly beaten in this one.


    Hyrios was too honorable for his own good, putting his people as his priority over victory. Being honorable is a good virtue, it commands respect from your peers and people around you, thus commands loyalty. However, being too honorable is the epitome of stupidity; it brought only dooms and failures. Being too honorable makes you extremely predictable.


    Many fans of Hyrios loved to debate that the Zombie Dragon¡¯s method was detestable and if he fought Hyrios fair and square, he would lose. I am too, a fan of Hyrios, but I was not in that naive faction, never me.


    There is no such thing as fair and square in war. There is an English proverb: All fair in love and war. It beautifully summed up everything that is needed to say about how a person should fight a war.


    Anything is legit, as long as you win the fucking war.


    Any student of history would know that.


    The easiest way to win a war is by killing, destroying one¡¯s enemy, through physical means, or mentally, or socially, or all of the above.


    A sword is no different from a knife, a whisper, a kiss or a lie.


    Anything is legit, as long as you win the fucking war.

 Chapter 50: Prince and The Day of Reckoning (final part)

    Chapter 50: Prince and the day of reckoning (final part)


    When I was a child, I was told that music breaths and flows within my veins. If I bleed, music is my blood. If I cry, music is my tears. Music, that¡¯s my greatest inheritance and gift that I have received from my mother, as well as the piano.


    The piano chose me from the moment I breathed my very first. I was made for the piano and it was made for me, and yet, I chose the mouse and the keyboard instead.


    Can¡¯t say that I am a faithful type even at that time¡­


    Nevertheless, even if I rejected the piano my fated betroth, I could never reject music.


    Music was one of the few pleasures I could appreciate and allowed myself to be drowned within it. I never knew what it felt like to be someone else, to live without music flowing in their veins, that, I could never understand.


    My dad, the one who sired me, he described music as if it was an instrument within him. My mom, on the other hand, described music as if it was a special gift that existed within our blood. I, I would describe music as if she was a lover of mine.


    She was my greatest joy when it was sunshine and rainbow. There was a time that she was a hateful being, a clingy ex that I wanted to forget, a love that I wanted to pretend that never existed. There was a time that I wondered if I punctured my own eardrums with sharp pencils, could I truly say goodbye to that hateful lover? Or would I live the rest of my life forever obsessed about her like Beethoven when she was lost to me, drowned within her phantom? But I would never know the answer to those questions since Mrs. H? ??ng came to my life and spared me the suffering.


    Music was a willful woman, as willful as me or my sister and just as wild. She could not be tamed or reined. She was fickle and complicated, but never complex or insightful. She was brainless, as brainless as I was whenever I decided to drown myself in wines.


    Some days, she was the sweetest girl in the world, all sugar and vanilla; and then, there were days that she suddenly became the most disagreeable girl in the entire world. She would do whatever she wanted and I was merely her slave, whipped and reined to her will, an instrument of her.


    ¡°Child, what would you do when the sun shines no more?


    I will not grieve. I will not cry,


    Until vengeance is mine.


    I will live.


    Child, what would you do when the sun shines no more?


    I won¡¯t be cold. I won¡¯t be blind.


    The torches my lights.


    I will live.


    Child, what would you do when the sun shines no more?


    I will live


    I will live.¡±


    My stupid lover decided to sing her stupid ¡°I will live¡± song and I was but her faithful instrument, an instrument that lived to execute her will. Can¡¯t say that she is smart girl¡­ I drummed my fingers on the desecrated altar of the shut-in goddess to the upbeat bubbly tone of ¡°I will live¡± while my stupid and willful lover played her damn song thoughtlessly without a care in the world amidst the wailing winds from the Dragon corridors.


    Can¡¯t say that she is smart girl¡­


    She has always been an EQ person than IQ.


    That made me a brainless moron as well for listening to her willfulness. ..


    That thought made me wanted to sigh a sorrowful sigh, but I cannot even do that, not when my lips swelled with the playful chords, not when I was still nothing more than an instrument of music, a slave of the chords and notes. I was the piano and music was my pianist.


    I chose the spot, the very altar of the temple. It was barely damaged from the fire since it was literally carved out of a large rock. I tossed the roll of deer hide inside my arms over the blackened altar, jumped and planted my asses it, flapping my legs playfully as I unrolled the hide, singing still. My eyes have grown accustomed to the reddened duskiness around me, turned to appraise at the tumbled roof of the temple and its blackened wall and surroundings. This temple of Light, compact and humble, built from stone and wood to worship the goddess of wisdom Eogaill was repainted by the masterful brush of fire, darkened in the color of soot and chars. A sad sight, a great sorrow for book lovers and pursuers of wisdom.


    No wonder the historical record of Escana recorded by humankind was so messy. But then again, it¡¯s not like the historical records on Earth¡¯s any better than this¡­


    According to the lore, most houses of Eogaill were schools cum temples. They were first temples, schools, and libraries second, in accordance with the shut-in lifestyle of Eogaill. Most of them were built without the grandeur of the Great Temples or the elegance of the Essence temples or the hallowedness of the Faceless temples. Most of them would exhibit a compact feeling, warm and self-contained like a quiet haven for any introvert soul to reside and be away from the troubling matters of the world.


    The priests and priestess of the temples of Light were disciples of Eogaill first and scholars second. Some of the disciples were not even the gift-bearers of Eogaill in the first place. As long as a person lived, giving praises to Eogaill and offered her service to the people of Escana, enlightened the mass with wisdom through their service, that person would be recognized as a follower of Eogaill, gifts and magic were not a matter.


    In the world of Escana, the houses of Niwdar are the hospitals equivalent on Earth, with a little bit twist on that like the rest of the other temples that are built to service the other three deities.


    The houses of Sinintee are factories and forges. The houses of Wonten are martial arts dojos and justice courts. The houses of Eogaill are schools and libraries, research facilities and on rare occasions, courts as well since Eogaill was also known as a pursuer of truth.


    The disciples of Eogaill offered one of the most important services to the people of Escana, education. They enlightened the masses with knowledge and wisdom in exchange for donations. According to the lore, some Light Temple offered their service freely and gratefully accepted the donations while others demanded fees in exchange for their services. Most of them offered only basic education while a few specifics provided higher education as well. Then, there were those that opened to the elitists, those of royalty and nobility blood only; however, those could only be found in the largest of cities.


    The disciples of Eogaill could be commonly divided into two groups, Traditionalist and Modernist.


    The Traditionalist were people who decided to live exactly just like the goddess they worship, a quiet and self-contained and humble life to pursue their studies. They shut themselves inside their quarters and libraries and devoted their lives to their studies, following Eogaill¡¯s example, which led to a life of frugality for most of them.


    On the other hand, the Modernist actively reached out for the masses and politics even, arguing that being humbles and shut-in would muffle the gospel of Eogaill to the people of Escana. They pursued a not-so-humble lifestyle while worshipping their shut-in goddess. They valued positions and wealth as much as their pursuit wisdom, arguing that the pursuit of wisdom was deservedly costly and only in the positions of power and wealth that they could enlighten the mass with greater effect.


    As such, the Traditionalist and the Modernist often waged wars against the other. But their wars were peaceful and civil, not ¡°civil¡± in the definition of Sinintee himself. Their war took the form of debates, a war of words since 99% of magic spells bestowed to the people of Escana by Eogaill was not designed for combat purpose and the followers of Eogaill were mostly scholars and nerds. Furthermore, the disciples of Eogaill held the virtue of being pacifists in high regard.


    According to the lore, the only kind of magic users that were not scary in the world of Escana were the followers of Eogaill, just like their harmless goddess.


    I was sure that this desecrated temple of Eogaill belonged to the Traditionalist from its compact architecture. The location of this temple was also another giveaway, settled far away from the other monasteries of the other deities and even the houses of the villagers, as if mirrored the very lifestyle of Eogaill herself, trying to fit out instead of fit in.


    This temple had a modest atmosphere, claustrophobic corridors that lead into tiny square halls that fully packed with shelves before arriving at the altar room. At most, its altar room can hold a maximum of two hundred people if I were to really pack the villagers inside it like canned sardines, a very small number in contrast to the number of houses within the surrounding villages.


    From the ruin of the temple, I could imagine the event that happened within it when the worms of Bloodbeard entered it. There was nothing valuable or worthy in the eyes of the worms since the place was packed with nothing but books and scrolls, nothing else. Enraged, they lit the entire temple on fire while enslaving the priests and priestesses. I did not even need to have a degree in forensic to see that. The evidence were plain to see.


    This is why the lore recorded by the elves is the most consistent. They live a long life as well as having Niwdar as their chief deity.


    That¡¯s why I believed that she was stupid, my oldest lover. Her song of choice was inappropriate and stupid. Its bubbly tone was even more inappropriate. There were a billion of somber songs, sad and mourning songs to match the atmosphere of this ruined temple, and yet, I had to be her instrument and played the damn bubbly song to satisfy her willfulness.


    I stared at the night sky to lighten my bad mood. Only the red moon shone on the sky, casting an eerie red light on the world. The other two moons of autumn, the golden and silver one evasively hid within the shifting night clouds as if they were playing hide and seek.


    Suddenly, my vision darkened, embraced by a sweet smothering softness.


    ¡°Guess who?¡±


    Atuc¡¯s sweet bewitching voice playfully brushed against my ears, carrying with it a sticky hot air that sent a small shudder of desire down my spine. I did not miss her quiet footsteps even while I was singing. I only pretended to not notice her.


    ¡°I have totally no idea who you are,¡± I clicked my tongue, playing along with Atuc¡¯s game, ¡°A voice as fair and sweet as yours, I have not the fortune to hear until now.¡±


    A sweet giggle echoed within my ears, so sweet that it was addicting like my own brand of heroin. I tried to turn whilst removing the delicate blind on my eyes, pretending to, and was stopped immediately.


    That smothering embrace tightened as I have predicted, ¡°You are not allowed to look until you give me the correct answer,¡± Atuc admonished amorously. Her voice no longer had that fluffy shyness like that time when she met me on the watchtower, or revere or formality when she was around Bloodbeard¡¯s presence.


    I could feel the overwhelming fullness of Atuc¡¯s twin mounds pressed against my naked back through a thin fabric, everything, their inviting heat that heavy and stiffened with desires, and the two prideful flower buds of hers that were even harder and hotter. Her flowery perfume, which I have come to love, filled my nose, steaming my lust to a painful bulging erection.


    ¡°You have to understand that this is a very difficult question for me. Please, at least, give me three chances to guess.¡±


    Her giggle only became sweeter with playful delight, ¡°But if your answers are wrong, there would be punishments.¡± Sweet nectar slithered into my ears. Hot, sticky, wet, and messy just the way I liked it.


    ¡°It¡¯s really not fair of you¡­¡± I pouted, pursing my lips, ¡°But I would accept any punishment if it means I could see you with my eyes. I am sure that the owner of such a fairest voice would be the fairest of a maiden in this world.¡±


    A hot peck fell on my nape, ¡° A Maiden?¡± that giggle only became sweeter and stickier, ¡°Goodness, how can you be so sure about that? What if I was a dirty whore instead?¡± Atuc asked.


    The word ¡°whore¡± entered my ears not without an allergic reaction due to how nonchalant Atuc¡¯s voice was, ¡°This world is filled with whores anyway, only that most of them do not even realize it. The greatest of kings and queens are but the whores of their own crowns and ambition. The bravest of generals are but the whores of their fame and glory. The most scholarly of people are but the whores of their own wisdom. The richest of nobles are but the whores of their own wealth. The most virtuous of priests and priestesses are too but the whores of their own deities and virtues. We are all whore of something or someone as long as we live. Even the gods and goddesses are but the whores of their own¡­¡±


    The smothering blind felt off my eyes and clinched into my lips instead. ¡°Goodness, the nerve of you. No matter how much they love you, if you slander the gods they would definitely punish you.¡± Atuc berated.


    I realized that I was offended by her joke more than I thought I would. I deeply kissed the smothering fingers on my lips and moved them back to my eyes once again, covering my sight with its pleasant heat and enveloping darkness.


    ¡°What I am trying to say is since this world is packed with whores. Since everyone is a whore of some kind, nobody is really a whore or dirty anyway. So never again call yourself with that word.¡±


    Atuc¡¯s embrace tightened around me, crushing my frame with a surging passion, ¡°Goodness, you make no sense at all with your argument. If you keep talking like this, I might fall in love with you for real,¡± she chuckled and planted an enticing kiss that lit a fire on my nape.


    My ears picked up on her lies, all of them and filtered them into sweet nothing, ¡°Also, the only living things that are dirty in this world are worms and demons. So never call yourself dirty again.¡± I told Atuc.


    ¡°Goodness, you have not even given me the answer and yet you keep making demands¡­¡± A resigned chuckle quietly filled my ears, and then a quick nibbling pain assault my ear lobe. ¡°Hurry up with your answer already. The night is not long¡­¡± Honeyed hot air blew through my ear canal and my mind nearly lost within the steamy haze of passion.


    ¡°Your voice is too sweet. You must be Hilda the Fallen Valkyria. It¡¯s said that the Hilda can make even the strongest of men swooned and weaken with her songs and fairest voice.¡±


    ¡°Would Hilda embrace you like this? Or do this to you?¡± Atuc nibbled on my earlobe with her teeth and her right hand slithered into the gap of my pant, caressing and flirting with my already stiffened lust.


    I stifled a moan and asked, ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Goodness, why would she?¡±


    ¡°Am I not the one and only Fearless in this world?¡±


    ¡°Goodness, the nerve of you,¡± Atuc chuckled and sank her teeth into my naked shoulder, as if marking me with her own brand, painful but not too painful, stirring up an itch within my masochistic heart.


    I played the guessing game with her a little bit longer, intentionally making mistakes down to my last guess, ¡°Then you must be Lust, Queen of the Succubi.¡±


    Atuc released me of her tight embrace, allowing me to turn around. I feasted my eyes on her ample curves with an appraising smile on my own lips.


    Illuminated by the scarlet moonlight, Atuc was more alluring than a blooming Queen of the Night. She wore a different dress tonight, a white one-piece instead of a red one like last night. But, this one-piece of hers was a fire fanner, scant and tight, accentuating Atuc¡¯s fleshly breasts and her lovely white thighs. She looked more erotic with this dress than being naked.


    I stared appraisingly at Atuc¡¯s bewitching body, being at a loss of word, rarely so.


    ¡°You must be very disappointed, sweet prince. If only I was as fair as Lust¡­,¡± Atuc¡¯s pouty lush lips, full and fair as poppy petals betrayed a pretentious anger that dripped with desires.


    Inside my head, I was asking myself a fucking stupid question. How did she get here in that dress? Until I saw a thick cloak at Atuc¡¯s feet. And Ah was the only sound echoed within my hazy consciousness.


    ¡°If only Lust had a tenth of your brazenness, to come here to meet me with nothing but a dress like this underneath your cloak, and a tenth of your loveliness, I¡¯m willing to die an unredeemable sinner.¡± I smiled while caressing Atuc¡¯s lush lips with my fingers before fiercely sealed her pretty petals with mine. Lust invites lust, passion curries passion. She hungrily received my kiss and answered my passion with her own.


    The two of us flirted and fanned our flame until we were at our limit. My pants fell off on top of Atuc¡¯s cloak, followed by Atuc¡¯s nearly transparent white dress as the red moon hanging above bore witness to our unholy union.


    I plunged my stiffened lust into her inviting entrance, uniting our fever as one. The two of us became but the slaves of our wanton flame, steamed and drowned in waves of carnal pleasures.


    My thought was the only thing that was still belonged to me on top of that altar.


    Passion is passion and business is business, I knew that I have to keep them separated, just like my partying self and my pro-gamer self. And yet, this flame seemed to get the better of me.


    The complete understanding that I was playing a dangerous game. The threat of discovery, the imagination that if I passed out for even a second I could undo everything that I had prepared, they did little to stop me. On the contrary, they only served as fuel my heated erected lust. This was already the fourth night which I have yet to sleep and my entire body was already showing signs of breaking down.


    And tomorrow is supposed to be ¡°The Day¡±, the moment I put a climax and an end to my almost perfect script¡­


    Atuc did me no favor either. She came at me with a passion that was hotter than a thousand suns. She¡¯s good. She¡¯s so attentive and intuitive that it¡¯s dreadful and terrifying. She fanned my fever so high that I had no way to stop it. Sex with Atuc only made me starved for more, further and further turning me into a ravenous beast, an animal of my desires. Her ample and fleshly mounds tasted like forbidden fruits that ripe and fell from the heavenly garden. Her sensual moans slowly became a morbid addiction of mine. The fact that she was merely pretending to be stupid and ignorant made this wanton flame even hotter, reminding myself of a mess that I am, a wretched mess of a man.


    I was drawn to Atuc not just because of her sex appeal. I was drawn to her by her smell and sound. She smelled like me and sounded like me. We are very similar creatures at our core and we both know that.


    Every time I remembered my conversation with Atuc since last night, my scalding fever ascended sky-high. Atuc committed to being stupid by her own choice, that alone made her extremely terrifying and attractive.


    From my experience, there is three kinds of stupid people in the world, the one that is stupid because of ignorance, the one that is stupid because they have no choice but being so, and finally the one that is stupid because they choose to be stupid. All three of them are dangerous, more dangerous than the smart kind of people. Atuc was the latest of the three, the most foolish of them all and the most dangerous.


    She was more dangerous than Bloodbeard. Bloodbeard was stupid because of ignorance, that made him predictable and less threatening. Atuc, on the contrary, was smart enough to understand her actions were stupid and yet committed to be stupid until the end. She¡¯s unpredictable.


    She was so good at this honey trapping that I have initially thought that she might be a spy of the Zombie Dragon and still to this moment, I could not dispel that suspicion despite knowing that she was not. Her words were honey coated upon layers of spices and sugar, stroking on my desire to be spoilt and tamed by her whispers alone. She knew how to stoke my flame, curry my pride and get the words out of my mouth¡­ one heck of a terrifying femme fatale.


    Last night when the two of us was bathing in the afterglow of our sex on the bank of the reservoir, I flirted with her, asking all manner of questions. She replied readily and honestly to every question of mine, tempting me to push for more.


    By that time, I have already known that the flower that I made to bloom with my own hands was a dangerous flower. And woe me, woe my star, flirting with danger was another addiction of mine. Cannot stop, never me.


    I sowed cryptic words into her head, hinting that I might or might not betray Bloodbeard. Her expressions, even when awash with pleasures betrayed a clear apprehension. For a moment, Enferm¨¦ appeared inside my deepest thought. Then, that phantom of a thought was dispelled when Atuc sowed her equally riddled words into my head, her answer and choice.


    Within the distorted reflection of her steamy eyes, I saw a monster who was smiling because he has found his own kind in the most unlikely place. I immediately knew who sowed the idea of sending an attendant to serve me into Bloodbeard¡¯s head, considering Bloodbeard¡¯s perceptiveness.


    Therefore, I asked her how she did all of that, ¡°To sell the idea to Bloodbeard and one-up your competitions, to be a slave of pleasure like this.¡±


    She snickered and warmly planted her lush lips on mine, whispering her answer, making my spine cold with a shiver of excitement. For once, I was glad that I did not make an opponent out of her or rejected her passion because if there were anyone who could undo my script without me knowing, it would be Atuc, not a god or goddess or even a Demon Lord. That¡¯s thought was terrifying on its own, as well as being extremely pleasant, reminding me once again that this world was very different from the game that I knew.


    Not once, I have seen this development in the comic pages or the campaign. That made me wondered if this was the reason why the fate of Bloodbeard¡¯s harems was never mentioned at the end.


    Atuc was the only one who understood my warnings against Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. She understood my warnings and intention, thus, she approached me. I did not see this coming, like at all.


    I bluntly asked her one question, the kind of question that only my kind would ask, ¡°How long have you been like this?¡±


    Committed to your role like this?


    ¡°Seven years.¡± A winter of frigid white shrouded her words.


    Such strong emotion can only be love or hatred and I was sure that it was not loved.


    Her hatred and fury buried beneath a controlled falling snow but never faded. Then like illusions, it vanished with a lovely moan when Atuc guided my fingers into her flooded entrance, ¡°But that doesn¡¯t matter now, does it? You are here for me now. You are my passion and adoration.¡± She purred as if a cat in heat, panting roughly, completely lost in her lust. Yet, I felt a shiver on my nape. My instinct told me to GTFO and stay away from this woman. She¡¯s terrifyingly dangerous. At the same time, the rarely used auto-translation device working inside my head immediately conflicted with Iliva¡¯s pearl, flashing all manners of warnings.


    Atuc¡¯s words after that were even more of a code, cryptic enough to be understood in two ways as if she was testing me. I purposely pretended to be stupid and misunderstood her words after that to test my theory, hinting her that our destination was the same, only our method was different.


    Then, she dropped the bomb. ¡°The nerve of you. Knowing that I am his woman and still¡­¡± she giggled sensually and serviced my resurging erected lust.


    Iliva¡¯s pearl of universal wisdom could never translate the meaning of this sentence. Only my auto-translation device could read its meaning, Bloodbeard is mine, do not touch.


    It was a warning and an ultimatum, no negotiation allows. This was the only reason why she has approached me in this manner.


    The shiver running at the back of my nape only became extremely painful as soon as I read that translation, not as painful as my fully stiffened brainless lust. My instinct and my desire came into conflicts, and as usual, I knew who would win that battle. The brainless ones always win and the smart one always loses this battle.


    In an instant, I immediately understood that Clariciel¡¯s final warning was about this unassuming looking woman, a seemingly stupid and harmless woman, one of Bloodbeard¡¯s harems.


    It was not about Ekar or Bloodbeard or any brainless worm of Bloodbeard¡¯s horde or even a spy of the Zombie Dragon.


    It was about Atuc. Clariciel understood that if I killed Bloodbeard by a mistake, I could have been the target of Atuc¡¯s wrath. No, it was without a doubt that Atuc would take her vengeance upon my head, of course, she would if I were to spoil her seven years of vendetta.


    Her hatred toward Bloodbeard has already become a manifestation of her insanity.


    People said that ¡°The longer it takes for you to extract your vendetta, the sweeter it is,¡± those people obviously have no idea what they were talking about, only pretending to know about justice and vengeance. There is nothing sweet about vengeance.


    Seven years, I could not imagine myself being able to endure living with my enemy for that long even if it was for the sake of revenge. I could perhaps endure and keep my acting for weeks or perhaps months, but seven years would be a stretch. At that time, it would be torture for me, a kind of self-inflicted torture. And yet, Atuc has committed to her role for seven years, living with her target for such length.


    I have enough cruelty within me to delay the final blow until it¡¯s due, but Atuc just took it to a different level.


    There are those preachers that love to tell me that, ¡°Vengeance is God''s job, not ours,¡± and I would tell them the same line as always, ¡°I don¡¯t read the Bible as much as you do, but even I know that the Lord is kind and merciful. If he is kind and merciful, he should stay a kind and merciful Lord for the greater good of his people. It¡¯s just wrong for me to burden him to plot my vengeance. I cannot ask the Lord to be cruel and vengeful for my own sake, that¡¯s beyond selfish. Thus, my vengeance is my own.¡±


    I approved Atuc¡¯s method but I cannot say that I have the strength and insanity to do it the way she did.


    All of a sudden, I remembered a single panel in one of those comics that Misery forced me to read.


    ¡°Please spare our husband,¡± one of Bloodbeard¡¯s women pleaded to Hyrios amidst Bloodbeard¡¯s execution. But of course, Hyrios being Hyrios, he did not listen to that pleading.


    Because of this panel, Misery kept telling me that Bloodbeard¡¯s women were in love with him while I kept telling him that it was a case of Stockholm Syndrome. But I was wrong, so was Misery.


    The woman appeared in that panel was without a doubt Atuc. Her ¡°Please spare our husband¡± was a warning to Hyrios. I could even begin to imagine the tone that Atuc adopted when she said that line to Hyrios. Either that Hyrios could not understand the meaning of her words or that he did not consider her to be a threat, he continued the execution.


    I reimagined the event and the events followed it. I immediately realized that Hyrios¡¯ demise in the canon history had Atuc¡¯s fingerprints all over it, as many fingerprints as the Zombie Dragon¡¯s.


    No wonder he got screwed so bad¡­


    I was glad that I gave Bloodbeard¡¯s worms a second chance. I was glad that I gave them my warnings. Otherwise, this woman would have been my enemy.


    I kissed Atuc and sweetly affirmed, ¡°That makes it even better, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    All yours,


    I understood that this justice is not mine to claim.


    The fact that Atuc returned my kissed and slammed her passion onto mine was her way of telling me that she had an auto-translation device working inside her head as well. Therefore, I only asked her one more question before turning her into my accomplice. I stopped my hips movement, a mocking smirk floated on my lips.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    You are on your own. Can you do it?


    Atuc shook her head in disbelief. Her bewitching lips curved beautifully and mimicked mine. She violently pushed me to the ground and pounded on me. She began to move her hips with absolute confidence, that, was her answer.


    I joined my fingers with her, telling her my term, ¡°Then, you better not sleep a wink and spoil my pleasures.¡±


    Atuc shot me with a puzzled look while riding me like a horse. I could see that she was checking if her auto-translation device was working correctly because that term only meant something to me, but not her. I showed her an affirming smile.


    ¡°With you around like this, how can I sleep?¡± Atuc moaned sweetly into my ears, accepting my term and sealing our deal as the two of us shuddered with pleasures. Since then, our flame was one in double meaning.


    Since yesterday, I have already carved a small tombstone for Bloodbeard and I would stick with it.


    Here lies Ashtor¨¢


    He, who knows no pain,


    Dies in agony.


    Atuc worked extra hard to become Bloodbeard¡¯s most beloved woman among the four. She did not even try to be the leader of that group to hide her abilities. She committed to her role perfectly for the last seven years until I arrived and threatened to mess up her vendetta.


    The fact that she would be Bloodbeard¡¯s executioner only makes it even more painful for him. Of course, her seven years of delayed vendetta against my three days of retribution, hers was the more potent poison, her knife was the sharper one.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± A sudden pain assaulted my body, snapping me out of my distracting thought. I stared at my shoulder. Atuc¡¯s bite marks were there, with a fresh new one that dripping red. ¡°Is that necessary?¡±


    ¡°Distract¡­ not goodd,¡± Atuc¡¯s pouty lips pursed bewitchingly. Like a drug, her steamed breath filled my nose as she admonished me. Her fingers stroke my bare chest, running to my chin and cheek, scalding, rekindling our carnal flame as one.


    I sank myself within Atuc¡¯s flesh, thrusting deeper and harder just so that her addicting sweet moans would echo within my ears. Her body arched as my fingers sank into her ample breasts and pinched her nipples.


    Our craving and addictions joined as one, becoming stronger than our individual will, our master, our slaver and puppeteer. The two of us moved by the will of our master until our orders became urgent. We shuddered as one atop the altar. Our flame cooled down as Atuc flopped her sweaty ample body upon mine.


    Our smiles were the mirror reflection of each other. Atuc kissed my bare chest soundly, ¡°Do you know what my greatest wish is at the moment?¡± Her fingers caressingly traced my chin. Her upturned eyes were dripping with pleasure and something else.


    That something else is the problem. I jokingly snapped my jaws at Atuc¡¯s fingers, prompting her to withdraw them by reflex. She playfully slapped me and giggled sweetly.


    ¡°That I would grace you my undivided attention?¡± I joked.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you already?¡± She brought her lips close to mine, whispering, sucking hard on mine. Her long nail then traced a painful line across my forehead. ¡°I really want to cut your head into two and see what¡¯s inside it,¡± whispered Atuc in her lovely voice. Her eyes half-closed with fleeting pleasure and curiosity.


    Mine as well


    ¡°Scary¡­¡± I replied, playfully biting on her lips, reminding myself once again that I was dealing with my own kin here. Atuc was so intuitive and attentive that it¡¯s just plain terrifying. It only took her one night to understand my ego. But then, that¡¯s what sex is. It dismantled our doors and walls. It opened our partners and ourselves to each other, linking us through our fleshes and emotions. I was reminded of the time I had to lie down on an operating table to reconnect my served manhood. It was for this same reason. It was when my manhood was served that I learned this important lesson. I was just as unguarded as the demon I hunted.


    I was secretly terrified and yet my flaccid lust that was still enveloped within the addicting soil of Atuc¡¯s syrupy secret garden suddenly stiffened.


    ¡°Goodness, what manner of man are you?¡± Atuc giggled and pleased with herself that she has made me hard with but a single whisper. She got me good.


    ¡°Goodness, what manner of woman are you?¡± I mimicked Atuc¡¯s tone, staging my surrender in all but honesty. I immediately felt her flooded garden tightened around my bulging lust, and I smiled, knowing that I have evened the score with a whisper of my own. Atuc was not the only one who has mastered the art of honey trapping and I let her know that. It¡¯s not very often I would find myself in the company of someone of my own weight class and I was sure, it was the same with Atuc.


    ¡°Goodness,¡± Atuc shook her head resignedly and sealed my lips with hers. ¡°I¡¯m glad that we are on the same side.¡± She smiled brightly and guided my hand to our joined garden, feeling her crowned jewel that was as hard as a polished diamond.


    Me too, I smiled and pinched hard on her swollen jewel, sensing a wave of pleasure overcome Atuc¡¯s aching body. A truly random thought entered my mind at that moment and I was not afraid to share it with Atuc, ¡°What happened if¡­ let¡¯s say that I rejected you back then?¡±


    Atuc revealed her pearly white teeth and savored on my earlobe, ¡°Don¡¯t ask a question that you already knew the answer.¡±


    Just double-checking


    ¡°Scary,¡± I commented as Atuc giggled, and once again drowned myself within my carnal desires. I listened to Atuc¡¯s sweet honeyed moans as the waned red moon above disappeared within the cloud, stripping the world around me of light and clarity, not that we needed them anyway.


    See Ashtor¨¢? If you had given her the code for a nuclear launch, you would have been vaporized by your own weapon by now.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When dawn fell upon the walls of the Bundor Bastion, I have already spirited away back to my tower in a proper dress without drawing any suspicion, climbing the steep stairs leading to my room. Atuc was back to hers as well, but she did that without invoking any special skill or magic, solely relying on her brazenness and womanly intuitions. The silver sky and howling blizzard outside did play a part, masking her presence and lovely figure.


    I have never seen the sky snowed this much since I came to this world. I have always fond of watching the snow, yet, I felt a bit irritable by this scene of whatever reason. Perhaps, because this snow was warm instead of being cold? Or perhaps, that irritation came from my self-inflicted sleep deprivation instead.


    Pondering, I scratched my cleanly shaved chin and felt relieved. I had finally said farewell to my long nails and grown stubble thanks to Atuc¡¯s careful attention. That alone solved two important issues for me, the sanitary issue and the trust issue.


    The sanitary issue aside, neither Atuc nor I was willing to fully compromise with the other¡¯s plan. We had our differences and while we can compromise with each other, we cannot fully compromise our plan at the 100 percent, thus leaving a gaping hole in our plan. Neither of us wanted to compromise our own schemes even further. Our sex just cannot solve that problem and that problem would not solve itself.


    ¡°Passion is passion and business is business. They are separate matters.¡±


    It¡¯s because we can confidently say something like that, that we both can be so good at honey trapping. Addicted to her passion I was, enamored to my lust she was, but neither of us would compromise our differences even further than we have already done.


    Thus, I solved the problem by handing Enferm¨¦ to Atuc, asking her to shave my stubble and give me a haircut, not the smartest solution in the world. Considering the history of Enferm¨¦ and Atuc¡¯s commitment to her vendetta, the chance is¡­ I would have died the most gruesome death.


    I literally handed my life into Atuc¡¯s hand and let her decided for herself what she should do with it, not a smart decision I would say. At the same time, I forced Atuc to make a decision by choosing between her scheme and me. It was my ultimatum. If she chose to prioritize her scheme, welp, I would have been a goner. Enferm¨¦ would have inflicted the <Seal> status on me the moment Atuc slit my throat. I would not be able to use <A strange choice> to save myself.


    In the end, Atuc just sighed, ¡°Goodness, what manner of a man are you?¡±


    ¡°A very cowardly man. It¡¯s just that I have the absolute confidence that you could not bear to watch me die,¡± I smiled and tried to annoy Atuc as much as I can, egging her to reconsider her choice.


    Atuc threatened to slit my throat for real but ultimately gave my stubble a good shave.


    Remembering that, I felt confident to roll a dice for sanity check, definitely bomb it without a sliver of doubt.


    While my spirit lifted, my body ached. My hips were on fire and I could barely feel it. I was dead tired, all thanks to Atuc, but nowhere near the exhaustion I felt when I was chased by Iliva¡¯s spiders or the fatigue I had during my first demon hunt.


    Atuc¡¯s situation reminded me of that time.


    I remembered what I sounded like when I refused to sleep a wink for a straight 29 days while soaking my husk of a body with all manners of stimulants, an absolute insane bastard. However, with or without those 29 sleepless days, I was already an insane bastard by that time. The only difference between me and the other insane bastards was that I chose to be insane on my own avocation, by my own choice, similarly to Atuc¡¯s commitment to being stupid. But then, that made me not only an insane bastard but also a stupid bastard. Even I knew that was stupid, What kind of person would choose to be insane rather than sane?


    Me


    Knowing that it was such a stupid decision, still I lived like that anyway. I chose to be stupid and insane.


    It¡¯s my life anyway.


    Why is that matter to everyone else? Why is it matter to this fucking society whether I am sane or not, stupid or not? You don¡¯t even care when I was hurt and wounded. You don¡¯t give a fuck about my life back then, why now?


    Why now?


    It¡¯s my fucking life. It¡¯s not like I would rob or steal from people or murder or destroy a good man¡¯s life. It¡¯s not like I try to challenge against the very structure of this society and threaten it.


    It¡¯s not like I have become the worms that I detested so much or the demon I has just captured.


    It¡¯s not like this society would crumble down if I became an insane and stupid bastard. I have the freedom to live however I want. It¡¯s my own fucking life. Why then? Why this society condemned me?


    Did I not do them a favor?


    With the disappearance of my midnight sun, B?ch ??i Ph¨²c disappeared as well, that fucking coward.


    Only Fearless remained.


    I rioted with boozes and boozes and even more boozes. I drowned myself in carnal pleasures and even more carnal pleasures, falling deeper and deeper into the very abyss of carnal pleasure itself. But the abyss of normal people was my heaven. Days and night meant jackshit, my sun shines no longer, what¡¯s the difference between days and nights when the sun would never rise again?


    And yet, Alice and the entire The Alliance fell upon me in that moment with their tears, fists, and shouting. I could not even begin to understand how they could find me at the time.


    Can¡¯t win against that.


    I have heard a Buddhist teaching that goes like this ¡°Violence solves nothing.¡± I had no idea which era this teaching came from, but it was obviously incredibly outdated. Mankind¡¯s History has shown that ¡°Violence solves everything,¡± whether they are racial issues, religious issues, political issues or economic issues, everything. Otherwise, our history would have much fewer wars and a lot less bloodshed. Otherwise, my midnight sun would shine still.


    A Vietnamese poet once wrote, ¡°Tears solve nothing. Crying is useless,¡± and I would like to ask him only one question in person, ¡°Then why the hells their tears hurt me more than those pummeling fists?¡±


    My feet stopped.


    Once again, I stood in front of the termite-eaten door. I shook my head, cleared my thought and opened to door to my room. Narik was there alongside his brother to receive my return. Their forehead was touching the floor as they greeted me.


    I told the two of them to quit it. The only things that I made to kneel to me are demons and worms.


    If I were on Earth, still, I would have hired Narik as my bodyguard cum butler cum secretary. He¡¯s competent but above all, I liked how attentive and careful he was with the task he was given. He executed my orders to the minuscule details, unaltered. If he did not understand my order, he would ask.


    Most importantly, he did not share my plan with his brother, not yet when I had not given him my permission. That alone has won him a lot of Fearless¡¯ points.


    I had no idea how Narik convinced his brother to give me his allegiance without telling him my scheme. However, that saved me a lot of works, winning Narik some more Fearless¡¯ points on the run.


    Narik¡¯s past failure and his guilt has perhaps taken away his rashness and polished him into the person he was at the moment. With a bit rearing, he can evolve into a better chess piece. However, I won¡¯t be there to see that. As soon as I fulfill my obligation and promises to him, we would part ways.


    And I have only started to like him.


    I gratefully accepted the Hound¡¯s allegiance not before asking if he really wanted to follow a fellow as dodgy as me. The Hound replied that he owed me a debt of life and more, and he intended to repay them in full.


    If only everybody were as straight-laced as you are¡­


    I passed Narik a pair of swords to look the part. I recently swiped them from some random worms among the barracks on my way back to my room. The Hound, I gave him a small round shield and Enferm¨¦ to be ¡°safe¡±. He would be the second insurance in my plan.


    Then I passed a bunch of random weapons, mostly daggers to women in my group, telling them that they had to protect themselves if worse came to worst in this day.


    I told them, ¡°Even though nothing exciting would develop but it¡¯s better safe than sorry. Narik, his brother, Erinys and me, all of us would be down there the whole day until our business is concluded. This morning, you lot are pretty much on your own.¡±


    The weak will not stay weak forever¡­ Please show me that.


    That¡¯s what I meant with my instruction. But then, it¡¯s not like people had an auto-translate device built in their head like Atuc or me.


    I passed Erinys a dagger that I had carefully picked, telling her to hide it and instructing her on how to use it. She listened and carefully remembered my words like a good girl, never pondering of my nightlife for a moment.


    Please hurry up and mature, a good girl like you should not be with a bad guy like me.


    I shook my head while patting hers. After that, I made Narik and his brother sit still, enduring, as I painted their face with makeups. While doing that, I used the opportunity to know about the Hound, not so much since he was such a quiet person. I then told the brothers my plan in details, what I intended to do with Bloodbeard and his worms, what expectation I had for the two of them and what might happen when things did not go according to my schemes. Of course, I spared them the details of Atuc¡¯s participation and scheme according to her wish, trust is important. I gave the two of them my battle-forecast the same way that FY would tell The Alliance and me before any battle, expecting them to act accordingly to my plan as well as their own judgments.


    ¡°Sticking to a plan is good but no matter how smart you are, there are always elements that you cannot control. As long as you cannot control every elements and variables involving with your plan, there are chances that your plan may fail. Thus, you must be able to improvise and adapt to your failures at any moment, always assume the worst would happen to you,¡± I gave the two brothers my final instructions.


    Narik only asked questions to affirm my will while his brother remained quiet, absorbing my advice.


    I turned Narik into a smiling demon and his brother an angry demon, and further disguised their notable features with other accessories that I had. I hid Narik¡¯s dead giveaway ears with a usual strip of rag that wrapped around his head and forehead like a badly designed turban.


    I gave Narse¡¯s appearance more care than his brother since Bloodbeard and many of his worms has seen his face and features. It was easy until I looked at the Hound¡¯s eyes. His were a striking green, pure, resolute and clear as lab-created emeralds.


    No wonder you followed Hyrios to the tomb¡­


    Anyone who has ever seen his eyes would definitely remember them. I wished that I could give him shades or contact lens, but I had neither. Covering his face with a mask would do him no good either, only highlighting his eyes. Thus, I instructed him to squint his eyes, to have his eyes half-close at any moment. I then painted his eyelids with some yellow powder from the makeup box, creating an illusion that his eyes were of a different color.


    A knock on the door alerted every single member of my group, making them tensed.


    ¡°Come in,¡± I nonchalantly spoke.


    The door opened and entered Atuc in a dark long gown with a large basket of food on her hands. I knew that it was Atuc from the sound of her footsteps.


    A flushed smile on her lips, ¡°¡­milord, I have prepared your breakfast¡­ please enjoy¡­¡± She spoke like a shy woman in love, but not without flirted with me through a fleeting heated gaze, reconfirming with me regarding the details of our plan through our brief exchange.


    Scary


    I winked my eyes once, affirming Atuc of the situation on my side. Trust me, she did, but not my companions and thus Atuc stuck to her role, minimizing the amount of risks she had to take. She would do that until her vendetta finished.


    I took many mental notes inside my head, swearing that I would not see Erinys become a woman like Atuc in the future.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I stood atop the white and shaggy rampart of the Bundor Bastion with my companions, waiting. My eyes naturally were drawn into a recently appeared empty lake at the feet of the rampart, staring still as the falling warm snow slowly filling the empty lake.


    Am I being anxious?


    A strange question appeared in my head, strange indeed.


    Why should I be anxious? In fact, someone should have reported me for smurfing. This is not a battle that I can lose.


    Yet, I reassessed my script one last time before the other main casts arrived.


    I have softened Bloodbeard¡¯s worms with heavy labors for many reasons. Giving them a sense of purpose was the first, proving my ability was the second, giving hints to Bloodbeard was the third, stripping the worms¡¯ excess energy and stressing them was the fourth, rebuilding a fortification for the future released captives was the fifth.


    Lastly most importantly, giving them the desire to be relieved of their tension and stresses.


    To sate such a desire, the fastest known method to me was partying and wine. There is a Chinese proverb for that: ÄÐÎÞ¾ÆÈçÆìÎÞ·ç. It can be loosely understood in English as ¡°A man who does not know wine is but a flag that doesn¡¯t know wind.¡±


    I can¡¯t say that such proverb made sense to everyone else, but at least, for me, it was true.


    Just like yesterday, the worms stood in front of the rampart in their formation, anticipated, listening to another speech of mine. But this time, I have assembled Bloodbeard¡¯s worms, all of them, down to the last worm, leaving none behind.


    They have already noticed the strange empty lake that appeared overnight at the feet of the rampart, which I trusted that they all did because as far as I could see, none of them was completely blinded. Thus, within the howling blizzard of warm snow, I gave Bloodbeard¡¯s worms an order to party. It was not a permission but an order, much to the worms¡¯ delight.


    One-eye¡¯s unit was given an order to prepare this party since the day I killed Ekar, of course, I made them swore an oath of secrecy. ¡°I have reserved the spot for any oathbreaker. You can see that spot from here, just next to Ekar¡¯s spot,¡± I gave them but a single warning and it was effective. Bloodbeard did not have enough wine in his stock to sate the thirst of a horde of 6000 worms. One-eye has informed me about that and I gave him my solution. ¡°Dilute the wine with water to fit the number, fool! Are you really so dulled enough to think that I would give my army the order to get drunk and stupid when our enemy has not been dealt? It¡¯s not a party, fool. It¡¯s a ceremony, of course. Morale, fool! Do you not know that word?¡±


    Atuc arrived at the scene with Bloodbeard as his attendant. The two of them climbed the stairs together while I was waiting with my little group on top of the rampart.


    Atuc has informed Bloodbeard of the ceremony since yesterday before she went to be intimated me in the ruin of the Temple of Light.


    Before she came to deliver my breakfast, she dolled Bloodbeard with a spider silk jet-black tunic sewed with the insignia of the faceless god on the left breast that she has prepared for him and complimented his giant frame with an eagle-feathered cloak. With such color scheme, Bloodbeard¡¯s attire would match well with my black and gold uniform.


    Atuc girded Bloodbeard with a decorated golden belt and an ornate sword, which she has prepared for such formal occasion.


    What Bloodbeard did not know was that black was the color of a funeral in the land where Atuc came from, white was his and black was hers. She told Bloodbeard to wear this formal tunic to match with the color of my hair and my uniform, which Bloodbeard gleefully listened to her advice. The fact that Atuc has confessed to me that she has painstakingly prepared them with her own hands to prove her love and dedication to Bloodbeard was downright scary on its own.


    Atuc spent her morning to treat Bloodbeard¡¯s unkempt grey beard and hair, combing them and tying them with small silvery rings, giving the bandit lord a dignified and handsome air. She did well to dilute the air of savagery from Bloodbeard to the point that nobody would have thought that such a person would be a bandit.


    If you have known about this, you could have spared me the Pronounce game, Clariciel¡­ This woman is no flower¡­ she¡¯s my kin.


    I greeted Bloodbeard as if it was just another day. I followed by a lecture, asking if he understood the meaning of this ceremony, which he did.


    ¡°Preventing deserters. You cut off their retreat.¡±


    I did not comment on that reply, neither showing approval nor disapproval. Then, I politely greeted Atuc and introduced my two Shadows to Bloodbeard. ¡°This one is my Ear. This one is my Eye.¡±


    Bloodbeard greeted them per my instruction. Narik and Narse acted according to my script, cupping their fists together as if they were actors of a kungfu movie. After that, they played their sign language game to Bloodbeard.


    ¡°He said that it¡¯s an honor to meet you face to face like this. And he said that it¡¯s thanks to him that you still have provisions to feed your army at the moment.¡± I translated to Bloodbeard.


    Bloodbeard had a puzzled look as if thinking why my servants were mute. But he did not ask the question. ¡°It¡¯s my honor as well. Thank you¡­ And uncle, are you sure that your translation is correct? It appears that he means to say something different. Are you sure that it¡¯s not your words instead?¡±


    ¡°Does it matter? It¡¯s the truth anyway. Without him, you wouldn¡¯t have an army to fight.¡± I shrugged my shoulders and pulled Bloodbeard into my pace.


    I aligned the platform, addressed the worms in my usual tone, and informed them that this was an oath-taking ceremony. I informed them that I was about to serve them the shittiest wine that they have ever tasted in their entire life. I told them that I would drink that shitty wine with them from the same source to bind my fate with theirs.


    ¡°How shitty it could be? You ask? It¡¯s so shitty that it would be an insult to call something like that a wine. I would drink mud¡­ No, I am telling you all that I would rather drink Niwdar¡¯s piss for the rest of my life than taste such shitty wine.¡±


    I made some vulgar jokes and the worms despite their initial puzzlement laughed roaringly. While Bloodbeard has already known how fouled my mouth and venomous my tongue could be, this was the first time that I have displayed this coarser side of mine to the worms, and they seemed to love it. I waited for them to finish laughing to continue my speech.


    ¡°But you know what maggots? I will drink this shitty wine with you all. I will savor every bit of it of how terrible it is and I expect you lot to do the same.


    I will drink it and dread about it for the rest of my life for as long as I live. I expect nothing less from you maggots.


    This would be our bond and shared memory.


    This would be my oath to you all.


    I will never again allow you all to taste such shitty wine. This would be the first time, the only time and the last time that I would let you drink something so horrible and shitty.


    Maggots, remember this oath of mine and savor the taste of this shitty wine.


    Maggots, drink my wine and bind your fate with me.


    Drink and give me your fucking lives, and in return, I will teach you what it takes to be human.


    So drink and let us be more than just general and soldiers.


    Drink and become my brothers, bound by fate, oath, and arms.¡±


    I concluded my speech while watching One-eye¡¯s worms pushed hundreds of carts full of wine barrels to the feet of the rampart. They unloaded their carts and slowly filled the lake they dug since last night with the diluted wine.


    I instructed the leaders of every unit to fetch the wine for their units to drink in an orderly fashion. They would make their men drink the same wine poured from the same lake. Only when all of their men had a cup that they were allowed to have their own cup. ¡°Leaders drink last. Leaders eat last. From today onward, this will be the custom.¡±


    The worms drank heartily as their leaders served them the wine. Most of them had a puzzled look on their faces once they tasted the wine for the first time, other seemed to be hungry for more, which I knew they would.


    It¡¯s not so bad¡­They must have thought.


    It¡¯s sweet. I heard their stifled voices carried by the winds.


    ¡°Of course, it would,¡± I thought.


    After all, on Earth, the sweetest thing that is known to man is a reciprocated love. On Escana, the sweetest thing that is known to mortals and demi-mortals and even immortals alike is the Dragon Bane.


    Not that I have tasted Dragon Bane ...


    The single-player mode campaign and the multiplayer mode did this alchemical poison no justice. This poison dealt massive DOT damage in the game, and that was all. In the lore of Escana, Dragon Bane was the deadliest alchemical poison that can be produced through alchemy and there was no known cure for it.


    Not much was known about this alchemical poison other than it was the deadliest poison in the world and it was first created some time after the First Great War concluded.


    There was a legend told that Dragon Bane was created by a widowed half-elf woman whose sons became sacrifices for a red dragon. She spent over a hundred years of her life to concoct and master this poison and fed it to her most hated enemy, watching it died in agony before ending herself.


    If Dragon Bane were injected through open wounds, it would be a swift death to most mortals and even demi-mortals. It took more time and potency to kill the immortals, the like of gods, goddesses and demon lords. However, that was not what Dragon Bane was designed to do.


    Dragon Bane was known by many names ¡°Zathrundafe¨¢, Tua, Royal Nectar, Sweetest, ¡­¡± depended on the context it was mentioned and the language of the races that spoke its name. However, one name stood out, one name was known to all intelligent races of Escana, ¡°The kiss of Death.¡±


    Dragon Bane was designed for ingestion, and even the smallest amount of it was deadly. If Dragon Bane were ingested, its victims would not die immediately. They die slowly. Only when ingested, the effect of Dragon Bane could be felt in full.


    What kills the victims of Dragon Bane when they ingested the alchemical poison is not the poison itself but the curses imbued within it.


    Other than the ingredients that needed to create the solution that would be Dragon Bane, that solution needed a ritual to turn it into an alchemical solution like any other potion or alchemical poison.


    Normally, to create a potion, an alchemist had to imbue it with at least a blessing and to create an alchemical poison a curse. However, the ritual to create Dragon Bane was unique. Through a secret ritual, Dragon Bane was created by imbuing three minor blessings, two greater blessings, and fourteen deadly curses.


    The creation of Dragon Bane was considered an impossible feat because an alchemical solution can only be imbued with a blessing or a curse, never both at the same time. Due to their contradictory nature, blessings and curses negated each other like Yin and Yang or the strongest spear and strongest shield.


    However, the Dragon Bane was one of the few rare exceptions to that rule.


    The two greater blessing and the three minor blessings inside it was the reason why Dragon Bane was so deadly and feared, not the fourteen deadly curses.


    One of the two greater blessings in Dragon Bane would be the first to activate the moment Dragon Bane contact with the taste buds of its victims. This greater blessing healed the victims of Dragon Bane of the wound and fatigue, and granted them all manners of benefits, tricking their body into believing that the other fourteen deadly curses were also blessings, thus effectively bypassing all the resistances and immunities possessed by its victims.


    The body of the victims of Dragon Bane would then try to absorb more benefits granted by the first greater blessing, greedily, thus magnifying the effects of the fourteen deadly curses.


    Skills and perks that granted resistance and immunity meant nothing against Dragon Bane. There are skills and perks that allowed living beings to resist or be immune against poisons or curses, but there were none for blessings. Thus, no creature of fleshes or physical manifestation could defend against Dragon Bane the moment they taste it.


    Once the victims of Dragon Bane tasted the poison, they would feel a sense of euphoria, joy and a bittersweet aftertaste inside their mouth due to the effect of the three minor blessings. Thus, entered the first phase- the sweet phase before Death took them.


    Then, the hollow phase. Without warning, the four of the five blessings disappeared like a wisp of candle fire in the wind, resulting in an unbearable sense of loss and hollow within the victims of Dragon Bane, which made them wanting nothing more than to taste Dragon Bane again like drug addicts.


    But never again, would they know such bitter-sweetness or such euphoria because the one remained acting greater blessing was designed for that purpose. This blessing while it was still in effect prevented the victims of Dragon Bane from feeling pain and suffering that the fourteen deadly curses did to their body but at the same time, preventing the victims from feeling anything. They could put their hands into a fire and still feel nothing. They could masturbate and feel no carnal pleasure or whatsoever. They feel nothing until this blessing would finally leave their body.


    Lastly, the agony phase. The victims of Dragon Bane would then feel the damage of the fourteen curses, the agony and suffering they brought in the most devastating manner. It started first with an irritating itch that spread across their body. They would scratch to ease that itch, but the more they scratch the itchier it became. And then, agony fell upon them.


    The final remained greater blessing did not stop the body of the victims of Dragon Bane from feeling pain and agony. It only delayed the agony while it¡¯s in effect and when it left, the victims would feel all the delayed agony and sufferings in many folds as their body melted inside out, resulting in the most horrific pain that a person can take.


    However, despite the agony and sufferings that the Dragon Bane brought to its victims, the body of the victims was still tricked into thinking that these effects were a blessing, preventing the mind and body of the victims from the usual countermeasures against pain like passing out or releasing pain control hormones. They would feel pain as pain is. They could not go mad from their pain because their brain still accesses their pain as benefits. They would suffer this pain until Death showed mercy upon their souls and took them away.


    Without a doubt, the Dragon Bane was the cruelest and the deadliest poison in the world of Escana. However, while Dragon Bane killed its victims through the fourteen deadly curses imbued within it, what made it became such a deadly and cruel poison were the blessings imbued inside it.


    However, Bloodbeard¡¯s worms did not know that yet, not yet but soon.


    One of One-eye¡¯s worms climbed the stairs of the rampart, delivering me and Bloodbeard two mugful of Dragon Bane contaminated wine according to my previous instruction.


    Before Bloodbeard received his mug from the worm, I stepped down from the platform and took it from the worm¡¯s hand, sending him down the rampart with his unit.


    ¡°Between you and me, whose position is higher in this army?¡± I asked Bloodbeard, slowly word by word while giving Bloodbeard¡¯s mug to Atuc.


    I could not believe that there was the need to think to answer this simple question but it took Bloodbeard over five seconds to give me the answer, ¡°¡­Yours higher, uncle.¡±


    Even when you thought about it for such length, it¡¯s incorrect still. Amazing, absolutely fucking amazing.


    Man, I have curbed your pride so hard that you have none left in you¡­


    I grimly passed my mug to Erinys, telling her to hold it for me for a moment. Then, I angrily grabbed Bloodbeard by his tunic, dragging his head down to my level by force, ¡°You are the master of these maggots. You are their sole leader, the one and only.


    I am but a strategist, no more, no less, an add-in. Did we not agree on that term?


    There is no meaning for me to be their supreme leader. There is no meaning or joy for me to become the leader of this army. I only agreed to be your strategist, did I not?


    These maggots¡­you are their master and their leader. Their loyalty and fate should be bounded to you, not me. They are your ambition. They are your tools and weapons. They are your choice. If they live, they should live for your glory. Should they die, they shall die for your glory. If you fell in battle, they will all die with you.


    Never forget that even when you arrive at Death¡¯s Hall.¡± I hissed emotionally to Bloodbeard before released his collar and put a respectable distance between the two of us.


    I gave Bloodbeard five seconds to absorb everything I have just told him. Only then, I gave him my final lecture, ¡°Once again, tell me, between you and me, whose position is higher in this army?¡±


    ¡°Mine,¡± Bloodbeard replied firmly, lifting his chest forward with pride.


    ¡°Who should drink the last mug?¡±


    ¡°I should.¡±


    ¡°Whose maggots are those?¡±


    ¡°Mine.¡±


    ¡°Whose fate must they bind themselves to?¡±


    ¡°Mine.¡±


    ¡°What is the meaning of this ceremony? For whose sake that I hold this ceremony?¡±


    ¡°Mine,¡± Bloodbeard answered.


    ¡°Never forget that,¡± I told the bandit lord firmly.


    I grabbed my own mug from Erinys¡¯ hands and aligned the platform.


    ¡°I offer this wine to the gods and goddesses above.¡± I held my mug high as if toasting to the gods of Escana and poured half of the mug on the platform, shouting to the worms.


    ¡°O mighty gods and goddesses, may you bear witness the bonds that we create and share through this wine in this joyous day.


    O mighty gods and goddesses, may you review the injustice and malevolence that plagued this beautiful world with your appraising eyes. May your omnipotent wisdom let you correct such injustices.


    Especially you O Mighty protector, he who uphold justice, hear my voice and correct the injustices of this world and make it a better place.


    O mighty gods and goddesses, who reign over our souls and fate, watch us as we shall confront our enemies like heroes old legends or die trying, together.¡± I poured a quarter of my mug to the platform again before putting the mug to my lips, pretending to empty it with a single gulp. My uniform was black in color, nobody was perceptive enough to see the stain of spilled wine on it other than Atuc who wore a fleeting smile on her lips.


    I tossed the empty mug to the ground and then pointed my index finger at Bloodbeard, clapping my hands. Soon, Bloodbeard¡¯s worms caught onto my intention, clapping their hands as well, chanting for Bloodbeard to empty his.


    Atuc handed the bandit lord his death sentence with the loveliest smile on her lips. Bloodbeard drained his mug with a single gulp, leaving not a single drop behind. He proudly showed his empty mug to his worms, pumping his fist to the air and they cheered for him thunderously.


    Then, unbeknown to the worms, the bandit lord froze on the spot. His expression betrayed his puzzlement and euphoric joy.


    He has regained his sense of taste. He could taste the bitter-sweetness of Dragon Bane with the tips of his tongue. Then, he seemed to realize that he has regained more than just his sense of taste. He could feel. He reached out his bulky hand to catch a small drifting snowflake in the air. He tightly squeezed his palm as the overlapping pinkish scars on his face relaxed and the crumbled away. His massive frame shook and Bloodbeard slowly turned his interrogating gaze on me. His quivering jaws opened and the giant choked on his words.


    I answered his inaudible question with a nodding blink. ¡°Don¡¯t let your men see your tears, fool. This ceremony is still going on,¡± I warmly told Bloodbeard, ¡°This is my gift to you, little Ashtor¨¢.¡±


    Bloodbeard immediately wiped his face with the sleeves of his tunic and quietly sniffled once. Then he stood in attention.


    ¡°Everyone, repeat after me,¡± I shouted.


    ¡°We weren¡¯t destined to be born on the same day, the same month or the same year. But, O mighty gods and goddesses, please bear witness to our pledges. We are willing to die on the same day, the same month and the same year as brothers bounded by fate and oath.¡±


    Bloodbeard and his worms chanted the pledge. I told them that the ceremony was over and gave the worms the permission to go wild for but a few hours. Many of them launched themselves into the Dragon Bane contaminated lake, swimming in it. Others thrust their head into the lake like a bunch of thirsty gazettes. They pushed each other and went wild, as I have told them.


    Most of them have already entered the hollow phase, those were the earliest to drink my wine. Soon, they would be the first to enter the agony phase.


    I turned my gaze upon Bloodbeard. But he did not notice my gaze.


    He was in a daze, trying to feel the winds blowing against his skin, trying to feel the warm snow on his skin with his regained sense of touch. He was overwhelmed with emotions. He looked like a child who has just received his best birthday present ever.


    I have completed everything that I have set out to do. Everything has been set in stone and nothing can change it.


    Even if Atuc somehow miraculously failed at her job, that changed nothing. I was just this thorough with my job.


    Nevertheless, the last scene of this drama did not go according to my plan.


    I rolled my eyes over Atuc¡¯s black gown and her emotionless face, communicating my thought to her.


    We blinked our eyes as once and nodded our head as once.


    It¡¯s yours now, all yours.


    It¡¯s mine now, all mine.

 Chapter 51: Prince, Pain and Hollow

    Chapter 51: Prince, Pain, and Hollow


    The warm snow of Zard was known across the Northern realm through the songs of traveling bards. Despite the historical record and the teaching, many people across the Northern realm believed it was just an absurd invention of some desperate bards until they felt the autumn snow petals of Zard fell upon their skin for the first time.


    ¡°Wherever the warm snow touches, the golden dragon of Zard reigns,¡± the first king of Zard once declared, establishing his rightful territory when the War of Dragons concluded. After that, his children and grandchildren repeated the words as their vow every time a new king of Zard was coronated.


    Even so, it was hard to imagine that snow could be warm, not in the land where Atuc came from at least, not in the remote Scicily of Kraig¡¯ondor.


    Once, there was a land with a name like that, Scicily on the map of the Northern Realm, and a kingdom known as Kraig¡¯ondor, no more. Now, they existed in the dreams and memories of chained slaves or wanderers of no kingdom like Atuc.


    The snow in Scicily was cold like anywhere else but Zard. The white petals when they fell, the winds became strong and changed direction, bringing with them the salty odor of the Tideless Sea from the west. As an ignorant child, Atuc loved the salty snow. It was probably because her family has always been comfortable and privileged despite the changing seasons that she can love such a thing. However, Atuc was fond of the grey snow petals as a child, because whenever they fell, they brought with them the oceanic smell of the Tideless Sea. They blew away the thick smell of rotten eggs that stuck within every stone and people of Scicily like perfume.


    When Atuc first heard about the strange snow of Zard, she was a blissfully ignorant child. But now, when she confirmed that the autumn snow of Zard was indeed warm, Atuc was already in the late of her 31st autumn. Looking back, Atuc realized that so many things have changed. Many of her old memories were rushing back into Atuc¡¯s head, flooding her with a mixed sense of nostalgia and bizarrely calm tranquility.


    It was snowing on that day as well, but back then, it was far colder, extremely so. Atuc remembered the moment when the frostbiting ice violated the very marrow of her bony body, and yet what she felt with the tips of her fingers was far colder. Tiny fingers, once soft as silk and warm as breast milk, they were cold and rigid like black steel in her palms. Never would Atuc forget that. That memory has once made Atuc howled as her body doubled and disintegrated into ashen grey. Once it has brought her nothing but pain, but no more, no longer, for it has become her inner armor.


    Atuc squeezed her palms, remembering the coldness she felt back then as her unblinking eyes focused on her unsuspecting target. She felt a wave of tranquil calmness washed over her. It has been like this since the moment she brought out the grimy dark of her paired funeral costumes for the first time since she completed them. Paired they were. One for her, the other one for her second husband. A rough and modest black was hers. A silky luster of darkness was his, adorned with the golden insignia of the faceless god that melted from the blood-soaked gold ornaments, gifts of Atuc¡¯s second husband to her, taken from the corpses of his victims.


    ¡°Haahhhhhh,¡± the loud languid sigh of Lajara echoed within the depth of Atuc¡¯s consciousness, disrupting her inner peace like ripples on a surface of a lake. Only Atuc could hear Lajara¡¯s sigh no matter how loud the dream demon could be.


    Sweet was Lajara¡¯s sighs, soft as pristine snow and sweet as virgin honey freshly collected from a beehive, but unbearably sorrowful. If a bard were to hear such sorrowful voice of Lajara, he would sing until his voice was all but lost just so that the sorrow would disappear. If a brave knight heard that sorrowful sigh, he would swing his sword, to display his valiance, to act dulled and foolish until the dream demon laughed away her sorrow in her most innocent maiden voice.


    Atuc has learned to ignore Lajara. She has grown numbed to Lajara¡¯s ceaseless whispers in years, but the dream demon¡¯s persistence has triumphed this time. Lajara must have sighed a million times like that since the first light of dawn arrived on Escana and she was really getting on Atuc¡¯s nerves.


    ¡°Goodness, stupid demon, can you stop already? I need to concentrate here,¡± Atuc inwardly commanded the dream demon.


    ¡°Ignore me and my woes, you insane bitch, like you always do,¡± the dream demon sulked and sighed languidly again.


    ¡°I will definitely do that,¡± Atuc coldly hissed to the dream demon within her mind. She removed the languid sighs of her dream demon out of her mind as well as the rowdy toasting noises of her husband¡¯s lackeys. She ignored their loud laughter and endless hollers and all the splashing noises they made as they swam in the poisonous lake.


    Atuc focused on her target. She waited patiently. She has waited for seven years. She could wait for more.


    Fearless, Atuc¡¯s beloved accomplice and lover of the nights was within her eyesight, standing a few steps behind her husband. His visage was dreadfully beautiful as usual. His eyes were an enticing dark pair, mysterious as a quiet starless night, full of secrets and mysteries. He was looking at Atuc, his gaze intent and warm, but at the same time, absent of thought. He was looking at her and at the same time, he was looking at something else, something that lied beyond Atuc¡¯s understanding or anyone else.


    When Atuc allowed her sight to focus on him, the dream demon¡¯s sighs only became louder within her mind. Thus, she stopped, but Lajara¡¯s sighs didn¡¯t.


    It was unheard that a dream demon of Lust would lose her power to a human male in the heat of passion, and yet that could not be further from the truth. The moment she laid her sight upon him, Lajara was adamant on taking over Atuc¡¯s body, casting her demonic power on Fearless at every chance she had, trapping him with the dark grip of her Charm and Atuc¡¯s body to enslave him. The succubus succeeded naturally until her Charm rebounded against her, putting the grip of her own demonic power on both herself and Atuc instead.


    Child-play, did you say? What a joke of a succubus, Atuc inwardly mocked her dream demon, stabbing her with sharp words.


    ¡°Leave me alone, you insane bitch. You don¡¯t understand anything,¡± the dream demon rebuffed, defending her pride as a high-ranking succubus, ¡°¡­When he is inside me, I felt complete. I felt whole. I felt warm and loved. I felt so fulfilled that I almost cried... I wanted to return his love¡­he made me felt that way¡­that¡¯s why my Charm rebounded¡­ that¡¯s the only explanation¡­You don¡¯t understand¡­ This is true love.¡±


    ¡°Goodness, NO, stupid demon, you have only slept with him for two nights. What do you know about true love anyway?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, you don¡¯t know anything, insane bitch, he¡¯s my true love¡­¡±


    Atuc ignored the succubus¡¯ worthless babble for good, completely disgusted by her dream demon¡¯s pathetic attempt of playing the role of a maiden in love. Nevertheless, Atuc could forgive the dream demon for losing her heart since the other person himself was just as charming as a dream demon.


    ¡°You understand nothing¡­¡± Lajara disagreed strongly, which Atuc continued to ignore her.


    Subtly but firmly, thought returned to that mysterious starless night of Fearless, but only Atuc noticed it. In a brief exchange of their gaze, she felt connected to him, their thought mirrored.


    It¡¯s yours now, all yours.


    It¡¯s mine now, all mine.


    Arrogance was his eyes, not an inquisitive gaze that brimmed with curiosity like Atuc has thought that he would. The lovely curve on his lips was even more so, sneering with arrogance. She did not tell him her plan in full so she thought he would be curious. She did not tell him many things, Lajara¡¯s existence was just one of the many.


    On his lips, it was a sneering arrogance, ¡°Surprise me!¡± which could not be more suited to his character.


    Should have predicted it¡­


    Stifling an amused chuckle within her throat, Atuc answered her partner¡¯s arrogance with a mirrored look, Watch me, she told him. She advanced, each of her steps grim and firm until she was standing on the shadow of her dazedly second husband.


    Gently she grabbed his massive hand and firmly pressed it against her cheek. Rough was his hand, like dry sand, and full of callouses and scars, tempered from a never-ending blood-soaked life and endless battles. It was the complete opposite of the hands of the princely person she fell for, which were delicate and soft like a maiden¡¯s hands. Whose hands were more deadly was up to debate, but Atuc already knew the answer.


    ¡°I have been dreaming of this moment for so long.¡± Atuc sweetly whispered with her upturned eyes, gazing warmly at Bloodbeard. She tilted her head lovingly, resting her cheek against her husband¡¯s hand. Through their eye contact, she invoked the unholy power of the dream demon, which she hosted within her body, and targeted the unsuspecting giant, snapping him out of his daze.


    Atuc felt the firm grip of the dream demon¡¯s power on her husband¡¯s mind. If he has not already fallen for her natural womanly charm, the demonic power of Lajara made him stupidly infatuated with Atuc. She reined the demon¡¯s power, leaving just the adequate amount of clarity within the mind of her husband.


    ¡°Me too, yes, a gift from my uncle,¡± absently was his reply, hopelessly infatuated with Atuc¡¯s charm, ¡°But how do you know?¡±


    Male or female, human or elf, a virtuous saint or dirty whore, it did not matter. Lajara¡¯s innate power cannot be denied unless the target was another dream demon or equipped with artifacts or blessings that can counter a dream demon¡¯s Charm.


    A lovely contented smile curved on her rosy petal-like lips when a memory resurfaced within her mind, the time when Atuc was embraced and loved by Fearless in the absence of Charm against the time when Lajara repeatedly infused him with her demonic power. Her dream demon angrily cursed her harsher usual, but surprisingly agreed with Atuc¡¯s opinion regarding which of the two felt better, ¡°Looking at you, of course. I have always been looking at you,¡± Atuc replied affectionately.


    However, her husband misunderstood the meaning of this smile of her, which only made it sweeter and lovelier.


    Atuc blinked her long lashes once, letting a tear of pure happiness rolled down her ashen cheek, ¡°Can you feel how fast my heart is beating? Can you feel how happy I am?¡± she guided Bloodbeard¡¯s rugged hand to her full bosoms.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s voice was drenched in lust, dripping with carnal desire.


    Through the rough and thick texture of her funeral gown, Atuc could feel the itches and the craving within Bloodbeard¡¯s twitchy fingers as well as his slowing bulging lust. Pain was all she felt when those fingers formed an iron vice on her full breasts as if to rip them apart, roughly handling the prided symbol of her womanhood with utter selfishness. It was different from the tormenting pain she felt and suffered when Fearless touched her body. His tormenting touch impregnated her with an addicting craving for more.


    Atuc subtly sent her accomplice a sidelong glance, only to discover that he was not even looking at her. He was talking to his emotionless doll with a childlike innocent smile on his lips.


    ¡°What a joke! He totally saw through your cute attempt to make him jealous from the beginning,¡± Lajara cackled like a demon within Atuc¡¯s mind, hollering as she hugged her astral belly, getting back at her own host for the previous slights.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Atuc hissed heatedly within her mind.


    She guided Bloodbeard¡¯s reluctant hand off the ensnaring of her womanhood and toward her scarred belly, ¡°You owe me a child, remember?¡± Atuc asked sweetly, loosen the firm grip of Lajara¡¯s demonic power on Bloodbeard¡¯s mind, giving him the clarity to remember his promise to her.


    ¡°How could I not? Since you keep asking me, but I kept telling you that, I would have killed you with my strength¡­¡±


    Atuc revealed a lovely smile, ¡°This reminds me of the first time we met. You told the same thing. It was snowing back then as well.¡±


    ¡°But, now, I don¡¯t have to worry about that... that¡¯s right, I have to thank my uncle to that¡­¡±


    Bloodbeard turned his head toward the other direction, allowed only by Atuc¡¯s generous permission and vengeful malice. She returned sound to his ears, and sight to his eyes and time to his thought.


    ¡°You wish that you would have never turned back,¡± The dream demon darkly cackled but only Atuc agreed.


    Bright was the sky, white was the soft falling snow. Yet, the scene unfolded before the bulging eyes of the petrified giant was the very manifestation of Kharigan. Bloodbeard probably wished that he was blind and deaf like the god he worshipped rather than witnessing such scene.


    ¡°Don¡¯t judge my home base on the lies of your gods, insane bitch,¡± Lajara rebuked angrily.


    Atuc did not make her comeback nor could she. Her eyes were drawn to the malevolent red before her, hypnotic was it. The red moon of Kharigan, the plane of the Demon Lords came crashing down on the surface of Escana with impunity. Amidst the crippling red world, one man stood. His cloth a mourning jet-black, his hair a night without a star, his eyes dark as the abyss but the lovely smile on his lips was even darker.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Erinys, close your eyes. Don¡¯t open it until you have my permission. It¡¯s better if you don¡¯t look,¡± I told my sweet innocent girl, putting two little rolls of rag into her ear canal. I guided her hands to shut her earholes as well. Letting her know the hints of the event that was about to transpire was enough to make her understand my future lessons, any more would have scarred her mind forever.


    ¡°And the two of you brothers, welcome to my world,¡± I told Narik and Narse, my voice more sarcastic than usual.


    With my opened eyes, I saw pain. With my sharp ears, I heard pain. With my crystal-clear mind, I perceived pain¡­ in the absence of disillusion to reinstall the understanding that I was worse than the demons that I broke and the worms that I squashed.


    This was my ironclad principle, unchanged in the last six years and would remain so until the day I became nothing.


    Pain had no form and yet many. Pain was Dragon Bane. Pain was the Kiss of Death and the unquenched desire to be reciprocated by the magnanimous love of Death.


    Pain was an abominable red cherry popped on top of the vanilla world of fuzzy warm snow and sunlit sky.


    Pain was the writhing worms on the muddy ground, paralyzed by the curses running through their liquefying veins. Pain was the insidious spiraling of joints, muscles and cracking bones that stretched a human body beyond the physical boundary. Pain was the aberrant molten flesh that seeped from inside out, the sizzling viscous crimson that stained the pristine white snow. Pain was the vileness of white of bone revealed in the absence of skin and flesh, the grim red and bastardized yellow of oozing gluey marrow.


    Pain was the insidious invisible greater blessing that barred one¡¯s mind from going mad. Pain was the dark hollow sockets of self-dug-out-eyeballs, the presumably maddened fingernails that viciously clawed away the melting skins and fleshes in the fruitless search for the merciful touch of insanity to escape pain.


    Pain was the unrecognizable mess that was the half-digested breakfast that Atuc made for me, the murky white and greenish slime that kept spilling out beneath my shaking feet. Pain was memories of redden summer days that resurfaced.


    Pain was the mirrored white of terror on drained faces, the blissful confusion that eventually turned into a malevolent prophetic drop of tears in red bulging eyeballs, the manifestation of self-realization.


    Pain was the survival instinct of the quick-wits, the fingers that tugged deep into one¡¯s throat, the desire to retch, the euphoric hope on one¡¯s face when one retched and continue to retch until they succeeded and the moment when that euphoric hope turned into a lucid world of reddened despair.


    Pain was music to my sharp ears, the worst kind of music, an insidious dissonant orchestra of chaos in the total absence of rhythm or chord, an amalgam of everything that was pure evil and vile. Pain was the infecting bestial howls of the writhing worms from their melting vocal cords, the never-ending crescendo of the thousands to their endlessly long descent into the loving embrace of Death. Pain was the quietly splashing retches of two brothers amidst the grandeur of the most unholy orchestra. Pain was the hollow shouts and screams that eventually became winded and bubbled in the end when the lungs were all but a puddle of spilling red. Pain was the cowardice begging for forgiveness, the seemingly repentant prayers to the gods and goddesses who administrated the world of Escana from the above.


    Pain was the tearful ¡°Master Advisor, save us,¡± not knowing the one they begged was their ender.


    Pain was the blissfully ignorant ¡°Please, save us¡± as the worms started to claw at their skin to ease their itching hell, not knowing that it was just the beginning of an end.


    Pain was the bemoaning ¡°Gods, spare us.¡±


    Pain was the attachments to one¡¯s life, the invisible rope of self-preservation, the instinct existed in all the livings that squeezed on one¡¯s lucid mind, the fear of Death while not knowing that the merciful embrace of Death was the greatest blessing.


    Pain was hell and heaven squashed altogether in an unholy union, an abomination of a creation. Pain was the beginning and the end.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Pain was the perfect fuel for nightmares to come and to suffer.


    Pain was the clear apprehension that what transpired inside that abode of Ekar held no candle to this abomination, not in quality or quantity. Pain was cruelty manifested for the sake of cruelty alone, an example, a warning.


    Pain was the phantom chirping of cicadas at the back of one¡¯s mind as the worms¡¯ screams getting louder.


    Pain was the cheap wordless smile on my lips to reciprocate the worms¡¯ begging. Pain was the same familiar soundless eulogy that echoed within my head at the end of every hunt for the worms I squashed.


    Worms, did you spare your victims from pain and torment when they begged you?


    Did you stop violating on your victim¡¯s dignity and virtue when they cried?


    Have you ever heard the choke of one¡¯s heart when their joy became ashen in your hands?


    Have you ever seen the fragmented life your victims whose future you have robbed and violated?


    Have you ever cried in remorse when you looked at the scars that you inflicted on your victims?


    You didn¡¯t. You haven¡¯t. That¡¯s why you can continue to live as worms.


    Maybe, I should spare you.


    Maybe I can help you to redeem yourself, to be human again.


    No, not maybe. I can without a doubt, make you human again, one way or another.


    Maybe, you don¡¯t deserve to be squashed by me of all the people in the world, just maybe.


    However, I know for sure that none of your victims deserved to be broken, be hurt, or robbed of their future and beloved.


    I know for sure that your victims did not deserve to suffer, deprived and scarred.


    I know for sure that your victims would have cried and begged you the same way you are begging me.


    And yet they were never given a chance to be whole, unharmed and unscarred.


    Hence¡­


    I took a deep breath and lifted my chest. I used my thumb and middle finger to trace the curvatures of my cheekbone and chin, drawing the sign of a hugging skull, offering a prayer to Mistress Death.


    ¡°Death, take them. Let them know that your embrace is their only solace and respite, but only for the moment, only for a short moment. If you could forgive my insolence and arrogance, and be generous, please pass my words and tell them that Fearless of The Alliance was their killer. Tell them that I tricked them, used them and killed them like the worms that they are. Tell them that it was I Fearless who robbed them of their future and hope, the bright future that I showed and promised to them, it was I who gave them such insidious suffering and pain.


    Tell them to prepare themselves, hopefully, they would learn what it means to be human again while walking inside your hall. Or they will learn to suffer again the moment I arrive down there and knock on your gate.¡± I prayed to the Goddess of Death before turned to face Narik and Narse, listening to the gripping horror in their quiet breath.


    ¡°Listen very carefully the two of you, especially you Narse, you who questions justice, you who questions Wonten¡¯s intention and identity. I don¡¯t know why you would listen to your brother and choose to serve me. But look and carve this scene into your mind and remember that this is not justice. I am not justice. Never mistake this for justice.


    Justice is not omnipotent and absolute like a sun. Justice can be dimmed and weak and as many like the stars on the sky. Justice can appear in many forms but not this, never this.


    This is evil curbing evil, poison killing poison.


    Why is it the injustice? Do you even need to ask? Look at this hell with your eyes, does it look like justice to you? Listen carefully with your ears, are these screams the sound of justice?


    No, I will tell you just in case you are too stupid to decide.


    This is the greater injustice that befell upon the injustices.


    When justice became too lazy and too ineffectual, this happened, I happened. When justice became too blind, the greater injustice would befall upon this world.


    It is just pure luck that you are on my side and our goal coincides this time. The next time, you won¡¯t be so lucky. Never forget that.


    Narik, had you partake in an atrocity and injustice as disgusting as this, I would have killed you too, with them. Spend the rest of your life thinking about redemption alone while etching this scene into your mind.


    Carve this knowledge into your mind that I, the one who created this atrocity am not an agent of justice, never was, and never will I be.


    I will always be the greatest injustice, the worst demon, and the worst worm because unlike them who were born to feast upon human, I was perfectly crafted and designed to destroy them instead.


    I will always be their greatest and worst. This is my desire and lifetime commitment.


    Carve this scene into your memory so that you will never mistake injustice for justice.


    Hold a steadfast belief to your justice, let your heart and belief guide you, let them stay in the right place. Don¡¯t wait or expect any help from a god when you see an injustice. Act upon it before I would arrive.


    Make sure that you will never become someone like me. Otherwise, I will fall upon you just like I fall upon them.¡±


    I said the words that I wanted to say to the brothers while knowing that Bloodbeard was watching me in utter confusion and shock, already in the depth of the hollow phase. Soon, he would know agony but it was not my place to decide that or even Dragon Bane¡¯s place.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°The other person who can smile so beautifully like that is His Majesty Flok¨ª,¡± Lajara sighed languidly, ¡°It has to be a sin that a man can be so beautiful,¡± the dream demon kept sighing as Atuc set her sight on the same person that her husband was staring at with his mouth agape.


    Atuc has not seen the Smiling Demon Lord. She thought that if a Demon Lord was referred with such title, his smile must be very beautiful. However, to top or be equal to the smile on her partner¡¯s lips, on Fearless¡¯ lips, it¡¯s almost unthinkable.


    ¡°That¡¯s because you have never seen His Majesty before. Be glad. Because when you see his smile, you would think that his smile was the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your life...¡± Lajara sighed again.


    A bewildered voice cut Atuc¡¯s conversation with her dream demon short.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Bloodbeard repeated the same question that he has kept mumbling for a while now, this time much louder.


    ¡°Oh dear, insane bitch, you must have messed up the control. Your Charm has made your smelly husband stupid,¡± Lajara snickered darkly inside Atuc¡¯s head, ¡°Better kill him now before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Atuc ignored the dream demon¡¯s aphotic snicker. She knew that the demonic grip of power that she had on her husband¡¯s mind was perfectly controlled. It was just one of the millions of attempts of the succubus in trying to convince Atuc to end this man throughout the last seven years. The succubus has tried to do the same thing repeatedly since the moment Atuc spared her husband¡¯s life for the first time.


    Atuc reined the demonic grip of Charm on her husband¡¯s mind while tiptoeing to put her lips closer to his ear, ¡°He has betrayed you, ¡±a fleeting smile on her lips as she darkly whispered in her honey-coated voice.


    Bloodbeard slowly turned his head at her, ¡°No, he¡¯s not,¡± the giant¡¯s eyes hollowed of thought because they were trapped in a world of shock.


    Atuc almost cackled alongside the ever-louder snickers of her dream demon. ¡°Yes, he is,¡± Atuc steadfastly confirmed to Bloodbeard the ugly truth.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not. He¡¯s my uncle,¡± the giant absently replied in self-denial.


    Lajara¡¯s sneering cackles only became louder within the depth of Atuc¡¯s mind.


    Goodness, for a man who lived to pursue pain, the moment you feel it, you flee from it¡­ Not so brave now, huh?


    Atuc sneered inside her head. She too found the self-denial in the giant was hilarious. She fed more demonic energy into her spell, tightened the grip while narrowing down her husband¡¯s escape path. ¡°Goodness, he¡¯s your enemy. Can you not see that?¡± She asked.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not true. Wonten has told me that he would guide my path.¡± Bloodbeard absently shook his head.


    ¡°Is it about the dream where you met the black owl?¡± Atuc remembered that her husband has once told her about the strange dream of his.


    ¡°Yes, I was lost until I meet the bird. That bird is my uncle. He would guide me through the darkness.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, Wonten was meant to warn you that you were already lost and that bird would lead you into the darkness and become more lost,¡± Atuc darkly repeated the dark cackle of her succubus with a perfectly calm demeanor and tone. She loved that interpretation from the dream demon¡¯s perspective.


    ¡°No, that cannot be the truth,¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s voice was weak, like a squeak of a dying mouse, held no resemblance to his usual booming charades.


    ¡°Yes, I think so as well. That cannot be the truth.¡± Atuc nodded her head convincingly, agreed with Bloodbeard, feeding her already confused husband with more confusion. ¡°That interpretation makes no sense at all. See? Why would Wonten warn you?¡± Atuc asked the enthralled giant as if a mother lecturing her son.


    Her husband looked at Atuc as if his enthralled mind could not handle that question.


    ¡°You murdered, robbed and raped. You are the opposite of Wonten. He lives to protect. You live to destroy. Why would Wonten support you?


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand, no. That¡¯s his will. He granted me his strength. He granted me his blessing. He approved me,¡± shook, the bandit lord desperately appealed with his feeble voice. His rugged hands, tempered and massive, clutched Atuc¡¯s shoulder blade but she felt no force within them. Pitifully weak was his grip, so weak that even a dying child can best him.


    ¡°What if that was a mistake? Wonten is blind after all. What if this is Wonten¡¯s way of trying to correct his mistake?¡± Atuc spoke softly. Bright was her voice and sweet was the lovely smile on her lips.


    ¡°No, no, no, that cannot be, no,¡± the enthralled mind of the giant could only handle so much, ¡°That cannot be,¡± his knees thudded loudly upon Atuc¡¯s shadow, his towering frame halved. His sunbaked skin seemed pale as snow, his prided battle scars seemed fading with the color of his skin.


    Atuc has dreamed of this moment for so long. Slowly, she pulled her husband¡¯s scarred teary head into her generous womanhood, letting the warm smell of her breast milk soothed his enthralled mind. She gently combed his hair with her fingers, as if he was a son of her, the way he wholeheartedly desired, the way he trained her and the other women he picked up to act. She chided him, ¡°Don¡¯t be sadden, dearest husband. Maybe that¡¯s not true. I¡¯m just a stupid woman. Maybe, I am wrong about it.¡± Then, her voice became sharp, ¡°But, he is your enemy. That, I¡¯m not wrong¡± Atuc poured a stream of demonic into the giant in amount as her fingers pointed at one man.


    ¡°Wait, insane bitch, what are you doing?¡± Lajara¡¯s cackles ended.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± Atuc whispered, ¡°He¡¯s your enemy. He¡¯s betrayed you.¡± Atuc grabbed the giant¡¯s head and forcefully turned at Fearless¡¯ direction. ¡°Kill him!!!¡±


    ¡°What are you doing, insane bitch?¡±


    Atuc ignored Lajara and barred the dream demon from its freedom, the freedom Atuc granted out of generosity, preventing the succubus from wrestling over the control of her body. ¡°Just watch,¡± replied Atuc, curtly.


    Bloodbeard¡¯s body shook violently. His thought seemed to be frozen in time. Tears streamed from his eyes. Atuc could feel her husband¡¯s rejection over her demonic suggestion. She could feel his returning will.


    ¡°He¡¯s not my enemy. He¡¯s my uncle,¡± Bloodbeard gritted his teeth and muttered firmly.


    ¡°Can you not see for yourself? He¡¯s just an imposter,¡± Atuc spoke darkly, infusing more power into her words so that the struggle within Bloodbeard¡¯s mind would unravel her power.


    She could feel a tear inside the mind of the giant, between the dark grip of her power and the self-denial desire in Bloodbeard. She felt like laughing at his desire to defend the love and family that he gained, and the desire to prove that they were genuine against all the pieces of evidence presented to him. The thought of killing his deceiver and betrayer, the one Bloodbeard called his uncle, was completely abhorrent and vile to the mind of the enthralled giant. Atuc can feel his rejection. He rejected this suggestion of her as if she has just commanded him to kill himself.


    Which is it? Have you come to love him so much that you are so willing to deceive yourself, even though you have only known him for four days? Have you been starving for affection this much?


    Or perhaps, you believe in your stupid dream and god so much that you became stupid like them.


    Or perhaps, he is just that charming¡­


    Atuc asked herself.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± Atuc hissed darkly and she felt the hold of her spell over the giant¡¯s mind became brittle, as she has suspected it would. ¡°He¡¯s an imposter. He¡¯s not your uncle. He¡¯s your enemy.¡±


    Rugged knuckles flew, hammering wordless rejection upon the cold stones of the bailey. The stones beneath Atuc¡¯s feet cracked.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your manhood? Did you lose it to a lie? Kill him. He¡¯s your enemy.¡± Atuc shouted.


    Atuc¡¯s demonic suggestion became undone in a thunderous roar, ¡°Shut up¡±.


    Rough fingers violently seized her delicate throat from beneath, forming a metallic vice, ¡°Shut the fuck up. This must be your doing. My god would never abandon me. My uncle would never betray me. This is your doing.¡± Tears framed the pinkish scars on Bloodbeard¡¯s face.


    Atuc twisted her face as if she felt betrayed and shocked, ¡°Even now¡­¡± she angrily bit into her inner lips to fight her desire to laugh. Fresh blood seeped out, hot on her angled chin and became hotter when it felt into her mourning dress.


    Even without Lajara¡¯s power, Atuc can feel Bloodbeard¡¯s inability to end her. His fingers may form an iron binding on her neck but they did not hurt her, not one bit.


    ¡°Must you be so blinded like the god you worship, dearest husband?¡± Atuc quietly whispered in sorrow. Contrast to her voice, tears of happiness welled from the corners of her eyes, delighted at sight of the giant¡¯s suffering.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up,¡± Bloodbeard thundered.


    ¡°You choose him over me. Really?¡±


    ¡°Shut up¡­¡±


    Atuc lovingly straddled the scars on her husband face with one hand, ¡°You can¡¯t kill me. You know that. You love me,¡± she whispered, moving her hand to his eyes, blocking his sight, ¡°But must you kill me to realize the truth, do it! When I die in your hands, you will realize the truth.¡± She spoke coldly.


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    Atuc felt the weakness in Bloodbeard¡¯s fingers. They betrayed the tear in his thought, his suffering, confusion, and self-denial. She smiled, rejoined, drawing a sharp silver knife, forged from the bracelets and anklets her first husband made for their child. With one of her hand still covered his eyes, her knife entered Bloodbeard¡¯s unguarded torso and the giant felt its biting hot kiss with his howls.


    The silver knife kissed Bloodbeard repeatedly in maddened red arcs, hot, wet and deep.


    Life and strength suddenly returned howlingly to Bloodbeard, he grabbed Atuc by her wrist. His ticking dwarven bracelet snapped and fell off his wrist when it deflected the final kiss of Atuc¡¯s silver blade.


    ¡°That¡¯s for my son. Saj is his name. You ordered your savages to feed him to the wild dogs. But I doubt that you would remember it,¡± Atuc laughed emotionlessly. Her voice was colder than she has thought, as she stared in the shocked eyes of Bloodbeard whose face darkened by her shadow.


    Atuc used her other hand to claw across the scarred face of the bandit lord once before it was held down like the other. ¡°This is for my husband,¡± she sneered as she watched the claw mark on Bloodbeard¡¯s face turned red with seeping blood, ¡°I don¡¯t even love him. But he was kind to me. He was a good husband to me. You burned him alive as an example to make my city to surrender. Saju is his name, remember that.¡±


    Atuc has dreamed of speaking these lines to Bloodbeard for so long. She even practiced saying them in her dreams. In her dreams, they were as sweet as Lajara¡¯s demonic power. But now, when she has finally said them, strangely, they were not as she imagined.


    Atuc stared down at the kneeling bandit lord, waiting for his response. She waited, and waited and waited patiently until his mind could come to term with the reality.


    ¡°You deceived me? All this time?¡± he asked weakly. His voice was still full of doubts and disbelief.


    ¡°I have dreamed of this moment for so long.¡± Atuc cackled coldly, spitting on his face. Again, she waited to savor the moment when the bandit lord truly realized that he has just been betrayed by the woman he loved the most.


    Fleeting it was, for her, compared to the seven years she has waited and plotted. But for her stupid husband, her bleeding husband, her shocked husband, it must be an eternity for him.


    Slowly he raised to his feet, ¡°Bitch,¡± he cursed, his teeth gritted angrily. He lifted Atuc into the air with his metallic arms as the vice on her neck started to tighten, slowly, little by little, choking the life out of her body.


    Atuc shut her eyes, fighting against her instinct to thrash around and about to live. She would not give Bloodbeard the delight of witnessing her struggle and helplessness. On her lips, an anticipated smile.


    Her mind started to fade as the pain on her neck slowly dulled. Then, they stopped, everything.


    ¡°What the fuck were you trying to do?¡± an angry voice entered her ears, worried.


    Atuc breathed sharply as warm air returned to her deprived lungs. She opened her eyes, ¡°Are you surprise?¡± she asked.


    Within her slowly returning sight, a prince, her prince of passion and adoration appeared. His face paled with worry and anger, a honey treat to Atuc¡¯s eyes. She thought that he has just become a million times lovelier than usual. Atuc gently stroke his princely ashen cheek with her bloodied fingers, staining his face red. Her lips curved, reminding Fearless of the smile he has on his lips when he arrogantly demanded Surprise me! Her fingers amorously traced his lovely lips.


    ¡°You gambled your life for that?¡± Her prince asked Atuc in disbelief.


    ¡°Worth it,¡± Atuc thought and leaned over to taste the sweetness of his lips. She loved the arrogance on his face when she challenged him. She loved the passion and pleasure on his face when he was inside her. She loved the gentle smile on his lips when he whispered her name. But, above all, she loved his furious look that mixed with worry when he rebuked her about calling herself a whore. Atuc sucked on his lips, drawing the air away from his body until there was none left, ¡°You gave me your knife. Now we are almost even.¡±


    ¡°You were keeping a track on the score? You are one terrifying woman, you know that?¡± Fearless breathed out quietly.


    There was something just so beautiful and hypnotic about him whenever he sighed like that. The more Atuc looked at him, the more she understood that Fearless¡¯ sighs were just as magical and skillful as his fingers. If his good look and his beautiful smile had not killed a woman, his sighs would finish them. To kill the creature that knows as women, he only needs to sigh softly. At that moment, millions upon millions of those who were just as foolish as Atuc or her dream demon, they would die at his feet, dreaming of taking away his sorrow with their death. He was the bane of women, born to kill and torment them. Even when he¡¯s not even trying, he still had the power to tug a string in a woman¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Yet, you love me for that.¡± Atuc replied, smiling in a tiny complacent triumphant. She felt his surging passion and lust through the contact of Fearless¡¯ surprisingly strong arm wrapping around her waist. She chuckled softly.


    ¡°Uncle?¡±


    A quiet squeak of a dying mouse entered Atuc¡¯s ears, snapping her out of her trance. Reluctantly, she took her sight away from the enthrallment that was Fearless¡¯ pursing lips. In her eyes, a giant was helplessly pinned to the ground by a pair of demons. One of them was smiling at the giant¡¯s helplessness, the other stared at him with contempt and fury.


    ¡°Are you really that stupid? He¡¯s not your uncle. He¡¯s an imposter. I have just told you so.¡± Atuc sneered coldly at the giant before returning her sight back to where it belonged. With her fingers, she caressed Fearless¡¯ hypnotic lips affectionately.


    Cold was his expression, like the darkest day of winter, like a solid block of ice. His eyes were not focused at Atuc but Bloodbeard¡¯s direction instead, as if desired to etch this moment into his memory, and Atuc was absolutely fine with it, for this moment only. She wasn¡¯t sure if she could allow him to do so in the future. She wasn¡¯t sure what she would do if he continued to look at somewhere else when he¡¯s with her like this.


    ¡°Uncle, please say something. Tell me that it is not true. Please, tell me that you only pretend to go along with her lies.¡± Bloodbeard¡¯s voice made Atuc doubted her ears, forcing her to turn her head toward to check.


    For a man so towering in stature, a man tempered from battles and for battles, a man with the strength to bend steel and break rock with his fists alone, a man who commanded fear with his name alone, his voice was like that of a terrified ten years old boy, sobbingly feeble and helpless. Pinned to the ground, that tearful boy looked at Fearless, begging, and waiting, desperately waiting for but a lie to save his own soul.


    And waiting was exactly what Fearless made that tearful boy do, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting¡­ until a burst of primal laughter took that boy like a starving beast when he has finally resigned himself to the tearing sharp fangs of agony. That boy laughed hollowly as agony shredded him into thin pieces of desolate sobbing that drained of strength. The boy¡¯s tears mixed with his seeping blood and flowed on the stones below him, with the pouring red stream his final hope and dream escaped him. Eventually, even the two demons could not find the cruelty within them to pin down the tormented boy. They stood and watched as that boy slowly and painfully crawled into the embrace of Mistress Death, crying for his mother as he turned into an insidious lump of bones and flesh.


    Looking at the scene, Atuc felt nothing. She has imagined that this moment would squeeze out the sweetness of her long-dreamed-revenge, but no, she felt nothing, not bitterness, sweetness, peace, anger, or anything. Watching that sobbing boy, Atuc asked herself if she had lifted the hem of her mourning gown to accept Fearless¡¯ erected lust in front of that boy¡¯s widened eyes. After that, she would embrace Fearless like a whore, moved, and moan without a sliver of modesty, turning Fearless into an instrument to carry her vengeance, would it feel sweet?


    ¡°Exhausting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    A warm voice poured into her ears, compelling Atuc to turn her head. Dark eyes gazed into the abyss of her soul, ¡°It only feels satisfying and sweet in our imagination. Vengeance is just a method to find closure. It¡¯s not vengeance that we truly desire, it¡¯s closure. You and I delayed our blow for so long that we have come to term with ourselves before we delivered the killing blow, thus making this thing more hollow and exhausting. It¡¯s like we found our closure and yet not.¡±


    Atuc sighed and resigned herself into Fearless¡¯ firm clutch. She did not even realize that he was hugging her all along while watching the final moment of her enemy. ¡°How did you cope with this empty feeling?¡± She asked.


    ¡°I heard that there was a liquid that makes a man forgetful and stupid. So¡­ I took a dip into it. Work extremely well for a while, and then it just does not anymore on one day. And since, it brought me nothing but trouble.¡±


    ¡°What about this?¡± Atuc asked flirtatiously, guiding Fearless¡¯ hand into the lifting hem of her gown.


    ¡°And them as well¡­¡± Fearless admitted wryly.


    ¡°Of course you would¡­. So, do they work?¡± Atuc asked, purring as she felt Fearless¡¯ hard fingers entered her damp slits.


    ¡°Not as I have imagined¡­¡±


    Atuc felt her body started boiling and stiflled her purring sound, ¡°So I have to live with this hollowness until the day I die?¡±


    ¡°Probably¡­ or finding something else you really want to do to distance yourself from it¡­ or something that matter to you more than it¡­¡± Fearless sighed,


    ¡°Goodness, just shut up if you don''t know what you are talking about,¡± Atuc sighed while Lajara was telling her something in the depth of her mind. She ignored the dream demon¡¯s screaming, sealing Fearless¡¯ lips with hers as she pushed him down effortessly.

 Chapter 52: A very long Epilogue

    Epilogue


    Around midday, acting like a professional tour guide, I innocently revealed to Ice and rest of her fellow captives the horrific scene that I have orchestrated, that crimson hell of blood and bone that once was Bloodbeard and his worms.


    It was a painting of hell.


    All of them doubled and started retching for dear life with the exception of those who fainted right on the spot. I waited, demanding them to wake those who have fainted back. I stared at them, watching the horror and betrayal in their expression with cold apathy when they realized that I was not a prince charming who came to their rescue.


    I am a prince and I am charming, yet, I am not their prince charming, nor will I ever be.


    I told them that whatever happened inside that accursed village that Ekar created should remain inside it, otherwise, I would recreate the horrific mess, this time with them as the main ingredients for my next paint job. I was willing to put my faith on them, that despite being made to live like worms they can be human again by their own will since they did not choose to live like that. I doubted that they would, judging from the white on their face.


    At that moment, a random crossed my mind, not an unusual thing since my thought has always been random. Why is Sinintee a God of War and Civilization again? That question was one of the biggest mysteries in the world of ROC.


    Niwdar was the goddess of Nature and Mercy. That made sense because people could always depend on the generosity of nature to survive. Therefore, Nature and Mercy are in a way, complimenting each other.


    Wonten was the god of strength and justice. He upheld the ideal of justice. He protected the laws with his strength. Without strength, there would be no justice. That made sense as well.


    Eogaill was the goddess of wisdom and truth. That made sense as well because wisdom and truth go hand in hand with each other.


    However, War and Civilization are not the same. They don¡¯t go hand in hand with each other, complement each other, or depend on each other. They are not the same.


    I understood that Sinintee was responsible for the creation of the intelligent races in the world of Escana by secretly giving them the first fire. He provided the catalyst to transform beastly beings into intelligent beings. He gave the intelligent races the ability to harvest energy from fire, thunder, wind, water, which was one of the many important aspects of any civilization. However, that was not the core of civilization.


    People needed safety, so they banded together to form their societies, to feel safe. To keep these societies sustainable, first, Law must be established to keep these societies structured. Second, a system of Economy must be established to provide food, water and clothing, goods to supply and feed these societies. Thus, Law and Economy have always been the supreme rulers of civilization, and they had nothing to do with war.


    If Sinintee was the god of Law and Economics, he would definitely be a god of Civilization. Heck, even Wonten and Eogaill was the better representative of civilization. So why Sinintee?


    That question would probably be never answered until I had a face to face talk with Sinintee himself.


    I killed Bloodbeard and his worms. From their corpses, I made an example of those who went against my laws. I created order by simply tell Ice and her fellow captives to respect the laws that I have set for them. I provided them with provisions and housings that Bloodbeard and his worms have robbed from them. By providing these people with these basic things, I have created order and order is the foundation of any society or civilization.


    I did not wage any war. I did not fight a single battle and yet, I have already successfully established a smallest of a model of civilization with this group of captives. In fact, the historical records on Earth were on my side, proving that time and time again, Culture, Laws, and Economics are the supreme rulers of civilization.


    War is wasteful in terms of economy. War destroys cultures. War disrupts laws. War is chaos. Civilization is order. So how Sinintee can be both the god of chaos and order?


    I did not dwell on that thought for long. These things were not even my business. My business was elsewhere. Sometimes, I just hated myself for being a busybody.


    I gave the responsibility to release and take care of other captives, who were locked in the dungeon, to Narik, Narse and my other companions. Erinys and the eight women, I told them to help the captives without giving a flying fuck if they could do that or not. Sometimes, they just have to try. They had to be human again one way or another, so it was better to be sooner than later. Moreover, it was better for them to realize that there were those who were weaker than them and were just as unfortunate or more. That sight could prove tremendously helpful to their progress, but that was just a speculation of mine¡­ so I did not put any hope into that.


    I gave Erinys a quick kiss to her forehead, informing her of her mission and telling her to do her best before sending her off. ¡°If you need something, look for Atuc,¡± technically, I dumped the majority of my responsibility on Atuc.


    I gathered the other captives with Ice¡¯s people in one spot and cast ¡°A strange choice¡± on them. I used ¡°A strange choice four times in a row, putting my mana level in the red zone. I let the golden orbs and spectral fireflies to remove most physical damage that Bloodbeard and his worms inflicted on the captives, most.


    ¡°A strange choice¡± could heal the burns on Ice¡¯s body. It could heal broken bones, bruises, cuts and more. It granted a miracle beyond any miracle that a disciple of Niwdar could conjure, and yet it was not omnipotent, nothing in this world is omnipotent, not even Death. Those swelling bellies, those hollow eyes devoid of hope and strength, those who were already cursed to be scarred forever. I could not heal them. Lives that were lost forever, I could not heal them.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you come sooner?¡± Eyes that marred with hatred directed at me, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you save us sooner?¡±


    I stared at them with cold emotionless eyes, ¡°Do you hate me for not saving you earlier?¡± My eyes were cold, my question colder, encouraging their hatred, the very hatred that directed at me.


    ¡°Yes,¡± gnashing teeth gritted with anger.


    ¡°Then hate me,¡± I commanded them. ¡°It¡¯s alright to do that. However, at the moment, you lack the ability to do that. At the moment, I am stronger than you and so much stronger than your dead enemies. If you want to vent out your hatred on me, you have to be stronger than me.


    So live, I tell you. As long as you are still alive, you still have a chance to take your vendetta on me.


    Eat, build up your strength, steel your heart, sharpen your fangs and talons, be stronger, stronger than you ever were in the past and stronger than you are at the moment, stronger than your tormentors, only then, you have the ability and strength to take out your hatred on me. Otherwise, you won¡¯t amount to anything.¡±


    I knew what it felt like to be them.


    For them, the scarred, the broken and the tormented, they needed something to cling on to live other than the things that they have lost. They felt the desire to blame their loss on something, to take their frustration on something, the desire to find justice and closure. However, I have already weeded out Bloodbeard¡¯s worms to the last with the single exception of One-eye, whose life would prove infinitely useful to Narik and Narse.


    The more I looked at those mentally scarred people, the more it reminded me of a person. These scarred people could no longer vent out their frustration to find a closure inside their heart. Bloodbeard¡¯s worms robbed these people of their lives and loved. I robbed them of their chance of achieving closure, hence I was the greatest injustice of all the injustices in the world. If their hatred for me can give them the strength to stand on their own feet again, that¡¯s a good thing because while I cannot give them the closure they deserved, I can provide them a reason to live.


    Thus, I cackled insanely. ¡°I¡¯m Fearless, Prince of The Alliance. Be stronger than me and strike me down, whenever you feel ready. I can wait. But know that, I will strike back as well. If you ever decide to strike at me, at least give yourself the chances to do so. Don¡¯t make it too boring, too easy for me.¡±


    I have always introduced myself to people with ¡°I¡¯m Fearless,¡± and not ¡°My name is Fearless.¡± The same thing, but the context and the meaning of the two phrases were a world apart. It was precisely that because I can introduce myself as ¡°I¡¯m Fearless¡±, whenever and wherever, that I can tell them to hate me. If I was weaker, if I was not Fearless, I would have accused these people for being weak. I would have attributed their suffering for their inability to protect themselves, their lack of strength. I would have told them that it was wrong of them to hate me and direct their hatred at their lack of strength instead, effectively running away from my responsibility.


    A great man once said, ¡°With great power comes great responsibility.¡± Even though he was but a fictional character on one of Misery¡¯s comic pages, and he died too early after a few pages, there was some truth to his words.


    I remembered there was the time that ROC was easy, super easy. I only needed to do my part, chasing after the back of FY and Misery. The two of them would win the game somehow, even when our schemes and strategies crashed into the iceberg like the Titanic. I have always had a firm belief that the two of them would get the job done, somehow. The games were easy until the moment a strange thought came into my head, ¡°Maybe, just maybe, I am the better Ender.¡± That sounded like ego speaking, perhaps it was. I never voiced it to anyone. Yet, it¡¯s haunting and it stuck inside my mind like a stake.


    Every game after that was¡­ difficult, extremely so, whether they resulted in a win or a loss. Every game of ROC felt like treading through a large pit of quicksand. It was strange that such an innocent question could make such a huge difference. I could not remember when it started specifically, which game, which tournament. By the time I started to be comfortable with the pressure on my shoulders, I was the primary option of the team, an Ender.


    On that day at the World Cup, when FY amended our team¡¯s rotation in the last minute in an effort to deal with the other team¡¯s counter-strategy against his, inside my head, I have already known FY¡¯s answer, somehow, as if it was prophesized to me in my most hidden dreams.


    I was the answer, thus, I acted like one. That game was hard, punishingly hard. When I looked up, there was nobody there, neither FY nor Misery. When I looked to my sides, still nobody. Only when I turned my head around, I could see them. Everyone was looking at me with the same eyes that I used to look at FY and Misery. I was the spearhead and the ultimate weapon. I was the answer, just not the correct answer on that particular day and that particular match. Since, the game became even harder, punishingly harder. Every game felt like a punishment.


    Responsibility was never my things¡­ I can¡¯t even be responsible for my own life... The only time I could be responsible was when I played ROC¡­


    The moment that I realized that my thought has become scattered, I willed myself to ignore my burning up body.


    I just wanted a taste of spirits to feel the burn inside my throat and that strong whack on my temples. I just wanted to find a bed and dropped down on it. I just wanted to sleep now.


    Despite my effort, I kept getting distracted by all manner of things.


    A little bit more, just a little bit more¡­


    Staring at those hollow eyes, I thought that if I took away their chance of closure, it¡¯s only right that I must give them something else in return, at least. I could not take responsibility for their lives. I could not heal them, but time would do that as long as they have a purpose, as long as their hatred for me could carry them.


    I called Ice out for a quick and private conversation. After that, I ordered Narik and Narse alongside some forty captives to clean up the bloodied mess I created. At first, I thought that was easy. Then, when I watched a flock of crows feasted on the corpses of Bloodbeard and his worms, then slowly melted inside out, I realized what kind of nightmare biohazard I have created.


    Dragon Bane killed its victims through the curses imbued within its solution. It was not the poison that killed the victims. It was the curses. To remove curses, proper rituals were needed to be held and magic casters who possessed knowledge of greater blessings to counter the fourteen deadly curses in Dragon Bane were required.


    Why had I never thought about this before?


    In the end, I called an extra thirty men from the captives to help to accelerate the process. I made the cleanup team to soak up the contaminated pool with the soils they dug up from the surrounding area. Then, I made them shoveling those contaminated soils into empty ration bags to be stored in a large barn until I figured out a method to deal with them. As for the remains of Bloodbeard and his worms, I had Bloodbeard¡¯s worms to prepare and stack combustible materials for this moment, making it easier for the cleanup crews.


    I offered another prayer to Death before searching for Atuc who was in charge of providing aids to the released captives. When she saw me, she flung a bag of wine at me, ¡°Fire Wine, strong stuff just like you asked,¡± she said.


    I opened the bag to have a quick gulp, feeling my tongue and my throat being scorched by an inferno. ¡°Thank you,¡± I muttered with a heartfelt appreciation.


    ¡°Goodness, aren¡¯t you afraid that I would serve you your poison?¡± Atuc smiled coldly, tossing me the silver tube that I have given to her. I caught the tube with one hand, gave it a good shake, empty, and tucked it to my belt.


    I knew that Atuc was merely trying to scare me. I cupped her chin, gulped a mouthful of Fire Wine and shared a fiery kiss with her, ¡°Good, now you don¡¯t have to live by yourself, all alone without me,¡± and watched her snickered ceaselessly. I was even surprised at myself for having the spare energy to flirt with her.


    I gave Atuc my final instructions, left the command to her, and retreated to my room on top of the tower. ¡°If you really need me, like really and desperately, break the door. Otherwise, let nobody go near my room. Kill them if you must. Also, take care of Erinys for me.¡± I shared another passionate kiss with her before heading off.


    ¡°What is she to you?¡± Atuc asked, ¡°Why are you giving her such special treatment?¡±


    ¡°Are you jealous of her or what?¡±


    ¡°So what if I am jealous? Yes, I can¡¯t help but feel jealous about her. The fact that you cherish her so much like that makes me can¡¯t help but feel like bullying her a little bit.¡± Atuc smiled with her lips alone.


    I sighed, putting my arm around Atuc¡¯s waist, ¡°Can you not try to taunt me at this moment, please. I know you don¡¯t mean that. But I¡¯m very tired and stressed right now. I don¡¯t know what I might do if I lose my shit right now thanks to your taunting.¡±


    ¡°Goodness, such a selfish man,¡± she said, pecking on my chin, ¡°You ask me to help you with so many things, and yet¡­¡±


    ¡°She reminds me of someone. That¡¯s all.¡± I sighed again.


    ¡°An old torch of yours?¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s a man, a traitor and a quitter,¡± I replied, making sure that my face remained emotionless while I gave her this answer.


    Afterward, I bid Atuc goodbye for real. I had no energy to climb the steep stairs that lead to my room. I teleported twice to get back into my room. After that, I barred the door with my arms heavy as dead logs. I asked myself if this was even necessary.


    Precaution¡­


    I just tossed whatever I could grab with my hand at the door, trying to make it hard for whoever intended to enter the room. Soon, I limped toward my bed. I did not realize just how exhausted I was until I dropped flat on my hay-stacked bedding.


    My entire body felt like the fiery red of my holiday villa when I flooded it with gasoline and turned it into a midnight sun. My brain felt like a witch at a witch trial, a screaming red pyre. I drained the bag of Fire Wine that Atuc has prepared for me without leaving a drop.


    I closed my eyes, hurling myself into the embrace of darkness, knowing my real battle has not even begun.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    There was a time in my life that I have just been convinced to go to Hell after I live out my lifespan. Then, I became sure of that decision and decided to spend the entire length of my afterlife living in Hell.


    But Hell was an unknown place to me. I had no idea how to get there and I wanted to arrive at the correct address just like anyone would. Thus, I tried to expand my knowledge about religions, voraciously studying the Ibrahim¡¯s Bible, Buddhism¡¯s Tripitaka, the Qur''an, the Vedas and many more. I wanted to make sure that I would not screw up and find myself standing in front of the very gate of Heaven or Nirvana or Jannah or some similar places by even a tiny mistake. I studied those holy texts carefully, using them as maps to navigate myself toward Hell while worrying that I might or might not earn enough qualification to arrive at Hell in the afterlife.


    Just like anyone, I encountered many difficulties while navigating my way through those holy texts. The difficulty of studying those holy texts was not reading them since humankind has invented one of the most amazing inventions, audio books. I can listen to them whenever and wherever it suited me, whether I was sitting on a toilet bowl, driving a car, watching ROC matches¡­


    Understanding those holy texts was a giant problem. I had to study them as if I studied a History book, meaning I had to raise many questions, as any student of history would have while running through the texts.


    How much should I trust those texts?


    Which information might be true and which information might not be?


    What is the context of these texts when they were written?


    Those three were just a few of the many basic questions that any student of history would ask whenever they study a historical record. I can put my faith in the Christian¡¯s God, the Hindu¡¯s gods, in the great Buddha himself, in the many other gods, trusting that they are good, pure good. However, putting my faith in their worshippers was another different territory. As long as they are human, I must doubt whatever they say or write, regardless of their disposition as holy men, virtuous saints or sacred monks. Historical records existed to show that it was foolish to believe in the nature of man regardless of their identity and disposition.


    However, even without the existence of a historical record to remind me of that, I can always look at myself in the mirror. If I devoted myself to act like a virtuous man, a saintly person, a person that is purely good, it was extremely easy. If I wanted to twist God''s words to the advantage of my desire, it was even easier. Thus, I had to doubt everything I read or listen.


    Eventually, I have found the address that I wanted to arrive at and the paths that would take me there in the afterlife. Thus, I planned my trip ahead while still living, believing that without a doubt that I would arrive at the place I wanted to be.


    ¡°How did I arrive here?¡± I counted every time that I asked myself that question since I have arrived at the world of Escana in ROC.


    Escana is without a doubt ¡°Hell¡±, but not the Hell that I wanted. I have arrived at Hell just like I always wished, just a wrong kind of Hell, a very wrong Hell.


    ¡°How did I arrive here?¡± I kept asking myself that question and kept counting until the number exceeded triple digits. Trying to accept that I have died was already hard enough, the realization that I have arrived at the wrong address just made my troubles doubled.


    That made no sense to me. I had a million of questions that desperately needed to be answered. But every time I solved one question, ten more would pop up to replace that one question that I have just solved like a hydra regrow its chopped head with more heads.


    I wished that all of these nonsenses and this strange Escana world was the result of my hyper-imaginative mind being imaginative, and I was merely being brain-damaged, currently lying in a hospital bed somewhere. That meant if I died, If I could die one more time, I would arrive at my intended address in the afterlife.


    However, I immediately knew that was just a perfect wish-fulfillment-thought of mine the moment I set my eyes on Her figure.


    There She stood in a garden of blooming white flowers, like a statue, holding a bluish wispy lamp, quietly gazing at me as if she has been waiting for my arrival for a millennium.


    Any intelligent being living in the ROC universe, the souls living in the nine spirit planes or the souls living in Escana, all of them would know Her the moment they saw Her, immediately.


    It is just that easy to know ¡°Her¡± for who she is and what she represents.


    The fact that I mentioned ¡°Her¡± as ¡°Her¡± and ¡°She¡± as ¡°She¡± might sound like I was playing a Pronounce game on Earth, but I was not.


    This was not Earth, no longer Earth. In this place, just by saying ¡°Her¡±, everyone would immediately know whom I was talking about as if I mentioned the ¡°He who must not be named¡± in the Potter universe.


    The black moon of Da Noira Marthias was her home and domain, no gods, goddess, or any Demon Lord dared to challenge that, or her authority. She was the Supreme Ruler of the dead, the Corpse Queen and the Overseer and Arbiter of the Reign of Chaos, Mistress Death herself.


    I was staring at Death in the eyes, literally, while standing inside her garden. Behind her a pair of great bony white gates towering. I should have looked and marveled at the intricacies of those great bony gates, however, their details just blurred out of my vision so that she was the queen, the only queen that mattered, the queen who commanded my undivided attention at this moment.


    Death smiled, pleased, if that inkling of a curve on her pale milky lips could be even called a smile when she saw me bent my knees out of reverence. She lightly pulled the hem of her dress, revealing the silver of her ankles as she regally trotted toward me.


    Why am I here? I asked myself. Was I killed? Did Atuc really pull a fast one on me? Or perhaps, this is a Divine Dream.


    After experienced being inside a Divine Dream, I no longer had any doubt regardless of what a god or goddess or Demon Lord could do to a mortal inside a Divine Dream.


    A Divine Dream is a land where neither reality nor time matters. It could be just a dream, or a flashback, or a nightmare that feels short or endlessly long. It could be a message, a challenge, a tool or whatever the creator of that Divine Dream designed it to be. That was an excerpt from the Wikia page that explained the nature and importance of the Divine Dream in the world of ROC.


    That makes no sense!! I remembered saying something like that when I read that page. Then, I experienced reliving my childhood inside a Divine Dream conjured by Clariciel. I was blown away.


    Since that moment, I have prepared to be trapped inside another Divine Dream as soon as I went to sleep. I was expecting to see a bunch of Demon Lords to appear the moment I went to sleep. After all, I had something they wanted.


    I was expecting to have a talk with Sinintee, Niwdar, and Wonten himself because by now, they would have discovered my existence through Clariciel¡¯s meddling. I was hoping that by banging Atuc on her altar, I got Eogaill to come out of her library to meet me.


    However, no, my prediction and anticipation were off. Death was the first person who came to see me as soon as I went to sleep instead.


    Black was Death¡¯s unadorned long dress, a masterpiece of a creation to perfectly frame the cadaveric white that was her skin and the platinum locks of her hair. Upon more careful inspection, I noticed that her dress was sewed together by millions of living black moths just like her illustration and fan arts that I have seen.


    White was her untouched skin, not that untainted pure white like Iliva¡¯s fair skin, but a morbid white that made even the most fearless man felt the crawling of his own skin when gazing upon such color. The long stretching hem of her living dress dipped behind her and swept up white dandelion-like flowers into the air as she approached me.


    ¡°The man who named himself Fearless, why is he on his knees when he sees me?¡±


    I have expected Death¡¯s voice was like the wail of winter just like the lore of ROC has mentioned. But, hers was like the chime of wind-bells, clear and beautiful, extremely familiar to my ears. That familiar voice made my nape ran cold. I thought I knew whose voice that was, but at the same time, I believed that my mind was playing a trick on me.


    ¡°To show my respect,¡± I replied while being held spellbound by Death¡¯s examining eyes. I have seen her ghoulish eyes in her illustration arts before. Her eyes were dark as the abyss, hollow and empty, like that of a monster. However, when I have finally looked at Death in person, that swirling darkness in Death¡¯s eyes harbored more than just emptiness and horror. She was not a monster but something more terrifying than that.


    I felt the shudder that ran down my spine became more painful than ever. Never before had I felt such a desire to run away from a person.


    Death hid her spreading milky lips behind the forest of her slender fingers, her long nails dark as night, and started chuckling. Her shoulders shook animatedly.


    Is my answer that funny?


    She chuckled as if amused by my answer, ¡°Respect? Are you sure that¡¯s not fear?¡± As her shoulders continued to shake, a small pair of dark wings divorced from her long dress and fluttered in the air and innocently approached me.


    ¡°Respect,¡± I affirmed, inadvertently raising my left hand and the moth nonchalantly rested its wings upon my fingers. Despite being a familiar and messenger of Death, born from her blood, it did not look that different from any moth on Earth, not that I would know anything about a moth, to begin with, just a gut feeling.


    Death blinked her silver lashes, ¡°Respect, why is that? I have done nothing to command your respect,¡± her frigid expression betrayed a tiny surprise when she saw me received her familiar.


    Now, she¡¯s just playing with me, I thought. However, her words have confirmed my greatest suspicion to me that she has seen my memories, without a doubt. In my entire life, I have only genuinely bent my knees to the heels of two goddesses. The first was a tyrannical insane bitch who believed that she was a goddess. The second was Beauty herself. Death was asking me which of the two reasons that I knelt to her.


    ¡°I ask you to forgive my insolence. I believe that modesty is a virtue to enshrine. However, your modesty in term of your look is a great sin to all the women in the world.¡± Gathering my knowledge about Death, I replied.


    Death smiled mysteriously, slowly extending her hand waxy white hand toward me, ¡°You may kiss it,¡± she demanded.


    If I were not already sure that Death has seen my memory, she has unabashedly just confirmed to me that she has seen my memory with her demand.


    I slowly held Death¡¯s hand while avoiding making any strange and questionable movement. Her white waxy hand was completely devoid of human warmth, cold, repulsively cold and unlike anything that I have ever felt. Slowly, I planted my lips on Death¡¯s fingers while feeling my body warmth seeped out of my body through the brief contact with Death.


    Praise be the Corpse Queen,


    She who rules the dead


    Yet neither dead nor alive.


    I remembered a few passages that described Death in the lore of ROC. I have never understood how someone can be neither dead nor alive at the same time, until now. Despite the coldness of her body, Death¡¯s skin was elastic and soft like that of the livings. Emanated from Death was not the raw aroma of festering and decaying fleshes or that horrid mushy smell of dead, on a contrary, she smelled like a bouquet of spring flowers.


    ¡°You are a bad man,¡± Death commented, wearing a mysterious smile on her lips, telling me that she realized that I was checking on her pulses while holding her hand.


    ¡°You misunderstand me, my Lady. Your complexion doesn¡¯t look very good, so I was checking on your health to see if you were alright.¡± I lied barefacedly, knowing that Death would not be offended by such white lie.


    ¡°Then what is your opinion after you have checked the condition of my health?¡± Death played along with my lie.


    ¡°You are the image of health, my lady. I¡¯m somewhat envious of your condition,¡± I replied. Death has pulses, so that meant she¡¯s pretty much alive, yet her body was cold. Does that mean her blood is cold like crocodile and frog? That, or she¡¯s not Death but someone else who pretended to be¡­


    ¡°Envy? You are the only person who would tell me something like that. What¡¯s it about me that makes you envy?¡±


    ¡°Your hands are very cold, my Lady. My people have a proverb saying that people with cold hands have a warm heart, the colder the hands, the warmer the heart. You would be very much loved by my people if you lived in my world.¡±


    ¡°You really know how to flatter a woman. But careful, that only works against me.¡± Death playfully pinched my lips with her thumb and index as she warned.


    I let Death pinched my lips until she was bored of it to make my reply, ¡°I¡¯m thankful for the lesson. But, please forgive me for attempting to rectify your word¡­I wasn¡¯t trying to flatter you, my lady. They are my honest words.¡±


    ¡°Honest? If you are an honest person as you claimed, all the liars in this world must have disappeared.¡±


    ¡°I am an honest liar.¡±


    Death cocked her head back and laughed, hiding her pearly white teeth behind her ghostly white hand. Her laughter doubled her body with impunity, ruffling her lanky shoulders and ample chest. The white dandelion-like flowers inside her garden lifted and sprang into the air in a stream of silver vortex with the sound of Death¡¯s laughter, a spectacle to behold.


    When her laughter has finally subsided, Death gazed at me and said, ¡°I have forgotten when the last time someone made me laughed this much was. You, the one who called himself Fearless, you have pleased me. If you have any question for me, ask now, I will enlighten you out of respect for your talent.¡±


    I was under the suspicion that the woman who stood in front of me was Clariciel in disguise all along.


    However, the moment she broke into her laughter, I was sure that she was not Clariciel. I thought carefully on what kind of question I should ask Death in person and decided to be bold. ¡°Then, allow me to be indulged in your generosity. Am I admiring your beauty through a Divine Dream? Or perhaps, this is the reality?¡±


    ¡°Why do you even think that this is a Divine Dream?¡± Death tilted her head with such a ladylike movement and inquired with a mischievous smile on her pale waxy lips.


    ¡°Thank you, My Lady, for that question of yours has just confirmed two of my biggest suspicions.¡± I matched Death¡¯s mysterious smile with a cocky smirk on my lips.


    ¡°I can start to see why she asked me to be extremely merciful to you.¡±


    ¡°So Clariciel asked you to do this. Until now, I was suspecting that she has transformed into you to have this conversation with me or something.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think so?¡± Death furrowed her eyes.


    The moment Death asked me that question, many things became clear inside my head. I started cursing at Clariciel inwardly, despairing at her godlike stupidity.


    Fucking meathead of a goddess. Why are you so stupid? Aren¡¯t you supposed to take after your aunt? Why the fuck are you so stupid? Why all the people I have met in this world are so fucking stupid?


    ¡°Thank you, your answer has confirmed something to me. You are not just speaking to me by mimicking Clariciel¡¯s voice in this dream. You demanded her voice as a price to meet me in this dream. Am I correct to think so, my lady?¡± I asked Death in the most respectful tone, without any arrogance or flirtatiousness.


    ¡°I have yet met someone as smart as you in a while.¡± Death nodded her head, smiling. Death¡¯s jolly mood seemed to be resulting from the fact that she had the chance to test her new voice on me.


    Fuck you Clariciel. Your mom must have taught you to not make a deal with Death¡­ why? It was not worth it at all¡­.


    I had no idea how Death managed to trick Clariciel to give up her voice. I had no idea what made Clariciel thought that it was a good idea to strike a deal with Death. However, I knew that I was one of the reasons. Had I received the package from back then, this shit would probably never happen.


    Why didn¡¯t I just receive it back then? Was I afraid of receiving some stupid letters? I cursed myself.


    Other than their importance in the lore, the twelve Valkyria were the poster girls and mascots of ROC. They were more popular than their mother, the goddess of Nature Niwdar herself, the one people believed to be the most beautiful woman in the universe of Escana. While the twelve Valkyria never appeared in the multiplayer mode, the popularity of the Valkyria among the fans allowed them to appear in everywhere else.


    For instance, the entrance that leads into the ROC Hall of Fame to immortalize the greatest of ROC pro-players in the history were decorated with twelve life-size bronze statues of the twelve Valkyria standing in attention. Players who were inducted into the Hall of Fame would walk on a regal red and golden carpet that led them into the Great Hall of the Immortal. As they walked on the red carpet, players would be greeted by the twelve Valkyria standing on both sides of the carpet in their respective set of weapons and armors.


    The Valkyria also appeared as game icons and in between of the loading screens. The Valkyria was so popular among the fans that the developers of ROC developed a virtual assistance Valkyria-Helper, not so much different from Cortana or Siri, in fact, this virtual assistance was inferior to those two. However, Valkyria-Helper had twelve sets of voice and personalities that based on the twelve Valkyria in the lore of the Escana series. Whenever the players received emails, social messages, news, or in-game cosmetic loot boxes, their chosen Valkyria would appear on their PC screen or portable devices and informed them. Hilda, the Fallen Valkyria was set up as my virtual assistance.


    Yet, Clariciel was the one who showed up to deliver my package¡­


    As quickly as possible, I weaved my suspicions and thoughts into a cohesive picture and cleaned my throat, ¡°Lady Clariciel¡¯s voice is beautiful, but it is raw and untrained like that of a teenage girl. Besides, it lacked range and weight, it lacked everything when you compared to mine. I think my voice would suit someone as mature and beautiful as you better, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Yours?¡± Death asked, raising her heavy white lids as if amused.


    I nodded my head, started to sing in falsetto and slowly changed gears to showboat my innate gifts. Falsetto became Spinto, then Baritenor, downed to Bel Canto and then all the subcategories of bass. Then I swallowed a gulp of saliva to clean my throat, singing in soprano then fell into mezzo-soprano and finally all the variations of the contralto. I was reminded of one of the many reasons why the nickname ¡°Princess¡± was attached to me until my high school years.


    ¡°This, my lady, is a gift that I was born with. This is something that can never be taught. Furthermore, I trained and polished it through the years. And I believe that this range is the most befitting for someone of your stature, my lady, unlike the voice you are using,¡± I spoke to Death in a most queenly deep voice.


    Death smiled, but her smile was no longer mischievous but sneering, ¡°Such a gift. And yet, you are willing to part with it. Why is it matter to you whether that child has lost her voice or not?¡±


    ¡°That moron is not a problem. Her mother is. I especially have no desire of getting into a conflict against Lady Niwdar if possible. If Lady Niwdar learned that I played a part in making her daughter losing her voice¡­¡± I sighed heavily, dropping my shoulders, ¡°I really don¡¯t want to imagine that scenario. I rather pick a fight with even the Great Sinintee himself and all the Other at the same time than being at odds with Lady Niwdar.¡±


    Death was known to be extremely kind and benevolent toward her subjects and potential subjects, knowing that I hoped that Death would be willing to give me a leeway.


    ¡°Then, that¡¯s easy. You just have to become my champion,¡± Death smiled as if she has already expected me to give such reply from the beginning.


    I blinked my eyes, staring at that morbidly smile on Death¡¯s lips blanking out. I have expected everything, my best scenario and worst and everything else in between, but not this. In the worst case, I prepared to pick a fight with the Demon Lord, not just one or two or three, most of them and their representatives or die trying, but not before pissing off Sinintee and his siblings as well.


    Death was the Overseer of the Reign of Chaos, the judge, and referee of the endless wars between the champions of the gods and the Demon Lords over the administration of Escana. The multi-player mode of ROC was a representation of what happened if the players were the gods and Demon Lords, fighting for the very soul of Escana.


    Death¡¯s role in the Reign of Chaos is a neutral one, always, since the first Divine war. She appeared in both the ¡°Defeat¡± and ¡°Victory¡± screen. Also, she has never championed anyone in the Lore.


    So, why me? Did she take away Clariciel¡¯s voice to force this decision on me? For what purpose?


    I stood, staring at Death in the eyes. ¡°That is an honor beyond my stature,¡± I could not understand why Death would champion me if her role were neutral in the war. My brain processing speed was already working at its maximum speed, and still, I had no answer.


    ¡°Are you surprise that I would make such an offer?¡± Death asked, obviously pleased by my complexion.


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± I nodded my head, speaking true for the first time since we had our conversation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame you. Right now, Naharis¡¯ children are still squabbling among themselves on whether or not they should kill you or leave you alone.¡±


    And not fight for the right to champion me as their representative?


    As if Death could read my inner thought, she chuckled, ¡°They have made a new rule among themselves to not pick you as a representative.¡±


    Are these fuckers looking down on me? Did they believe that I am lesser than Bloodbeard or something?


    No, if that were the case, then they should not even consider killing me as an option.


    What the fuck? Why me?


    ¡°I wonder if the reason why URLOX is so harsh on you is because you are their most beloved.¡± Death smiled mysteriously.


    ¡°URLOX? You mean the devs?¡±


    ¡°We call them the Creators out of our respect for creating this universe.¡±


    If my life from the moment I arrived at Escana until this moment was turned into a movie, I am willing to bet that an M. Night Shyamalan wannabe was responsible for the script. WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?


    Death smiled and waved her hand, her garden of white flowers eroded completely by a swarm of fluttering black moths. I blinked my eyes out of reflex when the little moth resting on my hand took flight as well, flapping its dark wings in front of my eyes.


    I stood in the ROC Hall of Fame with Death standing next to me. Confused, I looked around, trying to find the clue, any clue. Then, it suddenly dawned on me that this was not the ROC Hall of Fame to induct the greatest and most influential pro-players.


    This is Naharis¡¯ throne room.


    My eyes locked on the ultimate prize of the Reign of Chaos, the vacated Great Throne of Kings that the dark god Naharis has left behind. On the Great Throne, a white ivory skull of Naharis rested with a golden crown on top of it. The person with the Golden Crown on his head while sitting on the Great Throne would be the Supreme Ruler of Escana.


    ¡°This is where your problem began,¡± Death said, ghoulish black eyes gazed at the throne.


    Silver flames suddenly spewed from the ivory skull of Naharis, swirling around the Great Throne as if it was a serpent. The flame danced, coiling around the throne before sinking into the great throne to form words.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Upon the 14th great eclipse,


    A prince shall arrive.


    All the nine planes of spirits shall know his name,


    Escana shall be painted in his color,


    For whoever has him


    Shall win the Throne.


    Death read the prophecy aloud and I repeated the words left behind by the silver flame, again and again, and again and again, for as many times as I must. My hands started digging into my scalp and my legs have already started stomping at the ground below me, ¡°FUCK YOU DEVS. ARE YOU SHITTING ME? FUCK YOU ALL. DO YOU THINK MY LIFE IS A FUCKING JOKE? FUCK YOU. I HAVE ENOUGH OF YOUR BULLSHIT.¡±


    I started reciting all the names of the people involved in the developing team of ROC and cursed them all. When I ran out of the name, I began to curse my own fans. I cursed and kept on cursing. I stopped caring about my image even in the presence of Death.


    I heard many clicking sounds within my head.


    The first click made me realized the reason I found Enferm¨¦ and Dragon Bane inside the temple. I was given two ultimate weapons to fight against the immortals. Thus my enemies were immortals.


    The second click sounded and I realized that Bloodbeard was a test. My best option was to fail that test, running away from Bloodbeard to prove that I had no desire to fight a war.


    The third click came, and I realized that I have owned Clariciel a giant debt.


    Then came the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth click. I knelt to Death again, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my unbecomingness, my Lady.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I like watching you more when you are honest.¡± Death continued to wear her mysterious smile.


    ¡°Will you indulge me in your benevolence and give me some insight?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°What is your intention by making me your champion?¡±


    ¡°What if I told you that I want that throne?¡± Death joked.


    ¡°Then, I¡¯m very sorry. You will not have it even if I become your avatar. I will fight no war.¡± I answered firmly, leaving no room for guessing while knowing very well that Death was only lying about that.


    ¡°And yet, you have scored the first blood in this war.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my rejection toward whoever trying to involve me in this war.¡±


    ¡°So wise of a man, but also just as foolish. Can you guess what happens if you rejected my offer?¡± Death snickered, hiding her teeth with her hand.


    ¡°I will arrive at your Great Hall, one way or another.¡±


    ¡°What if I tell you that you will nott?¡± Death asked coldly.


    I stared at Death, trying to figure out the meaning of her riddled words.


    ¡°You shall know a true death, but you will never arrive at my Hall. Your soul and flesh shall be divided into equal portions for each of the children of Naharis to possess. That would ensure that every one of them has an equal chance of winning the throne.¡±


    I paused to absorb the news and then chuckled. The immortals in this world have a funny of solving dilemma.


    ¡°For whoever has him shall win the Throne.¡± That meant, ¡°If anyone has Fearless, that person wins the throne.¡± The problem is ¡°There is only one Fearless. So who can have Fearless?¡±


    ¡°If Fearless cannot be possessed by anybody, everybody should have a piece of Fearless.¡±


    Sharing is caring. Great!!!!


    ¡°For whoever has Fearless, even if Fearless was no longer himself, full and wholesome, just a fraction of himself, just tiny piece, that person can win the throne. Therefore, everyone should have a piece of Fearless.¡±


    Such great problem-solving decision. I want to meet the genius who came up with such an ingenuity of a solution.


    While chuckling, I believed that I have already realized the identity of the genius who solved that dilemma. And yet, there were three things that I did not understand.


    ¡°My Lady, what do you gain by making me your champion?¡± I asked Death that question once more to let her know that changing the topic of the conversation was a known trick of mine.


    ¡°Because I want you,¡± Death smiled, ¡°Everything about you, your soul, your bravery, your fear, your emotions, your love, your body, and your kiss,¡± Death traced my lips with her long fingers before sealing mine with hers.


    In all honesty, Death was an inexperienced kisser, so inexperienced that she gave Dragon Bane, the poison that known as the Kiss of Death and the poison that made anybody who has tasted the Kiss of Death to crave for more, a bad name. Yet, that made Death¡¯s kiss numbing to me, as the realization that I was definitely the first and only man who came to know the taste of her lips.


    Never had I tasted such a strange kiss. It was numbing, a kiss that left a person numbed, cold and frozen, a winter-like kiss. Death¡¯s lips tasted like winter, piercingly cold as if they were forged from ice that can never be molten, yet soft as virgin snow.


    I did not actually know whether I liked Death¡¯s kiss or not until she stopped, putting but a hairbreadth of a distance in between the two us. I can feel the floral aroma of Death¡¯s breath brushing against my face.


    ¡°Is this considered as necrophilia or not?¡±


    Death¡¯s spread her waxy lips invitingly. And before I knew it, ¡°Fuck it, who cares¡± I pursued those winter-like lips like the mindless horny moron that I was. Something just never changed.


    Knowing that I was kissing the aspect of death and ultimate destruction made my mind numbed, numbed in a bad way, the excited way. The painful shudders that branded on my nape and spine became even more painful when I invaded Death¡¯s mouth with my tongue, and yet, those shudders became addicting when they became even more painful and unbearable when I realized that it was Death who I was kissing. I tasted Death¡¯s tongue, squeezing out its numbing sweetness like sucking on an ice-cream in the coldest days of winter. Never had I experienced such a cold kiss that it made me numbed and breathless.


    I became connected to Death in more than just the fleeting crystal bridges of our saliva. Her cold hands straddled my chest after they have all but roamed all over my body. Mine seemed lost in an adventure, sank in a snowy deep mountain range in one moment, then trapped in the watery abyss of Death¡¯s slit in the next, but never alone, always accompanied by Death¡¯s guarding yet inviting hand.


    With my caressing fingers, I taught Death the torment of unfulfilled canal desire, a craving that only bred more terrible craving. With my kisses, I let Death experienced a fever that brought about both pain and sweetness, a fever of passion.


    After that, everything was a blur, an endless and painful wrestle of summer haze and winter howl over a shared desire of a consummating union. My breath steamed white launched an assault on her soft breasts. Her silver cold mist brushed against my cheeks, filling my nose with sweet floral aroma. Then, things just became a blur of drifting mist and boiling steam. No longer had I possessed the clarity to know whose hands were whose, which were mine and which were hers, the one that hungrily changing my black suits to my birthday suit or the ones that plucking away those obstructing black wings in a frenzy. It was a great and painful blur that devoid of clarity, but I felt my tormented craving for such blur was just as great as Death¡¯s. It did not matter to us who were pulling whose body to the ground. It did not matter if my heated fever burned away her white cadaveric flesh into a pinkish color or if her numbing coldness just sucked away my soul and my everything through the contacts of our naked skin. It did not matter to us whose eyes were whose and whose reflection was whose. It was an inception of inception. Teary ghoulish dark eyes, which were impregnated with the torment of carnal pleasure, joy, and pride over a hardened object of lust, reflected inviting dark eyes that swelled in awe and marvel inside another pair of ghoulish dark eyes.


    Then there was a brief moment when time seemed to stop and movements were all but petrified, and heart just forgot to beat. At that moment when my thought was all but lost, the black wings were all but a flock at the distant background, a distort blur to highlight the glossy sight of Death¡¯s naked sweaty body that blushed red with my emanating fever. There was no need for words of flattery. There was no need for any fruitless search and vain attempt to praise such sight. That stillness of movement from a man who was all but lost in the abyss of lust was the best compliment to such picturesque sight.


    At that moment, in this fleeting stillness of movement, I regained a tiny fragment of clarity. I was reminded of that a popular elven proverb:


    Gold is Niwdar


    Red is Lust


    Black is Death


    The most beautiful woman on the golden moon was Niwdar. The undisputed queen of beauty on the red moon was Lust and on the black moon, nobody can contest with Death. However, I was sure that at this moment, nobody in this universe could contest with Death. No force in this universe could stop Death, not even the most unlikely a tag team of Niwdar and Lust could stop it.


    Death plucked my lips, pleased by my absentness and stillness. The longer my lips were sucked into Death¡¯s waxy lips, the louder the howl of winter winds inside my head became. The wetter the sound produced by my own tongue that was busy teaching the joy and torment carnal pleasure to its inexperience partner, the whiter my thought became. When Death moaned, Clariciel¡¯s voice echoed inside my head, repulsive. When Death let me marvel her blushed flesh, Niwdar¡¯s body branded my mind, revoltingly nauseating. It was this moment that I have realized that this was no illusion and Death was not playing me for a fool. If I were under the suspicion that Death was only conjuring this illusion to trick me while watching from afar, now, that suspicion was gone. Death let me touch her flesh for real.


    Then stillness fell upon us again when Death wrapped her cold fingers around my sizzling red-hot blade like a scabbard of winter, preventing me from piercing her inner flesh with it.


    I gazed at my own reflection in Death¡¯s eyes, a fool lost in his own lust, a man with dick for a brain. Death, she was like a maiden on her marriage night, torn between her shyness and desire. She barely hid that shyness branded on her lips through the gaping opens of her clutching freed hand. The two of us were like the lead actor and the lead actress in the middle of a romantic scene from an R-rated movie, and yes, actor and actress we were. Death put an innocent kiss on my chin, wordlessly telling me everything that I needed to do before she would free my blade.


    ¡°What do I gain by becoming your champion?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Everything I have to offer,¡± Death whispered into my ears in a delighted voice.


    My body shivered, betraying the swelling of a whirlpool of desires within me, ¡°Will you return Clariciel her voice in exchange for my voice if I ask?¡± I returned Death¡¯s playful kiss with a mirrored kiss.


    ¡°My body would be yours if you decided to be my champion, my one and only champion. Whatever you desire to do with it is your freedom to decide,¡± Death blew into my ear, straddling my shaved chin.


    ¡°What is my duty as your champion?¡±


    ¡°Live for me, die for me.¡±


    ¡°That sounds very charming, but what does that mean, specifically?¡±


    ¡°Worship me as your one and only true goddess, no one else. That and administrating my justice, and of course, love me, do not betray me.¡±


    I sank my lips into Death¡¯s ample chest for a fierce and sounding kiss, ¡°Are these your justice?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Death chuckled and sank her teeth into my earlobe, ¡°But no, rain punishment on all the worshippers of the false gods. Make those ignorant children know that there is only but one Goddess in this world, her name is Death.¡±


    I kissed on Death¡¯s ample chest for the last time, ¡°Then, my lady, you have already found your champion,¡± while desperately trying to free my blade.


    Death twirled like a breeze of winter out of my arm. She straddled my cheek as if apologizing for leaving me cold. Her caressing fingers were soundless honey-coated promises of our long and passionate future to come. ¡°That can wait,¡± Death whispered apologetically, mischievously pecking on my chin.


    Death cut her wrist with her sharp nails. Black blood oozed out from the gash. ¡°Drink my blood and swear an oath to me. Swear that you would love me and that you would live to fight and to die for me as your one and only goddess.¡±


    Death could not hide just how long had she waited for this moment. So was I, I was literally dying for this moment to come.


    Thus, I scratched my head as if confused, ¡°Why?¡± I asked, ¡°You have already found your champion. Why do you even need me?¡±


    Death stared at me, blankly for a full ten second, finally realizing that she has been lead on.


    I could not wait any longer to wear the most vicious sneering smile on my face, ¡°Time is your champion, is it not? Time will administrate your justice. Time will make those people realize that you are their sole, their one and only supreme ruler after time claim them. Time will punish their ignorance. Time will never betray you, unlike someone like me. Oath or no oath, if I must betray you, I will. You must have seen that from my memory, my lady.¡±


    ¡°You are breaking my heart,¡± Death¡¯s chuckle became cold with the sound of her gnashing teeth.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I do, you have already seen that in my memory. Yours was not the first that I broke and it will not be the last.¡± I smiled dastardly.


    ¡°So wise a man, why is such a wise man making such a foolish decision? Does he not know that his fate is beyond salvation if he rejected my offer?¡± Death asked and sharply waved her hand, ordering her black moths to return to where they were originally.


    ¡°My lady, you have watched my memory. You have seen what I have seen. You have heard what I have heard. And yet, despite all of that, why don¡¯t you feel I feel? Why can¡¯t you understand me? Am I that difficult to comprehend of a man to you?


    If that were the case, please allow me to say it in words with brutal honesty so we can understand each other better.


    Firstly, I don¡¯t know anything about you, my lady, except a bunch of groundless rumors and myths, but we can get to know each other at any time and at our own pace. However, I don¡¯t like the fact that you held Clariciel¡¯s voice hostage to force me into accepting your offer. I don¡¯t appreciate the thought that despite that you are the woman I was holding and making love to, and yet it appeared to me that I was violating lady Niwdar of her purity and dignity. I am honestly disgusted by that.


    Secondly, I will not champion your justice, my lady, especially your justice. I AM the greatest injustice, please let me remind you of that. I will conduct my injustice whenever and wherever the presence of my injustice is required, must I ally myself with justice to conduct my injustice, I will do that. However, I refuse to champion justice.


    Thirdly, I have knelt to the thighs of many goddesses. I would love to kneel before your thighs, your real thighs, my lady. But you can never ask me of my complete devotion, love and respect the same way my one and only Goddess has commanded me.


    Lastly, you ask me to swear a sacred oath to you, to form a bond with you, a bond forged from deceits and threats. I am a stupid man, the most moronic of a man but I know truth from lies. You cannot possibly believe that I would agree to forge such a bond with you, my lady. You ask me to be truthful with you. You ask me to never betray you. You ask me to bind myself to you while you are lying to me.


    How could you possibly ask me to agree to such a thing, my lady? Thus, allow me to humbly return your kind gesture. I have nothing else to say now, my lady. Do you have any? I will listen now.¡±


    ¡°Arrogance, arrogance, arrogance, such arrogance.¡± Death shook her head in disappointment, ¡°I feel as if I am talking to Pride.¡±


    ¡°You call it arrogance. I call it bold and brutally honest. That¡¯s our difference, my lady. I¡¯m trying to tell you that.¡± I replied, wearing a serious look for once.


    ¡°What do you gain by rejecting my offer, he who knows no fear? Would your little Valkyria regain her voice? Would your little spider be rewarded for her devotion? Would your doll be protected? Would your whore be loved? What do you stand to gain by going against me? I am your only ally, the only person who can protect you from the children of Naharis.¡± Death locked her scornful eyes on me.


    ¡°I can see that this is your first attempt of establishing a relationship, my lady,¡± I sighed, ¡°What I am trying to do at this moment is explaining to you my lady of our differences. In order for us to forge our bond, we have to put our difference aside first.


    I¡¯m asking you to take a blind leap of faith with me, my lady. Please return Clariciel of her voice and Lady Niwdar of her body. Please appear before me with your real self. I cannot make love to you while you are still speaking in Clariciel¡¯s voice and wearing Lady Niwdar¡¯s body.


    If you do that, you have to accept the risk that I might not hug you and kiss you the same way I kissed this borrowed body of yours. But you will definitely have my utmost respect for your bravery, my lady. Because any person who did something like that for me while knowing what a liar and betrayer I am, that person deserves nothing but my ultimate respect¡­ even if my respect is nothing but a consolation prize to you and has no value.


    I¡¯m asking you to reveal your secrets to me, my lady. No more lies or beating around the bush, my lady. I¡¯m asking you to do that while knowing that I might or might not cross you, my lady. You have to accept the fact that even though you have to go in blind, knowing that there is a chance that I would refuse to forge a bond with you.


    This is what a genuine relationship looks like, my lady, to me at least. Every decision feels like a gamble and they are gambles. It feels like we have to compromise everything to pursue something so risky and shaky, so fragile and tiny. It feels like we have much more to lose than what we can receive.¡±


    I inwardly told myself that I should have just accepted Death¡¯s offer quietly and graciously. Being her champion, I would have removed myself from the war as a true paragon of neutrality. Becoming Death¡¯s champion, I would have received her protection from the participants of the Great War. Yet, I made the most bullheaded decision that I could have made and mouthed her off.


    Death stared at me, stunned, and then cackled coldly behind her guarding fingers, ¡°You, the man who knows no fear, I want to have you at my side, now, even more so than before. I wonder why. You have ridiculed and shamed me. You have rejected me. I wonder why. If you are so wise, can you tell me?¡± Death asked.


    I stayed quiet, completely understanding the hidden barbs of Death¡¯s cackle. I watched Death waved her hand, anticipating the worst. A bluish screen appeared within the depth of my mind, a small notification screen.


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    ¡°I have promised the little lady to do that. I might as well do that now,¡± Death darkly explained, ¡°While you can still receive it.¡± She wore a dark smile on her waxy lips. ¡°You told me that time is my champion, did you not? Then let time be my champion. Let time punish your ignorance. Let time convince you that your fate should be with me and not someone else. Let time make you feel like you want me as much as I want you.¡± Death announced.


    Suddenly, everything became black.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I had no idea for how long I have floated among the crashing tides of darkness, following the cold tides to a place beyond the reach of the light, without any sense of direction.


    It was one of those dreams that I have seen repeatedly, one of the best dreams that I have ever had. However, when I described it to my psychiatrist, she adamantly called it a nightmare.


    There was no cicada inside that dream, nor there was blood or anything else that made me suffered. It was just me, the sound of the cold clashing tides and a perfect world of swirling darkness. How could it be a nightmare? I argued.


    How could it be a nightmare?


    A real nightmare was a bright blistering day of summer that filled with the chirping of the cicadas when Mrs. H? ??ng sent me off to school with the sweetest kiss in the world.


    A real nightmare was a vanilla summer day when Th¨´y D??ng sent me off to work from our holiday villa with the usual tyrannical smile on her rosy lips when she told me to gently feel her swollen stomach.


    My other self called them his dreams. I called them nightmares. Not once have we come to an agreement on this subject.


    Those were the real nightmares. They were so visceral, so beautiful, so vivid that they were real. I actually believed that gods have given me another chance to make it right. I fought them, the worst of demons and worms, and won every single battle. In those nightmares, I was beyond godlike. I knew how to squash them, the worms. I knew how to break them, the damned demons. I was so much better than Tom Cruise ever was in Edge of Tomorrow.


    I won not only the battles but the wars as well, singlehandedly every single time.


    I married Mrs. H? ??ng. And I was there, sitting on a chair, waiting as I listened to Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s painful bellows. I clutched my hands together, praying to all the gods and goddesses that I knew like a helpless moron. My heart felt like it has forgotten how to beat until a quiet cry of a baby entered my ears to relieve me of my worry.


    That¡¯s worst things ever. And then, I woke up, just like that.


    I was always in a strange place and a strange bed. Around me, women, some whose name I do not even know until this day, sleeping, naked. Men who I hardly remembered their name, naked, sharing a blanket with me.


    I can win. We were strong enough to win those battles, either one of us, Ph¨²c or me. I have always known that. If I were there, or he was there, if he skipped school on that day, if I did not sit on my usual seat and played in the Final of the World Cup on that day, the world would be so much different.


    Yet, I did not have the chance to fight those battles. I wasn¡¯t there to fight those battles. I lost both the battle and the war without even having a chance to fight them. Yet, the hammer of justice dictated that those worms should have a fair chance of achieving redemption, to be human again, no matter how long. I disrupted the court only to point my finger at the worms, asking a very honest question, ¡°Do they look like they want redemption to you, your Honor?¡± The hammer fell anyway, and history was made like that.


    ¡°Tao m?t,¡± B?ch ??i Ph¨²c said only two words, ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± in Vietnamese and disappeared before I could tell him my words. Life without Th¨´y D??ng was already hard enough. My other half ditched me as well, did not even attempt to fight. He quitted, just like that, ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± he said and then, he left me. He only reappeared whenever it suited him and then disappeared to god-knows-where. That was a dick move. That was a clear violation of the bro-code. That was a nightmare.


    That is what a real nightmare looks like, anything less than that is just the regular kind of nightmares, the cheap kind of horror movies. And those cheap horror movies, you only feel afraid for a while, a night or two, then you forgot about them, their entire plot and existence. Therefore, whenever I had that argument with my psychiatrist regarding whether those dreams were nightmares or those nightmares were a dream instead, it lasted forever and then the next thing I knew, I woke up with her by my side in a hotel bed.


    The cold water, the pitch-black world, the sound of the crashing waves, they brought me no pain. Therefore, I had a hard time understanding why Death conjured this dream to punish me.


    However, I wasn¡¯t sure if I have ever seen those tiny bluish wisps that floated on the dark water surface in this dream, like ever. Those tiny flames lined in two columns, lightened a small path in between that stretched to infinity and beyond. Knowing that this was Death¡¯s challenge, I swam and swam I did, not knowing what is waiting at the end of the path.


    I had no idea how long I must have swum until I discovered that the wisp-lit path would never end no matter how much further I would swim. This would never end and never would I see the goal.


    Epic tasks, impossible missions, this was one of those. Within this dark lucid dream, I was clear about that and still, I swam. There was no reason for me to swim, other than simply to annoy Death. But there was also no reason for me to not to swim, either. So, I just swam.


    I kept on swimming in that dark water. There were moments where my arms and legs seemed to give up. I would fill my belly with so much air that I would float like a balloon to take a rest. Once I felt rested, I was back to swimming again. When I was hungry, I filled my stomach with the dark tasteless water. When I had to pee, I peed¡­ simple. When I felt like sleeping, I tried to explore the uncharted territory of unihemispheric sleeping like dolphins despite being human. I must have nearly drowned a thousand times before I figured out a method to cope with my situation. Just a few seconds in every once in a while, that was enough.


    This darkness and this impossible challenge reminded me of a boy and his sister.


    That boy was never much of a swimmer. Whenever the boys in my class had their swimming lessons, that boy was finding comfort beneath some cool shades, playing some random songs with a leaf on his mouth, always.


    It was until the boy¡¯s sister was struck with inspiration to show him her bikini swimsuit, the first one that she has ever brought, that he entered a swimming pool for the first time in his life, more like was tossed into one, nearly drown. The tyrannical girl unreasonably forced that boy to swim. She unreasonably held swimming lessons in his school swimming pool at night, of course, after she has received the special permission from his adopted mother and her key to the swimming pool.


    What the boy¡¯s adopted mother did not know was that her daughter taught her adopted son more than just swimming lessons in the school swimming pool. How could she? Her perfect daughter and her angelic-looking adopted son, how could they? Especially at that age, how could they?


    ¡°If you can¡¯t swim, then you are not a man who deserves me,¡± The girl would say those words in her usual tyrannical manner whenever the boy was about to give up. The boy cursed her inside his head as his rock heavy legs flapped and his lead-filled arms stroke the water on their own.


    That girl just dragged that tiny boy into any kind of adventures that she could come up with her imagination. She was his waking nightmare, a symbol of tyranny and absurdity. She made freedom her lapdog. Her name has the character of ¡°Th¨´y¡±, ¡°Gentle¡± in Vietnamese, but she was anything but gentle. She was a scorching sun that chose to shine at midnight instead of midday, an absurdity.


    Whimsically, she entered the boy¡¯s name into a piano competition, knowing that boy can no longer play the piano. Yet, she demanded him to do so with her usual tyrannical arrogant smile. She sat by his side for weeks until his fingers played the piano as if they were separate beings from him while his eyes were white with tears. Those weeks were easily the most painful weeks in his entire life until he knew the worse kind pains.


    Yet, the girl made her little brother played her favorite song, the Eine Kleine Nachtmusik , the song she registered in the competition, repeatedly and again, until he was tricked into believing that he was supposed to play that song in the competition. Then, on the very day of the competition, in front of a crowd of five thousand, judges, musicians, pianists and spectators, and everyone else, he played ¡°Happy Birthday¡± like a champ according to her absurd demand. The judges were offended beyond any stretch of the imagination and yelled the boy to get off the piano. Still, he played. The crowds were a booming mess of laughter. Among the crowd, she laughed the hardest and the loudest. It was her birthday and the girl told his little brother that was the best birthday gift she has ever received yet. She made sure to stress the word ¡°yet¡± to make it perfectly clear to him that the sheer ridiculousness of her demands would only escalate.


    Since then, every year, that boy lived in the terror of ¡°THAT DAY¡±, not knowing what kind of birthday gift she would demand.


    There was the year when he had to run 100km in a day on his own feet to see her before her birthday passed. He nearly failed that task and nearly died from exhaustion had his little tyrant not call an ambulance. There was also the birthday when she made him hiked a mountain on a pinkish pair of five centimeter high heels to reach her.


    There was the year where she pulled the famous ¡°Mario, your princess is in another castle,¡± and made him searched for her all over the city like a lunatic.


    Then I came along.


    There was a year that she demanded to see but a single blooming flower on the night of her birthday. It was easy and surpassingly kind of her, or so that foolish boy thought until he did the research on that flower. He and I wished that our tyrannical queen of the night had demanded us to swim in a pool filled with ice again to reenact that one scene in The Titanic like the year before, rather than presenting that flower to her in that season. She made us do the ¡°There is no mountain I would not climb and there is no ocean I would not swim to prove my love to you,¡± in every literal sense.


    That boy had no idea why he would fall in love with a demonical and tyrannical woman like her, neither do I. Our rights as a human and freedom meant nothing to her. She made us questioned our sanity whenever I listened to her ridiculous demands. She made our life miserable.


    Every year, we would tell ourselves that if we could repeatedly live through another ¡°THAT DAY,¡± nothing in life could ever faze us. Year after year, I had always wished that the next ¡°THAT DAY¡± would never come, so was that boy. And when that wish was granted, we cannot have it unwished.


    If I had learned something from living under the harshness of my tyrannical midnight sun, it would be ¡°Human is especially scary when we really put our mind into something.¡± I would not know how strong or how weak I was until I put myself to the tests. I would not know my limits until I challenged them. Lastly, I was the most foolish, the most insane of a man in the entire universe for not trying to escape that tyrannical midnight sun.


    ¡°Get it done. I don¡¯t care how. Get it done,¡± Th¨´y D??ng always said those words whenever she demanded me or that boy to do something stupid, ¡°Get it done.¡± They were not encouraging words. They were a command, the ultimate commandment in our entire life if there was ever one, even now when I can only listen to her voice in my worst nightmares or in phantom whispers.


    So, at my own pace, I swam toward a goal I would probably never reach. I knew inside my head that this battle was one that I could never win. This challenge was different from Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s unreasonable tyranny. Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s unreasonable demands came from her desires for affection and self-satisfaction. This challenge was not born from such desire.


    As I continued to swim, I started to understand that this dream was just a mind game designed to let me see the futility of my decision, to let me understand the magnitude and strength of the woman who I have pissed, and to make me regret my action.


    The moment, I understood the challenge. I found a way to solve it. The answer to this challenge was easy. I just have to backpedal in the opposite direction. And by doing that, I showed Death my doubts toward the goal I have picked for myself, thus admitting my repentance against the futility of my stupid decision.


    However¡­


    Who cracks first? You who created this dream or me?


    Whose patience ran out first? Yours or mine?


    I wanted to hear those questions answered from the very lips of the person who gave me this challenge out of sheer arrogance. That was enough for me to keep trying to swim in the same direction.


    The moment I walked out of the Mangora Forest, I was far from prepared. I knew what I was heading into, but I was not prepared. However, the moment I chose to bang Atuc inside Eogaill¡¯s Temple, I have picked my side in this game. Knowing that it was clearly a stupid decision and still stuck with it to the end, this is me, the biggest moron in the universe.


    I chose to be this way and I would be this way regardless of people¡¯s opinions. Gods or goddesses, they cannot make me act smart.


    Since, I swam at my own pace, while singing nonchalantly as if I was enjoying every bit of the futility that I have accepted. Sometimes, I swam extremely slowly as if I was trying to see how slow I could swim. Then, there was the moment that I advanced with great strides as if the goal was just right front me. It was no longer just a challenge. I made it into a game, my style of game. I thought that I must have driven Death insane with my bullheaded stupidity. That thought alone brought me an endless amount of delight, which became an infinite source of fuel for me to take my stupidity to the very extremity of stupidity.


    I swam, sang and laughed like a blissfully bullheaded idiot while thinking what sorts of concession that Death would make and in what form those concessions would take. Would she create monsters in this dream, breaking her own established setting to make me be fearful? Would she conjure a goal for me just for the sake of it because I was too stupid to stop or turn back? Or would she just say ¡°screw it¡± and end this challenge? Those thoughts brought me nothing but delights.


    This dream was made to be an impossible mission and an unwinnable battle for me. However, I thought I saw a chance of winning the war. In fact, I don¡¯t need to win this battle to win the war itself. I would not give Death the satisfaction of winning this battle. I would let she win neither the battle nor war. I was determined to let Death experienced the futility of correcting my stupidity.


    And yet, futility was called futility for a reason. I should have known that.


    ¡°Then let time be my champion.¡± I should have understood her words immediately.


    I had no idea how long have I swum in that ocean of dark tide. An impossible challenge was called an impossible challenge because it cannot be completed, for many reasons. An unreachable goal was but one of the many reasons that made this challenge impossible to complete. The moment I realized that I started to lose many of my bearings. The longer I swam, the bigger the doubts inside my heart became.


    Little by little, I started to realize my opponent for who she was and what she represented. She is Death, an immortal, a person who has lived an endless time and will live an endless time after I was all but bones and ashes.


    She was trying to make me realized the futility of my decision on my own rather than trying to punish me to make me realized the futility of my action. This dream was a challenge, a warning, and an example and yet it was not. It was a warning, a very gentle yet brutal warning against the brunt of futility that I was about to face.


    I was going against the immortals of Escana and Death as well. However, knowing does not mean understanding.


    My lofty desires to win meant nothing. My sense of purposes meant nothing. The patience of a human meant nothing before someone who has lived an endless amount of time and would live another endless eternity after I have all but expired.


    This challenge would last forever and forever meant forever.


    A Divine Dream was a place, where time, space and reality can be twisted to the will of the creator. Tests, messages, challenges, prophecies, they could become whatever the creator of the Divine Dream wishes them to be.


    I remembered the feeling I had back then when Clariciel made me relived my life again. It felt so real, so vivid, and so authentic that I could not even begin to assess which was real and which was not. Had Clariciel told me that Iliva and my days in the Mangora Forest was a disillusion, I probably would have believed her. Such was the common power wielded by the administrators of the world of Escana and Death herself in the lore, a Divine Dream.


    ¡°Gods and goddesses are such tyrannical beings,¡± I sighed and began to understand why I felt a sense of nostalgia about Th¨´y D??ng in this dream.


    No longer had I held any disillusion that I can win this battle or this war. The unbreakable perfect darkness that enveloped my entire world slowly made me believed that this was a nightmare like my psychiatrist has once told me. Slowly, the darkness around me took away my sense of time. It fed the paranoia and fear of darkness within me, making me imagined that there were horrific aquatic monsters lurking beneath and around me, despite knowing that the creator of this dream would not do that. It made me long for companionship to the point that I was willing to make friends with any aquatic monster in exchange for my own life. It took away my edges and so much more. It stripped me of my purposes, and by doing that, it told me ¡°Turn back,¡± soundly and clearly in a most brutal yet gentle manner.


    This challenge was different from those absurd demands that Th¨´y D??ng made me do. This challenge was designed to make me admitting defeat, that I have perfectly understood. Therefore, I resented myself for understanding all of that, because if I did not understand all of that, I can blissfully continue to swim ahead for as long as I must, and blissfully committed to being stupid to the end.


    To fight an immortal is like ¡°Die Trying.¡±


    I swam and continued to swim in that dark watery world, knowing the futility of my action. If I could give myself a pat on my back, telling myself that ¡°I tried¡­like really hard,¡± I could never live through the unreasonable tyranny of my sister. I had no idea how many days, weeks, or months since my sole and only purpose of winning this war was lost to me. The creator of this divine dream will never run out of her patience or ever. That made it pointless for me to even continue this futility.


    I was swimming still. I had no idea why. I just did.


    There were moments that my most trusted fingers rebelled. They twitched as if they had a mind of their own, then, they played with some invisible magic coins, which I cannot see or feel.


    Get it done.


    Sometimes, my fingers, those rebellious bastards, they even tried to mimic my sister¡¯s tyrannical voice, making me hated those three words, now more than ever.


    Look, this is not a battle that I can win. This is just like those tropes where your heroes were supposed to lose in those RPGs.


    Get it done.


    You insane or what? Your lofty mind game would not work. Your opponent can play this game with you forever. There is no smart way or shortcut around this challenge.


    Get it done


    Fuck you.


    Fuck you too. Get it done


    I hated myself. I hated my fingers even more.


    Get it done.


    Now, they were just tempting me to bite them off my hands. I would not fall for this mind game. ¡°Do you know who I am? I¡¯m Fearless.¡± It took more than that to make me fall for such simple mind game.


    At some time, while swimming, I suddenly remembered the forbidden fruits of knowledge of good and evil mentioned in the Book of Genesis. That part of the Book of Genesis was one of my favorite.


    It was written in that book that Eve and Adam were banished from the heaven because they tasted that forbidden fruit, not because they were naked or doing whatever they did as a naked man and a naked woman would definitely do inside that garden.


    Had they remained stupid and ignorant, they would not suffer. The two of them were made to suffer because they gained knowledge of right and wrong, Which meant that the Book of Genesis was telling people that if a man innocently banged a woman, it was not a sin. But if he was aware that banging a woman is a sin and still choose to bang her, that is a sin. Am I correct? I remembered I have said something like that in front of a devout crowd, Could not remember how that has ended.


    I sighed and wished that I were ignorant just as Adam and Eve before they tasted that forbidden fruit. There was no longer a purpose for me to swim forward, and still, I swam in that direction, doing the most stupid thing that I had ever done. I took the meaning of the three words ¡°Futility,¡± ¡°Masochism¡± and ¡°Stupidity¡± to a new height, as far as I could swim.


    I swam so much that I was confident enough to represent my country for the next Olympic, though whether I made it to the team or not was never up to me to decide.


    The further I swam, the darkness around seemed to be so much more than darkness, and the splashing noises of the crashing waves started to sound like the voices of people talking.


    Occasionally, I saw some beautiful mermaids split the waves and accompanied me in my quest of achieving true futility. I ignored them, knowing that they were merely illusions conjured by my own brain. The treacherous rebels that were once my most trusted tools, my fingers, they tried to pick up the mermaids as if they were professional gigolos at some bars.


    You insane moronic bastards


    I cursed them furiously without stopping for hours, foiling their effort and cock-blocking them as hard as I could. After that, we fought each other. I used my silver tongue, tricking those bastards into plotting and backstabbing the hell out of each other. I won back their loyalty, for¡­ maybe a year or two¡­. I was not sure if it was a year or a month or day¡­ Time was already lost to me in an eternity ago.


    You can¡¯t trust anything, not even your fingers


    However, if there were one thing that I liked about the design of this dream, it would be the fact that I was made to swim in an endless ocean of perpetual darkness. Thus, I can dive beneath the waves, knowing that I did not give Death the satisfaction of watching me cry. Was this ocean a desert instead, I burrowed my head into the sand like an ostrich.


    Then, I remembered about those unread messages. I tried to summon that notification screen. My eyes wrestled against endless rows of texts of all sorts of nature, emails, reminders, cosmetic loot-boxes, news¡­


    I tried to sort them by their nature and then my eyes were hit by a news title ¡°The end of a dynasty, The Alliance disbanded.¡± I stopped sorting my unread message and forcefully closed the notification window.


    Then I swam like there was no tomorrow while singing like a madman. I swam like I was an instrument created to swim and nothing else. Never would I touch that notification screen again.


    There were moments that felt like days and the darkness around me seemed brighter. In those moments, I saw The Alliance appeared in small glows of light.


    I had no idea what I was thinking in those moments. I put even more force into my strokes and I yelled at my rebellious fingers like a ship captain to his crewmembers. I chased after the lights as if I was a foolish night moth to a flame, however, unlike the stupid moth, my futility would not end the moment I touched the lights. With my fingers, I grabbed the lights, using them to tear away the darkness around me.


    I was there, thirty-three years of age in that special day three years after I announced my retirement with The Alliance together as a team.


    It was not just me. No longer me, no longer I, we. In our special seats, we sat on the stage of the Golden Era Arena, the holy Jerusalem of the ROC pro-league, watching a video playing on the great screen.


    There was a time, I almost got the entire team disqualified in a Major Tournament since my visa was not approved because of age restrictions. That hit clip where Fantasy burned our fake passports as a prank and accidentally set off the fire alarm in the hotel room. Merleon was made to sit in the most uncomfortable seat for hours in one of the minor tournaments. Misery was so nervous when he was interviewed for the first time that he hiccupped like a moron.


    Together, we laughed at our younger selves, our silliness. Not even FY was spared from such silliness. He got to watch the moment when he led our team to enter the wrong booth for no reason. His reaction when he tried to shake off his embarrassment at that moment only made the clip more laughable.


    The video playing on the great screen made us realized that we stuck with each other as a team for so long that we just took that for granted. 16 years, no team has ever stuck with each other that long. We were like no one else. We were not just a team. We were like a family, no, we are a family.


    Small stages, big stages, off-stage, we were together like brothers despite our differences and the distance between us. Barely survived with little successes, we fought and struggled mightily.


    We relived our defeats and worst moments as we watched the great screen, bitter moments when it felt like the whole world was against us, terrible moments when even our fans were actually booing us on our home ground, painful moments that made us cursed what a terrible rollercoaster that ROC was, moments that put our bonds to the test.


    The crownless king


    The (LOL) prince of promise


    Selfish, does not know how to play as a team.


    A clown


    A Thug


    My eyes boiled when that moment flashed on the screen, that year when I disappeared completely for a whole ten months without a trace and the entire team butted their head against our team owner, refusing to play with a newly recruited player in my absence and got the entire squad disqualified for their state of inactivity in that year.


    Looking at those moments, we realized that how far we had come as a team and family. FY brought us together because of his belief in our potential and ability. Yet, we tasted more defeats than successes. We forged our bonds through our defeats and failures, together as a team.


    I cried a bit. Everyone was crying, FY, Merleon, Fantasy, the broadcasters, even the fans. Misery was the one crying the hardest. It¡¯s hard to be strong in such a moment.


    Then slowly, the music swelled up in the background, all of us knew what to expect.


    We were The Alliance. The league and the fans have given us many names. The well-oiled machine, the unstoppable, the first dynasty, the phoenix reborn from its ashes, the snap that wiped out the league¡­ many and many more.


    When the flag of black and gold flew upon the rafter, we would come and we would conquer.


    We made the fans of our opponent tasted bitter tears and despair, year after year.


    We did not just simply win. We crushed. We humiliated our opponents even when we did not mean to.


    We had many strong rivals. We faced the strongest team that the league has ever assembled to crush us.


    We showed everyone that we are the undisputed strongest team in history.


    Better than anyone, we knew our identity. We knew who we are.


    ¡°Greatness does not discriminate¡± was our maxim. One sentence, one maxim, five meanings for each and every single individual. Black and gold was our royal flag.


    We are The Alliance.


    ¡°We are The Alliance,¡± meaningless words to billions of people, a curse to the ears of our opponents, just a bit meaningful to the fans to make them shed a few drops of tear and clapped their hands. Their tears were not the same ours. Theirs was the realization of an end of an era. Ours were so much more. We cried because we heard ¡°We are The Alliance.¡±


    Those words meant everything to us. We are The Alliance. They are our pride, our identity, our defeats, our bonds, our glories, and so much more.


    We are The Alliance.


    Those words made me realized that this small glow of light, this little happiness, this disillusion could have been my future if only I did not screw up. This glow of light made me realized that I was without a question the best Ender in the league history and probably in the future as well.


    I did not just end games and conflicts.


    ¡°I ended The Alliance.¡± How many Enders in the league can say that? In the most twisted of irony, I ended The Alliance. I ended the longest dynasty in the world of ROC, the longest, the strongest and the best. I ended it.


    So I laughed like I had never laughed before. I dove beneath the dark water, running away from the light like an aquatic vampire of the dark, a true edgelord, the being that I have always hated the most. I dove, deeper and deeper into the cold abyss until the lights were no more. My magmatic piercing scream boiled the boundless ocean with fury and the entire ocean turned into the salty flavor of my tears. Boiling water entered my lungs, burned me like liquid nitrogen from the inside.


    How much more pain I must take? How long must I suffer before Death takes me?


    In my scattered thought, I welcomed the worst pain in the world to torment me. I wished the entire ocean was made of Dragon Bane, pure and undiluted, to let me have a taste of my poison.


    My chest felt like it was about to burst to the pressure of the abyss, my mind torched by a thousand beams of iridescent from within my creaking skull. However, this level of pain was not enough.


    More


    I kicked my legs, faster and harder, diving deeper.


    I felt the sound of my innards exploded from the inside of my stomach. After that, my chest burst, for sure this time, painfully and roaringly.


    Has it always been this hard to kill a man?


    I heard a sick popping sound that ran across my entire body. Did not know what it was in neither the first time nor the second because the searing pains that burn my entire body. When I heard that horrific popping sound for the third time, I realized that it came from my eyeballs.


    Should have realized back then what fate has stored for me at the deepest depth of the abyss.


    The moment, I felt the solidness of the abyss with my palms, the end, the deepest depth, I was struck with a realization that I could not die, never in this dream, never in a Divine Dream.


    I laughed if the sounds that escaped my throat at that depth could be called a laugher. I mocked Clariciel about this once, now it came back to bite me in the ass. This is karma.


    ¡°Let time punish your ignorance. Let time convince you that your fate should be with me and not someone else. Let time make you feel like you want me as much as I want you.¡±


    I remembered Death¡¯s words. I laughed at myself.


    What else but to laugh? This is hilarious. Don¡¯t you agree?


    I laughed as my understanding of the futility that I pursued deepened. This was the stupidity of stupidity, the insanity among the most epic moments of insanity, the futility of trying to go against the immortals of Escana.


    This is the futility of the human who tried to go out of the Mangora forest against his better judgment.


    This is the fate of the human whose arrogance let him into thinking that banging a woman on the altar of Eogaill was a good idea.


    This is the natural consequence of the moron who believed that he could outsmart the beings who have lived an endless time.


    Laugh, motherfuckers, I told you to laugh.


    My fingers laughed as they were commanded. I laughed so much in that deepest watery abyss. I doubted that the pain I felt was even real at that moment.


    I suddenly remembered a line from a song that my father wrote for my mother, ¡°I have sunk so low that I have no other way to go but up.¡±


    I knew which way was up and which was down. However, I wasn¡¯t sure which direction was the correct one to take. And then, I just knew it somehow. I laughed in the watery abyss like the insane moron that I was, flapping my legs and heading toward the wrong direction, again.


    Get it done. I did not know whose voice that was, mine or Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s, but that changed nothing.


    Feel the futility of trying to make me feel the futility of my stupid decision.


    I declared the very moment that my head popped out of the water surface singing songs. Thus, I continued to swim toward a goal that never existed in the first place and will never be.


    You think this would break me. Good luck. Let me tell you that thought is futility itself. You can never break an already broken man.


    I swam and kept on swimming to prove my commitment to achieving true futility and stupidity. That was my burning purpose, the only thing that kept me going.


    You cannot make an insane man insane.


    There was a day that one of my fingers mentioned a familiar name. I had no idea whose name that was. My body dethroned me without warning and took a quick dive into the black water, now neither cold nor hot nor felt like water.


    Alice


    I started to remember who she was. The darker the watery abyss, the brighter the memory of Alice became. I did not just remember about Alice. I remembered her birthday. I remembered her phone number. I remembered her touch, her voice and everything about her that is precious and important inside my heart.


    She was my sun, the sun that rises at dawn and set at dusk, the sun that people just take for granted.


    I missed the taste of her lips, their sweetness, and bitterness. Her passionate kisses, her playful kisses, her awkward kisses, her reluctant kisses, her angry kisses, I remembered them all as if it was only yesterday.


    The thought of Alice brought smiles to my lips before I took some ridiculous deep dives beneath the waves.


    Whenever I was around her, I did not have to speak in a riddle, play mind game, scheme or lie. I can be a normal person whenever I am around her.


    Don¡¯t have to smile like a prince, don¡¯t have to act like a celebrity, don¡¯t have the urge to hunt demon, don¡¯t have to be extraordinary, don¡¯t even have to be Fearless¡­


    I wanted to hear her shouting at me again. I wanted to be slapped by her again. Nobody can slap me like she did. Nobody can make a slap hot like she did. But above everything, I wanted to hear her beautiful chuckles that brimmed with pure happiness the most.


    There were moments I saw Alice¡¯s phantom and hear the echo of her voice beneath the pitch-black water, in a place where not even the light of the wisps could reach. She was there in the deepest part of the watery abyss, speaking to me, waiting for me. However, the moment I touched the abyss, Alice was no longer there. I resurfaced and dove back to the abyss again because I heard her voice and saw her phantom. I kept trying to return to that place, chasing after her phantom like a fish chasing after its tail fin.


    It was one seemingly endless dive after another, each trip became harder than the one before. However, I kept diving until my eyes could no longer find her phantom anywhere. The taste of her kisses was lost to me within the blandness of the black water. It was then that I understood that Alice was lost to me forever, just like Th¨´y D??ng and Mrs. H? ??ng did.


    I had no idea why I was swimming still. Without a purpose, I swam for the sake of swimming alone. I swam because I simply could. I swam so much that I perhaps had left my brain somewhere in the deepest depth of the black water.


    There were scattered moments that I thought about my father. As I dove into the black water, I asked him the secret of his strength, how he could love my mother for so long even after she has rested beneath her grave for more than a decade. I longed to understand him and his love. I have never understood how he could love my mother wholeheartedly like that, being alone for years even when she has already gone. I never could and probably never would.


    Just like that, I kept on swimming. Because there was no purpose in swimming, there was no joy or resentment in doing so or any sense of accomplishment. I cannot even pat myself in my own back to tell me that ¡°I have tried really really hard¡± and ¡°It was only natural that I would give up.¡± However, even if I could do that now, I would not do it. I did not turn back, out of pure stupidity and insanity.


    Why am I suffering this shit? There were moments that I asked myself that question. What am I doing? Or that question. What is the purpose of this futility? Or that What am I trying to prove?


    Then, I realized that I have forgotten my purpose. What is a man without a purpose? A beast.


    Fuck you all


    I cursed, and still, I kept forging ahead. I rested whenever I felt like resting. I sang when I felt like singing. I took some deep dives whenever I felt like it. And then, I swam toward the goal that I would never reach, knowing that I only needed to end my misery by turning back. The more I swam, the bigger the desire to turn back became. The longer I stayed in this dream, the more I lost, that I have come to realize. I could no longer feel the coldness of the water. Or the pain that I needed to keep myself from going insane. Everything became murkier and murkier and murkier. I started to forget what everyone looked like. I knew what they sounded like, but their face blurred away from my mind the more I swam. And still, I swam like a fucking insane moron that I was. I wanted to stop and turned back. But I never did.


    Get it done. Sometimes, I heard Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s phantom whispers but I did not even realize that it was her voice.


    I swam and swam and swam and swam until I could not find the strength to take a dive to beneath waves to cry. I just did. I was exhaust, and yet I had the strength to cry somehow. I have forgotten many things. I have lost so many things. I could not even remember why I was doing something so stupid. I cried.


    I¡¯m done. I¡¯m fucking done with this shit.


    When I stopped crying, I swam again, faithfully. Sometimes, I saw an exit behind me, bright dreams they were. I cried, closed my eyes and forged ahead. I had no idea how much further must I swim. I would continue to swim no matter the length.


    Then, at one point, I stopped swimming. No longer had I remembered anyone¡¯s face, not FY, not Alice, not even my own.


    I floated, just floated, letting the waves carry me toward the unreachable goal, doing nothing. My arms and legs were chunks of concrete, but they floated, somehow. I could not feel the pain of muscle-ache a long time ago, not I could feel that my limbs have given up on me. I was exhausted at everything. I was exhausted, too exhausted to cry, too exhausted to swim, too exhausted to think, too exhausted to gouge out my own eyes again. I welcomed the searing lights. I welcomed the perpetual darkness. I welcomed my exhaustion. I welcomed everything.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± I sunk, let gravity take me deep into the pitch-black of the watery abyss, beaten.

 V2 Prologue

    V2 Prologue:


    Warm was the soft neon light that brightened the stage. A silky glow of gold, soft and smooth as the grace of moonlight, humble, just barely had enough brightness to light up the silhouettes of the people who sat on the stage in their special seats.


    FY was the only who was standing on that stage, embraced by a strong and hard collar of white light around him. Amidst that golden moonlit stage, FY shone like the sun and yet, he wasn¡¯t alone. He wasn¡¯t the only sun. Across the other side of the stage, an empty seat lit like a sun standing next to an unidentified object wrapped in the black and gold of The Alliance¡¯s flag. On that empty seat laid a large rectangular wooden frame revealing a princely person.


    FY was used to the sight of that person inside that wooden frame. FY was used to seeing that princely smile and that wooden frame for over three years now, and yet his vision just seemed to boil up in hot steam. FY forcefully stopped his carefully crafted speech, removing his foggy glasses to wipe off the murky steam in his eyes. He wondered if this salty steam had something to do with the stage and the 31,000 pairs of eyes that zoomed on him.


    Everyone is crying, why are you smiling? You just have to go against the flow until the end, don¡¯t you?


    FY put his glasses back and started walking away from his seat, trying to recompose himself. Even though his ears were a murky mess of incoherent noises that sounded like a mixture of his own heartbeats and sniffles, FY knew that most of the audiences were already crying and sniffling in their own seats by now, if not all. His ears were never as sharp as that smiling person was, so FY could never hear the sniffles and the tug of one¡¯s heart from the audiences.


    That person¡¯s ears were stupidly sharp.


    ¡°Bro, your mother is in the audiences.¡±


    FY remembered that painful elbow that dug into his ribcage when he has just won his first Championship.


    ¡°Where?¡± FY remembered trying desperately to scan the endless ocean of erupting fans, waving arms, flying flags and clapping hands.


    ¡°Somewhere in the right wing. Probably the sixth or seventh row. I heard her voice.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± FY could not even hear his own voice because of all the shouting and screaming from every direction. The screaming of the broadcasting casts was like thunderclaps. However, screaming as loud as they might, even with the aids of their instrument and set, the broadcasters could not match the sheer volume of 31,000 screaming mouths and 31,000 pairs of clapping hands. FY remembered feeling the shaking of the entire stage when that happened, but at the time, he thought that his legs were giving in to his released tension. It was like a live rock concert but the instruments were erupting volcanoes. FY thought that he was being bullshitted at the time.


    ¡°Wave at her, common. What are you doing? Common.¡±


    So, FY just repeatedly struck his fist at the crowds in that direction with all of his emotions. He kept staring at the crowds on the right wing that kept getting louder and louder until he finally saw a teary familiar face standing among the crowds, clapping her hands. Standing next to her was a middle age man whom FY would have never imagined to see again after he has disowned FY from the family. It was almost unbelievable that a man who was known and voted for opposing the rise of ROC would be there in that moment. FY could not believe in his eyes at the time, but yes, they were there, his parent was, standing among the crowds, clapping their hands. If Fearless did not elbow him at that moment to point out where his mother was among the crowds, FY would never know. Fearless¡¯ ears were just stupidly sharp like that.


    Suddenly, FY was snapped out of his nostalgia when he heard the sound of clapping hands from crowds. Just a quiet and unharmonious of clapping of hands at first, then it got louder as more people joined until eventually, the entire arena was drowned in the sound of clapping hands.


    FY could not believe that there would be a day that he would choke on his words and unable to deliver a speech in front of a crowd. It was such a weird thing. He managed to give the eulogy perfectly on the very day when he was in the white of funeral cloth, representing as a member of Fearless¡¯ family on that rainy day. Yet, now, three years have already passed, he choked when talking about Fearless and had to receive encouragement from the crowds to finish his speech.


    Everyone has delivered their speech fluidly and FY was the last person, the best speaker of them all, and he was the one with troubles. FY adjusted the mouthpiece of his headset with his sweaty cold fingers and struck his fist at the crowds, acknowledging their encouragements.


    This was what ROC was all about, raw emotions, just like any competitive sport. This was why ROC dominated all of its competitions, drama and raw emotions. ROC brought out these elements of the pro-gamers like no other game. Its competitive nature and its rollercoaster nature would bring out the best and worst of a person. The Pro-league of ROC did not sell the gameplays and the highlights like most people believed, this league sold raw emotions and drama to its followers.


    The person who captured most of these two elements would capture the heart and soul of the fans and followers of ROC. That person would The Star among the stars. FY had been trying to preach this to the younger generations of pro-gamer for a while. He has been trying to tell this to everyone, but not every person he spoke to would believe him, or understand what he said.


    Drama and raw emotions, for over two decades since ROC had a pro-league, nobody managed to capture these two elements like Fearless. Fearless played ROC as if he was tossing his own heart at the crowds, making them fighting to touch that raw beating heart. He had the knack to sell the drama like no other. And now, even after three years after he has all but gone, Fearless still sold the drama and made the audiences fighting for his heart.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    A true cash cow until the end


    The 31,000 seats of the Golden Era Arena were fully packed in this very day because of one man and that man was not even inside the arena or even among the living. That man has already gone for three years and yet, people still loved him. People still fought for his heart. Women still committed suicide in-group to be with him. People still cried because of him. The new generations of champions still lived under the crushing of Fearless¡¯ shadow, being compared to Fearless in every single moment. Fearless did not just make people love him or hate him. He made people obsessed with him.


    FY waited until the claps died out. He gazed into the rows of audiences who were watching him while holding their breath.


    ¡°In all honesty, Fearless terrifies me,¡± FY muttered into the mike. His voice quivered more than he has thought despite he has recited this part of the speech for over a dozen times. That was such a strange thing to say. This sentence alone made no sense to anyone. Everyone knew that the two of them were the closest of friends, brothers of different mothers. To say that FY was terrified of Fearless, that made no sense, especially when it came from FY¡¯s mouth at this moment.


    .FY paused again, for a little while to capture the audiences with his pause. ¡°Fearless terrifies me like no other,¡± FY reconfirmed. This is such a Fearless¡¯ thing to say.


    FY paused shortly again before continuing, ¡°When I chose to be a pro-gamer, I was at odds with my father. I made a gamble, choosing to follow my dream over my family. At the time, I was extremely terrified at the prospect that I would never be with my family again. But, I wanted to follow my dream so bad that I risked everything in that gamble. The time I played for Everlasting Dynasty had many up and down moments. I knew I had the skills and talent to advance to the next level, and yet, I never did. I kept failing. I was losing my gamble terribly and I kept losing. When Everlasting Dynasty disbanded, I lived my life in each and every waking moment, even in dreams, being terrified of losing even ultimate dream which I have sacrificed everything for.¡± FY gave a little pause again and firmly stated, ¡°And yet, Fearless terrifies me like no other.¡±


    FY paused again and disengaged his eye contact with audiences to turn at the person inside the wooden frame. ¡°Even now, he terrifies me,¡± FY said as a smile crept into his lips. ¡°Whenever he looks at me like this, this look, with his arrogant smile on his lips, I can hear his thought.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s next, FY?¡±


    ¡°Common, what¡¯s next?¡±


    ¡°That cannot be all, right?¡±


    ¡°I have never been under such pressure in my entire life,¡± FY admitted while readjusting the thick frame of his glasses. ¡°That pressure feels like it¡¯s crushing me. It feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Yet, I could never act it out like I was being crushed. I did not want to disappoint Fearless, so I kept on striving. However, the more I strove to meet his expectation, the bigger the pressure on my back became.


    So, whenever I watched Fearless being crushed or defeated. I secretly felt relieved. In all honesty, it felt like a catharsis. It felt therapeutic. I felt like all the pressure on my shoulders disappeared. Then, I would attempt to talk to Fearless, to tell him that it¡¯s all right to lose, it¡¯s alright to feel bad after losing. He would always give me that look, and every time, I felt the pressure on my shoulders being renewed and doubled.


    He is like a monster that keeps on coming and coming and coming and coming at you. Each and every time that you defeat him, he will come back stronger and better without fail. You can never make him quit.¡± FY chuckled, knowing that what he¡¯s doing would make all the future stars and champions of the league forever living under the shadow of Fearless. Whenever they achieve something great, they would be compared to Fearless. Whenever they are lost and defeated, they would be compared to Fearless. They would feel the pressure of living with the Ghost of Fearless as long as they play ROC until someone better and greater than Fearless would appear to trade Fearless¡¯ ghost with his own.


    FY thought that it was such a mean-spirited thing to do, and yet, it feels like this is what Fearless would do if FY was dead and Fearless was alive instead.


    ¡°You don¡¯t and you cannot possibly imagine just how much pressure that I had while I was playing with this guy, because I never showed. I made sure that I would not show that to anyone, especially him. It feels like a curse and a blessing at the same time. I was getting better and better by simply being with him but at the cost of having the pressure on my shoulders magnified at every moment.¡±


    FY stopped his speech again, reluctantly prying his eyes from that familiar looking wooden frame. He reestablished eye contact with the audiences within that fleeting quietness.


    ¡°As soon as I have won our first title with these guys, I was secretly telling myself that I would retire. But then, Fearless gave me that look. So, I tell myself, Just one more year. And as you have already known, we lost in that year. Fearless appeared before me and gave me that look. So, I tell myself, Just one more year.¡±


    FY spoke while grabbing his stomach, acting as if he felt the invisible pain. The audiences broke into giggles as FY has intended. He has built the tension and stretched it for so long and thin through his speech. Now he was approaching the end, it was only right that he relieved the audiences of the tension.  He wanted Fearless to be remembered with giggles and laughter rather than tensions and pressures.


    ¡°We lost that year as well. So, as you might have already guessed it, he would come to see me and gave that look. So, I tell myself, Just one more year and I¡¯m done. So, again, I played another year, and we won. Thank god, we won, I was telling myself that, otherwise, I would have to endure such pressure for another year.¡± The crowds were having a laughing fit as FY acted on the stage.


    ¡°And yes, Fearless appeared, giving me that look again. So, this time, because I have already expected that, I gave him, this look.¡± FY craned his neck and opened his eyes as large as possible, selling his act and the crowds laughed. ¡°You already had two titles. What else do you want? What more do you want? Just like this, we stared at each other. But he kept giving me that look. So, again, I told myself, just one more year and that¡¯s it, no more, no more. Guess what?¡± FY paused again, briefly, ¡°I had seven titles now.¡± FY shrugged his arms and shoulders, and the crowds howled with laughter.


    FY waited for the laughter to die out to continue his speech. ¡°So, I think that if we should remember him. It¡¯s only right that we remember him with that look.¡± FY waved his hand. Merleon, Fantasy, and Misery rose from their seats, accompanying FY as they stood in the four corners of the unidentified object that was wrapped under the flag of The Alliance. Together, they lifted the flag, revealing a life-size statue.


    ¡°I wish the newer generation of stars who one day would be inducted into the Hall of Fame, when they see Fearless standing in the hall and giving them that look, even as a statue, they would come out of retirement the year after, to play ROC again, to love ROC again, to win again,¡± FY said, ending his speech, watching the crowds standing up and giving an ovation.


    Nobody has ever been inducted into the Hall with a statue and as a statue. Fearless, bro, you just have to be the odd one out until the end, don¡¯t you?

 V2 Chapter 2: The March of White Dragons

    V2 Chapter 2: The March of White Dragons


    While sitting on his chair, Letrailos stared down at the enemy¡¯ fortification stood in his path, Laktown was its name, too small of a dot on the map of conquest of White Winter. Not even a trading city, a mere border town, merely a border town, Letrailos mused. Laktown was surrounded with a high ring of mud wall and shallow moat, a highly unusual characteristic for a desolate town according to Letrailos¡¯ knowledge.


    It was at a moment like this that Letrailos could not help but feel his hatred for his younger brother surged within him. Why Sinintee? You have already created me. Why did you have to create him? Letrailos lamented secretly and found his grip on Lanxer¡¯s manual tightened.


    As Letrailos tried to calm himself, he saw one of his subordinate approached him, ¡°Your Holiness, they have released their birds.¡±


    ¡°May they realize the benevolence of Sinintee in death,¡± Letrailos prayed and stood up from his chair, tossing Lanxer¡¯s war manual to one of his pageboy Adat. Adat caught the scroll, folded the wooden chair that Letrailos has just sit on, and hurried along Letrailos¡¯ side.


    According to the manual given to Letrailos by Lanxer, most of the border towns on the western territory of Zard shared the same characteristic like Laktown. Small border towns that built along the banks of the Sandanphon would at least have mud walls to protect them from raids. Small towns that were built further away from the Sandanphon would have walls made of timbers and rocks. Bigger towns and cities would have better-built walls to protect themselves. The entire Western region of Zard was easily the most fortified and battle-ready area that Letrailos has ever seen according to the manual. This was due to the constant territory conflicts with the vanquished kingdom of Kraig¡¯ondor in the past, in addition with the rise of raids from bandits and river pirates from White Winter in the recent years.


    These towns and cities in the Western Region would form a large network among themselves through fire signals and birds. Like a beehive, if one of them were attacked, the rest would know immediately. In the shortest amount of time, they would relay the information to the nearest garrisons and their Warden, the Hyrios of Western Border. Due to the mobility and coordination that Hyrios instilled into his force, even the weakest mud walls in the Western Border were strong enough to protect the people inside them until Hyrios arrived. Nobody in his right mind would invade Zard from its western frontier. Even the old hero king of Kraig¡¯ondor shared the same belief.


    However, one person disagreed.


    Standing amidst the large square composed of a thousand of his White Robes, Letrailos offered his prayer to patron god of the Great Temple, ¡°May the Great Sinintee smiles upon us,¡± and struck his ivory scepter into the air with his right hand. His left hand quickly weaved a magic formula before infusing the formula into the butt of his long ivory scepter All For Once. The rubies and diamonds lodged within Letrailos¡¯ scepter began to project his magic formula into the air, forming colorless mana cloud rings that kept on spreading until it became a magic circle on the sky. A layered magic circle of a thousand men''s wingspan radius clouded over Letrailos¡¯ head, invisible to non-mana sensitive beings at first. It slowly solidified in the air and brightened with a flaming color as it was infused with mana from the White Robes under Letrailos¡¯ command.


    Through the aid of All For One, Letrailos angled his magic circle, now fully charged with mana, and directed it at the closed gates of Laktown. He invoked the <Raking Claws of Wrath>. The smaller rings inside the magic circle began to rotate, some in a clockwise direction, other reverse clockwise. When the runes inscribed on the magic circles aligned with each other to form the proper offerings and prayer to the Demon Lord of Wrath, the entire magic circle unwound discharging five searing beams toward Laktown.


    As Letrailos watched with his eyes, Laktown erupted into rubbles and dust cloud, its mud walls cleaved in twain by the giant claws. Letrailos struck All For One into the air and his followers cheered loudly. One of his bodyguards was already finished casting <Echo> and stood at ready.


    Letrailos projected his voice into the spell, ¡°I have offered them the kindness of the Great Sinintee. They refused.¡± His voice was loud as thunder, spreading among the ranks of his White Robes and paladins, ¡°There is no reason for us to spare such infidels. Kill all, leave none alive. Letting them know what it means to reject Sinintee¡¯s kindness.¡±


    Five hundred men of the Ninth legion lent to Letrailos by Regan began to flood Laktown to execute his command. They looted the local granary and killed all villagers inside the town while Letrailos began his march with his followers to the nearest target on the conquest map.


    As Letrailos watched the billowing dark smoke rising on top of Laktown, he smirked, wondering how many more towns and cities would suffer the same fate as this desolate border town.


    Within two hours, Letrailos arrived at his next target, Vadelrun.


    Again, with <Echo>, Letrailos repeated his message, ¡°Your Protector, The Warden of the Western Frontier Hyrios has turned his sword at your king. That traitor, he is besieging the capital at the moment. We are here according to the appeal of your king for help. We are here to strike down Hyrios the Traitor and dismantle his force. Make the right choice. Put down your arms and open the gate. Make the right choice. Put down your arms for your love for the king and your kingdom and grant us passage. As long as you are innocent and not belong to Hyrios¡¯ traitorous army, I pledge to the Great Sinintee that I would do everything within my strength to protect you.¡±


    Letrailos appealed the terrified guards with his kindest voice, ¡°I swear on my name as the imperial prince of White Winter and an apostle of Sinintee that I am not here to cause unnecessary bloodshed. I¡¯m here to protect you and save your kingdom from the traitorous Hyrios. Right now, the fighting with the traitor¡¯s army has spread over the region. I urge you, good people of Vadelrun to show us your allegiance. Is your allegiance with your king or is it with the traitor¡¯s army? Make the right choice. Don¡¯t make it harder for us to fulfill our pledge to your king. If you are indeed innocent and good, I swear on Sinintee¡¯s name, I will protect you from the sword and flame of the traitor. I urge you again, good people of Vadelrun, make the right choice.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    This time, All For One played no role in the fall of Vadelrun. Vadelrun fell in lesser than an hour. Letrailos put Lanxer¡¯s appointed staffs to police area before marching on to the next target. The new breed of horses that Lanxer has prepared for him and his pacifying force only made it easier for Letrailos¡¯ one thousand men army for their long march. As the number of towns and city surrendered to Letrailos and the number that fell to his might mounted, Letrailos could not help but feel the surge in his admiration and envy for Lanxer.


    Among the imperial princes and children of the royal families, Letrailos was the best of them all and he was confident about that. Born from the consummation of his mother rightful queen of White Winter and his father the King himself, Letrailos already had an undisputed advantage over all of his competition and Letrailos was made to know that before his fifth birthday by his mother. He was constantly reminded that his title as the Crown Prince of White Winter was something he has to protect with his own hands. Letrailos remembered the time when his inability to remember his lessons meant whipping behind the closed doors of the queen¡¯s quarter.


    Letrailos remembered the time when he alone worked and studied the hardest among the royal children. While the older kids of duke families and his younger brothers were resting in the shade of the canopies, Letrailos was bathing under the scorch of the high sun with royal combat instructor. While the other children were having their afternoon nap, Letrailos was chasing after Old Man to ask the questions that no children at his age would ask. At night, when the other children were playing inside the courtyard of the harem quarter, Letrailos was sitting on his table, reading scrolls through the flickering of lit candles and lamps with a whip behind him waiting for his distraction to fall down on his back. While being called the ¡°Greatest gift bearer of Sinintee¡± by the royal magic tutor did not put Letrailos at any disadvantage, it did not help him either. His father and grandfather have proved that a person did not have to be a gift bearer of any god to be a king. Being good at casting spells had nothing to do with becoming a king or being a king.


    Letrailos always remembered his mother¡¯s words telling him to secure his position as the crown prince with his efforts. Being born the crown prince, and winning his father and the Old Man¡¯s favor was his best claim for the throne. It took real efforts to win over the Old Man¡¯s favor, cunning against his father and pain, lots of pain for securing the crown prince status.


    However, a six years old boy was born among concubines of the king managed to solve a problem that not even adults could. Everything changed since that day.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    While he was marching on horseback, Lanxer received a letter.


    ¡°Gods make games, men make plan,¡± Lanxer sighed a long sigh to kill his desire to curse aloud. He crumbled the newest letter within his palm. It was the second letter to confirm the news that the king of Zard was heading north with an army. This development was something Lanxer could have never anticipated.


    In contrary to Lanxer¡¯s shocked look, Regan was having the time of his life, doubling on his saddle with laughter, ¡°This old man is probably bored of sitting on his throne for too long,¡± Regan shook and teared up, trying to contain his laughter, ¡°How old is this man again? 70? He¡¯s having too much fun.¡±


    It was until Regan realized that Lanxer was glaring dagger at him that he stopped. Lanxer just sighed, lamenting his inability to predict this predicament. What kind of king would leave his throne for the thrill of battle at the age beyond 60? Lanxer could not help but felt his resurging hatred for members of royalty who could not rule his kingdom with sensibleness and self-discipline. This is defeating my purpose for conquering the capital.


    Lanxer gritted his teeth and recalculated his plan. His original plan was to capture the weakened capital city and the entire royal family of Zard in one fell swoop. Of course, the lack of number from the royal army protecting the capital, which has headed North with anybody other the king himself as the general, would make Lanxer¡¯s job easier. By taking the King and the entire royal family of Zard hostage, Lanxer could force the Wardens of Zard to lay down their arms or declare them outlaws. He could legitimize this invasion with a single signature from the king himself and the help of the King¡¯s office. Whether the King of Zard would cooperate on this or not, it did not matter, any of his sons who were up for the task would do.


    Now, that damn old fool is in one place and his office is in one place, Lanxer cursed secretly.  He ordered, ¡°Map.¡± Levy immediately him the correct scroll without the need to be specified on which map. Lanxer grabbed the drawn map of the Great Plain and calculated the movement of Zard¡¯s royal army, realizing that he was more pissed than he thought. He probably would not be this pissed if his plan was undone because some geniuses outsmarted and outmaneuvered Lanxer¡¯s army. My plan is being undone because my enemy has just made a most stupid decision that nobody could have possibly anticipated such stupidity.


    Why does nobody stop this old man from going to war? Who in the right mind would allow their over 60 years old king go to war and participate in battles? Those who allow this decision to happen must cut their heads off. Lanxer gnashed, quickly had his estimated result and found a very thin line of opportunity to end the war according to his schedule. The royal army belonged to the king were not used to long march like Hyrios¡¯ army due to its structure, composition, and size. Even if they were, that 60 years old body of their king could never keep up with them. The king himself would slow down his army¡¯s marching speed. How slow? Lanxer could never really answer that question but he could estimate the answer. Until the Shadowless implanted in the royal army sent their coordinate in the next letters, Lanxer could only rely on his estimation.


    Should I go after him first then his capital? Lanxer started popping one of his health potion vials and drained it with a single gulp. Once he emptied the vial, Lanxer ordered his army to stop their march. He called for a war council among his secretaries and Regan.


    As the war council became heated, Lanxer received a letter from the north, reporting the strange inactivity of Bloodbeard¡¯s army and the capture of one of his high-ranking Shadowless.  Nothing but bad news.


    By the time the war council ended, Lanxer parted with Regan and continued his original course toward the capital city of Zard. Regan alongside his best cavalry units chased after the royal army with the king of Zard as his target, dead or alive.

 V2 Chapter 3: An Imperial Guard鈥檚 story

    V2 Chapter 3: An Imperial Guard¡¯s story


    Tending weapons and armors was one of a very few enjoyments that Sootborne had after donning the gold and copper armor of the imperial guard to serve his great sire. Even so, the sound of grinding whetstone and the brushes of oil on the edges of swords could not bring a smile to Sootborne¡¯s lips.


    Sootborne was known to his half-brothers for his indifference and his ever-angry face. They often bet among themselves to see who could take away that scowls on his face. They tried and failed. It was until the older ones of Sootborne¡¯s half-brothers brought him and several others to the brightest looking whorehouse in the capital that they managed to turn the scowls on his face into a red blush. While the hundreds of his half-brothers around the same age as Sootborne rigorously swung their swords from dawn to dust with smiles and laughter in their face, Sootborne swung his sword with scowls and grumble. He did not enjoy bathing in the yellow sun of high noon to learn the art of swordplay and the discipline of formations like his half-brothers. He did not laugh at the contests of speed in those horsemanship lessons and certainly, just like his half-brothers, Sootborne could never smile while the crushing weight of those long logs was bending his spine like a drawn bow.


    A man could not choose who he becomes, Sootborne meticulously put yet another well-oiled sword into its scabbard and placed it at his side. He proceeded to draw another sword out of its sheath and scowled at the tiny crook on its ornate cross guard. Sootborne immediately put his hammer into work without really paying attention to story that Rattlekin was telling at the campfire. He was retelling the story of that one winged Garuda who managed to kill that Nameless Demon Lord during the Divine War. Rattlekin was the leader of Sootborne¡¯s twenty-man unit and the oldest of them all. He knew more about the sword, the shield walls and battles than the rest of them. Even so, this would be his maiden campaign as the rest of Sootborne¡¯s half-brothers and Sootborne himself. After all, Shepiran the six-petal flower city of Zard has not known the flame of war since the last civil war over three hundred years ago.


    A trio of Sootborne¡¯s brothers from a different twenty-man unit came to retrieve their weapons from him with the faint smell of ginger mead in their breath. Gold was their hair and jade was their eyes, similar to Sootborne and their sire. Sootborne scowled and told one of them to draw his sword to check the state of his weapon instead of just leaving without drawing it once. They got into a small quarrel before the fool reluctantly listened to Sootborne¡¯s demand due to the other¡¯s advice.


    As he was going back to his job, Sootborne realized that there was something invisible like the edge of a sharpened blade pressed at everyone¡¯s neck, his neck included. He could not explain it but he could feel it. Some of them who were supposed to sleep at moment for their next watch at dawn were swinging their sword with basic strokes. Others were gathering at the campfire where Rattlekin was telling his stories. Sootborne himself, he could not stop his whetstone, oil brush and hammer from doing what they were designed to do.


    The sound of his hammer working on the dents on the armor reminded Sootborne of his aging mother. It has been almost a year since he last saw her. Sootborne meticulously hammered on the dents and remembered the time when he could smile.


    Sootborne never complaint of living with the strong smell of molten iron clung to his sweats everyday like his own type of perfume oil. He was content with listening to the striking sounds of his mother¡¯s hammer hitting against the metal on her anvil. He remembered the sting in his eyes, the dripping snots in his nose and the wide toothy laughter in his throat when he took the bellow for the first time, the red embers that took into the air like firebugs and the soot that fell upon his body like snowflake. He was content with living his life covered in soot, being a child of a blacksmith and one day inheriting the smith from his mother.


    Yet, the life of a man was but a piece of red-hot iron out of their mold. A man could not choose who he becomes, for the gods had their hammer and anvil and they would strike that piece of iron into the shape they desired. It¡¯s even more true if the man were born from a special mold, the mold of the Great Craxus.


    Man and dwarf are children of Sinintee just as the elves are children of Niwdar. But Sinintee is war. Thus, the fate of man and dwarf is war itself.


    Born a man and a son of Craxus, there is only but one future. When he was done with working on the pile of swords and armor at his sides, Sootborne sat down and wrote a letter. Before he knew it, he was marching toward Madukat again.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    King Musa camped just as often as he marched. For an old man of his age, Sootborne guessed that the king was doing quite well. Sootborne¡¯s brothers were already joking about how Hyrios might have already won the war by himself by the time King Musa arrived at the Golden Triangle. That¡¯s good, Sootborne thought. Not all sons of Craxus dreamed of battles and swordplay. Not all sons of Craxus dreamed of dragons and conquests. Not all sons of Craxus dreamed leaving their mother to chase after glory. Some just wanted to be a normal person, a lowly smith at his mother¡¯s side and no more.


    When dawn arrived on the Duciran Hill signaling the first day of the winter, Sootborne saw the shadow of a hundred nomad riders emerged from the dark side of the Duciran Hill bearing a tattered resemblance of Hyrios¡¯ standard, the golden tiger holding a cross of arrows on black. They came, rushing, bearing grave news, ¡°I¡¯m Hasjonna. I request an audience with the king on Master Hyrios¡¯ order,¡± seeking an audience with the king in a rude hurry as the ranks of Sootborne¡¯s half-brothers stopped them with shields and swords. Their spokesman carefully held a stained brown silk bag within his clutches. The rest of the riders, their cloaks marred with blood and dirt. Their bows either marred by the flame or broken, their quivers thin of arrows, their tribal garbs bloodied and dirty. Their warhorses exhausted white steam, wobbling on grassy still ground. Their tallest man, the bearer of Hyrios¡¯ standard, a stout giant of a man dropped from his horse like a useless sack of iron ingots and became cold on the ground, revealing the black and brown of eagle-feathered arrows protruded from his cloaked back. He fell while holding into a grown eagle¡¯s wingspan of a wooden case like something of the utmost important to him.


    ¡°Healers, please. He needs help.¡±


    One of the riders called, jumped down from horseback and approached the giant. Farrow, the oldest of Sootborne¡¯s half-brother in the service of the imperial family and the commander of the imperial guard, waved his arms and loudly demanded healers. He ordered a pair of the imperial guards under him to move the unconscious man but they could not move the giant due to his sheer massive weight. Fearing for the man¡¯s safety, they did not dare to drag him out of recklessness, waiting for the imperial healers to arrive instead. At the same time, Farrow inquired the spokesman of the riders regarding the news and but that person only shook his head, biting angrily at his lips, refusing to let go the bloodied silk bag within his arms. ¡°Please, let us speak with his Majesty,¡± he adamantly said as blood streamed and stained his grey stubble.


    Sootborne was not the only one who could sense the grievance and hatred in the spokesman¡¯s voice. The man¡¯s strong emotion and the horrible look of his company stirred a dark premonition within everyone¡¯s heart.


    ¡°What happened to my Hyrios?¡± shouted Sootborne¡¯s sire, King Musa of Zard. Through their training and reflex, Sootborne and his half-brothers immediately stood in attention at the presence of their sire and king, squaring their greaves against their shoulders, their gauntlets resting on their sword¡¯s handle.


    King Musa rushed out of his tent. The royal gold of his silk tunic was half-buttoned, flapping against the swell of his mead barrel belly. ¡°What happened to my Hyrios?¡± King Musa demanded. His uncombed hair rustled, a bushy silver forest that mixed with few strands of gold, sensing that dark premonition in the atmosphere.


    The spokesman did not reply, only bit into his lower lips harder, enlarging the red stream on his stained stubble. He groveled on the ground, presenting the bloodied silk bag to King Musa.


    ¡°That¡¯s not possible. Not Hyrios¡­¡± King Musa shouted angrily. His voice suspended disbelief, yet shaken. Among all of his subjects, Hyrios has always been his favorite and King Musa has never shied away from showing that to everyone. King Musa was a man of many loves and many flaws. His great love for talent was one of his best quality and biggest flaw. King Musa raised his hand and palmed his face, appearing as if he had age for another decade from the news. He then waved his hand, pointing his finger and the silk bag and casting a hawk-like glance over Farrow.


    Farrow immediately stood before the spokesman, slowly taking the blood stained silk bag from the spokesman¡¯s hands. Slowly, he removed the binding cord as Sootborne trained his eyes on him, expecting to see Hyrios¡¯ bloodied head inside the bag from its shape. Whatever the object inside that bag was, Sootborne had no way of knowing. For a moment, Sootborne saw a bright flash and the figure of Farrow being torn by that flash until a dark cloud swept over him and turned everything into darkness and chaos.


    For a brief moment, Sootborne remembered the distant memory of his mother¡¯s forge as his eyes were stung by the black cloud into tears. Then, someone among the ranks of his half-brothers bellowed loudly, ¡°Protect the king.¡± Suddenly, there was order among the spreading chaos and years of training kicked in. Sootborne drew his sword and tightened the grip on his shield, rushing to his sire¡¯s side with ranks of his brothers to form rings of protection. The one stood the nearest to King Musa tossed his body over the king himself to take a blow for his sire with his shoulder, his sword swinging in a blurry of desperation to save his unarmored sire rather than himself. He fell quickly to the repeated slashes and hacks of the enemies, but even in his death, he still protected his sire with his corpse, further obstructing the enemies from King Musa. Rattlekin was among the first of the imperial guards to reach his sire first, striking at the enemies with powerful swings of his sword, forcing them to divert their attention from King Musa.


    Following Rattlekin from behind, Sootborne¡¯s unit rammedinto the waves of the cloaked men.


    The ones leading the formation intercepted the treacherous blades that aimed at their great sire in the nick of time. Blades met blades for a brief exchange before the wall of heater shields and trusty muscles rebuffed the blades of those cloaked figures. Within that black cloud of chaos, trainings and brotherhood was the only existing resemblance of order. Rattlekin barked his orders as hisstabbing blade caught the throat of that spokesman, spilling blood. Sootborne bashed his heater shield against the arcing blade of the enemy stood in front of him. His brothers quickly stood at Sootborne¡¯s sides, raising their shields to form a ring around their sire. Their blades stabbed over the shields to keep the enemies at distance, buying more time for the other units to reinforce the formation.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Those cloaked riders who waved Hyrios¡¯ standard became more desperate when the second ring of imperial guards formed around King Musa. They tossed their weight against the shield wall, taking the stabbing blades with reckless abandon. Sootborne¡¯s sword chinked on the mail of his enemy. He turtled his helmeted head just in time to bounce off his enemy¡¯s hacking blade. Sootborne caught a glimpse of dancing sparks before his sight blurred. His form crumbled backward, staggering into an unmovable wall to support his back. In a blur of white fury, Sootborne found his enemy with his rebuffing shield arm and threw him backward. Supported by the wall behind him, Sootborne stood strong against the next attack, meeting the enemy¡¯s sword with his shield, and eyes with a horizontal red straight of his sword.


    The situation quickly turned against those cloaked people when another ring of golden dragon shields formed before Sootborne with their hacking blades. For a moment, Sootborne allowed himself to breath until something flew and opened a hole in the first and second ring to Sootborne¡¯s right side. Sootborne heard Rattlekin barked his orders, telling all the formed the rings around King Musa to move away from the black cloud. Rattlekin counted from ¡°One¡± to ¡°Two¡± and then back to ¡°One¡± again, allowing Sootborne and his brothers to harmonize their footsteps. The small opening in the rings was quickly filled with golden dragon shields of Zard as formation moved.


    Through his teary eyes stung by smoke, Sootborne caught a glimpse of two of his brothers sprawling on the ground as the tattered banner of Hyrios impaled their neck and face. A tower of despair broke through the smoke, charging headlong to meet golden dragons of Zard. It was that giant who fell from his horseback and went cold on the ground, now no longer cold and immobiled. On his stout hands a grown eagle¡¯s wingspan of silver gleamed red fromgeysering streams of blood, a sword made out of Titanite. Its shape and inner patterns made that bulk of silver appeared to be a giant feather on giant¡¯s hands. A trimmed feather it was, but far from being weightless or harmless despite its elegant form. Its wicked edges tore through the copper and iron of the golden dragon heater shields on like nothing. Metal plates gave in to such silver fury within a blink of an eye. But the white of Imperial quenched steels held on, just for the briefest of moment to birth hope, until despair came about with a greater fury.


    Sootborne watched as his brothers died holding to their bent, shaved or broken sword. Even the best sword, The Sword of War Song, was only as good as the person who held it. Had anyone else held that sword other than Craxus himself, that weapon would not become a legend. That giant¡¯s skill was just as deadly as his sword. That silver feather of despair flew like an extension of that giant¡¯s stout arms. But, it did not just flew, it struck like thunders with a silver blur of speed and a red explosion of force. Sootborne thought that if Craxus has returned to the land of the living, he would look like that towering giant.


    Amidst that despair, a sword managed to slip through that silver fury, a miracle, a beacon of hope until it chinked on bloodied silk garb of the giant. But silk would not chink, only metal chinked.


    That giant sneered as if amused behind the silver of his serpent¡¯s head helmet, rewarding the person who managed to score a hit on him with a lightning backswing of his silver feather, sending his armored torso flying through the air, his innard trailing behind like a long tail. His lower half geysered a fountain of blood. Bathing in a raining red, that giant advanced in large confident strides, his silver feather lay wasted to five more golden dragons.


    As Sootborne wondered just how many more of his brothers¡¯ lives needed to be spent to stop that approaching hulk of a despair, he heard his sire rallied his army with angry bellows. Sootborne found discipline returned to his grip. He stopped choking on his sword and held it like a weapon. One more ring appeared to reinforce the protection of King Musa and two arrowheads of golden dragons formed before the ring, pointing at that dripping red giant. But lo! The giant laughed savagely, bulling headlong at the giant arrowheads before him with no doubt or fear in him. That silver feather fell three golden dragons with a savage swing, four immediately replaced them, rebuffing the giant with weight and number for the point of imperial steels to claim his life.


    The giant effortlessly prevented their effort to wrestle him to the ground with a series of swift and precise strokes, chopping their arms and shields off before they reached him. Bu even so, they pushed forward. Their swords went chink and bounced off the giant¡¯s garb. Silver glinted beneath the opened gaps. For every slash, stab, and hack that came and chinked on that giant, despair returned with a fury silver of vengeance.


    Arms flew into the air like winged serpents, fingers and hands like flies and small birds. Shields dimmed and swords broke to the advance of that Titanite cladded giant. His silver ornate armor revealed exquisite patterns of serpentine scales and birdlike feathers, resembling that of a feathered serpent, the forebear of the Garuda.


    The giant feather in his hands splintered the arrowheads of golden dragons with a furious display of savagery. He did not just splinter the arrowheads. He dismantled them as if they were children waving imaginary swords on the battlefield. He broke them, their swords, their shields, and spirit. Golden dragons laid slain around him, groveling and on the way to great gate of Mistress Death¡¯s Hall. Out swept his sword, five gold dragons plunged straight into the arms of Death and the giant howled aloud, his silver sword pierced the sky. His howl was that of an ancient beast, a true dragon. Swords shivered before him, shield walls rattled.


    Horseless riders broke out of the smoke, rallying to the giant¡¯s sides. They howled with the giant as if his hatchlings, together, they spurred forward, chopping down any golden dragon stood on their way. There was no oder from his sire or Rattlekin or anyone from the inner ring to counter the giant¡¯s charge. So, Sootborne turned, peeking over the wall of shield behind him. His sire was staring, his mouth agape. He was staring, but not at the giant or his hatchlings, to the western sky, a rumbling cloud of dust. Even Sootborne knew that was the sign of an incoming cavalry charge. He shouted to Rattlekin to grab a horse and get King Musa out of this place before doom fell upon them. His shout was like a shriek, but it managed to snap Rattlekin out of his white terror. Rattlekin barked his order to open a hole in the rings for King Musa to exit with the few of his escorts. Ormoer, another half-brother of Sootborne, an imperial guard from the same generation as Rattlekin started taking over golden dragons.


    ¡°Stay right there, King of Zard, are you such a coward to abandon your people and children to their doom and run for your own safety?¡± Shouted the silver cladded giant in a thundering voice, completely overwhelming Ormoer¡¯s squeaking of an order. His accent was heavy like those who were born in the coldest region of the northern realm. ¡°If you dare to claim to be a son of Craxus, face me like a warrior. Otherwise, keep running. Runaway like a weak and terrified whore,¡± he pointed his giant sword at King Musa.


    For a brief moment, Sootborne has thought that doom has fallen over the kingdom of warm falling snow. King Musa lit his eyes as if the fire of his youth remained with him, still. He was a warrior king once in the heyday of his youth, a dashing figure of gold, people said. However, that warrior has long gone, faded into the passage of time, a warrior no more. Even an average imperial guard, a bastard son of his like Sootborne could easily best him in battle. Against that Titanite cladded giant, against the incoming cavalry charge, only doom await King Musa has he decided fighting like a warrior.


    Rattlekin for all of his life, begging his sire to leave, to not put the lives of his brothers that were lost to be waste, ¡°Sire, you are first the king of Zard and a warrior second. Do not give in to his taunt.¡± A speaker he was among the rank of the imperial guard, Rattlekin used his craft to spare his kingdom from doom.


    The silver giant bellowed challenge and taunts as he charged toward King Musa, but no longer could they change the mind of the king of Zard. King Musa aligned his royal steed and exited the chaos and incoming doom with his escorts. That giant gave chase on his feet, shouting curses and insults. But the feet of man could never match the hooves of horses. Sootborne thought that doom was averted until he was staring at doom in the face. He realized that ahead of every golden dragon at the scene and started running, breaking away from the shield wall with impunity.


    Spearmen of the infantry came rushing headlong to give aid to the dwindling imperial guards, not knowing the terror wielded by that silver tower of despair. That silver-clad giant dismantled their vanguards with a swing of silvered fury and yanked a spear out of a soldier¡¯s arm and back to running again. Sootborne just tossed his body into the air, praying. That spear hit Sootborne¡¯s shield like a bolt shot out of a ballista, tearing a hole through it.


    Sootborne caught a glimpse of his mother¡¯s forge, ever covering in a grey fog of soot, ever blazing hot. Amidst that fog, he saw his mother¡¯s figure pounding her hammer against the anvil. And Sootborne was up again, gasping for cold air, patting at the large dent on his metal plate. He used his sword arm to pry away his broken shield. His shield arm, Sootborne could only feel a branding pain and nothing else.


    The giant stared at Sootborne and sighed, ¡°This is horse manure.... Lanx, it¡¯s on you now.¡± His giant feather became a blur, spearmen foundered at his feet, bathing in a rain of blood. The giant advanced toward Sootborne, his jaded eyes underneath his silver helmet lit up in bright fury.


    Sootborne thought of running but he scrambled to his feet and stood with his sword ready. His thought kept drifting back to grey fog of his mother¡¯s forge until a sweeping feather of silver arrived. Sootborne had no idea how he leapt away from that but his knees were already bent and his body was already up in the air like a launched arrow, his sword straight at small gap on the giant¡¯s silver gorget. In that moment, time seemed to stretch and slowed down like a moving land turtle, Sootborne desperately prayed that his sword would be faster than that rising gauntlet of Titanite. He felt slow. He never realized just slow his sword was. He never did and people prayed when they needed a miracle in their life.


    The sword of the golden dragon crest flung out of Sootborne¡¯s hand and disappeared into the sky. As that silver of despair returned in a backswing, Sootborne dove for giant, trying to wrestle him down for dear life. He felt like he was trying to bring down a tower of metal with his mortal arms. He could not bulge that giant. Desperately, he pummeled the giant in the back of his knee before his body was flying in the air and hit the ground like a sack of potato. He thought a bison on its full charge hit him. The ashen fog of his mother¡¯s forge became even more vivid to Sootborne. He could feel the stinging heat of her redden forge with the tears in his eyes and running snots on his broken nose. Amidst that fog, Sootborne heard the ground rumbling thunder, metals shrieked like wailing widows and people were shouting and screaming at each other. He heard horses¡¯ neighing and riders¡¯ spurring. He saw white bolts cracking through the fog and wicked flame turned brave men into pyres. He saw golden dragons trampled ¡®neath the hooves of war horses. He saw riders flying into the air at the white wrath of imperial steels and the long spear of infantry. He saw the banner of the golden dragon rallied for a brief moment until soot covered his eyes.


    He saw many things at once but Sootborne had no idea what he was looking at, and that tower of despair was coming for him. Sootborne had no idea what he was doing, but he drew the item tucked on his waist belt, an old hammer. It was just a simple hammer that anyone can find at any regular smithy. It was just a tool to create tool, to shape metal. It was flatten on both side, without an edge or a spike to penetrate armor. It was a smithy hammer, not a war hammer. Sootborne had no idea what he was doing or what he was thinking, but he was already standing up on his limping feet, looking like he was learning to stand again like a baby. He just gripped the old trusty hammer the way his mother taught him. His sight was torn between his mother¡¯s shadowy figure amidst the fog of ashen soot and the approaching mass of silver. For a moment, he thought of the letter he has yet to deliver. He prayed that it would not reach his mother¡¯s rough hands but, at the same time, he wished it would. He had no idea what he was praying. He prayed to Wonten for courage. He prayed to Niwdar to show kindness to his aging mother and he started bellowing like a dragon, running headlong to that silver despair, never looking back.

 V2 Chapter 4: Trading a Sword for a Kingdom

    V2 Chapter 4: Trading a sword for a kingdom


    After splitting up with Regan, Lanxer has ridden days and nights without stopping with Levy and ten of his bodyguards while his main force was catching up from behind. He traveled light, bringing with him the bare minimum of supply for twelve people without the white dragon armors of White Winter on their body to attract unwanted gazes. He forced his willowy body to go through with the harshness of his journey, barely holding on with the help of his potions. On the fourth day of winter, Lanxer arrived at the six- petal flower city Shepiran. Without wasting any time, he approached a trading firm operated by one of his Shadowless units at the city outskirt. He allowed his exhausted body and his entourage to rest for three hours at the firm''s guest house before conducting his official business with his local spies.


    Egan the owner of the trading firm was the vice leader of Lanxer¡¯s local spies operated in Shepiran and neighboring regions. He was one of the many local slaves who Lanxer freed during his first trip to Zard fifteen years ago. He received seven-years training under a training unit of Lanxer¡¯s Man of No Banner operated in the floodplain of Zard. After that, he had three meritorious years of working as a local spy before Hados dispatched him to Shepiran under the guise of a nobleman¡¯s son who wanted to set up a business in the capital. Egan¡¯s role was to create connections with important and powerful local. He was able to live an extravagant lifestyle fully supported by the power of Lanxer¡¯s private coffer. Thus, he quickly established himself to become one of the wealthiest people in Shepiran and formed many important connections with the wealthiest and most powerful of people in the capital of Zard.


    Hearing Lanxer¡¯s arrival, Egan has already accommodated his entourage with necessary items, housing, and identities for the swift inspection. Lanxer was received as a friend of Egan and a noble from Silver Snow who traveled to Shepiran. Lanxer changed his clothes and horses according to his new identity. Egan ordered a carriage for Lanxer and Levy to hop on while accompanying them around Shepiran for inspection. Lanxer¡¯s carriage moved around the important checkpoints that his army needed to control before they could gain access to the palace to capture the king¡¯s offices and family hostage.


    While accompanying Lanxer¡¯s carriage, Egan rode on his own horse and stopped at the north gate of Shepiran, the gate of Great Bear. The gatekeeper and guards upon seeing Egan, allowed the carriage to enter the city without a hassle.


    ¡°It has grown again,¡± admiring the development of the city, Lanxer muttered as soon as his carriage passed through the long oppressive darkness of the gatehouse at the north gate. He has visited Shepiran on three separate occasions, which two of them were for secret missions. Every time he visited this city, it changed for the better, deservedly earning its title as the flower of Zard. Shepiran was the largest trading city within Zard¡¯s territory and possibly the entire northern realm. Once, it was just a titan¡¯s uninhabited town that has survived the First Divine War, now, it was one of mankind¡¯s most glorious cities and the capital of Zard. Shepiran received its name as the six-petal flower city from its architectural structure, a glorious wall of granite towering over the Lisboron Hill surrounded by six rounds of high walls around it like a giant exotic flower. The imperial palace, court, and office located inside the pistil of Shepiran, within the granite wall whereas everything else stayed within the six flower-petal rounds.


    Shepiran had four great entrances that lead into its six petals. The north gate was named after the Great Bear of Madukat. The south gate was named after the Golden Serpent of Kemon, similarly, the west gate after the Smiling Cat and the east gate after the Iron Boar. To enter the granite wall, people had to go through the Dawn gate or Dusk gate.


    As he traveled through the limestone paved streets of Shepiran, Lanxer inwardly told himself that he could not afford to have another crucial piece of his plan slipping out of his hands. He has sent Regan with the 800 of White Winter¡¯s best cavalry units the Silver Wind into what looked like a suicide mission, to kill or capture the King of Zard by going against an army of 11,000. He had a tactic for Regan to accomplish that goal, disguising Regan and his best men with Hyrios¡¯ standard and the Great Plain¡¯s nomad to assassinate the king.


    If only that would work, Lanxer thought pessimistically while his carriage traveling through the northern districts of Shepiran. He did not dare to put his hope high that Regan would manage to pull that assassination off. Nor Lanxer dared to put his bet on the Silver Wind to kill the king amidst the chaos. With 800 horsemen under his command, Regan can only do so much despite his abilities and experience.


    Regardless of whether Regan failed or succeeded that assassination, Hyrios¡¯ reputation will be called into question. That thought neither pleased Lanxer nor disappointed him. He knew that at the moment dozens if not hundreds of eagles and crows were flying through the sky of Zard with conflicting information regarding Hyrios¡¯ betrayal to the throne. Intercepting and filtering out the information that the Court of Shepiran received was one of the many reasons that the campaign has mostly gone according to Lanxer¡¯s scheme so far. According to Lanxer¡¯s calculation, it would take another week for the birds to arrive at the Shepiran¡¯s Imperial birdhouse bearing news of Hyrios¡¯ treachery and the news of revolts at the Western Border and one more day for the news of Imperial Army being attacked by a group of nomad bearing Hyrios¡¯ standard. While such news would at best put Hyrios¡¯ good reputation into question, it allowed Lanxer¡¯s 5000 trailing units wearing the golden dragon armors and standards of the Zardian¡¯s imperial army to enter Shepiran with the least amount of resistance.


    Most of Egan¡¯s arrangements went according to Lanxer¡¯s expectation. Egan possessed over two thousand slaves and prepared to use them as a mean of distractions on the day Lanxer¡¯s army entered Shepiran. Since Lanxer¡¯s army would enter Shepiran through the north gate with or without the help of his insiders, Egan¡¯s slaves were tasked to spread chaos in the opposite direction to attract the attention of the city guards.


    Around the time Lanxer wetted his throat with the second vial of potion since he arrived at Shepiran, his carriage was passing before the Dawn gate that leads into the Imperial Palace of Zard. Lanxer saw an old face, Azurus, Shepiran¡¯s local spymaster who was working up the rank to be a low gatekeeper in contrast to Egan. Azurus was among the original members Lanxer¡¯s Man of No Banner. Azurus subtly greeted Lanxer without drawing much attention, making a fist on his chest.


    Lanxer¡¯s carriage moved toward the direction of Imperial Barrack, one of the most important checkpoints on his list. Just like the city guard¡¯s barracks, the Imperial Barrack of Shepiran, where the Imperial guards lived and trained themselves, located outside the granite wall out of the fear of a potential revolt like what happened during the last civil war. Only the highest ranking of the imperial guards, the king¡¯s bastard sons, were allowed to live within the protection of the granite wall. According to the belief of the military men of Shepiran, in the case that the outer walls were lost and the invader has already sieged the granite wall, because the Imperial Barrack strategically located outside the granite wall, the Imperial Guards could easily attack the rear or flanks of which army decided to attack the granite wall. However, Lanxer only saw an exploit through such deployment.


    The king has brought with him 11,000 men to his campaign. Among those 11,000 men, four thousand came from the Imperial Army and the city barracks guarding Shepiran. That left a mere 6000 men to protect the flower of Zard, mathematically a challenge to Lanxer¡¯s army of 5000.


    Mathematically, Lanxer¡¯s eyes flickered on the ground of the Imperial Barrack through the wooden frame of his carriage as he probed Egan regarding the detail of his arrangement. The arrangement still left many rooms for desire and Lanxer rearranged them to his device.


    On the third night after Lanxer arriving at Shepiran, Egan invited Lanxer¡¯s insiders under the pretense of celebrating his son¡¯s coming of age ceremony according to the schedule to his private manor inside Shepiran. Whereas Egan received his most of his guests as the host of the ceremony, away from music and the cheering of the celebration from the main house, Lanxer met his insiders, among them, the third prince of Zard Entarii the most important piece of Lanxer¡¯s plan.


    While Zard married her princesses to other lands for alliances and treaties, the princes of Zard while they were allowed to live on the support of the royal coffer, only the ablest of them were allowed to receive and manage their own land around the size of a count¡¯s fiefdom on White Winter at best. The rest had to find their own path when they reached the age of sixteen, serving the gods, joining the imperial guard, or trying farming or marrying into some noble families who hoped to be a relative of the royal family or whatever.


    The third prince Entarii held the official title of the Commander of the Imperial Barrack, which spoke of his effort over the years as well as his developments and ability of the mole Lanxer installed by Entarii¡¯s side.


    ¡°Greeting Prince Entarii, I almost did not recognize you. You look exactly how I have imagined your father was when he was younger.¡± Lanxer stood and greeted the third prince the moment he saw the man¡¯s figure at the entrance. Levy stood at his side and respectfully bowed her head to the prince whereas all of Lanxer¡¯s insiders also stood and respectfully greeted the third prince.


    Entarii greeted Lanxer back, ¡°Greeting Prince Lanxer,¡± He joked with a smile on his lips, ¡°Or should I say War Chief now?¡± He grabbed Lanxer¡¯s bony forearm and shook arms with a force that made Lanxer felt like his right arm was about to be ripped off, ¡°You should eat more. You are just a bag of bone and skin now.¡± He commented on Lanxer¡¯s physics, ¡°Speaking of which, I have not even congratulated you for your recovery. I hope that you could forgive with this gift.¡± Entarii entered the room with his faithful page at his side, bearing a box wrapped in silk.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Kamara tea leaves?¡± Lanxer asked.


    ¡°The green sprouts as usual¡± Entarii nodded and confirmed. He remembered Lanxer¡¯s preference for drinking tea brewed from the spouts of the Kamara tea tree over the leaves, signaling his page to deliver the gift to Levy. ¡°I have saved them for you, old friend.¡± He said and strode around the room to greet the other guests, shaking their arms and exchanging brief casual talk with all of them.


    The third prince of Zard has grown up in the manner Lanxer has expected him to be. Once he was a pampered and frail looking boy, crying for his lack of talents and vying for his father¡¯s affection in secret. However, that boy has long gone. He has developed a dashing figure from his military training, a man now.


    As soon as Entarii finished with his brief pleasantries, Lanxer called for the meeting to begin. Lanxer reconfirmed with Entarii regarding the damage to Hyrios¡¯ reputation that Letrailos was wrecking at the Western Border, much to the visible delight on Entarii¡¯s face. His hatred for Hyrios remained strong since fifteen years ago, if not stronger now according to Lanxer¡¯s designs. The third prince has never grown over his hatred for being shamed by Hyrios in front of his father in that birthday party as a boy back then and a man now. That hatred aside, Lanxer was glad that Entarii has gained a burning ambition for the throne despite the heir to the throne has already been named someone else.


    The king of Zard Thrainian IV loved to see talents blossomed as much as Lanxer¡¯s father lust to ram his dick into a woman¡¯s cunt. Thrainian IV loved to surround himself with talented people so much that it became an obsession. He promoted a merit system based on individual ability to combat the rampancy of nepotism and favoritism among his loyal subjects and offices. This policy even extended to the lowest rank of his subjects, the serfs and slaves. Thrainian IV encouraged the slave owners and nobles to educate their slaves and serfs through his policy, conferring rewards and credits to every talented slaves and serf who they recommended to the kingdom.


    Furthermore, every three years, Thrainian IV would host an examination in Shepiran to recruit new talents across his kingdom. At the end of the examination, he would put people whom he considered talented and able to their respective roles. The real genius of this examination was that people of all the classes could take it and there was no such thing as examination fee. Thus, even if a poor slave with no coin in his pocket to feed himself could take the examination and pass it if he had the right knowledge and talent. This Shepiran-three-year- examination boldly removed the hereditary claims to all entry-level government posts and most imperial office posts, barring the nobles of Zard from their monopoly over many government posts and offices.


    For years, Lanxer has seen his teacher mulled over the same idea to target the very root problems of the Kingdom of White Winter. Thus, when he saw the policies that Thrainian IV established, he could not help but admire and envy the boldness of the king of Zard.


    Unlike White Winter who had a total worth of nine dukedoms and two princedom, which made its politics extremely complicated to deal with, Zard has already managed to limit the power and domain that noble-houses could possess through the civil war over 300 years ago and centralized its military power around the king and the four direction protectors of Zard. Even so, Zard still had its own fair of problems when dealing with noble houses since the nobles own most of the wealth, trades and official titles across the kingdom. Therefore, making a policy to further prying away the grip of the noble houses over the kingdom was a bold move. While it allowed the king to have a better grip over his kingdom, it made him at odds with his nobles and relatives.


    Since Lanxer had his eyes on Zard fifteen years ago, he did not miss his chance. Most of the people participated in the meeting Lanxer hosted were nobles and imperial relatives who gathered under Entarii¡¯s wings through the years. Lanxer¡¯s secret friendship with the third prince of Zard began during his first trip to Zard. Lanxer caught the prince took out his anger in the darkness of the night when his father was busy praising someone else¡¯s sons instead of his own.


    Thus, Lanxer whispered a careless whisper of a drunken man into the ears of the third prince. If people wondered just how much a quiet whisper could impact the mind of a child who was starving for affection from his father, a lot. Lanxer showed that boy a shortcut and that boy listened. He switched his own page for one of Lanxer¡¯s spy, a capable man, a talent, a person who could read the heart. He stayed by the prince¡¯s side, whispering advice and letting the third prince winning all the credits. And indeed, the third prince was a perfect candidate to be Lanxer¡¯s most powerful marionette. He joined the Imperial Barrack to earn credits and became an important figure among the Imperial Barrack.


    ¡°What about you, Prince Entarii? Can you kill your brothers and all the other candidates for the throne?¡± Lanxer phrased his question like a challenge.


    ¡°Do you doubt me, old friend?¡± Entarii coldly scoffed. The dark expression on his face reminded Lanxer of Letrailos when that shameless man tried to ruin the Kraig¡¯ondor campaign in the past to kill Lanxer and Regan. In a way, Entarii was Letrailos if Letrailos were less talented and more simpleminded, a perfect marionette to gain control over the kingdom of Zard.


    ¡°Until I saw this expression on your face, yes.¡± Lanxer nodded his head and admitted, causing a flash of displeasure on Entarii¡¯s eyes. ¡°It¡¯s extremely hard to kill someone when that person grew up with you, ate in the same table as you and studied under the same teacher like you. It¡¯s a hard choice to make, a great sacrifice of one¡¯s self even if it was done in the name of the greater good for this kingdom and its people. I have always lamented my lack of the courage to do that.¡± In around and about manner, Lanxer praised Entarii while putting himself in a lower position. He sighed sorrowfully and put a dampen mood to his tone. Lanxer hissed, ¡°For years I have thought about it. Every day, I lived in the fear of the dukes and princes of my kingdom would revolt against the throne as the reign of my useless father grew weaker in every moment. I feared a civil war would tear my kingdom asunder like it did to your kingdom 300 ago. But they were my father, my uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, I¡­ I hated my lack of strength to make such decision every day¡­¡± Then, Lanxer coughed with the force of a person¡¯s retching, no longer able to say anything. Levy hurriedly came to his side patted on Lanxer¡¯s doubled willowy back, trying to ease his coughing and pain.


    Lanxer flickered his sight around the room for briefest of the moment, measuring the expression of his guests. The flash of displeasure quickly dispelled from Entarii¡¯s eyes like a wisp of a smoke of a dying candle, according to Lanxer¡¯s calculated effort to humble himself and his feigned coughings, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. As you are aware, I have only healed from sickness.¡± Lanxer killed his coughings before the atmosphere inside the room became strange. He popped a vial of health potion and drained it in a gulp.


    Entarii closed the distance between him and Lanxer, grabbing Lanxer¡¯s right arm, wearing a concerned look on his face, ¡°Take better care of your health, old friend. The sight of your suffering pains my heart. You are just a husk of your old self now. Take better care of yourself.¡±


    Had it not for annual reports written by the mole that Lanxer has installed by Entarii¡¯s side fifteen years ago, Lanxer would probably feel incredibly touched by the perfect display of emotion on Entarii¡¯s face. He used his bony left hand to grab Entarii¡¯s hand, giving it a firm shake to display his trust and appreciation for Entarii like a brother in arm of his, ¡°Lest an old man¡¯s health stops the great wheel of history from advancing forward.¡± Lanxer smiled weakly, speaking with a deprecating tone. ¡°Let¡¯s continue our discussion for the future of your kingdom and mine.¡±


    The meeting progressed accordingly to Lanxer¡¯s terms. He discussed the other insider¡¯s role and Entarii¡¯s most important role during the day his army entered Shepiran under the guise of the defeated Imperial army led by the king of Zard. He skimmed through the terms of the Imperial Edicts, which Entarii has written in advance for their legitimization to complete with the Imperial seal on top and the acknowledgment of the king¡¯s office, pretending to not realize the loopholes on the written terms to put Entarii at ease.


    After that, Lanxer repeated his promise to honor the secret deal with the third prince to crown him as the king of Zard and the effort to recognize Zard to be an equal ally of the future Empire White Winter. The meeting went over midnight and concluded by the time Lanxer heard a distant roosters¡¯ crow. Egan helped Lanxer to receive the guests as they returned home while they tried to show their consideration to Lanxer¡¯s health. Entarii played the role of a concerned friend to the very end, reminding Lanxer of his stark similarity to Letrailos. Lanxer presented him a surprise gift belatedly, a silver sword with water flowing pattern on its blade. Entarii kept commenting of how generous Lanxer was, comparing to himself, a Titanite sword for a box of Kamara tea, ¡°If you opened a business, you would definitely be in red all years long if you are this generous.¡±


    ¡°A worthy son of Craxus must have a worthy sword at his side, don¡¯t you think?¡± Lanxer mysteriously smiled, shaking his head. Trading a sword for a kingdom is too cheap of a price.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°He¡¯s similar to Letrailos, just as repugnant,¡± Levy commented when the third prince of Zard went out of earshot distance.


    Lanxer inadvertently turned at her, flexed his index finger and raised his brows in displeasure, appearing as if he was lecturing her for her outburst of insolence.


    ¡°Let¡¯s me fix your bed, Your Highness. You need to rest now.¡± Levy spoke without concern, knowing that Lanxer was secretly approving with her comment.


    Lanxer did not say anything, waving his hand to tell Levy to Just do it without waiting for his permission.


    ¡°Fifteen years of preparation used up in just a single moment,¡± he looked at the moonless sky and sighed.


    This war has gone off prematurely three years ahead of his initial scheme, and thus Lanxer could only give up several elements involved in his plans. The news of the king of Zard led his own imperial army into combat has caught Lanxer¡¯s off-guard. He lamented the fact that Letrailos has managed to evade his death trap, somehow. The Phantom Army strategy that he employed could have gone off much better with more time on his side. Had the kingdom held on for three more years, Lanxer could have rid White Winter of its festering fleshes and asserted its dominance as a new Empire with a single move.


    One more year, Lanxer secretly promised, giving a deadline to his plan at dealing with White Winter¡¯s internal issue.


    That night, Lanxer slept without dreaming of that black serpentine dragon for the first time since he had that dream. He was not sure if he were more worry about not seeing such an ominous dream than seeing it. He has sent his message to Regan¡¯s father to tighten the defense of Kingscrown despite knowing no army would repeat the mistake of attacking White Winter in the white of winter again.


    The night after that, the sky spewed fire. Lanxer woke up to the shouting of Egan¡¯s servants. He stared at the red dusky sky brightened in a storm of fire. A myriad of flaming stars streaked through the sky, angrily tearing holes through the wooly night clouds, trailing long burning tails behind them. It appeared to Lanxer that the gods have unleashed a volley of fire arrows at Escana amidst the night. As Lanxer watched flaming stars arcing toward the direction of the dwarven Starfell Island, he heard the servants¡¯ prayer to Sinintee, ¡°May Sinintee smiles upon our future.¡±


    His thought randomly trailed off to Letrailos. Somewhere in the western region of the Great Plain, Letrailos was probably using this meteor storm as a sign to strengthen the faith of Sinintee again, talking about the gods, the demon lords and the end of the material plane of Escana.

 V2 Chapter 5: Shepiran on Fire

    V2 Chapter 5: Shepiran on fire


    The next morning, Lanxer traveled around Shepiran on carriage to see how people would react to such event. Surprisingly, it was not as terrible and chaotic as Lanxer has imagined, even when a stray star fragment plowed a great crater on an unfortunate farmer¡¯s winter onion field to the south of Shepiran and burned the entire field to the ground. Levy made a similar comment regarding how calm the people of Shepiran was, solidifying to Lanxer just how different the culture in Shepiran comparing to Kingscrown. Lanxer was sure that at the very moment, the people of Kingscrown were flooding the ground of the Great Temple like an army readying for war, waiting for the priests of Sinintee to put their anxiety attack to stop with some riddled wordplays and prayers to the Great Sinintee.


    Around noon, a fatbird arrived at the guesthouse where Lanxer was staying in Shepiran. As Lanxer received the fluff-ball of feather from Levy¡¯s hands, he felt the demon in his stomach grumbled loudly. Lanxer closed his eyes, calming himself by combing his fingers on the fluff-ball of feather inside his palm.


    The fluff-ball cooed as Lanxer used his bony fingers to stroke it in rewarding gentle rhythms. Amidst the loudness of his own heartbeat and the grumbling of his stomach demon, Lanxer heard the vivid sound of the sap-coated metal tube being unplugged in Levy¡¯s hands and the sound of the content inside the tube being unrolled. He then heard the sound of the decoding needles and quills being put to work as well as Levy¡¯s sincere prayer to Eogaill, asking for the <Revealing Light>.


    Lanxer continued to stroke the cooing fatbird as he waited for Levy to finish decoding the letter, preparing for the worst news.


    Lanxer brought only ten pairs of fatbirds to this campaign. Levy kept two pairs with her at all time, Hados five, and Krady three.


    The fatbird was a special breed of bird that Lanxer has selectively bred from the domesticated Star Swallows inhibiting in the coastal area of Neversummer and the wilderness of Starfell Island. Due to its bushy feather coat, the fatbird looked like a ball of feathers when it had its wings folded. The thickness of the fatbird¡¯s feather coat allowed it to live through the coldest days of Neversummer and even survive the worst of blizzards. The fatbird can travel an incredible distance due to its unmatched ability to glide through the air like no other bird. Its ability to deliver letters put even the best breed of carrier eagles or homing crows used to shame in term of speed and reliability.


    The art of using homing birds to deliver letters was one of the greater wisdom that the intelligent races of Escana learned by watching the extinct titans. That was a common knowledge that even an average peasant would know because it was mentioned regularly in the foundation myth of the current titan-free world of Escana, passing from one mouth to another, generation to generation.


    That¡¯s what made these fatbirds unique, they were not homing birds. They were selectively bred and trained to deliver packages via magic signals, the first of its kind as far as Lanxer knew.


    Despite the effectiveness of the fatbird in the past war campaigns, Lanxer has never implemented the fatbird¡¯s letter service into his network of spies installed in Zard for three reasons.


    The thickness of the fatbird¡¯s feather coat despite being a great advantage in the coldest region of the northern realm became a liability in Zard. Its thick feather coat tired the fatbird out during spring, summer, and autumn, practically an entire year. That was the first reason. The second reason was due to the great population of the Zardian breeds of mountain eagles that lorded over the central plains of Zard. Anything flies on the sky that is not a dragon or an eagle is considered food for these Zardian mountain eagles. Therefore, the practice of homing crows in Zard was a dying art. These delivery crows rarely reached their destination. It was for the same reason that Lanxer could not use his fatbirds in Zard. The third reason was the conspicuous golden and white color coat of the fatbird. It attracted attention.


    The cooing fatbird inside Lanxer¡¯s palm was one of the five pairs he gave to Hados. The fact that Hados committed to using the fatbird instead of the delivery eagles spoke of the urgency of the news.


    In a crisp voice, Levy read the message she has decoded aloud, ¡°News from the north, the Warden of Madukat has escaped the city, leaving the city in the charge of his housekeeper¡­¡±


    Lanxer immediately cut in, ¡°Escape, which direction?¡± He has already known that he could not expect anything from Bloodbeard and his marauders. Thus, he expected them to execute everything incorrectly one way or another. But, their number and their savagery would contribute significantly to the cause of White Winter in the end. Lanxer was using them as sacrificial pawns and baits on the grand scheme. Alongside, he used the opportunity to test out the effectiveness of the Philosopher Stone and the newly developed military-grade magic. However, Lanxer did not expect that the Bear of Madukat would abandon his people for his own safety despite hearing about his ineptitude and cowardice through the annual reports.


    ¡°Silver Snow,¡± Levy replied.


    At that moment, Lanxer¡¯s thought became a multi-headed serpent slithering in the dark. A small serpentine head slithered toward a report that Lanxer has read while he was down with pneumonia, a marriage pact that binds the future of a noble house of Silver Snow to the Bear of Madukat. This serpent head was so small and insignificant that Lanxer was not even worrying about it.


    Silver Snow would not move for the Bear of Madukat. However, even if Silver Snow would, it would be too late. Entarii would have succeeded the throne by then and declared every Warden who was not on his side a traitor to the throne. Silver Snow would have no legitimacy to lend their troops to the Bear of Madukat, not when Entarii has become the King of Zard and secured his sit within the king¡¯s office.


    Another serpent head split the darkness within Lanxer¡¯s head, pondering if Silver Snow would be reckless enough to go to war without its two greatest allies-the mountain and forest tribes inhibiting the Spine, and the dwarves of Starfell Island. Lanxer assumed the worst. If that situation came to reality, White Winter would have to fight a war on two fronts, A worrying thought, Lanxer mulled. He was confident that he could rally and mobilize the army of the nine dukes faster than Silver Snow could with its army. Lanxer was confident to command the situation on two fronts with his established communication network. However, it would be an extremely risky gamble.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Maybe that would be a good opportunity. Within the darkest depth of his mind, another serpent head crept out, slithering. Lanxer, however, immediately chopped this serpent head before it revealed much of itself in the light. He surmised that such thought was born from his regret for not being able to launch his attack on Zard according to his schedule and complete terms. Otherwise, he would be able to steal the army from the nine dukes, conquer Zard and secure the throne for Patocli, all at the same time.


    This is not the right time, Lanxer clicked his tongue, telling himself to not take unnecessary risk. Lanxer took a deep breath and asked, ¡°What else in the letter?¡±


    ¡°Bloodbeard stepped down from being the leader of his marauding band and a person who called himself the Prince of De Aa Lionse has assumed the leadership of the band. This person saw through our schemes to use Bloodbeard¡¯s force as bait. Together, they intended to meet Hyrios¡¯ force at the Bundor Bastion.¡±


    Suddenly, an alarming spark went off in Lanxer¡¯s mind, ¡°Hang on, you are telling me that Bloodbeard submitted his position to this person. It¡¯s not a revolt?¡±


    ¡°That is what this letter says,¡± Levy confirmed.


    He¡¯s not the type of person who would make this kind of decision. Lanxer furrowed his brows, recalling the time when he approached Bloodbeard and talked the bandit lord into launching an invasion at Zard. Also, he should realize that meeting Hyrios at the Bundor Bastion is a death wish. Lanxer found himself confounded by the strange news.


    DE Aa Lionse¡­Where is this place? As Lanxer was thinking along the line, ¡°This is his banner,¡± Levy passed a small sheet to Lanxer.


    Lanxer held the piece of paper within his palm and stared at what appeared to be a golden flower of five hands on black theme. On the black banner, strange writing which Lanxer has never seen before.


    Lanxer tested his memory on the names of all the existing kingdoms in the northern realm and even the ancient kingdoms of old. He has never heard of the kingdom with the name De Aa Lions. Lanxer started to wonder if this self-proclaimed prince came from one of the nomadic tribes that became hostile to Hyrios. Regardless, this person has managed to not only convince Bloodbeard to give up his authority but also saw through Lanxer¡¯s intention in using Bloodbeard as a sacrificial chess piece. Then, why is he siding with Bloodbeard?


    ¡°Our spy also says in the letter that this person seemed to have an affiliation with the Greyscale.¡± Levy added and the demon inside Lanxer¡¯s stomach started wreaking havoc.


    Why would the Greyscale involve in this matter?


    ¡°Pass me the letter,¡± Lanxer commanded and started reading the message that Levy has decoded. He learned nothing new about this strange prince of De Aa Lionse beside what Levy has read to him. Aside from the news regarding Bloodbeard¡¯s band of marauder and the prince of De Aa Lionse, Lanxer saw the report of Regan failing his assassination attempt on King Thrainian IV.


    Not a problem, Lanxer thought. From the beginning, Lanxer did not dare to pin his hope on Regan in pulling that assassination off. He has already convinced Entarii to prepare his faction to declare war against his father for legitimacy the throne. Hyrios would be accused of holding Thrainian IV hostage in Madukat, Not a problem.


    Lanxer was more intrigued as of why this prince of De Aa Lionse decided to fight with Bloodbeard¡¯s marauders in the Bundor Bastion. That¡¯s a death wish, Lanxer thought, trying to find any reason to explain why someone who has the ability to see through his scheme and intention would make such a decision. He could not. Thus, he kept preparing for the day when his army would enter Shepiran and waited for the next fatbird to come to shed more light on this prince who came out of nowhere.


    Lanxer waited patiently and waited and waited. He continued to wait even when the time the entire flower city erupted in chaos with the tales of Hyrios¡¯ treachery from all manner of sources and witnesses. Many of Lanxer¡¯s spies flooded into the city, assuming the guise of traveling nomads who managed to witness the battle of Hyrios¡¯ army and King Thrainian IV¡¯s army at the Duciran hill. Some assumed the guise of refugees who saw Hyrios¡¯ rebelling army at the western border of Zard and managed to escape with their lives.


    Step by step, his schemes and tactics came together in front of Lanxer¡¯s eyes. And yet, the fatbird he was expecting never come. He kept waiting until that day came.


    Inside the walls of the Imperial Barrack, Entarii declared the second prince was in the league with Hyrios, A bunch of treacherous subjects who betrayed the throne for ambition, as Entarii would say. He used the fact that nomads of the Great Plain called Hyrios the King of the Plain and provided many other pieces of evidence against the second prince and Hyrios. He purged those who dared to question him on the spot and before long armed the entire Imperial Barrack to enter the granite wall, putting the second prince and his league of traitors to the sword.


    Since Azurus- Lanxer¡¯s local spymaster was the gatekeeper of the granite wall, Entarii¡¯s passage would not be denied. At the same time, Egan¡¯s slaves started a massive fire in the Golden Serpent Gate and the city guards were directed there to douse the fire. The fire was a signal for a slave revolt that Egan has planned across Shepiran. Chaos ensued on the streets. Slaves rallied against their slavers and masters, putting them at the end of the angry pummeling fists and choking chains.


    Patocli and Hados with the disguising army galloped toward the Shepiran¡¯s gate of Great Bear. They all wore the golden dragon armor of the Imperial family and bore Thrainian¡¯s standard, looking beaten-up and battle-weary. Their armors dimmed and their standard dirtied by fire. One of Lanxer¡¯s local spies shouted to the gatekeeper to open the gate with his Shepiran¡¯s accent, telling them that the king¡¯s condition is critical and he is required royal healers to save him. Since the gatekeeper of the Great Bear gate was already bribed for the task, he eagerly opened the gate whether or not such great reasoning was spoken.


    Patocli and Hados entered the city with two thousand riders, telling the gatekeeper to keep the gate open, ¡°More will come to put order back to Shepiran.¡±


    Lanxer¡¯s local spy led Patocli¡¯s army straight to the Dawn gate of the granite wall to unite with Lanxer. Lanxer split his force into two. One would enter the palace to reinforce Entarii¡¯s army fighting within the wall of the palace. The other unit spurned their horse toward the Dusk gate, securing it to make sure no royalty or loyal ministers of the king would live to the end of the day.


    Around dusk, when the fire has been doused and the songs of clashing steels have stopped, Entarii sent his royal messengers to shout his Imperial Edicts throughout Shepiran to reestablish the order. He declared Hyrios a traitor to the throne. He informed the public of the death of the crown prince, the queen, royal consorts and the other member of royalty died in the massacre. He put the blame regarding the royal massacre happened inside the granite wall to the second prince who instigated Hyrios to rebel against the throne.


    When the moons rose above the horizon, Entarii sat on a bloodied throne, declaring himself the rightful king of Zard, supported by the surviving ministers of the king.


    Lanxer rested his creaking body within Egan¡¯s guesthouse, as usual, staring at the night sky through the open window. At his side, Levy was working on all manners of documents since Hados has been brought down by his pneumonia around noon.


    It was a full moon night. That night, Lanxer was not the only one who noticed the absence of the red moon on the sky. The red moon of Kharigan appeared during autumn and remained on sky until the last day of winter. On that night, on the sky, there was only two moons, the dark moon of Da Noira Marthias and the blue moon of Azurus. Even the day after that, Kharigan did not appear.


    No matter how long people waited for it, never again the red moon Kharigan would hang above the night sky of Escana. Instead, a strange ring of red crowned around Da Noira Marthias appeared.

 V2 Chapter 6: The battle of Madegofell meadow

    V2 Chapter 6: The battle of Madegofell meadow


    The moment Entarii sat down on his throne; his newly established office started operating on full force without resting for a moment in the next two days. Since the court and the imperial palace were littered with corpses and bloodstain, Entarii ran his office within the ground of Imperial Barrack. Lanxer, too, was struggling to stay afloat within the ocean of paperwork in his new office. He understood that the war has not ended, not yet, not until Entarii¡¯s position on the throne is completely secured. However, before that, Lanxer had to declare the justification for the army of White Winter to mobilize within the territory of Zard, preventing Thrainian IV to rally his neighboring allies to his cause.


    As several of his royal messengers were shouting his Imperial Edict to the people of Shepiran, Entarii dispatched his envoys to declare his kingship and impose his will across the kingdom. Seven groups of official court messengers bearing Imperial Edicts headed out of Shepiran on fast horses upon Entarii¡¯s and Lanxer¡¯s orders. One group headed toward the mountainous eastern border, the ancient Fort Axionis, the ancestral home to the Boars of the Spine. One rode straight to the southern Kemon floodplain, the land of the Golden Serpent. Four rode toward the western Border before splitting at Et¨¢ D¨¦lador. One of them remained in the western plain and roamed around, waving the golden dragon of the Imperial standard, exposing Hyrios¡¯ treachery to the throne to the people of the western border. The other three crossed the Sandanphon to reach Lamentia before splitting again. The last group of the seven rode north, flying toward the Golden Triangle Region.


    While the royal birdhouse of Shepiran has already sent out hundreds of letters and edicts to declare Entarii¡¯s kingship, without the official court messengers delivering the written Imperial Edicts to confirm the news, nobody would dare to believe it.


    Lanxer, too, was drowned in an ocean of papers and scrolls. Since Hados went down to pneumonia, the load on Lanxer¡¯s shoulders increased significantly. Nevertheless, as he drowned in an ocean of endless paperwork, Lanxer tried to find free time to educate Patocli regarding the newly established administration of Entarii¡¯s office, but before that, he decided to shatter the boy¡¯s disillusions about war.


    There is no better opportunity.


    Regan was against such decision at the beginning of the campaign, Let the boy realize that on his own when he grows into a man, but Regan was not here in Shepiran. Thus, Lanxer decided to educate Patocli according to his belief.


    For the first time, Lanxer revealed the state of the kingdom¡¯s coffer and granary to Patocli with all the problems highlighted in a short summary. Once Lanxer was sure that Patocli understood it, he took the boy to a quick tour around Shepiran riding on horseback with their royal guards accompanying them.


    Even when the fire was doused and the fighting has stopped, black soot still flew in the air and blood still kept on spilling on the streets of Shepiran. Entarii formed a small unit who swore loyalty to him to deal with the ¡°pests¡± whose existence proved harmful to his throne. Doubters who voiced their thought regarding Entarii¡¯s story and legitimacy to the throne were quickly put to the sword. Stubborn loyalists among to Thrainian IV were forced to swear their loyalty to Entarii or face the sword or watch their family suffer. The people who received the ¡°pests¡± label by Entarii, their served head mounted on pikes along with the head of the second prince and hundreds of other traitors to the throne forming a dreaded forest of served head outside the granite wall for the public to see.


    Lanxer was glad that things were like that, ¡°You will not see things like these in the songs of the bards or in the scrolls kept inside our royal library.¡± Lanxer directed Patocli¡¯s sight at the result of the battle and he was glad to see the paleness of disgust in the boy¡¯s face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move on to another topic. The Justification of a war. I¡¯m sure that the royal tutor and Regan have taught you that we all need a justification to declare war on another kingdom. To go to war without proper justification, we have already lost it before we fight it. You have learned this, am I correct?¡± Lanxer inquired and Patocli nodded his head to affirm.


    Lanxer sat on the back of his warhorse and watched the forest of pikes and heads with apathetic eyes. His silk mask could barely keep the stench of decayed flesh from entering his nose. Lanxer welcomed that stench to envelop his body like an old friend. ¡°I doubt that royal tutor has told you but the peace that we are enjoying at this moment is but a fallacy. Any king of any kingdom in this northern realm can declare war against any kingdom under the pretext of realizing our great ancestor Craxus¡¯ truest ambition. We can wage war against each other at any time we desire. After all, we, the sons of Craxus have all the rights to claim our Great father¡¯s land as ours. To us, the sons of Craxus, that is our grandest goal and most noble dream. And yet, few have ever done that. Do you know why?¡±


    Patocli shook his head. His visage still paled from cawing of crows and the sight of that grim forest of bodiless heads.


    ¡°Every king who has made such foolish declaration would immediately have no kingdom to rule. While he has the rights to claim this realm as his, every other son of Craxus, too have their rights to claim this realm as theirs. They will gain the justification to band together and wipe out that foolish king¡¯s kingdom from its existence.¡± Lanxer showed to Patocli a few examples of such kings from the age of the War of the Dragons. ¡°Therefore, the person who dares to declare his ambition to realize Craxus¡¯ truest ambition must be prepared to fight a war with every king in this realm and from multiple fronts.¡± Lanxer calmly explained, ¡°Only a fool would fight such a war. No matter how strong we are, that is a situation we must avoid at all cost. Never declare your intention in reforming the Empire of Craxus. That¡¯s an unwritten rule in our politic. Patocli, do well to remember that.¡±


    Lanxer waited for the boy nodded his head. When Patocli did, Lanxer pointed his finger at the heads mounted before the granite wall, identifying a few heads among the bunch, ¡°This man and this man and this man are the royal record keepers under the reign of King Thrainian IV, were... Prince Entarii¡­ no King Entarii had these men killed after labeling them to be in the same league with the traitorous second prince. However, the real reason why King Entarii killed these men is not that. These men defied Entarii¡¯s order and refused to write down Entarii¡¯s version of the story into the royal record, thus they were killed. They are foolish to die for such reason, but they are brave and honest men, however, they will be remembered as traitors and coward by history.¡±


    Lanxer proceeded to tell Patocli to forget about the grandeur of glory and justice in the songs of the bards.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°This is the hypocrisy of war. We all need justification to fight a war, and yet, there is no justice in war. Since both sides create their own image of justice and both sides claim to have justice on their sides, not even Wonten would know which side he should support. That is why Wonten is not a god of war despite the amount of strength he possesses, and this is why people pray to Sinintee instead when they go to war. Sinintee does not condemn war or conflicts. He gives strength to both the strong and the weak equally. Above all, he forgives the winners of all the sins and crimes they committed in war. This is why our ancestors, the past kings of White Winter built more Great Temples over the other temples.¡±


    When Lanxer returned to his office, he looked at Patocli, ¡°Now, I want you to go back to your room and think. Ask yourself this question What justifications that the neighboring allies of Zard could use to get in our way by joining King Thrainian IV?  When you are done with that, ask yourself How do I prevent that from happening?¡±


    This would be an invaluable experience to the boy, Lanxer told himself that the boy would benefit from the experience. Lanxer has not told the boy regarding his plan to strip the nine dukes of their power and army. He decided to keep it a secret to the boy until the time is right.


    On the third day of his reign, Entarii ended his father¡¯s half-a-lifetime-effort in taking away the power from noble houses with a single Imperial Edict. In an effort to reward his loyal supporters and gathered the old nobles who were bitter and dissatisfied with Thrainian IV¡¯s reign to his side, Entarii promised to restore the noble houses to their former power. Lanxer has expected that Entarii would make such policy; therefore, he was not surprised.


    A report came, notifying Lanxer the identity of the person who helped Letrailos avoiding his death trap in Madukat. ¡°Harlot!¡± Lanxer sighed as he read the report. He immediately wrote an order to have that woman killed.


    Lanxer then sent a fatbird to Regan, ordering him to head east to unite his 800 horsemen force with Entarii¡¯s army of two thousand that were heading east to claim the eastern border before the Iron Boar could return, with them Letrailos and his Judgment Army moving eastward.


    One week has passed since the moment Entarii sat on the throne, the killing in Shepiran still showed no sign of stopping. Lanxer took the opportunity to further explaining the rights and wrongs of Entarii¡¯s policies to Patocli, preparing the boy for the important moment. Around that time, the royal birdhouse of Shepiran still received numerous distress letters from Madukat and the western border asking for relief forces.


    The timing of the distress letters arrived at the royal birdhouse made Lanxer recalled the memory of the Gigastetris campaign. While most of the nobles of Gigastetris were still rallying their army to the king banner and some were already marching to join forces with their kings on the field, they received the news of their king¡¯s army was routed by Regan for over a week. The marching speed of Regan¡¯s army and Lanxer¡¯s successful interception of homing birds played a vital role in achieving such lightning victory.


    Lanxer knew that it would take three or four more weeks for the people of Zard outside of Shepiran to realize that the king of their kingdom was no longer Thrainian the Fourth but Entarii, the first of his name.


    Thirteen days after Entarii became the king, Lanxer received an eagle from Krady, confirming the success of Duke Lenagor-the ruler of Lamentia in taking over the control of western border in the place of Letrailos¡¯ Judgment Army. Krady also mentioned about the movement of the other three dukes¡¯ armies that Lanxer has instructed to invade Zard from the western border. They stayed and waited for the official court messengers of Entarii to give permission to cross the border. Lanxer replied to Krady¡¯s letter with a reminder to keep a close watch on the convoys bearing grains and gold moving toward the western border.


    Still, Lanxer received no further letter detailing the state of Bloodbeard army and that prince who came out of nowhere. Lanxer could only speculate that his mole has been discovered and killed after sending out that letter. He sent two fatbird and one eagle to dispatch his local spies around the Golden Triangle Region to check Fort Bundor.


    Around that time, Lanxer received a report of a sighting of a large group of over three hundred Greyscale magic casters and a small unit of elven riders entered Zard from the eastern border. As Lanxer was pondering if these people were his allies or enemies, they headed north using a mountainous trail. Lanxer sent his messengers to intercept the group, demanding to know their intention for siding with Bloodbeard and their connection to the prince of De Aa Lionse.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    After six days of marching in lines across the Great Plain, Letrailos¡¯ eyes became sick of the yellowness of the dying grasses of the meadows. The bleak yellow of the meadow grasses and flowers reminded Letrailos of the plain of Thunderbound in Kraig¡¯ondor, with the name of that plain, his buried shame. He quickly shook his head, trying to forget such a distant memory. He was not the same person as back then, Letrailos told himself.


    He looked around him, 6000 of his devotees in the white of winter and gold of the first fire, 1000 in the grey of their full body armor and the rest in the colors of their gambesons, mails, and clothes. His army has grown whilst Lanxer headed to occupy Shepiran. Listen to the call of the Great Sinintee for glory, immortality, spoils, and battles, thousands have rallied under his banner, and more would come soon.


    As Letrailos swept his eyes through the moving lines of his marching army from the rear to the vanguard, his eyes naturally locked at the black hills, captivated by the color. He turned to his guide, ¡°Is this the Madegofell meadow?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct, Your Holiness,¡± the man replied with a respectful bow, ¡°This is where the last dragon Karijard fought and killed the grey dragon Madego. The fire of their battle scorched this plain for weeks, turning the ground and the water of this area black of until this day.¡±


    ¡°Water?¡± Letrailos furrowed his brows.


    ¡°Yes, Your Holiness. People said that Madego¡¯s blood has stained the water below the ground and turned it black. Black water, it smells just as bad as a dragon¡¯s breath and catches fire easily,¡± the guide replied. ¡°Tastes horrible as well. You cannot drink it. Those who try to drink it die. Though, many people believe that only a true son of Craxus can drink this black water and live.¡±


    Intrigued, Letrailos sent scouts to ride over the dark hills, searching for black water and bringing it back to him. The two scouts drew two trails of white dust with their horses. Letrailos trained his eyes on their back until he could only squint due to the flare of the setting sun over the black hills. He saw his scouts reared their horses when they arrived at the top of a hill.


    One rider fell off his horse. The other turned and galloped back to Letrailos¡¯ marching army. Realizing that there was something beyond the black hills, Letrailos barked his order for his marching army to halt. His eyes still trained on the returning scout who was waving his arms around in grave desperation.


    A figure emerged from the other side of the black hill where one of Letrailos¡¯ scouts has fallen, a rider. Letrailos squinted. He could only see the dark silhouette of that rider as the setting sun was behind him. The rider drew his bow and the returning scout of Letrailos fell off his saddle, reeling on the ground.


    ¡°Enemy,¡± Letrailos¡¯ commanders shouted, ¡°Protect his Holiness.¡± The paladins moved their horses to stood before Letrailos as the line of Letrailos¡¯ army hurried to move into a formation. Letrailos broke into cold sweat, knowing that they would never get into the most basic formation in time.


    He catches me at a bad time.


    Letrailos¡¯ mind was occupied the silhouette of the rider who stood atop of that black hill. The rider reared his horse as another figure emerged from the other side of the hill, a large feline animal.


    He should be at Madukat by now. He should not be here.


    The barking of his commanders seemed like meaningless noises to Letrailos¡¯ ears the moment a loud roar of a predator crossed the distance and reached his ears.


    The king of the Great Plain has returned.

 V2 Chapter 7: The Two Princes, Endless Dream and Unlimited Time

    V2 Chapter 7: The Two Princes, Endless Dream and Unlimited Time


    A psychiatrist asked, ¡°What is a dream?¡±


    The stupid one answered sarcastically, ¡°The cruelest illusion.¡±


    The smart one replied resignedly <The greatest illusion.>


    The psychiatrist then asked, ¡°What does time mean to you?¡±


    The stupid one scoffed, ¡°The cruelest medicine.¡±


    The smart one murmured <The kindest poison.>


    The psychiatrist continued to probe, ¡°What does life mean to you?¡±


    The stupid one cackled, ¡°The most difficult test.¡±


    The smart one sighed. <Is this a philosophy class or a therapy session?>


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    While I was helping Misery building his channel, one question popped up ¡°What the Peep is a Divine Dream?¡± That question soon became a topic of discussion on Misery¡¯s channel.


    To answer that question, Misery read a thirty-minute length essay while bickering back and forth with me. He pointed out the important connections of the nine spirit planes and the Divine Dream as well the great game, which the gods played to win the Great Throne. In the end, as Dr. Reality, I wrote a two-sentence poem in Titan runes, to sum up what a Divine Dream is.


    Dream of a man


    Toy in gods¡¯ hand


    Looking back, I could not help but realize how awesome I was, to sum up such a lengthy, complicated and divisive topic with only two sentences. Not many people can do that. That thought brought a smile to my lips, prompting me to turn my head at my own mirror image, ¡°Don¡¯t you think so?¡± I asked him.


    He did not reply, lying sprawling on the dusty ground of the abyss, acting completely unconcerned of everything. The pressure of the watery abyss has flattened his body and skull into a disk shape without retaining any trace of beauty and charm of his original self. Look painful, I cringed at the work of art that was my mirror image. However, it only looked painful. In this world, in this endless Divine Dream, pain has lost to the two of us several eons ago.


    ¡°I have to thanks Death later. Thanks to her, I have a method to bring you out and have a talk with you.¡± I chuckled, kept talking to my mirror image still, even though he has not spoken a single word in the last twenty years since we were both trapped in this dream.


    ¡°How much longer it would take for Death to realize that she has to come down here to pick you up?¡± I bubbled ¡°Ten years? Twenty? Or a hundred? Pick a number.¡±


    Even though I told him to pick a number, he would not speak a word. That¡¯s a fact. He only talked when he wanted to talk. If I cannot make him talk, no force in this world can make him, not even Death. The last words he has spoken were ¡°I¡¯m tired.¡± That happened twenty years ago. But, before that, he whispered a single word, ¡°Music¡± as I swam the lightless ocean like a moron. Only I could hear that quiet whisper in this Divine Dream. Call it a hallucination or whatever, I would not mistake your voice for anyone else¡¯s.


    I had no idea what he meant. He said ¡°Music¡± and left me hanging and guessing. He did not explain it himself and thus, I had to guess and search for the truth from his word.


    I have kept on swimming while thinking about his whisper. I searched for the philosophical connection between the word ¡°Music¡± with my goal, and my eternal suffering. I desperately searched for the meaning of the word ¡°Music¡± while maintaining the fa?ade of a try-hard moron to please Death. However, no matter how hard I searched for its meaning, I had nothing but a giant Nada for the answer. Then, it dawned on me that ¡°Music¡± was supposed to be played. Only the biggest of moron would try to search for the philosophical meaning of the word ¡°Music¡± when he heard it being mentioned. Normally, when people heard the word ¡°Music,¡± they would think about singing or playing instruments.  Since I had no instrument with me in this Divine Dream, I sang. I kept on singing until the truth found me.


    Music is home, a place that only existed in the brightest part of my memory. Music is The Alliance. Music is Alice. Music is everything that I have lost and gained. Music is a reflection of my own emotions. But most importantly, Music is time, a bio-clock that I have been blessed with.


    For the first time in my entire life, I played music with discipline as if it was a device, a piece of machinery, the way my father has always told me to do so. I sang with the exact tempo as the writers of the scores has intended for their songs to be sung. Music is no longer a reflection of my own emotion. Music is discipline and my respect to the song composers.


    I had no need for a metronome to watch my tempo. We never needed it anyway, neither Ph¨²c nor me. Up until now, we played music with impunity, letting our emotion represented ourselves and freed our inner emotion. Our tempo and chords were free birds on the sky and wild fishes in the ocean. However, to win this battle against Death, I needed Music to be a clock, precise and controlled. With discipline, music is time itself.


    Death took away my sense of time with this Divine Dream that she conjured to punish me, with it, my goal and sanity. Therefore, the moment my clock started ticking again, I knew that Death has already lost this round.


    ¡°There is no way she can come back from this loss. Don¡¯t you agree?¡± I asked my unresponsive mirror image. As usual, he never replied. However, that never dissuaded me from keeping on speaking for the last twenty years. He had the strength to keep on moping for the last twenty years and I had the strength to go along with him. After all, in this solitary confinement, we still had each other. As long as I had him, as long as he had me, neither of us could go insane. ¡°I start pitying her. Of all the people she could run into, it¡¯s the two of us that she ran into. Death truly has no luck.¡± I cackled. Even though my mirror image showed no sign of listening to my ramble, I knew that he did.


    ¡°She is hilarious. Don¡¯t you think so? I asked for time and she readily gave us unlimited time without asking for anything in return. This woman has no idea how trading and business is supposed to work despite her age. She has lived for countless eons. She could have used her time to learn about business and commerce, don¡¯t you think?¡± I laid flatly on the dusty surface of the lightless abyss, wrapping my arm over my other self¡¯s shoulders. The bottom of the abyss remained unchanged despite my movement and remained still, that sight brought a pleasant smile to my lips.


    ¡°She actually gave unlimited time to the two of us, a tactician and a strategist. Funny! We can never have enough time to plan and scheme. And yet, she gave us unlimited time. This is too generous of her. How should I repay her this favor? Tell me, brother.¡± I tried to shake his shoulder but his body stuck to the ground, remained unmoved.


    ¡°You know? I have been thinking a lot. What makes us so important to her that she had to go out of her character to seduce us like that? Why couldn¡¯t she just allow those motherfuckers to mutilate us into pieces and use us like good luck charms? Why did she give us such special treatment whereas she has never done that to anybody? Of course, I ask you this question knowing that the two of us are so beautiful that it is a sin. But why us? Because of that stupid prophecy? I doubt it¡­ Say something man.¡± I begged. My other self replied with his awkward silence.


    ¡°I figured,¡± I concurred, ¡°We are URLOX¡¯s most beloved champion, she has said that herself. These morons seem to have a weak spot for the word Champion. Even though, that is just an empty title just like the word Prince on earth. Can a word truly elevate our status to such a degree?  Common, you cannot tell me that the reason she wanted to fuck us because we have the title ¡°Champion of URLOX¡± attached to us. She is the aspect of death and destruction for god sake, not a teenage girl or an affection-starved woman.¡± I reasoned with my other self.


    Again, the silence was his reply. Silence has been his replies for the last twenty years. His commandment of language has become so great that sound has become meaningless. ¡°Silence speaks louder than words,¡± as our father has once told us.


    ¡°Forget about it. Do you think that there is a chance that she is outsmarting the two of us now? What if she believed that the two of us, you and me, strategist and tactician, were not on her level and gave us this unlimited time as a handicap? What if she were that good?¡± I conjectured, doubting the fact that the goddess of Death was such a simple woman. ¡°That meathead Clariciel is one thing but this woman is supposed to be the goddess of Death. She should not be this simpleminded and uncomplex.¡±


    The more I spoke with my other self, the more I became used to the sound of silence. Darkness and silence, no matter how scary they were before, now, they were just toy monsters.


    For three times, I have asked Death why she gave me such special treatment. Though, the first time, she has guessed that question before I could have asked her. ¡°Are you surprise that I would make such an offer?¡± Yet, she never answered that question. She redirected our conversation and showed me that bullshit prophecy inside Naharis¡¯ throne room instead.


    Since Death redirected our conversation to an unsatisfied direction for me, I reframed it to its original course. ¡°What is your intention by making me your champion?¡± I asked very frankly and honestly.


    However, she replied with a joke, a harmless white lie, ¡°What if I told you that I want that throne?¡± That¡¯s not the answer I wanted to hear nor it addressed my question.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Three times the charm, I asked Death again, ¡°My Lady, what do you gain by making me your champion?¡± and she replied, ¡°Because I want you. Everything about you, your soul, your bravery, your fear, your emotions, your love, your body, and your kiss.¡± Technically, that¡¯s not a lie. But, at the same time, that was not the answer that I was looking for. Death evaded giving me that answer for the third time and seduced me with her kiss, believing that she has caught me with her spells. She did all of that only to be fallen for my cheapest provocation and gave me exactly what I wanted the most, time.


    My tactic to provoke Death went off so successfully that I had to doubt its nature. ¡°There is no fucking way that this woman would be that simple. Don¡¯t you agree with me? What if she only pretended to give us what we wanted and secretly had a strategy to use it against us later? Remember? Just like that time we defeated Heavennet together. Your strategy worked because I fed Heavennet what it wanted the most. What if this is similar to that? What if she is so fucking smart that she said Yo, the two of you are not on my level. Use some time to train yourself and get on my level scrubs¡­ something like that?¡± I voiced my doubts to my other self. It was my nature to doubt everything and anything. ¡°You know? I was kind enough to give a warning back then when Clariciel invaded my dream. And Death has confirmed to me that she has seen that part of the Divine Dream through her action and words.¡±


    I used my free hand to pound Ph¨²c on his flattened chest with playful rhythms and tempo. Doom Doom.


    ¡°The divine dream does not present you an absolute advantage. Sure, it allows you to fabricate the reality or invade my past. However, to a person like me, there is nothing you can do in this divine dream to seriously hurt me once I have realized what it was.¡± I remembered saying those lines as soon as I have discovered that Clariciel has invaded my dream without my permission.


    Doom Doom.


    ¡°I have stated my warnings clearly. Is it possible that Death has mistaken that my warning back then was meant for Clariciel alone? There is no way that anyone who has seen such memory could have misunderstood that warning, right? I have spoken it with such a clear voice. There should be no misunderstanding about it. Death cannot be that ignorant, right? She is the goddess of Death after all. People grow wiser and smarter as they age, right? And she has lived for eons. That means she must be incredibly wise and smart, right? There is no way that she could have mistaken my intention when I have made such a statement, RIGHT?¡± I continued to drum my fist on Ph¨²c¡¯s chest. Doom Doom.


    Twenty years have passed since my other self sunk to the very bottom of the lightless abyss. Since then, he has never made a sound no matter how much I pressed him.


    ¡°I really hope that Death is not that ignorant and uncomplex. I seriously hope that Death is not That Stupid. Otherwise, I will show her that there is nobody in the world could be more stupid than I am. It takes a lot of commitment to be stupid after all. She is going to be screwed so very badly. I¡¯m going to make an example out of her to show people that my warning is not meant to be taken lightly. And the only person in this world who could stop that from happening is you,¡± I drummed my fist on my beloved brother¡¯s chest with shorter pace and tempo. Doom Doom. Doom Doom.


    ¡°To normal people, I gave my warning only once, and twice to a beautiful woman. I have already given Death my warnings three times out of goodwill for the love and special treatment that she gave us.¡± I smiled.


    Doom Doom. Doom Doom. Doom Doom.


    ¡°However, she ignored my warnings three times. I¡¯m about to make her the first casualty in this war. If you have any pity for her, you should start quitting your lie right now. Your lies can deceive other people and yourself, but not me, never me. If you wanted to save her, stop pretending to be stupid and weak like this. Otherwise, after I have made Death the first casualty in this war, I will make the most stupid decision that a person could have possibly made in his entire lifetime. If you do not stop me, I will do it.¡±


    Doom doom. Doom doom. Doom doom. Doom doom.


    Ph¨²c remained silence.


    ¡°Good talk,¡± I nodded my head and withdrew the arm that I have wrapped over Ph¨²c¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Remember that this is your third warning as well, brother. No more warning after this, this is our rule, remember? Good talk.¡± I nodded my head again and left Ph¨²c alone at the bottom of the watery abyss.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The lightless pit of the ocean that Death has conjured for me was too depressing for me to live. Thus, fifteen years ago, I have conjured a special space, a different plane of time and existence, right under Death¡¯s nose and used it as my living quarter.


    Everything existed in this space was an illusion. From my father¡¯s house to The Alliance¡¯s gaming room, everything was constructed from my memory and imagination. Since everything was an illusion that I conjured, and since I could conjure them effortlessly, they became the best targets for me to vent my anger and stress. With a snap of a finger, I set everything on fire, everything, from the sky to the earth. Standing amidst the red inferno, I summoned a large mallet and used to smash everything that I hated. The house, the street, the people inhibited within this special place, everything.


    This dream was mine to begin with. I created this world, this space, this illusion. Thus, I was its sole god and owner. Thus, I had the right to crush it, I told myself. ¡°If coaxing doesn¡¯t work and sweet whispers don¡¯t work, I¡¯m doing it the hard way,¡± I screamed, finally let go of my most depressing thought.


    ¡°Seven fucking years on Earth in addition with over twenty years in this world, how much longer you can stay moping around like that?¡± I used the mallet within my hands to level buildings and streets, splitting people¡¯s head and executing all manners of horrifying conducts. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Okay? I got us dead. I¡¯m sorry. I got us into this shitty world. I got us into this shitty situation.¡± I launched the mallet at a screaming man who was trying to run away from me. His spine doubled as his body reeled on the ground. I waved my hand and recalled my mallet, launching it at another target this time. ¡°But you should have stopped me. You should have stopped me. You are the smart one. YOU SHOULD HAVE STOPPED ME.¡±


    I raged and raged and raged until my head cooled down. With a snap of a finger, I rebuilt the world from scratch. I then returned to my room, but not without sending the door flying and crashing against the wall first. I was surprised at myself that I still had some leftover energy to keep my rage going. Only when I sunk my face into the soft and thick fabric of my king-size bed, I could finally let go of my rage for real. I sighed.


    In a way, by giving me unlimited time, Death punished me and made me suffer from having too much time. Time is only meaningful and precious when you feel like you can never have enough of it. However, when I had too much time with me, my drives were confused and all I could feel were boredom and rage.


    It was the boredom of being forced to play a game that I have already beaten repeatedly, over and over again. It was the boredom of becoming the god of my dream. The kind of boredom, which came from the fact that I have possessed the ability to conjure and destroy everything that I desired, made my life miserable. With a snap of a finger, I could destroy everything. With a snap of a finger, I could create everything.


    What is the point of living such a life?


    Watching the people of my imaginary world going to war against each other provided cheap entertainment to liberate me from my boredom for a while. Watching them killed each other, backstabbed each other, loved each other, and lived their lives to their fullest made me understood what Naharis must have gone through while he was sitting on the Great Throne.


    Then out of a moment of weakness and sheer stupidity, I snapped my fingers to bring back Th¨´y D??ng, Mrs. H? ??ng, my adopted parents and my mother. I snapped my fingers again to bring Alice, my dad, and The Alliance into my dream. Then, it took me a week to realize that I was actually disgusted with such stupidity. Never before had I abhorred my own existence like that. Never before had I felt such rage. With a snap of a finger, I ended everything. My hatred for my own weakness and stupidity only deepened. I snapped the most beautiful people that I have ever loved out of their existence. And I watched it happened.


    I hate you Death for granting me so much time and power.


    After I have beaten Death at her own game, I wished that I could turn back the clock and retook the challenge again, forever, without realizing that I could possibly beat it. My life was more wholesome at that time.


    At the time I was still swimming on her ocean like a moron, I had a well-defined goal, To make this Divine Dream mine. That was my goal. I had to learn how to do it while maintaining the fa?ade of a moron. I had to learn how to do that while acting like I was losing my sanity to Death and suffered her punishment. The difficulty in doing that did not have anything to do with the fact that I was multi-tasking. I was telling myself a lie, trying to fool myself that I was going insane while trying to keep my sanity intact for the goal. How can a person be sane and insane at the same time? Those two tasks were a contradiction. I said ¡°Yolo¡± and tried to do with nothing but determination. In the end, had it not for that single whisper, I would have lost the battle.


    The fact that Ph¨²c can say that magic word at the right time to save me from losing, it¡¯s only reinforcing my biggest speculation. He has not become stupid and weak. He has not entirely shut himself out. He¡¯s only pretending to. That thought alone gave me the biggest source of motivation to do everything. That thought alone gave me a small ray of hope worthy of living for.


    Death could have never realized how close she was to beat me because I would never tell her. I made a comeback in the last minute thanks to a quiet whisper. A person suddenly gains a spurt of strength in the brink of defeat thanks to a person¡¯s cheering. Sometimes, anime logic and movie logic, they applied, I could not help but laugh at how absurd it was.


    I turned my head around and watched the four ticking digital clocks hanging on the wall. Two of them synched, moving at the same time and pace, twenty years and still counting. The other two, one fast, just barely over an hour. The other one extremely slow, fifty years and still counting. Among the four clocks, one represented my time. One represented Death¡¯s time. One represented Ph¨²c¡¯s time. The last one represented the time of all the morons who came into my dream while waiting for Death to finish convincing me. Four different time-flows existed in a single dream.


    ¡°Dream of a man, toy in gods¡¯ hand,¡± I sighed, ¡°Have any of you morons ever thought that our dreams are ours, not yours. You can play with it like a toy. You can twist it, dirty it, deform it, cheapen it and taint it, but in the end, our dream is ours, not yours. It appears that none of you has ever thought about that. Hilarious! Fucking hilarious! This is the gold standard of cheap comedy,¡± I laughed hollowly while watching the four clocks.


    Death has given me so much time that I have learned to wrestle the control of this Divine Dream out of her hand without her knowing. I hollered hollowly, wondering if anyone, other than Ph¨²c and I, have realized the true reason why I sat down and took a beating back then when Clariciel invaded my dream. Clariciel provided an important chance for me to experiment with my theories and knowledge of the lore of ROC. The longer she dragged out her beating, the more the time I had to experiment with a divine constructed dream. The fact that Clariciel actually went along with my antics proved that she was a meathead.


    As I watched the image of Death sitting in her garden watching Ph¨²c laid sprawling at the bottom of the ocean, I chuckled, ¡°Hilarious!¡± I then turned my sight on a room with an enormous round table and over fifty people inside it. ¡°Hilarious! Comedy has never become so cheap.¡±


    Divine Dream


    Dream of a man


    Toy in gods¡¯ hand


    Divine Dream


    Toy in gods¡¯ hand


    Return to make gods


    Toys in a man¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Misery, you might want to add this to that video,¡± I whispered. ¡°Come Death. Pick him up so I can crush you and your kinds.¡± I have grown bored of waiting. I¡¯m dying in the black hole of my boredom. ¡°I have killed Bloodbeard in such cruel fashion to warn you all. And yet, you morons take that warning lightly. GOOD. Have it your way. Hurry Death. Pick him up so I can curb-stomp you all.¡±

 V2 Chapter 8: Prince and the Summit of the Stupid People

    V2 Chapter 8: Prince and the Summit of the Stupid People


    When I turned my eyes at the people who lived in the world I conjured, an old memory when I was not Fearless returned. I was Fearless, but I was not. I was Ph¨²c at the time. I woke up from a strange nightmare, a nightmare where everyone in the world started looking like Th¨´y D??ng for unknown reasons. They did not just look like her. They sounded like her as well. Everyone in the world became Th¨´y D??ng. That is the most toxic world for a person like me to live in, no, that is for anyone other than Th¨´y D??ng to live in. A single Th¨´y D??ng is already enough. Two is too much. A world of full of Th¨´y D??ng is impossible to live.


    But the people of my dreamland, they managed to upset that prejudice in me.


    The people of this dreamland, they made a world where everyone is Th¨´y D??ng looked like a candy store, all sweet and sugary because, at the very least, Th¨´y D??ng is a smart woman, a real prodigy.


    I tried to create people who would be as smart as and as just as FY. I got people who were as stupid as and as unjust as me. I repeatedly tried to create more people until I would succeed. I still got a bunch of wackjobs who was about as stupid as me. That was when I knew I had to stop creating more people. I then allowed them to live their lives on their own without any interference from me. I was stupid enough to believe that there is hope in these people. I was stupid enough to believe that these people, as they progress in time and become more civilized, they would become smart.


    I was wrong.


    The people of this dreamland, they branded themselves as ¡°The stupid people of Fearless¡± and held that designation in their heart with pride. A toxic bunch, they were, the whole lot of them, man and woman, the old and the young, the brave and the coward, the weak and the strong. They are the most toxic community that I have ever seen. They spoke like me, they acted like me, they were as irresponsible as me, and the best specimens of their kind were those who were equally as stupid as I was. Furthermore, when they formed their own unique social structure, religion, and communities where every man and woman was equally as stupid as each other, the toxicity level of everything was turned up to a hundred where the maximum base score to measure toxicity is ten. These people made me realized why I was so against the idea of unprotected sex.


    The world only needs one Fearless, no more.


    But, even when these people were poisonous and cancerous, they had their use. With the correct amount and the correct administration, a poison can become a medicine.


    Within the imaginary land of the stupid people, a Summit was held to decide what kind of relationship that I should adopt toward those brainless Immortals who wanted nothing more than to tear me into pieces.


    The first speaker, <The slightly less stupid Fearless> stood on the podium and presented all the facts that lead up to my inevitable collision with the Demon Lords, gods, and goddesses of the ROC universe.


    ¡°¡­Thus, my stupid people, URLOX have set us up with that prophecy. URLOX set us up so that we would come into conflicts with these brain-dead immortals. There is nothing we can do now to change or rectify that at this point. Due to that prophecy, these morons would not leave us a chance for us to live and operate in our freedom. We are too great of a threat, too great of an unknown, too great of a champion, too great of a human. With or without that stupid prophecy, these brain-dead morons would never leave us alone due to our greatness, for we are the Prince of The Alliance.¡±


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, he spoke with passion, the calculating asshole. He struck his fist into the air in such an enthusiastic manner as he spoke, wild and brimmed with frustration and pride, which resonated with the beating heart in each and every single one of the Fearless who presented at Summit. <The slightly less stupid Fearless> spoke at length and moved everyone to tears even though he was only presenting facts. Then, he stopped, taking a deep breath, be stilled for a moment to draw everyone¡¯s attention as he swept his eyes through the hall that I built, to inject his will into everyone presenting at the Summit.


    ¡°They want to Pick us as their representative and champion. But we can only champion one of them and there is only one of us.¡± <The slightly less stupid Fearless> loudly declared the fact while thumping his chest with his clenched fist in a spur of bravado. With his enthusiast alone, he managed to turn a No-shit-Sherlock moment into something epic.


    ¡°Therefore, it¡¯s only logical that they have to Ban us, my stupid people. Forcing us to accept the role of neutrality under Death¡¯s protection is how they decided to Ban us. And that¡¯s why we are here today, my stupid people. That¡¯s why we are having this Summit to decide our future.


    I ask you, my stupid people, should we accept this Ban? Should we accept living the rest of our lives in Neutrality? Or should we search for a different option? Should we Unban ourselves through this dilemma knowing that we would butt head against not one or two, but many powerful enemies who have lived through many timeless eons, all at the same time? Are we even capable of pursuing such a path? I hope we shall find the correct answer through this Summit. Here, I shall end my speech. Without further ado, let the first <Fearless, to be smart or to be stupid> Summit commence.¡±


    The entire Summit erupted with the sound of clapping hands when <The slightly less stupid Fearless> concluded his speech and stepped down from the podium.


    With my position of the Ultimate Judge and the Arbiter of the Summit, I knocked my mallet and called for order. ¡°The first speaker has finished presenting the fact. The <Be Smart> faction, please present your argument.¡±


    Among the forest of <Be Smart> faction, a figure rose with confidence and aligned the podium. He was <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart >.


    <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > started his speech by reinforcing the fact that we, Fearless, are at the absolute disadvantage in our current situation.


    ¡°My stupid people, we are currently playing the biggest handicapped game of our lives. Never before had we given such this many large handicaps to this many powerful opponents. We are all alone in this world. FY is not here with us to tell us his strategies and shows us the clearest path to victory. Merleon is not here to cover and protect our exposed back. Misery is not here to lighten our loads and be our failsafe. Fantasy is not here to provide us with his usual supports.¡± <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > spoke in a controlled coldness despite the topic that he was presenting was an emotional one, which fueled a fit of billowing anger in every Fearless presented at the summit.


    If <The slightly less stupid Fearless> was already a calculating bastard in the way he presented his speech, <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > redefined the word ¡°a calculating bastard¡± by establishing a new standard.


    By appealing to our anger, by showing us how truly alone we are in this world, being the lone member of The Alliance participating in this wicked game, <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > made us understood his anger and resignation. He made everyone understood that he was forced to make a hard choice, a choice that he did not wish to make, a choice that he chose to make because he had no better option. His tone of controlled coldness was there serving as a mask to hide his frustration and resignation.


    ¡°My stupid Fearless people, we are truly alone in this game. We are playing against fifty or so opponents. Our enemies overwhelm in numbers and might.¡± <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > continued to speak with a cold and calculating tone of acceptance, ¡°My stupid people, if we Unban ourselves from the position of Neutrality, only destruction await us. We cannot possibly face this many brain-dead morons while being alone. Besides, we would not just face them, these brainless morons who have lived a timeless eon of a lifetime, we also have to face their representatives, their champion. My stupid Fearless people, I urge you to be smart for once¡­¡±


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    A booming voice filled the hall. That voice did not just fill the hall. It ruptured the ears of every Fearless presenting inside it. Amidst the ocean of the <Be Stupid> faction, a Fearless rose. His name was <The stupid Fearless who has no desire to be smart>.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± he shouted, shattering that calm and cold acceptance atmosphere that <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > projected.


    SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM. If you want peace, prepare for war. Every Fearless who participated in the Summit knew that phrase and we did not just know that phrase, we understood its philosophy and practical reasoning.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± <The stupid Fearless who has no desire to be smart> kept on shouting that phrase and disrupted the summit. As the Arbiter, I struck the mallet and ordered him to show respect to the speaker and the rest of the participants of the Summit.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± he kept shouting, and shouting, and shouting, fearlessly, even when I have ordered him to be dragged out of the hall to face a firing squad for disrupting the summit. An example needed to be made for these Fearless people to take my warning lightly.


    ¡°A true Fearless among the Fearless people until the end,¡± I heard a quiet whisper coming from the <Be stupid> faction when the sound of gunfire filled the hall. I called for order and asked <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > to continue with his speech. However, boy o boys, no matter how perfectly he presented his speech, he could not put the audiences under his spells again. Not when <The stupid Fearless who has no desire to be smart> has exposed and shattered his illusion in such a disruptive manner. Realizing that his spell has run out of its magical effect, <The very stupid Fearless who tries to be smart > concluded his speech shortly on a very non-consequential manner before returning to his seat among the forest of the <Be Smart> faction.


    I called for the <Be Stupid> faction to present their counter-argument against the proposal of the <Be Smart> faction.


    Another figure coolly rose from the ocean of the <Be Stupid> faction. He aligned the podium with grace.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± he shouted and started chanting that phrase as if it was a motto of his faction.


    Fuck, I clutched my head, should have expected that¡­ These Fearless people, they are a part of me. They speak like me, walk like me, and behave like me. They are just as stupid as I do and they behave in the most infuriating manner as I do. I hammered the mallet and gave the bastard a stern warning. Being stupid, he did not heed the warning and kept on chanting, ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± continuing to disrupt the flow of the summit in the most unproductive manner. Thus, he too faced the firing squad.


    Boy oh boy, I sighed internally, face-palming myself, cursing myself when I gave out the sentence to send that bastard to face the firing squad. Have I always been this annoying? I knew exactly what would happen when I have to make the choice to send that bastard to face a firing squad.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    Those two bastards of the <Be Stupid> faction martyred themselves for their belief. Who the fuck says that stupid people are incapable of being calculating?


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    Two stupid Fearless people of the <Be Stupid> faction went down, a thousand rose to replace them.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    The entire hall shook with the chanting of ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± coming from the <Be Stupid> faction. Every stone and tile that made up of the hall of the Summit rattled to the chant ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± of those stupid people.


    I struck the mallet in resignation, sending a thousand of those ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± chanting people to face the firing squad. Otherwise, the summit could never proceed.


    The <Be Smart> again sent their next representative and speaker to align the podium, <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart >. He presented a multitude array of tactics, strategies and battle forecasts of his faction to the future where we, as Fearless decide to have a face-off against the Demon Lords, Gods, and Goddesses of this ROC universe.


    Amidst the presentation, those stupid ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± chanting people kept popping up like cockroaches to disrupt the presentation. I kept being headstrong, sending them to face the firing squad, continuing to make examples for as long as I must, Until these morons learn their lesson. I told myself. Slowly, that ocean consisted of <Be Stupid> Fearless people thinned out to but a single person.


    ¡°¡­The best case scenario if we pursued this strategy is a stalemate, a stalemate that would last until infinity and beyond. Otherwise, we shall have victory for three short years with these presented tactics before we face the ultimate destruction. I ask you, my stupid people, is that worth it? Three shorts years of continuous meaningless victories? Is our life only worth that much? What¡¯s wrong with bending our neck a little bit for the sake of safety and peace? What¡¯s wrong with retreating from an enemy that we could not defeat?¡± <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > appealed in an emotional tone with urgency in his voice.


    ¡°There is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with admitting our disadvantages and resign. As great as we are, we cannot do this alone. We cannot win this game alone. Accepting the role of Neutrality is not an act of fear. It is bravery. It is the bravery of a wise man who understood the threshold of his limit and willing to admit his limit. That is bravery in the truest sense. My stupid people, as Prince Fearless of The Alliance, we have done everything to prove ourselves and to not drag that name to the mud. We have been tested and tested, again, and again, and again and we have proven ourselves on every occasion. We have nothing else to prove now.


    Being Banned from the Game in a vote of confidence is the highest caliber of honor and praise that a person can ever receive from these brain-dead immortals. We are the first and only person to be Banned from this Game. We should be proud of that. That alone speaks of the amount of fear and uncertainty that these brain-dead morons had for us. This alone is a Draw. Being able to score a Draw on that many opponents at once should be considered a victory us.


    However, my stupid people, if we pursued the other paths, only defeat awaits us.


    The path that leads us to that stalemate is a mutual destruction for those brainless morons and us, neither them nor us win in this scenario. That¡¯s a mutual defeat.


    And this path, three years, we shall win battles. In these three years, I am sure that we will kill many immortals. In these three years, I¡¯m sure that our name will be sung across this world. And in three years, everything that we have built, everything that we cared will go up in flame. Our name and the name of The Alliance will go down in ashes. We will face true defeat. We will be defeated. I urge you my stupid Fearless people, do consider the consequence of your action.¡±


    When <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > finished his emotional speech, he was received with thunderous applauds from his people.


    I hit the mallet and ordered silence. I sighed a bit, turning my head at the last of the <Be Stupid> faction. In the area where an ocean of Fearless people sat once, a lone figure stood, being the last of his clan, the only person of his faction who has yet to shout ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± to disrupt the summit.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°The <Be Stupid> faction, please present your argument.¡± I ordered in the resignation that this stupid Fearless person would shout ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± to his grave like his entire clan did.


    Quietly, he walked to the podium. He was <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, the first speaker who started the summit as well being the last of his <Be Stupid> faction.


    ¡°Stupidity is a commitment. Stupidity is a choice, a choice that we make while knowing the consequences of making such a choice.¡±


    Surprisingly, what escaped his lips was not ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.¡±


    ¡°My stupid people, we are stupid, but not because we are born ignorant and naivet¨¦. We are stupid, but not because this is the role that the world has forced upon us. We are stupid because we make the choice to be stupid. We chose to be stupid. We make the choice to be stupid and we are proud of that choice.¡± He spoke passionately, appealing on the pride of the stupid Fearless people. He then pointed his finger at the execution ground, ¡°The people of my clan, those morons, they died while chanting ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± in such a disruptive manner. They deserved to die for causing unnecessary chaos in such an important moment when we have much to lose if we made a single mistake.¡± He bowed to the <Be Smart> faction in the most respectful manner. ¡°I apologize for their conduct¡±


    ¡°They deserved to die. Your Honor, you were not wrong to execute them.¡± He then bowed to me.


    ¡°As a member of the <Be stupid> clan, I apologize for their action. I agree with your decision to execute them. They truly deserved to die,¡± he restated firmly without a hint of emotion in his voice. ¡°And yet, if you may allow me to defend the meaning of their action¡­¡± he hesitated while looking the forest of the <Be Smart> faction and me.


    Only when I nodded my head out of sheer respect and the <Be Smart> faction approved him out of compassion, <The slightly less stupid Fearless> started talking again.


    ¡°Those morons of my clan, they did not die while chanting SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM. They chanted ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± so that they could die in such a manner. Your Honor, we all knew that your warnings are not meant to take lightly. Those morons, they make a choice to ignore your warnings. Stupid people, for that, they deserved death,¡± <The slightly less stupid Fearless> shook his head in disapproval and stated firmly. ¡°I do not approve their method and choice.¡±


    ¡°However, <Be Smart> people, your strategies and tactics and battle forecasts, we all knew that. We could see such futures. We knew that the act of Unban ourselves would lead us toward destruction and defeat. We knew that there is no shame in bowing our heads toward something stronger and greater than us. We knew that there is no shame in admitting defeat, we all did. And yet, these morons chose death over making such a choice. Why? Why are they making such a choice? Your Honor, you should already know the answer. My <Be Smart> people, you should already have the answer.¡± <The slightly less stupid Fearless> looked at us in earnest and stated.


    ¡°We are only deluding ourselves in the illusions that we conjured. We are only lying to ourselves through our illusions. We are using facts and smart arguments to avoid facing the most important matter, the only matter that truly matters. And yet, we are beings who are incapable of falling for own lies and illusions. We can lie to ourselves. We can delude ourselves but we are incapable of buying them.


    Since nobody mentioned that, I will.


    What does this Neutrality cost us? We are avoiding facing this question. Why? Because we don¡¯t want to admit that by accepting Neutrality, we would make a compromise with our principles.


    The enemies are strong and we are at our weakest. In order to live, we must make a compromise with our principles to avoid this collision. Should we? Yes, we should, to live.


    But, should we?


    These enemies have ignored our warnings on three separated occasions. The first time was when Clariciel invaded our dream, the second time and the third time was when we executed Bloodbeard and his gang.


    They deliberately ignored our warnings. They chose to invade this world, our world, our dream. They gave themselves the right to trespass and twist our dreams according to their design. We should punish them for making such a choice. Even if we cannot punish all of them, we should make an example of a few to make the rest learned the lesson. If we don¡¯t, these brain-dead bullies would keep pushing the boundary of our compromise.


    Our memories and dreams are our sacred place. Whether they brought us pain or joy, suffering or peace, our memories and dreams are ours. We, stupid Fearless people, we are people of no nation. Our home was lost to us and now we are stranded in a strange land. Our memories and dreams are what connects us to our lost home, family and nation. We cannot tolerate these invaders for toying with them. We cannot allow such impudence to go unpunished.


    I ask you, my stupid people. Can you forgive these invaders for tainting the most sacred part of your memories and dreams with their intruding presence? Can we allow them to twist and redesign our dreams to their will? Can we allow them to alter our memories? No, we cannot. We must not allow such a thing to happen. If we allow such a thing to happen, one day they will make us forget who we are.


    If they kept making small alterations to our memories, one day, we will be Fearless no longer.


    One day they will make us forget why we are Fearless. One day they will make us forget everything that makes us, us. We must not allow that to happen. These <Be stupid> people of mine, they rather die than allowing something like that to happen.¡±


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless> channeled all of his emotions and energy into his speech. He spoke with passion. He spoke with conviction.


    ¡°You, the <Be Smart> people, I ask you, are you capable of living such a future? Do you want to live such a life? Do you want to live a life where all of your cherished memories are altered and the most important people inside your precious memories are falsely redesigned for someone¡¯s entertainment and purposes? I rather fuck Death in her assh¡­¡±<The slightly less stupid Fearless> shielded his mouth in a rushing hurry, knowing that his words and emotion were getting out of control. He just cursed right in front of an important Summit and, above all before his God and Progenitor.


    He apologized wholeheartedly as I and the Summit forgave him, knowing only too well that we are no better than him. When we are being too emotional, our speech-craft became weird and we started losing control over the content of our language.


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless> only continued when he earned the forgiveness of the majority of the Summit.


    ¡°What I mean is I would rather die first before that happens to me.


    You, the <Be Smart> people, I know you will use your logical reasoning and tell me that you will ask Death to prevent that from happening.


    Will she prevent those brain-dead morons from twisting our dream?


    Yes, she will. However, when you present such an idea to her, she will execute that idea on all of us out of her perverted infatuation with us. If she could sentence us to live and suffer for an endless eon to make us love her, there is nothing to stop her from altering our memories and tainting our dreams to make us love her. I will rather be torn into pieces and died suffered than living such fate. My people have already chosen death over such fate.


    However, before that, before these invaders could change our dreams and twist our memories, we are defeating ourselves here by having this discussion.


    Your Honor, you have the power to observe them. You are observing them right now. You are listening to their conversation right now. Do they appear to be the agent of justice to you? Do they sound holy like Buddha, gods and goddess on earth to you? Do they sound human to you? Or do they sound like demons to your ears? They look like us. They smell like us and above everything, they sound and act like us. Therefore, they cannot be anything but demons and injustices.


    They are the injustice and we are the greatest injustice. There is only one choice for us to make here and we all know what that is. If we cannot kill them all, we are not the greatest injustice, and thus our principle will become a lie. My <Be Stupid> people rather choose death than living such a lie. What about you, <Be Smart> people? Can you live such a lie? Can anyone of us present here truly live such a lie?


    My stupid people, I ask you, what is the point of having this summit? Your Honor, why are we even having such a discussion?


    We already know the answer, our answer. You should already know the answer.


    We must not compromise with these brain-dead morons, not our freedom, not our principle, not our pride and cherished treasure. We must not compromise with them.


    Instead, we should rejoice in this opportunity. We should take this opportunity as a test, a challenge to our name and principle. We should teach these invaders that we are the Mt. Himalayan of this game and they are some random average climbers. We should teach them that we are the ultimate raid boss of this game and they are just some low-level noobs. Even when we are alone, weakened and handicapped, the Prince of The Alliance is a name to remember with respect and fear.


    Make them learn our name, my stupid Fearless people. Make them tremble with fear when they hear our name, Your Honor. You are Prince Fearless of The Alliance, Your Honor. If you don¡¯t crush these low-level noobs who do not understand their place, you are sullying the name of The Alliance, you are sullying the name of The Prince of The Alliance, you are sullying the name of all the players you have crushed in the past. Crush them, Your Honor. Let our black and gold flag becomes their trauma.¡± <The slightly less stupid Fearless> pleaded to me, his God in the most heartfelt manner of speech as his face was awash in tears. His words were powerful and sharp, like the edge of Enferm¨¦.


    His words moved many of the stupid people of the <Be Smart> clan to tears. It was this moment that a realization has finally dawned upon many of the people of the <Be Smart> clan.


    Those who went out dying while shouting ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM,¡± were martyring themselves for their cause and belief. They died shouting ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± in the most stupid manner so that the last one of their representative could gain the best chance to make a clear difference in this Summit.


    This is not a strategy that smart people would come up with. Only the stupid people of my dreamland would employ this kind of strategy.


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, he was the most stupid person of his clan. That¡¯s why the final job and the most important responsibility was given to him. He represented the will of all those stupid people who went out in a blaze of a fire while shouting ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡±.


    With his words, he turned the stupid people of the <Be Smart> clan into the monsters of their own emotions. But, logic and smartness have nothing to do with emotions. Logic and Smartness should be cold and calculating. And yet, this one Fearless among the stupid people of the <Be Stupid> clan managed to twist logical reasoning by appealing to the Summit with emotions.


    While the <Be Smart> faction tried to make me change my mind by presenting with facts, numbers, forecasts and logical reasoning, <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, contrary to his name tried to make me, his God forge ahead without looking back, fighting a war with nothing but emotions in my hands.


    He appealed to me by currying my desire for true freedom. He appealed to me by using my pride and sense of identity. He appealed to me by using my love and respect for the name of The Alliance. He alone understood my will ahead of everyone participating at the Summit.


    I have already made up my mind about whether I should butthead with those brain-dead immortals or cower before them. I merely called upon the Summit to see if there is a different path.


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, he saw through my mind. Therefore, he convinced his clansmen to die and martyr themselves for a greater purpose, to convince me to stay committed to my stupidity until the end.


    If only I was less stupid, this strategy would have an impact on me as it did to the stupid people of the <Be Smart> clan. As their God and Creator, I would say that these stupid people are either less stupid or equally stupid as me. They are unable to become more stupid than I am. And thus, I understood their stupidity better than themselves. I understood the kind of strategies and tactics that the stupid people would employ and above all the reason why they would employ such strategies and tactics.


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, he was one of those who could see that this dreamland world could vanish at any time. The stupid people of Fearless are divided into three kinds when such brutal knowledge dawned upon them. The first are those who would calmly and slowly lose their shit. The second would try to live to their fullest until doom came upon them. The third are those who wanted to die in a blaze of glory to be remembered by their God.


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, when he saw through the fa?ade of the Summit, he used it as an opportunity to be remembered even when this dreamland vanished, in other words, to be immortalized within my memory.


    And he will, because there is just no way that I could forget such exemplary illustration of commitment to stupidity, as I kept my thought a secret, a Fearless raised from the rank of the <Be Smart> stupid people.


    Whereas the majority of his <Be Smart> people either have been converted into the <Be Stupid> clan or entered their self-doubting mode, this stupid person rose to challenge the argument presented by <The slightly less stupid Fearless>.


    He was <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart >.


    ¡°We can win battles. Sure! We can crush them. Sure! Ten or twenty of these brain-dead assholes, or perhaps more. But there are fifty of them. What¡¯s the point of crushing only twenty of these brainless morons only to face our inevitable defeat in the end? That¡¯s a lost cause. Realistically speaking, we cannot win this war. So instead of fighting them and lost, we should try to compromise and find a method to mitigate their authority over us.¡±


    <The slightly less stupid Fearless> smiled as if he has been prepared to face this question. ¡°How can you be so sure that we cannot win this battle?¡± He inquired.


    ¡°Did you fall asleep during our presentation? Our calculations and battle forecasts have shown that we cannot win this war.¡±


    Undaunted, <The slightly less stupid Fearless> rebuked, ¡°Our calculations and forecasts are not absolute. They can change. They can have errors. Besides, we have forgotten to count in that man who quitted on us into the equation.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fallacy. Just because he could win against Heavennet, it doesn¡¯t mean he could win this war.¡± <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > spoke the truth.


    ¡°That¡¯s a fair argument. However, all of our calculation and forecast are made base on the premise that these brainless immortals are mentally unbreakable and unshakable. I doubt it.¡±


    ¡°We should always assume the worst.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s too pessimistic. I do not believe that we cannot break their mind with our combined stupidity.¡±


    ¡°That, again, is a fallacy.¡±


    The two stupid people argued back and forth without relenting for hours. One of them used facts, numbers, and logics to back up his reasoning whereas the other used emotions and fallacies to spur his arguments. Regardless of their differences in ideology and political outlook, as far as stupidity is concerned, they are the equal of each other.


    One embraced the hopelessness of the future whereas the other earnestly tried to combat such hopelessness. One selfishly sought immortality for himself and his people through martyrdom whereas the other selflessly sought to protect his God from the inevitable doom even when he has already all but vanished into the clouds of a dream. And yet, through their argument, the selfish one appeared almost holy to everyone whereas the selfless one appeared as a devil who tried to convince his God to be less than a God.


    Harsh facts, numbers, and logic cannot convince people but emotions do. Every Fearless presenting at the Summit knew that.


    Therefore, in order to convince people, <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > had to take the extra steps to convert facts and numbers into visceral pictures of doom to convert them again into emotions. Because he had to do those two extra steps to present his arguments, <The slightly less stupid Fearless> was able to exploit the gaps in the between of his arguments. In the format of a debate and a clash of argument, <The slightly less stupid Fearless> would win that battle without a doubt.


    Therefore, the end of their argument was predictable. In the truest fashion of a stupid person of the stupid people of Fearless, <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart >, he fought false martyrdom with true martyrdom and a true-hopelessness with a lingering false-hopelessness.


    <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > murdered <The slightly less stupid Fearless> in the middle of their argument.


    ¡°SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM¡± were the final words of <The slightly less stupid Fearless>, spoken with unremorseful arrogance.


    ¡°Your Honor, please take care of yourself,¡± were the final words of <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart >, spoken in the most earnest manner as he headed to face the firing squad to conclude the Summit. He knew he could not change my mind regarding the matter. He knew that at the end of his path lies his defeats and failure. He made an example of himself to show me his selflessness.


    Two truly stupid people until the very end.


    Technically, they are me, so why are they so different?


    ¡°My stupid people, I ask you, what is the point of having this summit? Your Honor, why are we even having such a discussion?¡± The voice of <The slightly less stupid Fearless> echoed within my mind. He asked the damn question that nobody dared to ask. There is no meaning in having that discussion or holding that Summit.


    If my path was destined to collide with those brain-dead beings and the only way to prevent the collision is to compromise one¡¯s identity, purposes, and principles, I will not be the person who avoids the collision.


    If war is inevitable, then there is no reason to avoid it. Instead, one should embrace it and combat it. As the God of the stupid people, I must combat war with war. SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM, that is the science of war of the stupid people.


    War is not a game. War is a clash of ideology and value. War is a twist of politics, the battle between selfishness and selflessness. War is not a game. War cannot be fought like a game. War is costly and the most important resource in war is human¡¯s life. Therefore, the one who wages war must be prepared to pay for it with his life. War cannot be fought with the knowledge and ideology of a gamer, that, the stupid people of Fearless have shown me.


    The one who fights war must be prepared to be undone by war. So, what¡¯s the point of worrying about one¡¯s inevitable defeat?


    Result matters. Legacy matters. History matters. Even if I must face my inevitable defeat, my ideology and wills must survive and win the war as <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > has shown me through his example.


    So how can one¡¯s legacy survive when one is defeated?


    Through the combination of Example and Cost, as both <The stupid Fearless who desperately tries to be smart > and <The slightly less stupid Fearless> have shown me through the result of their conflicts.


    I will not forget the two of you.


    So, how can one¡¯s legacy win the war when one is defeated?


    ¡°Make your enemies paid for the war more than you did. Make it costly for them with examples.¡±


    I mulled for a while before returning that water abyss to give Ph¨²c a piece of my mind and his final warning. Whether he decided to quit lying to himself or not, whether he decided to take away my control as the god of this world or not, he could no longer stop this war. He can try to salvage it but war can no longer be stopped.


    Immortals, you sold me a fight without showing any regard for my repeated warnings. I am buying it. In return, I will sell you a war, the most costly war in your lifetime.


    ¡°Are you prepared to pay for it?¡±

 v2 Chapter 9: Prince and the war council of the stupid people

    V2 Chapter 9: Prince and war council of the stupid people


    While Ph¨²c was still in the middle of an arms race with Th¨´y D??ng, he found Sun Tzu.


    Sun Tzu was considered as one of the world¡¯s most celebrated war strategists and commander to ever live in the history of mankind.  In the consciousness of an average student of history, Sun Tzu stood among the ranking of the world greatest military strategists and commanders like Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Napoleon Bonaparte, etc.


    Strange, That was what I thought when I first heard Sun Tzu as a child.


    Napoleon Bonaparte was a man of average stature, and yet, he cast a large shadow over the entire European world when he was still alive. Genghis Khan created an Empire for his people, turning the world upside down, from the western world to the eastern world. Alexander the Great conquered the Empire of Persia as a teenage boy. In term of accomplishments and conquered-landmasses when he was still in service, Sun Tzu could not match the level of prestige of these three great conquerors. And yet, he stood among these celebrated conquerors as their equal in the consciousness of a student of history.


    That was why I was so enamored with Sun Tzu and his character, as much as Ph¨²c did.


    In term of war accomplishments, credits, and conquered-landmasses, Sun Tzu could not match the level of those three Great Conquerors. And yet, in the modern days when I still was on Earth, Sun Tzu¡¯s legacy can still be felt and his ideology was still shaping the world even when his body was all but ashes.


    What makes Sun Tzu great was his legacy. He left a very powerful legacy to his people and everyone who wished to learn from him, a single treatise named Sun Tzu¡¯s Military Method or commonly known as Sun Tzu¡¯s The Art of War.


    The English translation Sun Tzu¡¯s ¡°The Art of War¡± from original titleŒO×Ó±ø·¨ (Sun Tzu¡¯s Military Method ) was misleading on many levels, a powerful illusion. As an illusionist, I read that title in English as Mr. Sun Tzu¡¯s The Science of War.


    I strongly believe that war should not be considered as a form of an Art.


    ''It is good that war is terrible, otherwise, men would grow fond of it,'' as the great Robert. E. Lee has once said. I wished that I have known these words before I incited Ph¨²c to go to war against Th¨´y D??ng. We won a single battle. She won the fucking war. Reason? While Sun Tzu was on our side, he was also on her side as well, and we waged war not knowing that.


    War is a method, as stated and written in the title of the treatise by Sun Tzu, the very writer of the treatise himself.


    And because war is a method, a pursuit, it can be broken down in details and explained in scientific explanations. Therefore, I believe that War is a field of Science at its core. And science is cold and factual. There is no room for emotion in a scientific report or scientific research. I have never read an emotional scientific report before nor have I read an emotional scientific research paper.


    The people who fight and the people who wage war have emotions, and war can be an emotional topic to people, but war itself has no emotion. It is a field of science. And that what Sun Tzu¡¯s treatise is all about, a scientific report about the experiments that he has conducted and his conclusion on the topic.


    Therefore, warmongers must wage, fight and conduct a war like an experiment, being methodological, professional, scientific and controlled in their approach at all time. And because war must be conducted like an experiment, there are trials-and-errors¡­


    I wish that I had room for trials-and-errors in the biggest experiment that I am about to conduct. However, I could not afford such a luxury.  I do not possess the mean to pay for such luxury nor can I ask the bank for a loan to afford such luxury. This experiment is powered by my own pockets and I have but a single chip, a coin.


    Due to my respect for Sun Tzu and his Science of War, my graduate thesis paper was titled, ¡°Maybe Sun Tzu was a low-key masochist.¡± Of course, my instructor immediately sounded the siren alarms and made me rewrote the title. Therefore, I changed the title into, ¡°Sun Tzu, a masochistic genius and a stupidly misunderstood hero.¡±


    In the middle of the night, my instructor immediately phoned me to his room and started shouting at me, ¡°Can you stop writing your thesis paper with this kind of title? You know that I could not allow you to present your thesis paper with this kind of title.¡±


    In the end, my thesis paper was renamed:  ¡°A study of Sun Tzu¡¯s character, the father of the Science of War.¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    To fight the war with all of those participants in the Reign of Chaos, I called upon my entire Department of War. Also, I invited Mr. Sun Tzu as a special guest to join with me with my war council via a video feed.


    With Sun Tzu on my side and my trusted Department of War¡¯s staffs, we plunged ourselves into the most heated discussion that lasted for months without a break.


    So how do I fight this war?


    I asked myself this question while knowing that I have failed the very first important checklist about threat assessment in Mr. Sun Tzu¡¯s Military Method of War. This checklist appeared in the very beginning of the treatise, literally the first chapter of Laying Plans. It presented five utmost important factors that a warmonger must consider before conducting a war. Each of these five factors presented an amount of risk that can and will compromise the result of a war.


    In front of my eyes, a table I drew.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="212">


    The Moral Law


    </td>


    <td width="41">


    O


    </td>


    <td width="255">


    Fuck me, I wage war for the most selfish reason.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="212">


    The Heaven


    </td>


    <td width="41">


    O


    </td>


    <td width="255">


    Fuck me, I am not a god. In fact, I wage war against the gods.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="212">


    Earth


    </td>


    <td width="41">


    O


    </td>


    <td width="255">


    Fuck me, this is not earth but Escana. This is not my home ground.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="212">


    The Commander


    </td>


    <td width="41">


    O


    </td>


    <td width="255">


    Fuck me, I am all alone. I don¡¯t even have an army with me, let alone a commander.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="212">


    Method and discipline


    </td>


    <td width="41">


    X


    </td>


    <td width="255">


    Yay, at least, I win one out of five.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    A smart person would come to a conclusion, ¡°Yup, we are not fighting this war,¡± when they see this table I drew. However, if my family and my closest friends have learned one thing after sticking with me for so long, they knew very well that I am a stupid asshole at the core.


    I think that it is about the damn time for my enemies learning that.


    As a person who invented the Art of Stupidity and the leading artist in this field, I would say, ¡°Fuck this shit, we go to war.¡± I twisted my face with pure disgust and pessimism, Shit. This is a terrible start.


    ¡°The general that hearkens to my counsel and acts upon it, will conquer:  Keep that person in command! The general that hearkens not to my counsel nor acts upon it, will suffer defeat:¡ªlet such a person be dismissed!¡±  I heard Mr. Sun Tzu gave me his most honest advice.


    For some reasons, Mr. Sun Tzu¡¯s advice sounded like he was trying to roast me alive. It¡¯s like he¡¯s trying to tell, ¡°You know what? How about letting someone else talks and become the leader? Your stupidity is rotting my ears.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Sun Tzu,¡± I gave my reply to Sun Tzu, dismissing his most honest warning. Shit, this is not going well. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, Mr. Sun Tzu, I will try to make-do and tick the first four boxes of that checklist as I fight this war,¡± I bullshitted to Sun Tzu.


    ¡°The general who loses a battle makes but inadequate calculations beforehand. Making many calculations lead to victory, making inadequate amount of calculations lead to defeat.¡± Sun Tzu earnestly reprimanded me like a teacher with his cryptic words.


    Is this even English?


    ¡°Do you think that alone, by myself, I can make more calculations and out-preparing that many people? Besides, these are immortals and they can twist time in a dream.¡± I lamented and complained.


    For some reason, Mr. Sun Tzu seemed to have a problem with the internet connection at his end. I could not hear his reply.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Mr. Sun Tzu, what did you say?¡± I blurted while checking the internet connection. There was no problem with the connection. For some reasons, I could only see his image but could not listen to his voice.  ¡°Mr. Sun Tzu. I cannot read lips. There is something wrong with the audio at your end, please try to reboot your app or something.¡±


    In the end, Mr. Sun Tzu seemed to never figure out what is the problem with his audio. He rebooted his PC after leaving me a written message, ¡°All warfare is based on deception.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Sun Tzu. I got this part. This is something I am very good at.¡± I smiled a toothy smile, full of confidence.


    Mr. Sun Tzu shook his head. He wore an ugly expression on his face, a twist of an ugly grimace as if he has given up talking to me, as if he has lost his faith in humanity, as if he was done with this meeting.


    He has realized that there is nothing he could do to stop me from fighting this war. He rebooted his PC and the screen went black.


    This meeting is not going too well. I concluded and headed to the next phase of the meeting, Waging War. Thankfully, the second chapter in Sun Tzu¡¯s treatise was about Waging War.


    ¡°I have no army. I have no land. I have no food, wealth, or any resource to fight a war.¡± I made a quick summary of my current situation, writing it on the whiteboard. When I finished writing the summary, I read it, again and again, and again, since I had never fought a war with this kind of handicaps in my entire lifetime. I banged my head at the whiteboard repeatedly in frustration and pessimism. ¡°A problem,¡± I added at the end of my summary.


    Any sensible person would advise me to forget about starting this war business and experiment. Any sensible person would have listened to such advices.


    Not me. Never me.


    ¡°Solution: Search for bankers. Talk them into lending you¡­ everything... everything?¡± I wrote my solution on the whiteboard.


    This makes no sense in the real world. I quickly realized. I despaired, banging my head against the whiteboard again. ¡°Fuck, what kind of banker would be that stupid enough to lend that kind of ¡°everything¡± to someone like me, a fucking hobo who has nothing of value with him?¡±


    Then suddenly, I realized that my despair has given me hope, the most perfect answer.


    I rewrote my solution, ¡°Solution: Search for Stupid bankers. Talk them into lending you every resource you need.¡±  I reread my revised solution and despaired again.


    Shit, I am already in debts before the war even begins. This is fucking suicidal. This is worse than gambling. ¡°DO NOT RECOMMEND THIS SOLUTION FOR SMART PEOPLE!¡±  I added my most honest thought at the end of the stupid solution that I came up with.


    After that, I spent five months inside the war room to come up with methods and strategies to erase my colossal debts to the Stupid bankers. And then, I realized that I have wasted five months doing nothing meaningful because erasing my debts to the bankers have nothing to do with the war between me and those immortals. Besides, I can only think about paying the debts after I survive and win the war.


    I banged my head against the wall until that wall gave way to the hardness of my head.


    ¡°Good, let¡¯s continue the session,¡± I told myself in the most optimistic of a voice despite the despair inside my heart. My hands sneaked in a tiny note at the end of the second phrase. ¡°War=debts, do not pursue if you are smart.¡±


    ¡°The third phase of this war council, qualifications. Have I earned my qualification to fight this war?¡± I read my question written on the board aloud.


    My staffs summoned the phantoms of the people of Escana who have died facing an Immortal.


    The phantoms warned, ¡°The act of challenging a god is futility in it and of itself.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, I am the moron who challenged the futility of time. And I won that battle.¡± I gave my reply to the phantoms.


    The phantoms said, ¡°To fight a God, thou must be a God.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me. I am the God and the second most powerful being in this dreamland.¡±


    The phantoms said, ¡°The act of defying the gods is like facing Death herself.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, I kissed Death in her lips, and nearly fucked her, had it not for my stupidity cock-blocking myself. And I am still alive now.¡±


    ¡°Then, my Lord, you are over-qualified for this war,¡± concluded the people of Escana.


    I nodded my head and agreed with that assessment. Then I asked them, ¡°What about them? Are they qualified to fight me?¡±


    ¡°How the fuck do we know the answer to that question? Ask them instead!¡± the phantom snarled. And disappeared.


    ¡°Make sense.¡± I nodded my head, allying myself with the logic of the faded phantoms. I added my conclusion on the board, ¡°Status: Overqualified for the war. No Worry!!!¡± with a tiny reminder at the end.


    ¡°Remember to ask them if they were qualified for facing me.¡±


    All of a sudden, I felt hopeful and optimistic about the war. At least, I am qualified to fight it.


    I did not waste any time to celebrate and headed into the next phase of the war council.


    ¡°Know your enemy, know yourself¡±


    I called the video coordinator to play an episode on Misery¡¯s Discovery of the LORE of ROC channel.


    <Anatomy of a Child of Naharis.> I was also starring in that episode with my usual role as Dr. Reality.


    When the video coordinator finished playing that clip, he asked me if I needed to watch the seven seasons documentary series about the <Life of The Prince of The Alliance.>


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t need to watch it.¡± I declined and began to draw a table, to sum up my understanding of the matter.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    Demon Lord/God/Goddess


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    Fearless


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Real Identity


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Professional Clowns, who mistakenly decided to audition in a horror action movie


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         The Best ROC pro-gamer


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Strength


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Making people laugh


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         Looking fabulous


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Weakness


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Only know how to make people laugh.


    ¡¤         No other talent.


    ¡¤         Not united as they appear.


    ¡¤         Too many of them in a single movie. No audience could remember every single of their name.


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         Too stupid for his own good


    ¡¤         Alone


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Favorite method of killing a target


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Making people laugh to dead


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         Too many to name


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Favorite method of defense against devastating attacks


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Escape to Kharigan


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         Partying


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Winning Condition


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Kill Fearless


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         ?????


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="190">


    Losing Condition


    </td>


    <td width="238">


    ¡¤         Elimination from the game, from life and from existence


    </td>


    <td width="210">


    ¡¤         Become someone else other than Fearless


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    ¡°Is there something wrong with this table?¡± I asked the video coordinator the moment I saw his expression.


    ¡°Did you not watch the video?¡±  He inquired with a high pitch voice.


    ¡°What kind of question is that?¡±


    ¡°This is not what the clip is about.¡± He slammed the projector to the ground and broke it.


    I shook my head in resignation, ¡°You are literally forcing my hand,¡± I said and snapped my finger.


    ¡°Really?¡± The video coordinator slowly dispersed into dust, but not without leaving behind his final words, ¡°Mr. Sun Tzu¡­. I don¡¯t feel so good.¡±


    ¡°Anyone else has a problem with this table?¡± I turned my head around the war council and asked. There were no further dissents raised among the war council.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. Let¡¯s move to the next phrase.¡± I said, ¡°The best method to kill or win against an Immortal being.¡±


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td colspan="2" width="638">


    The best method to kill or win against an Immortal being


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    Direct Method


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    Indirect Method


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="319">


    ¡¤         Stick Enferm¨¦ right up their asses


    ¡¤         Kiss them with Dragon Bane


    ¡¤         Convince them to kill themselves


    </td>


    <td width="319">


    ¡¤         Strike a devastating psychological blow to make them quit


    ¡¤         Entering their name into a real comedy show, let them know that they are clowns


    ¡¤         Show them what a real horror movie looks like.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    ¡°Anyone wanted to add anything? No? Then, Let¡¯s move to the next phrase.¡±


    HOW DO WE FIGHT THIS WAR?


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with how should we strike our first blow in this war? Step 1, anyone?¡±


    ¡°Make it contain all of the elements listed on the table ¡°The best method to kill or win against an Immortal being.¡± Basically, kill one to warn a hundred.¡± <The godly stupid Fearless> replied.


    ¡°Flawless reasoning.¡± I nodded my head and commended him, ¡°After that, what¡¯s next? What¡¯s step 2?¡±


    ¡°There is a Next after that?¡± <The godly stupid Fearless> furrowed his brows.


    ¡°We must consider the worst case scenario, just in case our enemies are just as stupid as us.¡± I reasoned.


    ¡°How about not starting this war?¡± <The godly stupid Fearless> asked with an unsure voice.


    I snapped my finger and turned my attention at <The Fearless who is so stupid that he is godly>, the person who sat next to <The godly stupid Fearless>.


    ¡°YOLO?¡± He replied, unsure.


    Without a hint of emotion, I snapped my finger again.


    <The Fearless who is godly coward> was the next in the line, ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± he begged.


    Again, I snapped my fingers.


    ¡°Snap your fucking fingers again, I dare you.¡± <The godly troll Fearless> stood up and challenged me.


    I made his wish comes true.


    As he dispersed into dust, ¡°I was only kidding,¡± he said.


    ¡°Any better idea?¡± I glanced at the rest of my trusted staffs.


    ¡°You tyrant, I will kill you.¡± <The Fearless who is a godly brave fool> shouted.


    I snapped him out of existence.


    One of the last Fearless presenting inside the room stood up, ¡°Repeating step 1,¡± he shouted.


    I nodded my head, ¡°Good, what about step 3?¡±


    ¡°Repeating step 2?¡± He started to sweat bullets.


    ¡°Let me guess, you are going to tell me to repeat my step 3 for step 4, am I correct?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t snap your finger, please.¡±


    I clapped my hands and made another Fearless, with the word godly attached to his name, dispersed into dust.


    I then turned my sight at the final members of the Department of War.


    ¡°Who do you think you are?¡± One of them stood and shouted in defiance.


    ¡°Your God,¡± I snapped my fingers.


    ¡°If you disagree with our plan, why don¡¯t you come up with a better plan? You cannot.¡± The final members of my staffs declared, eyes full of hatred.


    ¡°And what if I can come up with a better plan?¡± I smiled, accepting his challenge. ¡°Watch this,¡± I said and redialed Mr. Sun Tzu for his help.


    ¡°You call that a plan?¡± he sneered


    Mr. Sun Tzu appeared on the screen. His intelligent eyes flickered through the whiteboard, assessing the flows of the council and the decision that I have made. Then, he face-palmed himself.


    ¡°An army is always exposed to six calamities, which do not arise from natural causes, but from faults of its general. These are:


    (1) Flight;


    (2) Insubordination;


    (3) Collapse;


    (4) Ruin;


    (5) Disorganization;


    (6) Rout.


    These are six ways of courting defeat, which must be carefully noted by the general who has attained a responsible post.¡±


    Mr. Sun Tzu shared with me his words of wisdom and gave me a look of ¡°Do not contact me further than this. I don¡¯t want to deal with your bunch.¡± He mysteriously disconnected, pulling the plug of his PC in a snap.


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHA. Even the great Sun Tzu has given up on you.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± I furrowed my brows in confusion.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He just told us the method to destroy our enemies.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about? He just literally described our current state. He told you that it¡¯s your faults that we are going to be defeated. You are making all of us experiencing the six calamities right now.¡±


    ¡°He just told us to make our enemies exposed with the six states of calamities: flight, insubordinate, collapsed, ruined, disorganized and routed.¡± I wrote down Sun Tzu¡¯s advice on the whiteboards.


    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You know what? I win the bet. I just came up with a better plan. Bye,¡± I waved my hand and snapped my fingers, ending my war council.

 V2 Chapter 10: Prince, Defector, Insane People, and Stupid People

    Chapter 10: Prince, Defector, Insane People, and Stupid People


    Other than Misery who intended to become a pro-gamer from the get-go, none of us was supposed to become a pro-gamer.


    FY wanted to dream and stayed away from politics. Fantasy played ROC because it suited him. Ph¨²c played ROC because he was inspired. Me, I played ROC because I was needed.


    But, Merleon, his was a different story. In reality, Merleon was always the quietest man among us. Misery was only quiet until someone said something about the lore of ROC. The moment that topic was touched, Misery could keep on talking for days. Merleon was a man of very few words.


    Merleonnever talked much about himself or how he became a pro-gamer. Merleon never talked about it, until I knocked him silly with a bottle of whiskey. I thought Aussies were a race of people with great alcohol tolerant, all of them, but I was obviously wrong.


    Merleon popped his ACL in one of his matches. The moment when that happened, everyone knew that Merleon¡¯s career as a profession mix martial artist was over. The sight of that injury was so gruesome that people just cringed and turned their sight away, crying and praying for Merleon as his face was twisted with trauma on the ring. When that moment happened, even the common people without any medical knowledge would know that the day Merleon stood on the ring as a fighter was behind him. Merleon was a kicker, not a slugger like his father. Without his good legs, his career was over.


    As Merleon was going through three operations to remove his deteriorated ACL off his right leg, his injury complicated further. Blood clots were detected in his lungs and blood vessels. Since Merleon was on strict medical monitoring at all times and his career as a fighter hit the ultimate ending. The loss of his right ACL did not deter Merleon from his return to the octagon ring, his blood clot disorder did.


    ¡°Not a good time to live,¡± Merleon croaked in his drunken stupor, ¡°No strenuous exercise, they said. Good joke¡­ how can I do any exercise¡­ like any¡­ when I was constantly on blood thinners¡­good joke.¡±


    Aside from the negative effects of the blood thinning treatment to a person¡¯s health, while being under the blood-thinning treatment, a tiny scratch could make Merleon bleed to death. No man or any organization with the right mind would allow Merleon to fight on a ring from the moment he was diagnosed with a blood clots disorder.


    The sight of Merleon broke down to tears put a somber mood on everyone at the party. The more he drank, the more Merleon talked. He talked about everything and sometimes it was impossible for me to understand what Merleon was talking about. Then, topics became very personal. I literally had to chase the fans at that party away to have a one-on-one talk with Merleon in his drunken state.


    ¡°I saw Nightmare on the TV broadcast, 0-3 to DLG at the Final, live.¡±


    Until Merleon made that confession, I did not realize that he was a fanboy of Nightmare. It then became clear to me that Merleon has picked up the mouse and keyboard was due to the influence of Nightmare and the event of that Final series.


    Nightmare¡¯s godhood aside, that was the biggest comeback in the history the league and Merleon caught it live on TV.


    It was at the time when the format of the Final series of the ROC World Cup was a seven-game series. Nightmare and his Korean team GAM God Among Men was facing against DLG Defying Logic Gaming for the golden crown.


    Nightmare was one game away from being labeled ¡°The biggest fumbler¡± in the history of ROC gaming. His GAM was crushed, hard, 0-3 o DLG on the Golden Era arena. DLG analyzed GAM¡¯s strategies and tactics. They played that final series armed with counter strategies and traps for Nightmare and GAM. They out-prepared and outthought GAM in that series. Their two superstars NoLife and NoDead put Nightmare¡¯s superstar status on the chopping board. GAM¡¯s fans sitting inside the Golden Era Arena were so heartbroken that they left early, could not watch Nightmare fell from grace even further.


    Just by watching everyone¡¯s face from the record, I could tell that other than Nightmare, nobody believed that GAM could win Game 4. His entire team cracked from their previous losses, from the starting players to the substitutes, coach, and their staffs. DLG crushed them hard. Nightmare gave them a small pep talk but that changed nothing. DLG crushed their spirit.


    Game 4 begun when all hope was lost for GAM and their fans. DLG became greedy and tried to unravel Nightmare¡¯s godhood. They ignored the famous ¡°No-GOSM¡± rule.


    Every player who played ROC knows what the ¡°No-GOSM¡± rule is. No <Garuda of the Sacred Mountain> when playing against GAM. Even the new players who only started playing ROC long after Nightmare¡¯s retirement know that ¡°No-GOSM¡± rule. DLG was not the first to challenge that ¡°No-GOSM¡± rule and they were not the last. They did not use their First Ban to remove the <Garuda of the Sacred Mountain> from the game.


    Naturally,GAM picked that warlord for Nightmare with their First Pick.


    History was never the same from that moment. Even people who did not play the game at that time like Merleon could feel that shift from the broadcasters¡¯ reactions and the loud gasps from the fans at the arena. The META (Most Effective Tactic Available) of the game changed with each every patch, and the strategies that teams employed evolved over time, but Nightmare and the <Garuda of the Sacred Mountain> remained invincible through the passage of time.


    Nightmare regained his godhood and GAM returned to being his godly legion.


    ¡°In our league¡¯s history, there are the gods of AG and there is Nightmare the God of GAM,¡± I spoke such words on Nightmare¡¯s retirement day. ¡°I don¡¯t know if the gods of AG were real or not. But I know the existence of the One True God, and today, I am watching his twilight.¡± I used the opportunity to roast Superior and AG, but the crowds clapped instead of booing me.


    The series became 1-3. DLG realized that ¡°No-GOSM¡± rule existed for a FUCKING reason and decided to adopt it again. They realized that a little too late. With that Game 4, they reminded GAM of their identity. The score became 2-3 and fans could already smell a comeback in the air. Nightmare mounted that comeback, his team behind him, high on morale and spirit. The score then became even 3-3. Even before Game 7 began, people can sense that DLG was collapsing. They picked a fight with a god in his fullest and they suffered for that.


    When that Game 7 ended, a respectful Nightmare walked out of his game booth, his team trailing. The mike was passed to him. The broadcasters asked Nightmare of his thought.


    ¡°Do not give up. Keep fighting. Fight until the final moment. Do not give up. Do not give up,¡± Nightmare shouted, finally surrendering himself to his swelling emotion. The person who mounted that comeback from the quagmire of defeat was a God, but the person, who spoke those words, was a man.


    That man inspired Merleon to pursue a different future. Perhaps, without that man, The Alliance would never be the same.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    In a special conjured dream room, I sat cross-legged on my chair, leaning back a bit to stare at the quivering creature in front of me.


    Alien was the creature¡¯s grotesque shape, resembling a big human heart that attached with four long pairs of bony limps and an exposed half-eaten brain. Slimy tentacles sprouted out of the places, where arteries and veins should be. Coated over that grotesque mass was not skin, but eyes, a thousand bulging eyes of many shapes, sizes, and colors.


    If this were a horror movie, I was supposed to be the one who was quivering in my seat, not that grotesque looking creature.


    ¡°Can you tell me, what are you doing, Magnamor?¡± I wore my most beautiful smile like a mask and spoke to the groveling creature in the kindest and warmest of a voice. I gave the creature a seat and it chose to grovel on the ground, which irked me in the weirdest way.


    It appeared that my voice and demeanor had an opposite effect than I have envisioned. Instead of making the Demon Lord of A Thousand Burning Eyes feeling braver and more comfortable with my presence, my demeanor broke his spectral bladders, which I had no idea if they even existed prior to this moment. Yellow goo streamed out of Magnamor¡¯s tentacles, a puddle of unbearable stench kept spreading on the ground where the Demon Lord was groveling. Magnamor then spoke to me in a strange language, ¡°Nnnnnnno, nnnnnno, iiii IIIII¡­.nnnnnnot¡­.nnnn.¡±


    Oh, boy, they did not call you the Coward Demon Lord for nothing. I mulled on how real and authentic that visual and olfactory effects appeared in this Divine Dream. I was no genius, so I could not understand Magnamor¡¯s strange reply, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what were you saying?¡± I craned my neck a little bit and angled my ear at Magnamor¡¯s direction.


    The Demon Lord of A Thousand Eyes, for whatever reason, he believed that I was threatening him instead, smashing his pinkish half-eaten brain against the puddle of yellow goo beneath him in the most compelling manner. The rancid goo splashed in every direction and a drop spattered on my cheeks. Magnamor froze solid for a second, then red liquid oozed out of his many eyes and that quivered returned to his pinkish body. ¡°SPPPPPPPPaaaaarrrre mmmmmmmmmme¡­nnnn¡­.oooooo¡±


    I had no idea what language that Magnamor was using, but I was sure that he did not speak in the Titan tongue, Naharis¡¯ langue.


    Taking pity on Magnamor, I stood up from my chair and gave him a most motherly hug, unafraid of that ammonia-like stench emanating from Magnamor¡¯s body. Magnamor squirmed in terror but I did not let go. I squeezed him tightly within my arms, tenderly patting his gooey half-eaten brain and warmly stroking his slimy tentacles. I kept Magnamor inside my arms until that quivering left him.


    I waved my hand and removed the existence of that yellow goo from my dream, making Magnamor clean. I pulled him to his white bony feet.


    ¡°Ccccccannnn we have a proper talk nnnnow?¡± Out of my playful impulse, I decided to try speaking in Magnamor¡¯s stuttering language with the same tone that the Demon Lord used to address me.


    Red tears welled up in his many eyes and fear tore him like a starving beast, leaving a fawn-like creature quivering for his dear life.


    ¡°I¡¯m only kidding, don¡¯t cry. Have a sit,¡± I snickered a bit, extending my hand and gesturing Magnamor to sit on the chair that I have conjured for him.


    The Demon Lord shook his head desperately, ¡°I ddddon¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°If you are my guest, take a sit. If you are my enemy, kept on groveling on the floor like that,¡± I cut in with a disarming bright smile on my lips while delivering my ultimatum.


    Gingerly, the Demon Lord sat down on his chair. But it was apparent to my eyes that Magnamor was so uncomfortable with it, I snapped my fingers and turned that chair he was sitting on into a sofa instead.


    ¡°Relax, if you are indeed my guest, I would not be rude to you, wouldn¡¯t I?¡± I turned my chair into a more comfortable one as well, with thicker cushion and wider armrests. I leaned backward on the new chair in the most relaxing manner to show that Magnamor should do the same.


    But of course, the Coward Demon Lord was stiffed in his chair, back to quivering again.


    ¡°Man, if you, a Demon Lord are looking at me with such a terrified look in your eyes, people would think that I am a monster or something.¡± I joked a bit, measuring Magnamor¡¯s psyche with my awful joke. His mind was in no state to appreciate a joke. I cleared my throat, ¡°Can you tell me, Magnamor? Why did you contact me?¡±


    ¡°Iiiiiii don¡¯t want to die,¡± replied Magnamor.


    ¡°That¡¯s reasonable.¡± I nodded my head. Still wondering why this Demon Lord was different from the rest of his kin.


    Previously when I scouted the meeting hall that Death conjured for the participants of the Reign of Chaos in person, Magnamor decided to contact me.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    With a ghostlike form, I entered the meeting hall of the immortals.


    The meeting Hall of the participants of the Reign of Chaos was built in a hemispherical shape. Every corner of the hall was tiled with a checker pattern of black and white. Designs of Death¡¯s favorite garden of dandelion-like flowers carved into the black wall surrounding the great hall, shrouding the hall with an oppressive atmosphere. On the ceiling, a picture of Death and me painted with the dark wings of Death¡¯s moths bore down on the participants of the Reign of Chaos. Death was half-lying down on her garden of white flowers in the most seductive manner, her white arm extended and straddling my chin. Me, I was dressing in an over-the-top edgelord-like dress, kneeling and kissing Death¡¯s pearl white hand. A great scythe and blue glowing lamp rested at my feet.


    ¡°Funny, this woman was so sure that she would win me over before she has even met me in person,¡± I scoffed.


    My eyes flickered through the great hall, counting head. With the exception of Niwdar¡¯s twelve Valkyria, Sinintee¡¯s four Other and Eogaill, every single Immortal involved with the Reign of Chaos were now presenting inside Death¡¯s Divine Dream.


    If I wanted to end the Reign of Chaos now, I could end it right here right now in a stalemate. A delirious snicker broke out of my lips like a maddened beast. Watching the scene, the hidden meaning in URLOX¡¯s words became clear to me.


    <table style="float: left">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Fearless, Ph¨²c ?. B?ch, August 21, 2045- April 1, 2072


    A tribute to the greatest Reign of Chaos pro-gamer of his generation, the Greatest Ender and perhaps the greatest professional player to ever picks up a mouse and keyboard. He has inspired a generation of people to fall in love with ROC with his love for the game, his great personality, his work ethic, his love for the community and his unique play style. For that, he will forever have a special place in our hearts.


    A seven times World Champion, five times MVP, four times Final MVP, and twelve times All-Star, and holder of numerous individual awards, a champion among champions. As the Prince of The Alliance, he was one of the greatest members of the greatest dynasty in the world of ROC.


    People grow old, but Fearless, his achievement and legend are timeless.


    It¡¯s only justice that Fearless has a place in a world where he has devoted his entire life building it. For that, with unanimous votes from players all around the world and all members of the developing team of Reign of Chaos, he will be immortalized within the planet of Escana as one of hers greatest inhabitants.


    May he continues to live, finds happiness and inspires people as he once did to all of us.¡±


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    ¡°He will be immortalized within the planet of Escana as one of her greatest inhabitants.¡±


    These words sounded innocent at first. However, the moment I realized that I was on Escana and not Earth, that innocence was lost. It sounded a grim ringing bell inside my head since the moment I have first met Clariciel in that Divine Dream.


    The word ¡°Great¡± in Escana in all known tongues, whether elvish, dwarven, orcish, human or Titan, etc¡­, is directly linked to the image of War and Sinintee. Thus, the meaning of ¡°Escana¡¯s greatest inhabitants,¡± can be understood as ¡°The most infamous warmongers and conquerors.¡±


    The phrase, ¡°Will be Immortalized,¡± could be understood in literal and metaphorical meaning. Metaphorically, people will remember me until the end time of Escana. Literally, I would be turned into an immortal, one way or another regardless of the choice I make.


    Under my nose, URLOX literally gave me a prophecy in my biography page. They told me that war is an inevitable future for me and regardless of the choice I would make, my ending has already been predicted.


    ¡°Fuck you, URLOX,¡± I cursed the developers of ROC for the bazillions times since I arrived at Escana. Their bunch should be locked up in a mental institution forever. Their bunches should be barred from contacting with the society until they become dust and bone.


    Keeping my anger in check, I went around and inspected the participants of the Reign of Chaos in person. Niwdar, Sinintee, and Wonten had their respective corner, sitting in their ornate seats within each other¡¯s arm-length, staring down at their enemies with hardened prudence.


    I sped up my time by a factor of a thousand, making the immortals presented in the meeting hall appeared to stand still. I then cloned myself into 53 beings, assigning these clones of mine to observe my targets.


    Sinintee was the most noticeable of the three due to his flamboyance colors. Gold was his divine armor and fiery was its intricate details. His long cape was a cascading stream of blood. Fire was his crown, a blazing torch of orange and red. Sinintee had his rugged hands clutched tight, his beardy cleft chin on top of them.


    I stood before Sinintee in my invisible form, observing the motion of his eyes and the minute detail of his body movement, while my clone was taking note on his character. After ten minutes of constant observing, I diagnosed the Great God to be a Megalomaniac on top of being a Sociopath as did my clone. ¡°The worst combination,¡± I inadvertently sighed.


    I moved on to Niwdar, my second observation target. ¡°Severe trust issues,¡± with a quick glance, I diagnosed Niwdar¡¯s mental condition.


    Being a student of History and a moron ,someone who fervently intended to go to Hell after living out my life, I have seen the depiction of many Goddesses, whose traits and divinity link with Beauty and Feminine. But Niwdar was something else. She was the unicorn of their kind, because I have never seen a Goddess of Beauty who dressed like Niwdar. And I was sure that if any mortal man of Escana who has fantasized about Niwdar would be severely disappointed when they see her.


    The amount of skin that Niwdar revealed through her dress would make goddesses, who shared the attribute of Beauty like Aphrodite or Freya, banged their head against the wall out of sheer confusion. Just the small area between her golden locks and green veil, no more. There was no feminine curve for a man to admire because Niwdar¡¯s thick greenish gown blurred the curves out of her shape. On top of that, her loose dark green pants and high yellow colored greaves killed all traces of feminity out of Niwdar¡¯s shape. A laminated scale-armor donned on top of Niwdar¡¯s dress was overkill, giving her the broad shoulders and big back of a man.


    Had I not know Niwdar¡¯s history from the lore, I would have not believed that I was staring at Beauty in the eyes. Back when I was still on earth, the artworks and fan-arts portraying Niwdar had three main themes, an innocent maiden, a tragic victim and a hardened woman. I was staring at the reality version of the last theme.


    After a thirty minute of observation, I quickly put a small mental reminder on Niwdar¡¯s character sheet, ¡°Batshit Insane. Stay out of her way. Do not touch. DO NOT FLIRT with her daughters.¡± But, my clone has already written that down on his note.


    My initial estimation of Niwdar prior to this moment was on point. I can anger anyone but this one.


    Wonten was an extremely difficult case for me. His face was a blank canvas of pinkish scar, a mask of emptiness. He sat still in his seat for the length of the observation without moving a muscle. ¡°Weathered,¡± I put down my initial thought on Wonten¡¯s character sheet. Without interacting with him, I could not make out of his real character.


    Then, I began to make my observation of the Demon Lords. Even though their common label was the <Demon Lords of Kharigan>, they were not a united group, because, if they were united, the four patron deities of Escana would have been overthrown a long time ago.


    My mind drifted to my discussion with Misery on the topic.


    ¡°In the Rise of the Dragon Slayer (RTDS), the fifty Demon Lords of Kharigan were considered by the fans of the series as entities of cosmic horrors on the level of Cthulu. Born from the mutilated corpse of the Dark God Naharis, these Demon Lords inherited and bore his hatred and grudges for his slayers from the moment of his death, and more importantly, his divinity power. Individually, they were less powerful than the four patron deities of Escana were, but not quite far from them either.


    Out of their hatred, they launched waves of attack to Coeles, the golden moon of Gods. Wonten¡¯s powerful presence on Coeles rendered their attacks ineffective. And thus, they took their grudges to the material plane of Escana to destroy everything that their slayers created and loved. That¡¯s how the First Divine War happened.¡± Misery became talkative as usual when the topic of the lore of ROC was mentioned.


    Whereas Misery was being extremely serious about the discussion, I was being a troll.


    ¡°Common, you cannot be serious. Divine War? That sounds absolutely ridiculous, don¡¯t you think? Three continents sank to the ocean floor, you said? They still have three continents left floating. Only one continent sundered and a slightly tall tree burned, was it? You cannot call that a war damage report. There are tons of trees on Escana, what¡¯s so important about a tree that is slightly bigger and slightly taller than the rest got burned?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Misery gave me a look of disdain, ¡°Can you be serious for once?¡±


    ¡°Look, only one Demon Lord was killed during this event, and the four gods were slightly wounded. You cannot exactly call that a war, can you? Have you ever seen a war where there was only one human casualty recorded at the end? If half of these Demon Lord died out during this event and half of these gods died out, I would agree with you that this is a Divine War. This is a squabble at best.¡± I remained to be a troll, making Misery rage-quiited on discussing this topic with me any further.


    Unlike Misery, I could not take the lore of the ROC universe serious on many levels. Now, I am suffering from my childish impulse back then. Should have pursued that topic¡­


    I stood before Flok¨ª and his faction, suppressing the urge to give the Smiling Demon Lord a sounding kick to his groin and making his handsome smirking face twisted with pain. Flok¨ª¡¯s face was nearly identical to Sinintee¡¯s, cleft chin, strong jaw, high nose, and sharp eyes, as ifhis twin. But, unlike Sinintee¡¯s perfectly groomed beardy face, Flok¨ª¡¯s face was defined with facial tattoos of a laughing clown.


    ¡°I assume that you are the man behind that fucking generous and ingenuity of a solution of turning me into lucky charms for your kin to use.¡± I could not help but laugh while staring at the culprit who sealed my escape route. ¡°With or without that stupid chosen one prophecy, I could have remained uninvolved in this bullshit game. I had a perfect plan to keep myself uninvolved with this bullshit game. And you just have to spoil it. Motherfucker, I commend you for your ingenious solution. In my entire life, I have never seen such a better solution to such a dilemma. Motherfucker, you are like a judge, who tells a couple arguing for parental rights to split their child into halves to deal with their problem. Fuck you. Man, you should have appeared in the Arthurian to tell thoseknightsto melt down the Excalibur so they could gain their equal claim for kingship. Fuck you, who does things like that? Are you for fucking real, Clown?¡± My anger erupted and flew out of my mouth without any form of self-restraint like uncaged birds.


    The only reason Flok¨ª could not hear my voice was due to the design of my ghost form preventing others from seeing or hearing me. Unable to see me or hear my voice, Flok¨ª engaged in small talks with the other five Demon Lords of his faction with a smirk on his lips completely uninterrupted.


    I listened to their conversation while mentally preparing a suitable eulogy for Flok¨ª, as well as coming up with a design for his tombstone.


    <Live a clown, die a joke.> I carved down the words on Flok¨ª¡¯s temporary tombstone, ¡°Short and concise, a perfect eulogy for your kind, motherfucker.¡±


    I diagnosed Flok¨ª and his subordinated Demon Lords with ¡°Delusion of Grandeur¡± and a mix of psychopathy and sociopathy tendency.


    What the fuck is this? A mental hospital? Too bad, I¡¯m not a fucking psychiatrist or a counselor. I don¡¯t get paid by treating you.


    See Misery? This is why I cannot take the lore of ROC serious. URLOX are insane and their creations are equally insane as them. I wish I could show this sight to you.


    I kept moving from one faction to another.


    Lust was whispering a coup d¡¯¨¦tat with Pride, the leader of her group, informing Pride that her succubus legion about to kidnap me and take me to Kharigan if Death screwed up convincing me. From her language, I could deduct that she was going the ¡°Screw you all¡± and ¡°Me against the World¡± way.


    ¡°Why?¡± Pride asked.


    ¡°Just one night¡­ I want to feel it,¡± Lust replied feverishly.


    ¡°You are going to die for that.¡± Pride warned coldly.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the price,¡± Lust placed her hand on her rich bosoms and smiled contently.


    I then moved to observe the other targets.


    I heard talks of using the dwarves¡¯ crafting ability to make muskets from my history knowledge of Earth among the various interesting topics.


    I wrote a character sheet for each of my observation targets, including my diagnosis on their mental health, a brief generalization on their character, my most honest eulogy and the tombstone design that I had decided for them.


    Then, I stood before Sanguine and Sanguine¡¯s group of three, listening to their conversation in the coldness of winter.


    Sanguine¡¯s shape was a human¡¯s worst nightmare. Sanguine was both male and female in sex, but it neither identified itself as male or female. Sanguine was a grotesque mass of served head of young and old, human and inhuman, male and female connected by millions of slimy jagged tentacles into an arthropod-like shape. The severed heads were alive, very much alive. Chitinous feelers spilled out of hollow eye sockets and ear holes, writhing in every direction, only the mouth of the served head remained their own. Each of the head had a mind of their own.


    The widows wailed. The young moaned. The braves shouted. The saints and saintesses begged. The fools cursed. The lovers wept. It was an insidious cacophony of madness.


    ¡°Champions and followers of Sanguine,¡± as I recalled Misery¡¯s words, ¡°Once a puppet of Sanguine, always Sanguine¡¯s puppet. Not even Death wants them in her Hall.¡±


    Crowned on top of that grotesque shape of Sanguine was countless of mutilated bleeding mouths lapping over each other, its real mouth. Grating and slimy was its voice, like quagmire that led to the abyss itself.


    Sanguine was having fun with its current conversation and I could feel its joy and delight through its grating voice. Rasahlu and Yasubotay, its two subordinated Demon Lords, too were having the time of their lives, squirming in ecstasy, talking about the holes in Death¡¯s decision on making me her champion.


    Sanguine was dead-set on making Iliva its champion for this incoming round of ROC.


    Rasahlu, with her sun bleach crooked mouths, giggled, weaving a grand plan to make me suffer and begging for mercy at the end of the day.


    Yasubotay, being the FUCKING GENIUS of his group, a giant bisected brain he was, with writhing feelers coming out of the bisected section. Five pairs of arthropodous legs and three pairs of insect wings supported his massive weight.


    He merely whispered to Sanguine, telling it to take Iliva and Erinys hostage, making them dance as its puppets until I surrender Ph¨²c to it. ¡°There are two princes. Death champions one, we take the other. Either way, we have the last laugh.¡±


    Sanguine writhed in its maddened delight, reconsidering its plan according to the suggestion of its strategist.


    Sanguine¡¯s conversation with its two subordinated Demon Lords trimmed out the profanities and heat off my anger. That conversation took away the heat and edge off my anger.


    I did not curse. I smiled. My clone smiled as well.


    As the smile on my lips spread wider, I could not hear anything, not the usual songs of winter, not the howl of a blizzard, not accursed mating songs of the cicadas. Nothing, nothing at all, a strangely sweet quietness.


    A block of solid ice became my thought, solid and unchanging, so was my decision.


    It was then one of my clones noticed me of Magnamor¡¯s quivering. He alone saw the smile on my lips.


    He was the first among the participants of the Reign of Chaos presenting inside the meeting to meet Prince Fearless of The Alliance in person.


    ¡°I¡¯m surrendering, please don¡¯t kill me,¡± he whispered wordlessly, tears in his bulging eyes.


    I have not done anything to him yet and it¡¯s not like I can kill him in this Divine Dream.


    How amazing!


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least. Magnamor was the only one inside that meeting hall who could see me, which tells me that there was still imperfectness in my control.


    I created a Magnamor lookalike to replace him in that meeting room and invited him as a guest to my war room.


    ¡°When you tell me that you are surrendering to me, what kind of future prospect do you seek from that?¡± I scratched my chin,


    ¡°FFFFuture prospect?¡±


    ¡°I mean what you want to be. When you said that you are surrendering to me, what kind of position do you want to assume? My captive? No, I don¡¯t have a jail to lock you up or jailers to watch you. Or do you want to be my ally and fight your kin? Or did you say those words without thinking?¡±


    Magnamor¡¯s red tears and quiet quivering was the reply.


    I sighed like deflating the balloon, ¡°I see. That¡¯s too bad¡­¡±


    ¡°Nnnnooo, I bbbbeggg you, don¡¯t kiiii me.¡± The Coward Demon Lord almost groveled as if it was a habit of his. Then, he remembered telling him to sit on his seat and managed to stop himself from groveling on the floor.


    Magnamor¡¯s reaction put a scowl on my face, ¡°Kill you? Why would I do that? You have already surrendered to me. You have sat on my chair as my guest, why would I ever want to kill you?¡±


    It was then that Magnamor realized that everything that I have done until this moment was a setup. He has already made a choice to be my guest and the chair that I offered to him was the offer to be my ally. He realized that I was conditioning him to betray the other Demon Lord in the future. Magnamor did not possess a humanoid form or a human face. However, his one-thousand eyes betrayed his emotion well enough for me to read him.


    ¡°Man, you make me realize once again just how great it is to be in the company of smart people. Your thoughts and actions are always logical and reasonable. Recently, I have only known stupid people¡­ their kind makes me exhausted and confused all the time.¡± A joyous cackle left my throat as I clapped my hands, ¡°You don¡¯t belong with them, those brainless morons, but neither you are with a moron like me. So tell me, smart Demon Lord, where do you want to be? Don¡¯t you dare to tell me that you have never thought about that!¡±


    ¡°Iiiiiii¡­. Wwwww¡­¡±


    ¡°If I were you, I would betray those brainless morons with the most convincing manner of an act. I would join this side,¡± I poked my index finger at my chest, ¡°Then, quietly, secretly, without raising much of an alarm, I would give away his plan to the other side, just tiny bit.¡± I gave Magnamor a visual estimation of ¡°just tiny bit¡± with my wide-open arms.


    ¡°No Iiii would¡­¡±


    I waved my hand to stop Magnamor from rebuking, ¡°Perfect survival strategy, in that manner, you are not an enemy on either side. Don¡¯t you think so?¡± I smiled and tilted my head.


    The despair and terror in Magnamor¡¯s thousand eyes told me that indeed he has once held such thought, ¡°No, I woul¡­¡±


    I waved Magnamor off again, ¡°Let stick to that strategy of yours. I think it is a brilliant strategy,¡± speaking to the Demon Lord in a casual tone.


    Confusion clouded Magnamor¡¯s eyes in an instance.


    I smiled, ¡°You will act as their mole on my side. Therefore, they will not kill you. But I get to decide what kind of information that you would leak.¡±


    Terror returned to Magnamor and choked the color out of his form.


    ¡°Wow, dude, you are the smartest person that I have met after I arrived at this world. Your thoughts are like three steps ahead of everything.¡± I clapped my hand, commended Magnamor for seeing through my intention of using him as a doom spy, and put him in the most precarious position in this incoming war. ¡°If you don¡¯t like that plan, I have a better suggestion, do you want to hear it?¡± I asked in a warm tone.


    Magnamor nodded his half-eaten brain readily.


    ¡°I¡¯m opening a school for a bunch of brainless orphan children without a home and I need someone to run that school. You are someone who can do that. Will you become the principal and manager of this school?¡± I offered the dream job to Magnamor.


    Magnamor¡¯s expression told me that I could not understand my words. Weird, I thought you are smart. Or maybe my sale pitch talk was too stupid?


    ¡°These brainless children would have the privilege to attend this school for a brighter future, their future. Of course, since this is a private school, they will pay a certain amount of intuition fees in order to attend it. But the fees would be very cheap, I assure you, my friend. Their tuition fees are especially cheap and I am sure that they could afford. I will be the only lecturer until I found someone else. After a certain amount of tuition fees have been collected, I will give these children a lecture periodically. You will help me recording these lectures and delivering them to these unfortunate children.¡± I elaborated my business model with a bright smile.


    ¡°Mmmmmay I ask, wwwhat iiiiiii¡­¡±


    ¡°What is this tuition fees that I¡¯m speaking of?¡± I deducted Magnamor¡¯s thought from his lack of color. ¡°What else? Life, of course. These homeless orphan children¡¯s life in exchange for the lectures, that¡¯s a cheap price, don¡¯t you think?¡± I clasped my hands and beamed a bright sunflower smile at the Coward Demon Lord.


    His expression told me that I was more of a Demon Lord than he ever was. But, no, I am no Demon Lord, I¡¯m a Prince, even now. I chuckled and told Magnamor to think about this job offer, ¡°You have all the time in the world, Wisest Demon Lord,¡± I gave Magnamor his private room to be himself and a new name that befits his ability.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    If God ever decided to put Lucifer, Satan and me inside a dark room and told us that only one of us would walk out of that room, I¡¯m one hundred percent sure that both Lucifer and Satan would never see the light again, Unless God decides to take pity on them.


    I sat down on my working table and back to carving tombstones again. Recently, due to my exhaustion of dealing and speaking to those self-proclaimed ¡°Stupid people of Fearless,¡± I devoted my free time into doing something more meaningful than war and schemes, carving tombstones for my future victims, that was. After all, even the kind of worms like Bloodbeard and his bunch got a tombstone for people to remember their dead.


    My carving knife was modeled after Enferm¨¦, with the same strange shape, thickness, and sharpness. Though I have forgotten the feeling of Enferm¨¦¡¯s weight, I set the weight of my carving knife to be of a roughly similar weight. I used a knife similar to Enferm¨¦¡¯s shape until I have grown accustomed with it, hoping that I would able to do the same with Enferm¨¦ when I woke up from this Divine Dream. The more tombstones I carved, the better I became at doing it. I became so good at carving tombstone that I designed several tombstones for a single victim.


    I wonder which designs they would prefer. Maybe, I should ask their opinion and let them pick for themselves. As my knife stopped carving wood, my thought wandered off to strange place again.


    I inadvertently sighed.


    I¡¯m living the strangest days of my life and my life has been anything but normal. When I needed to think, I held the fake magical coins. When I needed to stop thinking, I held a knife in my hands.


    Back then, I got myself drunk to stop thinking. Now, when my addiction would not help me, not in this dream, I conditioned myself to stop thinking. It could not be weirder than this.


    The carving knife moved again, shaping a hundred tombstones and writing a thousand eulogies for the future victims of war. There were times when the carving knife could not stop my thought from spinning. Bad thoughts, most of the time, but not for me, for someone else. At times like those, I would flick my coin, indulging myself in my bad thoughts if the top, returning to my thoughtlessness if the bottom.


    Memories of the day, when I was locked behind the bars and was disconnected to Ph¨²c for the first time in my life, resurfaced. The evidence at the crime scene suggested that I killed my unborn child and Th¨´y D??ng in cold blood, Hilarious, history just find a way to repeat itself. Instead of going straight for the demon, the entire investigation team pinned down on me, firmly believing that I was the one who orchestrated the murder of my entire adoptive family.


    Dealing with that shit was hard. Being locked while that demon escaping the law with a smile on his lips was hard. Dealing with those starving mongrels of the media at the time was hard. Mourning for Th¨´y D??ng from behind the bars as the main suspect for her death was harsh. But, having Ph¨²c quitted on me during that time was the harshest challenge that I have ever faced. I was truly cornered. During that time, Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s words, ¡°Get it done,¡± appeared within the depth of my mind repeatedly, and I was truly grateful for such commandment. Her ¡°Get it done¡± made no sense. And yet in that situation, where nothing truly made sense, ¡°Get it done,¡± was my compass and dawn.


    ¡°Get it done,¡± meant, ¡°Get it done¡± in Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s language, simple. She did not care what kind of method I used, or what kind of shit I must go through to achieve the goal that she has set for me. Only result. Result meant everything.


    The demon laughed, escaping justice twice. In his moment of glory, he released that gruesome recording. He recorded how he broke into my holiday villa with his worms, how he dissected my tyrannical goddess to the agents of justice, and how he let everyone by the nose.


    The demon asked that question at the end of his recording, ¡°So rose, without your sun, how are you going to live?¡± Because he framed that question in such a way, I was made to watch that clip with the meaningless ¡°For the sake of the investigation¡± from the mouth of those agents of justice while they were showering me with their worthless pity and sorry.


    You should not do that. I gritted my teeth and sharpened my hatred into a demon-hunting weapon while sitting behind the bars for another one week on purpose, being charged with the crime of assaulting the agent of justice this time.


    I have warned my interrogator, ¡°If you touch me like that again, I will break you.¡± He recorded my warning as ¡°Threaten the officer in duty,¡± to make my sentence heavier and asked ¡°Did you kill her?¡± for zenith times, putting more force on my collarbone with his thumb. Adamant that I was the monster who killed my family, he sneakily used force against me to make me confess without leaving evidence for my attorney to press a charge against him.


    ¡°Sorry, I was wrong about you all this time,¡± he said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I don¡¯t care.¡±


    When I was released and when he showed me his back, I kicked his nuts in the exact number of times that he asked me that stupid question plus the number of time that he sneaked a low blow against me. ¡°I don¡¯t care about your sorry. I don¡¯t give a fuck about your sorry nor will I forgive you.¡± My business with this place has not ended; there was no way that I would leave it just yet. The first time when I was put behind the bars, I was a fucking wimp. The second time when I entered my cell on my own avocation, I was celebrated as a hero among the inmates.


    Too bad, I am no rose.


    Ph¨²c was born with thorns to protect him, a rose, as the demon said. I am no rose, Ph¨²c is.


    One-half of The Prince of The Alliance is a rose. The other is not. Misidentify that was a mistake, a common mistake and a grave one.


    My thought drifted all over the place like clouds, thunderclouds. I wondered if I had gone insane as these brainless dicks and cunts that I am keeping inside my head.


    Sometimes, I saw myself trampling on the demons that I hunted, asking ¡°what the fuck was you thinking?¡±


    Sometimes, I remembered Th¨´y D??ng and B?t H?i, our unborn child, and our house that I burned down. Sometimes, I was contracting hitmen to go after those worms in prisons.


    Sometimes, I stood in front of the ashes of my house, realizing that I don¡¯t even have a house after Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s death. Sometimes, I was writing my graduating research paper in some random caf¨¦. Sometimes, I felt the phantom of Alice¡¯s kiss on my lips. Sometimes, I saw myself sitting in a transparent game booth, FY on my left, Misery on my right, Fantasy and Merleon at the farther side of the room, we were screaming at each other as usual.


    ¡°Craxus, is this what you have felt when you arranged your own death?¡±


    My thought drifted toward Craxus, the Dragonslayer himself in his final moment on Escana. Realizing the true nature of the Reign of Chaos, he arranged his own death, his queen assisting him and following him to the grave. The hero of RTDS, the Great Craxus, committed suicide after discovering that the Reign of Chaos must not end. The players discovered that every conquest that they have won, every sacrifice they have made and even the Empire that they have built were meaningless. RTDS ended in such a rage-inducing and controversial manner.


    Because I played ROC first before forging toward RTDS, I did not have that ¡°What the fuck¡± reaction that most fans of the series had. ¡°Fuck you, URLOX,¡± I cursed and started moving my carving knife again.


    Then, there came a day I could take it no longer. I pulled Ph¨²c out of the abyss, leaving a lookalike behind. I punched Ph¨²c in his face and I kept punching him. I thought I could punch sense back to him. He showed no emotion on his face or any reaction from being punched. I yelled at him, mounting on his chest and pummeling on his face. I kept punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching.


    He was the one being punched and I was the one who was crying.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same back then,¡± I cried, rotating my waist like torque and putting my weight into my punch, smashing Ph¨²c¡¯s emotionless face. Back then, when I went rogue for an entire year, Alice, FY, Merleon, Fantasy, and Misery found me and beat sense into my head through a good pummeling. They were crying at the time as well.


    I kept punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching.


    ¡°Say something, please. I beg you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m at my wit end. I beg you.¡±


    The more I punched Ph¨²c, the harder it became for me to stop my tears from rolling.


    ¡°You are like Th¨´y D??ng back then. Stop blaming yourself, it¡¯s not your fucking fault. The demon¡¯s fault, it¡¯s the demon¡¯s fault that we are like this.¡±


    ¡°You told her the same words back then. I am repeating your words now. You understand what I am talking about. You understand these words.¡±


    ¡°Rise, please. You need to rise. It¡¯s just you and me now.¡±


    As I punched Ph¨²c, suddenly I relearned what pain is, what fear is.


    ¡°Say something, I beg you. I have done everything I could. I smashed that demon in the same way he destroyed us. I avenged mother, father, and sis. I have killed every worm involved in that shit. I don¡¯t know what else to do to make you wake up. Please say something. You are smart. Say something, please. You can hear me. I know you do. Tell me how to snap you out of this shit.¡±


    I punched as hard as I cried and begged. Never have I felt my limit like this moment. I should no longer feel the pain inside this Divine Dream, and yet, I¡¯m feeling it right now.


    It hurt when I punched Ph¨²c. It hurt when I punched him and he showed no reaction. It hurt when I saw a person I admired succumbed to the malice of the world, out of his own will. It hurt when I realized that no amount of punching and violence could change his mind.


    ¡°Perfect acting, perfect lies, but you cannot deceive me. I know, SO QUIT IT.¡± I yelled and started punching harder.


    Fear is suspecting that I am wrong while knowing that I am right.


    Fear is knowing that I can change the mind of any human and yet the one I am beating remains indifferent.


    Fear is knowing that I am about to get this person killed again.


    Fear is my secret desire to give up.


    Compare to the person that I was beating, unflinching and perfect in his act, I became a mess. I no longer had the control of what¡¯s coming out of my mouth.


    ¡°Somebody make him wake up, please, I beg you. Somebody.¡±


    Normal words do not work. Coaxing words do not work. Inspiring words do not work. Psychology does not work. Action does not work. Example does not work. Reverse psychology does not work. Begging does not work. Beating and violence do not work. What am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?


    Suddenly, I am no longer Fearless.


    When it was clear that my punches had no effect on Ph¨²c, I tossed him back to the watery abyss, waiting for Death to pick up my Trojan horse.


    Magnamor made up his mind, deciding to take up my job offer, having no better choice to make. He understood that not even Death could save him from my fury. And if he betrayed his kinds, he would only live to suffer. Becoming the principal of my school was the best choice.


    ¡°I¡¯m blowing up Kharigan, the entire fucking planet of Kharigan. The moment these brainless morons wake up, there won¡¯t be a place where they can call home.¡± In uncensored words, I told Magnamor my first move in this incoming war.


    The color in Magnamor¡¯s body told me that he has already understood my words from back then. Smart bastard, I smiled a bit, ¡°So, are you still taking this job?¡±


    The half-eaten brain attached to Magnamor nodded. He has already come to term with such a future.


    ¡°Your children, I will spare them.¡± Only when Magnamor nodded his head, I told him.


    Magnamor sighed a huge sigh of relief, though quivering still. I then tossed him back to the meeting room, testing his conviction and abilities. If he failed my test, he would be the perfect example for the Demon Lord to see.


    So far, so good.


    I then turned my attention to the world of dreamland and the stupid people that I had created. My depression worsen.


    I fell off my chair and crumbled into the famous ORZ position out of helplessness. My heart was filled with despair and my thought was filled with curses.


    When my eyes, ears, and attention were elsewhere, focusing at the meeting hall of the bickering immortals, a thousand years have passed inside the conjured dreamland of the stupid people.


    Behind the cloud of dreamland, unbeknown to me, four young nations rose to prominent. One of them was the Empire of If. One of them was the Kingdom of Yuu. One of them was the Republic of Xee. The last one was the Confederation of the United States of Kay.


    Whereas those four young nations rose into power, two superpowers disappeared from the map of dreamland, the Central Empire of Dam and the Western Empire of Aup.


    It was as if these stupid people had already understood my intention and goaded me into that direction.


    ¡°F.U.C.K THEM UP.¡±


    Their message could not be clearer.


    People said that an author could not create characters that are smarter than he is, and they are correct. As the god of the dreamland, I was the author and the stupid people of dreamland are my characters. The people of dreamland that I created are just as stupid as I am, and they took great pride in being stupid.


    ¡°I have failed.¡± I lamented in anguish. ¡°These stupid morons are just asking to be hated. They are just asking to be killed.¡±


    The history of humankind on Earth was paved with blood and bones, and so was the history of the stupid people living inside my dreamland. But, ¡°HOLY SHET,¡± I could not help but curse.


    These stupid people waged wars, but not for their own sake. They wasted millions of lives and human potential just so that their message would reach me in the most bizarre and stupid fashion. While they can just send me a petition to make their wills known, they went to war, they kill each other, they make an example out of their lives so that their message would reach me in such an abhorrent fashion.


    ¡°Such arrogant and audacity¡­¡± I sighed in resignation. I realized that these stupid people were mirroring my method of stupidity and throwing it back at my face as if they have always planned to activate this Mirror Force card on me since the very moment I created dreamland.


    I had no idea how long I got stuck in the ORZ position, but when I recovered, I decided to tour the dreamland in disguise to see how their civilization and culture have progressed after a thousand year.


    And that was a mistake.

 V2 Chapter 11: The Melancholy of a certain Demon Lord

    V2 Chapter 11: The Melancholy of a certain Demon Lord


    The moment when silver flame spewed upon the Great Throne and lit the world of the Immortals with its brilliance, all eyes turned at the great Sun, where the Throne Room of Naharis located, spectating the strange phenomenon.


    Standing in the center of his garden of dancing stones, ¡°The world is filled with footprints and fingerprints,¡± Magnamor the Demon Lord of a Thousand Burning Eyes whispered his usual phrase as all of his eyes directed at the dancing silver flame. His voice was cold with worry and ill-omen as usual. Every strange phenomenon in the world of Escana and the nine realms of spirits that happened, is happening and will happen, can be explained with that single phrase of his.


    Witnessing the same scene, his children, the All-seeing demons of Magnamor, who gathered around him in the garden, repeated the same phrase among themselves, carving the phrase into their heart anew. That was Magnamor¡¯s one and only teaching. Unlike the other Demon Lords, Magnamor did not ask much of his children or his worshippers, only, ¡°The world is filled with footprints and fingerprints, do your best to remember that.¡±


    Every Demon Lord and God had their unique teaching, the fruit of their experience and wisdom from living an endless life.


    For Lust, it would be, ¡°Dream well.¡±


    For Flok¨ª, ¡°Smile.¡±


    For Sinintee, ¡°Be Great, be Civilized or ash and bones.¡±


    ¡°The world is filled with footprints and fingerprints.¡± That was the fruit of wisdom and experiences that Magnamor has cultivated. But, Magnamor has never explained the meaning of that phrase to his children and worshipers, fearing the consequence of such action.


    The truth is always costly. If one had no mean to pay that cost, one should not pursue the truth. And yet, Magnamor was born with a thousand eyes. The truth presented to him whether he wanted to look at it or not. Even if Magnamor closed his eyes, even if he blinded himself, he could not Unsee the truth. Neither had Magnamor the strength to confront the truth, therefore, sewing his own mouth was always the best option after pretending to be stupid.


    The more Magnamor looked at the dancing silver flame, the more dreaded he became. He saw the fingerprints of URLOX all over the flame. That flame was the will of URLOX, not Naharis¡¯ will. Magnamor had no idea if the other Demon Lord would arrive at this truth or not. But it never ended well with URLOX.


    URLOX impregnated anything they touched with chaos and madness, the worst kind of chaos and the worst form of madness.


    Magnamor could only brace himself for the worst to come. When the dancing silver flame receded into nothingness, words appeared on the Great Throne of Kings, a prophecy. Magnamor froze and he froze for a long time. His thought returned to the time when he first discovered URLOX¡¯s Hall of Champions.


    At the time, Magnamor was tracing after a certain person¡¯s footprints in the ignorance of his curiosity. He stumbled upon URLOX¡¯s Hall of Champions or the Hall of Fame in URLOX''s words.


    Twin lavishly decorated gates welcomed Magnamor, bronze statues of Niwdar¡¯s daughters guarding them in two columns. Magnamor immediately knew that he was standing in the place, where he was not meant to be. And yet, the ignorance of youth and curiosity led Magnamor into that chamber, following that phantom trail of footprints.


    When Magnamor opened the gates, golden light slowly lit up, revealing a dim narrow corridor tiled in black timbers and golden rim red carpets. Magnamor followed the trail of footprints, entering the corridor, his brain ringing with alarms. With very step Magnamor took, a transparent tube of glass lit on either side of the wall, revealing a new legend. Aurus of IGTN, he was among the first champions of URLOX. His story was told to Magnamor briefly through a deep voice and a self-animating picture. He was the first legend.


    Many followed after Aurus, each of them a legend and a celebrated champion of URLOX. Magnamor learned their name, their face, their flag, their handprint, their legend and the reason why URLOX enshrined them in the Hall of Champions. As he kept walking through the dimly lit corridor, following after that phantom trail of footprints, Magnamor learned of another world, a different world, a place where URLOX resided and appeared in their avatar form and where the champions of URLOX existed.


    With his tenth turn, Magnamor could see the other end of the timbered tiled corridor. He walked, slowly, the ringing in his brain became louder than ever. A pitch black monolith greeted Magnamor¡¯s brazenness, <First Ballot Hall of Famers>


    By the golden light of hundreds burning torches and glimmering glassy tubes, the Great Throne of Kings towered in gloom, casting an oppressive and stretching shadow upon the hall. It was the Throne Room of Naharis as every Demon Lord would know, but different, a different throne room existed in the other world. Sitting on the Great Throne, hollow eye sockets stared at Magnamor from an ivory fleshless skull. The Crown of Elements rested atop the hollow sockets. But that was about the only resemblance that this throne room had with Naharis¡¯ Throne Room.


    From the dome-shape high ceiling, twenty-three great banners hung under the brilliance of a giant ring of crystal chandeliers, decorated the walls with sigil and colors. Magnamor could identify these twenty-three banners for their legends and story intertwined with those champions whose legends hung on the timbered corridor. There was the golden crown of feathers on a purple background of GAM. There were the black and white crossing swords of A.G. There was the silhouette of the swordswoman on a golden field of AE. Among them, the most celebrated banner of five hands hung in black and gold.


    And there, a lonely statue stood in the center of everything, basking under the brilliance of a thousand shimmering stars, braving against the stretching shadow of the Great Throne. Magnamor knew who that person was. The sigil of five hands carved on his lonely back, his name rested beneath, Fearless, URLOX¡¯s most beloved champion according to many, a flag in each of his hand.


    Magnamor took the time to learn all twenty-three legends existing in the hall. Great Ones they were, immeasurably so. Each of them left behind a towering legacy. It was not for no reason that URLOX celebrated them differently from the rest of their enshrined champions. Only when he has learned the identity and legends of the great twenty-three, he approached the lonely statue.


    A tiny monolith stood before the Prince of The Alliance. There were two distinct sources of fingerprints on the small monolith, invisible they were, to all eyes but Magnamor¡¯s. The trail of footprints that led Magnamor into URLOX¡¯s Hall of Champions belonged to one source. Magnamor could identify both sources. The Demon Lord of A Thousand Burning Eyes was stupefied at the pieces of evidence presenting to his eyes.


    There were two Immortals, who have discovered this hall before he did.


    One of them was Mistress Death, the Corpse Queen herself, the person whose trail led Magnamor into the Hall of Champions. The other was Eogaill, the Goddess of Light, Truth and Wisdom, someone who has supposedly locked herself forever inside her library from the dawn of time. That was the first piece of evidence regarding the real Truth that Magnamor has collected.


    Magnamor broke into cold sweats as forbidding truths reached him. Slowly, Magnamor put his hand on the self-animating picture on top of the tiny monolith.


    Nightmare, the God of God Among Men appeared on the picture and declared with absolute confidence. ¡°When the Garuda of the Sacred Mountain took flight, Escana shall hear the true might of the God of GAM.¡±


    S0rr0w, the Demon Lord of Lavatein appeared out of thin air, standing next to the God of GAM, laughing, ¡°When the scourge of war split Escana apart, the world shall know the terrors of the Demon Lord of the Lavatein.¡±


    ¡°When talents unite, Escana shall witness the mind of the King of The Alliance.¡± FY, The King of The Alliance arrived, adjusted his thick-framed glasses and boasted.


    Orithyia the Queen of the Amazon Electronic entered the scene on high heels and solemnly swore. ¡°When war drums for the ultimate battle sound, the Queen of the Amazon Electronic would send her enemies to the Great Hall of Death.¡±


    ¡°When champions are forgotten, the Jack of the Ancient Gods would remind Escana of their chosen heroes,¡± Superior, the Jack of the Ancient Gods joined the fray last and asserted.


    Then, in harmony, five of the greatest champions of URLOX declared, ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡±


    At the time, Magnamor took the praise that these five champions of URLOX reserved the Prince of The Alliance with a grain of salt, for the Prince was their beloved friend and rival. That memory blurred out on Magnamor¡¯s vision, replacing with the prophecy written on the Great Throne.


    URLOX sent their most beloved champion.


    While most Demon Lords were guessing the identity of The Prince in great urgency and confusion, Magnamor became frozen in his thought.


    Upon the 14th great eclipse,


    A prince shall arrive.


    All the nine planes of spirits shall know his name,Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Escana shall be painted in his color,


    For whoever has him


    Shall win the Throne.


    With Death¡¯s permission, most jumped, diving from one Divine Dream to another Divine Dream, and searching endlessly for the clue regarding the Prince mentioned in the prophecy. The hourglass signaling the next round of Reign of Chaos was slowly filling in its bottom half, but nobody had any result from their dream diving technique, not even Lust.


    Some conjectured that The Prince was still in his fetus form, a baby in his mother¡¯s womb, thus eying pregnant women, who have conceived a child of royal blood in their belly and approaching their due date. Some argued that The Prince is a person who would be coronated on the 14<sup>th</sup> great eclipse. Some stayed quiet, scheming in the dark. Some secretly spread their pawns and pieces to search for The Prince without even knowing who he was.


    Magnamor alone sat in his garden of dancing stone, sweating as he observed the invisible trails of fingerprints that URLOX have left behind on Escana. Ominous trails they were, all led to the Tomb of Naharis located in the Northern Continent. Quietly, Magnamor sneaked in his piece as well, an eye among his 1000 eyes.


    The moment when the Sun, Escana and the nine planes of spirits aligned in a perfect straight for the 14<sup>th</sup> time, Magnamor almost answered his summon, almost.


    The person, who was supposed to lock herself inside her library, was there. The Goddess who does not matter was already there. The Lady of Light was already there.


    The Arbiter of The Reign of Chaos was already there as well. Mistress Death was already there before the Magnamor¡¯s eye revealed the scene to him.


    The Prince was in the middle of them, lying on the altar, sleeping while the two goddesses battled each other within the thin confinement of room.


    Black moths took flight, separated from the long hems of Mistress Death¡¯s gown, sailing toward the Lady of Light with impunity. Halos of brilliance appeared out of thin air and cut the black wings down with precision and speed. Ivory spires struck out from Death¡¯s shadow, a globe of darkness appeared and erased them all. Inside Death¡¯s pallid fingers, the Marthias flowers bloomed, slowly filling the room with the white color of their petals. A sound barrier appeared, pushing Death¡¯s favorite flowers back at her.


    Amidst such chaos, the Prince slept in a cold stasis under the divine protection of Death¡¯s blessings and the Lady of Light¡¯s miracles.


    Spells flew back and forth, miracles negated miracles, powers clashed against powers, and authorities erode authorities. Magnamor immediately realized that he was looking at something he was not meant to see.


    As her face colored with ardent thoughts, Death arced her scythe. Masked in her indifference, the Lady of Light defended herself with the swords of light. Not a single word exchanged between the two of them.


    Neither side gave ground to each other, yet neither attacked with their full strength for their awareness of Magnamor¡¯s presence and The Prince¡¯s safety, not that Magnamor would dare to do anything. He was frozen on his throne, cursing his curiosity, wishing that he could unsee everything. He desperately tried closing his eye, the eye that he left on Escana. But, needles of light sealed his eye from closing and the Marthias flower petals prevented him from recalling his eye to Kharigan.


    For what it appeared to be an eon of time, the two women ceased their battle, concluding that their battle would go on forever. In monotone, the Lady of Light relinquished the right to enter The Prince¡¯s dream first to Mistress Death. Mistress Death nodded her head and offered her words of gratitude.


    Then, in perfect harmony, they turned their sight at Magnamor¡¯s eye. Panicked, Magnamor detonated the eye that he has left on Escana before his better reasoning could tell him to give the two women his oath of silence.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    A black moth visited Magnamor in his palace, Magnamor immediately swore his oath of silence in cold sweats and red tears. But, no matter how long he waited, the Lady of Light has never sent her messenger.


    Since, Magnamor has spent every single breathing moment of his living in fear, not an unusual sight to his children. While some factionless Demon Lords were gambling with their chance, naming a newborn boy their warlord and hoping that their newborn baby would grow up to be The Prince, Magnamor was quivering on his throne. While Death announced the beginning of a new round of Reign of Chaos, Magnamor was shutting himself inside his palace, completely drenched in the red of his tears while waiting for the arrival of the messenger of the Lady of Light. While Demon Lords of various factions started naming their champion, reserving the right to name the still-unknown-Prince as the champion to their leader, Magnamor was beside himself with dread and terror.


    While the messenger of the Lady of Light did not come to visit Magnamor¡¯s palace, a row of messengers knocked on the door of his palace instead.


    Leaders and members of various Demon Lord¡¯s factions sent their messenger, welcoming Magnamor to their respective faction in the new round of Reign of Chaos with death threats. Immortals are unkillable, as long as the constitution of their immortality remains intact and as long as they don¡¯t upset Death. The constitution of Magnamor¡¯s immortality was the throne that the Lonely Demon Lord- the first Demon Lord- Munezee built for him from the red stones of Kharigan.


    Even though Magnamor could not see them, her fingerprints, but he has deducted that the Lady of Light was behind this predicament of his. Realizing that he was being tested, Magnamor summoned his courage and dispatched his messengers to various factions, telling every faction that he would submit his right of inheritance to Death and withdraw his name from the Reign of Chaos.


    Then, Magnamor handed over a fragment of the key to Naharis Throne room inside him to Death under the witness of all of the participants of the Reign of Chaos, just like the Lady of Light once did.


    And yet, death threats under the guise of invitation letters still came after him. The other Demon Lords realized that Magnamor¡¯s thousand eyes and his All-seeing demons could point out the identity of the real Prince mentioned in the prophecy. In the pit of despair, Magnamor started counting his days with his tentacles.


    And then, the fifth Valkyria carelessly left a trace to The Prince to everyone involved with the Reign of Chaos. Just like that, Magnamor¡¯s life was spared for passing the Lady of Light¡¯s test.


    Death revealed and shared the record of the fifth Valkyria¡¯s Divine Dream when she was inside the Prince¡¯s head to the participants of the Reign of Chaos. During that time, Magnamor retired in his palace and observing a wave of ill-news washed over Kharigan.


    Those, who gambled, either naming a newborn baby or announcing a newly coronated boy as their champion, they were as angry as Wrath and as mad as Sanguine. Those, who have already named their champion due to the urgency of time, were even madder and angrier. The Xaara¡¯s faction that belonged to the White Snake- the Quick Demon Lord, they have foolishly dismissed the prophecy and the existence of the Prince. They had already named five champions for their faction, all which have set their base in the Southern Continent. They were beside themselves with restlessness and rage. They rushed their assassins to chase after The Prince. Magnamor could not calculate when those assassins would reach the Prince. The last time that Magnamor was watching, they were still rowing their ships, one continent away from reaching the Prince. Magnamor was sure that Xaara and his faction have already given up thinking altogether.


    Among the three deities, Niwdar alone has yet to name her champion.


    Niwdar broke her own rule of naming a woman as her champion, and five Demon Lords of five great factions, they named The Prince as their Champion all at the same time. Mistress Death paused the Reign of Chaos and told them to sort out their problem among themselves. These five great factions geared up for a war between Demon Lords for the second time. And then, there were those who waited for these factions to destroy themselves and for Mistress Death to resume the Great Game to name the Prince their champion.


    It was chaos and madness just like Magnamor has predicted. URLOX impregnated everything they touched with the worst form of madness and chaos.


    ¡°None of us shall choose him,¡± declared Munezee.


    ¡°But that bitch Niwdar would choose him.¡±


    ¡°We cannot let her choose him.¡±


    ¡°We cannot let her sit on the throne.¡±


    Voices of dissent countered Munezee¡¯s decision. For days, the argument went back and forth.


    ¡°That bitch doesn¡¯t want to name a male her champion either. How about I strike a deal with her and talk her out of it? Let¡¯s say that we cut this human into equal pieces for each and every single one us to own. This prophecy says, whoever has him Shall win the Throne. See? This way, we all will have an equal chance of winning the throne.¡± Flok¨ª smiled, offering everyone his wisdom.


    On that day, everyone but Lust and Magnamor voiced their agreement with Flok¨ª¡¯s wisdom.


    Had Munezee not intervene, had Flok¨ª not whisper his solution to the great dilemma to the Demon Lords, the Lady of Light would have attained the result that she so much desired, another war among the Demon Lords. And nobody would have realized that she was responsible for that.


    And when that decision was written in stone, Flok¨ª presented his solution to Mistress Death. It was brief, but the cadaveric mask of Death betrayed a delight expression of a maiden.


    ¡°If you all don¡¯t want him, I will take him,¡± Death said, callously. Her face was empty of thought or emotion when she said that. She has totally expected Flok¨ª to give that kind of solution.


    Chaos ensued, just as madness did. Magnamor could see the fingerprint of Eogaill and URLOX all over the place. He kept quiet.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Wonten¡¯s champion was the first to be eliminated from the current round of the game. He was killed after knowing the Prince for only three days, his entire faction with him in the most outrageous manner. But instead of deterring the Demon Lords from choosing him, the Prince made the Demon Lords around Magnamor believed that they have made a major mistake for listening to Flok¨ª¡¯s solution. Even Flok¨ª showed sign of regret.


    A mad bunch, the lot of them.


    Magnamor had no ear. He listened with his feelers. And unlike Sanguine or Yasubotay or Munezee, Magnamor only had twenty pairs of them. And yet, he could understand the warnings that The Prince fired off every now and then.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pick a fight with me, especially in my dream.¡±


    ¡°Stay away from me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t involve me with your game.¡±


    ¡°I am Fearless. Do you understand what Fearless mean?¡±


    ¡°What makes you think you can win a fight with me?¡±


    ¡°If you pick a fight with me, you would look like these worms.¡±


    It was as if the Prince spoke to Magnamor in a different language, a kind of language that nobody else understood. That or everyone else other than Magnamor was deaf, including Death.


    If that gruesome ending of Wonten¡¯s champion, if listening to the Prince¡¯s warning and if viewing the Prince¡¯s reconstructed memory could not convince a person that the Prince was to be untouched, perhaps, only looking at him with Magnamor¡¯s eyes will.


    From the tip of his hair to the end of his toes, the Prince clad in the phantom of Death¡¯s fingerprints and lip-prints. He was marked by Death. He was claimed by Death. The specter of Death¡¯s lip-prints colored the Prince¡¯s lips as if to erode that sensual long stretch of Eogaill¡¯s fingerprint on them. Anybody, who tries to touch someone like that, was only asking for an agonizingly long trip to the black moon.


    Magnamor has decided that he would hole up inside his palace and forget everything. He called his children to return to Kharigan. He has decided to stay away from Escana as far as possible and forget that the Prince existed.


    Magnamor has never seen someone who attracted and gathered such chaos and madness around him. Being URLOX¡¯s most beloved champion, being the center of Death¡¯s affection, being a target of the Truth, such a person should not exist.


    Then, as fate has announced it, a messenger arrived, a small halo of light with three sets of wings. On the bright halo, pure darkness danced and formed words


    before the halo vanished into nothingness.


    Magnamor teared up on his throne. His feelers tore his own flesh and ripped out his eyes, but even so, the pain did not come to Magnamor due to his heightened state of hysteria. His children thought he has gone mad.


    Magnamor preferred going mad over entering the Prince¡¯s mind.


    Magnamor wished he could unsee the Truth. He wished he was born blinded and stupid.

 V2 Chapter 12: The Quiet Prince

    It¡¯s not that hard to commit suicide.


    There are a billion methods to commit suicide without being a nuisance to the society and your own family, and I was perfectly aware of all of those methods. Among those a billion of methods, millions of them are painless. Some of them are slow but painless. Some of them are fast, so fast that I would not even comprehend the pain. It¡¯s not that hard to commit suicide. It¡¯s easy to off myself, but I wished that I could kill myself. I wished that I could erase myself from the plane of existence. Just myself. I wished that I could enter the void of the beyond. I wished that I could experience true nothingness.


    And yet, that was not feasible, not for me.


    I had no idea what¡¯s going on inside his mind in those five days since neither of us spoke a single word in those mortifying days. Never had we experienced such quietness in our lives. Never had we experienced such calmness. I was quiet and still. So was he.


    We made a single phone call to tell the police what happened in our lucid and calm voice. Neither shock nor angry nor grief, just plain cold unemotional. We did not tell anyone else about what happened. Not FY, not Alice, not our dad, not our adoptive relative, nobody. I did not make any phone call. Neither was Fearless. We spoke to no one.


    For five days, we were like that. Silence and quiet, speaking not a single word, making not a single sound not in the reality or inside our mind. We were quiet, dead quiet. When we were asked a question, we stared. When questions came to us, we stared. The world was noisy for a while, and every once in a while it was filled with static noise, but silence would swallow them all. Silence would triumph. The world was quiet while Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s inanimate body was inside some obscure forensic lab located in somewhere we did not even know.


    We were sleeping without sleeping, being awake without being awake, living without living and dying without dying. I was not sure what¡¯s going on inside Fearless¡¯ head, but I was trying to wake up from a dream, a dream of reality. I asked myself if I punched myself hard enough, I would wake up from that dream. I asked myself if I cut myself hard enough, Th¨´y D??ng would be there and welcomed me home and everything that happened, those yellow tapes surrounding our villa and those trails of blood would disappear into the nothingness of dream, soon to be forgotten. And of course, I asked myself those what-if questions.


    What if I would not wake up from this dream no matter how hard I punch myself?


    What if things would be the same after I cut myself?


    And tons lot of other what-if questions, a ton-lot of questions which I had never wanted to see them answered.


    Then, people appeared before us with a warrant, telling us that they had undisputable shreds of evidence to claim that we were the one who ended the most beautiful dream of our life. Perhaps, I should not laugh with that hollow voice. But it would be stranger for me to not to laugh at such sheer ridiculousness of a comedy. It was the kind of comedy that one would rarely find in life. I laughed. The first sound that I made after those five quiet days was laughter. I laughed in the hollowest of a voice until hysteria took me. Perhaps, I should not readily present my arms to be cuffed in such manner. Perhaps, I should call for an attorney immediately to handle the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps, I should find comfort in the arms of my family. Perhaps, I should be angry. Perhaps, I should kick that person who presented that warrant to me in his nuts and slowly choke the life out of him. I knew what I should do and what I should not do. And yet, I just went on and did what I should not do.


    Even at that time, I had no idea what¡¯s going on inside Fearless¡¯ mind. He spoke no word, still.


    Sound lost its significance and human language has never been dumber. Blah blah blah. YADA. YADA. YADA. Oink OinK OINK. And I can only stare at such stupidity with a blank stare. The mind games, the good-cop & bad-cop routines, the confession games were even dumber. Comparing to Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s mind games, these were a joke. The hidden language of violence was even dumber. Violence was a special language, and it can be shocking, unnerving and terrifying to a non-speaker. To us, who could speak and command violence as if it was our mother tongue, violence that was spoken in obscurity and hints was dumb. But nothing dumber than the fact that an attorney has come to defend me. Neither I nor Fearless has requested an attorney. FY did that when he caught on to the news. That¡¯s dumb. There was no need for an attorney. I could already foresee the future. I could already predict what will happen. That demon left false pieces of evidence at the scene to mock these agents of justice. There are only two more steps for that demon to do to keep mocking these people. The first step is to escape their reach. The second step is to show the proof to mock their stupidity. There was absolutely no need for an attorney.


    I rejected meeting my father, FY, Alice and everyone else who tried to meet me.


    ¡°¡­break this bastard,¡± were first words that Fearless spoke since the time we made that phone call together. ¡°What are you talking about? We have to avenge her. We have to make them paid,¡± his words were fury for what fury is worth.


    I could not even mutter a reply. I could already see the future. The end of this dream, this waking nightmare. Therefore, he too must have seen it as well. And yet, he made such a strange choice. I could already see the future, but not this future. Fearless spoke such strange words. I could not even bring myself to ask him whether he had gone mad in those days.


    If avenging Th¨´y D??ng would bring her back, the both of us would have done that immediately when we found her cold body lying in that pool of blood. If breaking that demon would bring her back, we would not live those wordless and soundless five days like that. We would have already mobilized everything that we possess to find, catch and break that demon. If there were a method to bring her back, we would have already done that. If making a deal with Satan would bring Th¨´y D??ng back, we would gladly do that.


    I could predict not a single path that leads to such a future, a future where Th¨´y D??ng would be there with us. There was no meaning to avenge Th¨´y D??ng. There was no meaning to take the matter to our own hand.


    Fearless should have understood that. Yet, he wanted to find and break that demon with his own hands anyway. He made a choice to blind himself with anger.


    I looked at Fearless¡¯ reflection through a drop of water on the wall, wondering if he could ever kill me and if I could ever kill him. I wondered if either one of us could do that. I don¡¯t see another future. How else could I kill myself without killing him? How else could he off himself without killing me? We are one but two, and two but one. I wondered what¡¯s going on inside his head at the time. Fearless was furious beyond reasoning. He had so much fury inside him that it was more than enough for the two of us. But his fury was perfectly contained within his unblinking eyes. Fury was the illusion that he cast upon himself.


    It was just amazing to me that he managed to use that fury as his source of fuel. It was just amazing just how much strength he could get from being furious.


    We were speaking to each other and yet we had never been more disconnected. We are one but two.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± I told him. I¡¯m tired of seeing my prediction come true. I¡¯m tired of talking and arguing. I¡¯m tired of fighting. I¡¯m tired of living. ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± I said, wishing that I could lose myself within the obscurity of my mind.


    Closing my eyes and shutting ears from the world, I slept. Since Fearless refused to sleep until he made that demon paid. I slept enough of an amount for the two of us and even more. I slept while Fearless was awake. I slept while he, too, was sleeping. I slept through a bright day. I slept through a dark day. I slept on a happy day. I slept on an unhappy day. I slept through days that are neither happy nor unhappy. The longer I slept, the more tired I became, strange. The more tired I became, the more I slept. I slept, and slept, and slept and slept, and slept, and slept until a strange insomnia found me.


    Since, I slept an insomniac sleep, neither sleeping nor waking. I was wide awake no matter how much I slept.


    While he was swimming on that ocean, I dreamt a waking dream, a dream where I was neither alive nor dead, a dream where even the most fearless person could not confront the source of his fear, and yet, he still called himself Fearless.


    ¡°Fearless¡± is a very honest and confronting word, combining from two words, ¡°Fear¡± and ¡°less¡±. Fearless is a total absence of fear, and yet, one must know ¡°Fear¡± first and then have ¡°less¡± fear in order to be Fearless. And the only method to have less fear is to confront and conquer fear itself.


    I did not name him Fearless. That was a name he chose for himself.


    Inside this endless dream and timeless space, I slept an insomniac sleep of a sleep. He lived a lie of a life.


    What are we even doing? I stared into the abyss, waiting for the abyss to stare right back at me. You know you have done something wrong when the abyss refuses to stare at you. I kept staring, wondering why the abyss had not come to take me away.


    Insanity is a cure, not a sickness. The abyss is an asylum, not a torture cell. A torture room is what lucidity is.


    Death was such a disappointment.


    The thought that Death was not the end. The thought that Death was not the void and the nothingness. It was such a huge disappointment. Must I embrace Sanguine to be saved? I was disappointed.


    Death was a huge disappointment.


    Fearless, too, was disappointed.


    If Mistress Death, the aspect of death and destruction had a humanoid form, she is no longer an object of fear. If Mistress Death showed up while gloating her beautiful form, her beautiful dress, and beautiful voice, she must have an ego. She must have emotions. She must have pride. Therefore, she can be manipulated. If Death could lie repeatedly, she must be uncomfortable with something, therefore, she could be exploited. And just because she can be manipulated and she can be exploited, it doesn¡¯t mean she should make it easy for Fearless to pull a fast one on her like that.


    Fearless was planning on declaring war on both Kharigan and Coeles at the same time. Uncompromising as ever, stupid, not that I would blame him. Not that I could stop him. Not that I have the strength and the strength to tell him to quit it.


    I was staring at that notification screen the whole time.


    +16.1 unread messages.


    That¡¯s a lot of unread messages, with my back resting against the bottom of the lightless abyss, I closed my eyes, continuing to sleep my waking sleep.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    There are tons of reminders among the notifications. I dug them up, till the last one.


    <ul>


    <li>August 05, 2072. Reminder: ROC World Cup begins. CHAMPIONSHIP OR NOTHING.</li>


    <li>July 01, 2072. Reminder: Craxus Major begins in a week. Practice.</li>


    <li>June 19, 2072. Reminder: Misery¡¯s birthday. Pretend to forget it until 23.00.</li>


    <li>June 17, 2072. Reminder: Be at the airport at 8.00 pm.</li>


    <li>June 01, 2072. Reminder: Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s death anniversary.</li>


    <li>May 27, 2072. Reminder: Airport 9.30pm.</li>


    <li>May 22, 2072. Reminder: Crashing Merleon¡¯s place. Make sure it crashed.</li>


    <li>May 21, 2072. Reminder: Be at the airport at 7.00 pm. Bring souvenirs and gifts.</li>


    <li>May 19, 2072. Reminder: Alice¡¯s birthday, be sharp.</li>


    <li>May 01, 2072. Reminder: Reserve V.I.P seats for the ROC World Cup. Book tickets + hotel.</li>


    <li>April 29, 2072. Reminder: Be at the IRIS at 8.00 am to get the roses. Pick dad up and visit mom.</li>


    <li>April 28, 2072. Reminder: Pre-order a red rose bouquet.</li>


    </ul>


    Even with a manager by our side, things could get out of control in a quick hurry. The two of us were such a mess. So, we made reminders ahead of time to keep our priorities straight.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    I stared at the reminders, wondering if there were any meaning in showing these reminders to either one of us, Fearless or me. Is this your attempt to rub salt at our wounds? I knew that I would better off not reading these notifications.


    And yet, I had no idea why. Sometimes, you don¡¯t need a reason to do something. I should be asleep right now, not reading unnecessary stuff. Can you even sleep inside a dream? I kept reading and sorting out the notifications, hoping that a true sleep would come to me soon. But then since we met Death, I could not sleep for a wink.


    ¡­


    I saw news and articles among the notifications. Quietly, I sorted them out, reading them from the most recent written to the oldest.


    <ul>


    <li>Ph¨²c ¡°Fearless¡± ?. B?ch, the Prince of The Alliance inducted to the ROC HOF. Feng ¡°FY¡± Yi shared a shocking emotional secret.</li>


    </ul>


    ¡­


    <ul>


    <li>A secret side of the Prince of The Alliance that you will never believe.</li>


    <li>The Alliance, where are they now?</li>


    <li>Is the current AG as good as The Alliance back then?</li>


    <li>10 Reasons why The Prince of The Alliance will always be the GOAT in the world of ROC?</li>


    <li>10 Unanswered Questions Surrounding the circumstances of the Prince¡¯s Death.</li>


    </ul>


    A bunch of clickbait and fake news as usual. I could not help but internally complained. And yet, I still read all of them from the beginning to the end.


    <ul>


    <li>The Alliance was sold to A.G their biggest rival in the last five years for $1.57 billion.</li>


    <li>The END of a Dynasty, The Alliance disbanded.</li>


    <li>All current active members of The Alliance declared Retired in an interview.</li>


    <li>¡°No Fearless, no The Alliance,¡± said Alex ¡°Misery¡± Mckay in an interview with ROC Esports news.</li>


    <li>Feng ¡°FY¡± Yi, the current co-owner of THE Alliance has declared his retirement from the player and team captain position.</li>


    <li>Without their ace, what is the Future for The Alliance?</li>


    <li>Police suspect that the Prince was killed.</li>


    <li>Ph¨²c (Fearless) ?. B?ch, The Prince of The Alliance is confirmed dead by his friends and family. Police are currently launching an investigation.</li>


    <li>[Not Fake News] Ph¨²c ¡°Fearless¡± ?. B?ch, The Prince of The Alliance has died.</li>


    </ul>


    If it was Fearless and not me, he would probably be crying right now. He would probably cry my share as well. And that¡¯s probably for the best. At least, he can cry.


    One needs strength to grief and to cry. Without strength, one could not cry.


    These days, I could no longer cry. It was like I have already forgotten how to cry. I could not even remember when the last time that I cried was.


    Lethargically, I wade through thousands of unread news and articles that related to me and The Alliance. The last one was, (Ph¨²c ¡°Fearless¡± ?. B?ch was found dead at a bar) written on the 1<sup>st</sup> April 2072. Because it was written on an April Fool day, almost nobody took it seriously.


    Then, my eyes were caught by an email¡¯s title, ¡°To my little brother¡±. FY was the sender.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    To my little brother,


    To be honest, I¡¯m not quite sure what the hell I am doing. Two years ago, some moron from your cult started a ¡°Letter to Fearless¡± event and now it was somewhat a huge deal.


    I know that it¡¯s weird and kind of late now. But, heck, I might as well write you one since everyone is doing the same thing. Better late than never.


    I¡¯m not sure if ¡°How¡¯s it going for you?¡± is a proper question for this moment. Anyway, how is it going for you? I hope that you have stopped being a nuisance to people around you. I hoped that you have found your peace¡­


    What am I talking about here?


    If you cannot tell, I¡¯m sighing right now. I don¡¯t know how to write this kind of letter. So spare me.


    Last week, we were inducted to the ROC HOF. All four of us, Misery, Fantasy, Merleon and me. I was the only one who had the honor to be a first ballot Hall of Famer though. The league was kinda stingy, I guess. Yesterday, everyone was there for your induction to the HOF. Technically, you are in the same class as us, but oh well. The league originally planned to do our induction ceremony together, but everyone wanted to make it a special occasion. You are inducted to the HOF with a statue and as a statue. Bro, you just have to set a precedent for everything, don¡¯t you? I wish I could tell you that face to face.


    I have already put ROC behind me to spend more time with A Ming now. It has been three years. No coaching, no team management, nothing too ROC-related, nothing too stressful and too competitive. Though, once in a while I still have to appear and participate in ROC events.


    My kid is two now. Yeah, I had a kid, a boy. He¡¯s the cutest angel the world.


    You are supposed to be his godfather. Can you guess his name?


    Yeah, it¡¯s not Fearless. No big surprise here.


    A Ming told me that naming our child with your name would only make him growing up as disagreeable as you. At least, I tried once, lol.


    His name is Feng ti¨¡n, the Ti¨¡n of heaven. Hopefully, he would grow up more agreeable than you.


    Everyone is doing well.


    In her own way, Alice is doing well. Nothing crazy, nothing stupid, nothing out of the line. She¡¯s healthy and all. She smiles a lot. Last years, she took a year off from her work and traveled around the world. She¡¯s still having that bob cut for three years now. She could not grow her hair longer than that. So I guess that she has not really over you. It takes more than time, I guess.


    Your dad recovered. I meant he went out with a coma for a while but he¡¯s back with us now. A bunch of your exes came out of nowhere and are taking turns taking care of him now, more like your self-proclaimed wives, crazy bunch, the lot of them. Even your dad said so.


    They were barring Alice from contact with your dad as much as possible. They were honestly a nuisance of a bunch. Why were you dating them? Honestly!!!


    Your dad is doing well. Physically, he¡¯s okay and healthy, more than ever. Emotionally, it would take some more time. I bought a ticket to his concert a few months ago. I¡¯m not into classical music or I am a musician but it was honestly an amazing experience. I cried while sitting on my seat. It¡¯s like he took all of his pain into his songs. He¡¯s amazing.


    Oh, Merleon got married last year. Big marriage, everyone was there. You know¡­ his circle is huge and most of them were fighters. We were like ¡­ fishes out of water¡­ when we were there as his best men. But it went on well. Fantasy pulled a last minute prank but nobody dies.


    Fantasy opened a fashion shop last year as well. Believe it or not, his clothes sold well. I think I¡¯m getting old. I don¡¯t understand where fashion is going, like at all.


    Misery is still doing Misery¡¯s stuff, you know, the usual thing. He¡¯s not going to change. I doubt that he would find a girl and settle down any time soon. But well, he¡¯s happy and well, and that¡¯s for the best. He¡¯s the only one among all of us who is still actively playing ROC now, though not competitive. Just for streaming, smurfing and fun.


    You may not believe it but he¡¯s doing the ¡°If you cannot beat me, do you think you can beat Fearless?¡± kind of things on his stream every time he won a match. It was meant to be a joke. It started out as a joke, but now even Superior was doing that at the All-star events. Everyone started taking it seriously. It became a meme now. URLOX also joined in and created that emoticon to chat box. So, Misery took credit for starting that meme. Kinda insane, but, I guess that¡¯s just Misery being Misery.


    Speaking of ROC, there is a Fearless character in the world of ROC now. He even had his own campaign mode. No idea what URLOX were thinking when they implemented you into their story. But the fans celebrated it¡­ I heard that your character was crazy broken in the Multiplayer mode during the tests, so he would not appear on the competitive scene any time soon whether the fans were begging it or not.


    Superior is still playing. Crazy. 35 and still playing. I know. He¡¯s not exactly in his top form, but yeah, he¡¯s still an All-star. Recently in an interview, he was telling everyone that he would keep playing until he hit 40. I have no idea if he was joking or not.


    Nightmare and S0rrow have retired now. ¡°For real this time,¡± they said, ¡°No more coming back after retirement.¡± I don¡¯t hang out with them much other than the usual annual gathering. So, I don¡¯t know what they are up to now.


    Orithyia is still doing well. Just signed another five years contract with ROC Esports News, so I have heard. She¡¯s still enjoying doing her job. But once in a while, she would complain that things have become less controversial and crazy without you. It¡¯s good and fine but she said that it was boring.


    We are doing well. Everyone is moving on in their way, even me. So, rest well, little brother. I hope you find peace in the world beyond.


    To be honest, I don¡¯t know what else to write here, little brother.


    I miss you. A man knows not how something is important to him until he lost it. I miss you a lot, little brother. I really do.


    It¡¯s just crazy that you are no longer here with us. Sometimes, it doesn¡¯t feel real. Perhaps, I¡¯m getting old and this is what is getting old feels like. Perhaps, I am just a sentimental old man clinging to the glory of his past.


    Back when we first met, I was just a dream chaser. I just wanted to be me, doing my own thing and not the things that people were telling me to do. I just wanted to do the things that I like. I just desperately wanted to prove that I was right all along. I was not prepared to admit that I was wrong.


    And you, you terrified me since. You knew that I was spouting nonsense. You knew that I was putting up a bravado, and still you followed me. You look at me with eyes full of admiration. So, I had to do everything to match up to your admiration. I had to be every bit of a man worthy of your admiration. You had no idea how tough that was for me. But, I am glad that I did not disappoint you.


    We had the craziest run. Our path was full of weird things, full of twists and turns, and full of up and down. Looking back, I¡¯m glad that we had each other during those crazy moments. I¡¯m proud to have you by my sides during those times.


    It felt crazy when we announced our retirement together and you were not there with us. It doesn¡¯t feel real that you are no longer with us. Even now.


    In the case you don¡¯t know, my eyes are a little bit misty right now and I could not even see the keyboards. Forgive me, I know not what I am writing.


    I don¡¯t know if there is a world beyond this or not. But I hope this letter would find you.


    I sincerely pray that you would find rest and happiness in the world beyond this. I sincerely pray that the world around you would be a kind world.


    I love you, little brother.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    No, FY, the world has not become kinder at all.


    I have no idea what am I experiencing.


    Is this sadness? Is this pain?


    I have no idea. Sometimes, it was hard to understand my own emotion since I have stopped feeling for such a long time.


    I almost felt like I could cry again. I felt like tears could come out of my eyes. I felt like I would know what it was like to howl out the pain inside my chest again.


    And yet, it was just an illusion.


    I could speak no word. I could make no sound. I could shed no tear.


    It was then that Fearless came to meet me for the first time since we were separated.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he greeted cheerfully, ¡°Aren¡¯t you already sick of this scenery? There is nothing down here. Do you want to come with me for a change? I just learned that we can do a lot of crazy things in this world.¡± His voice was almost nonchalance and worry-free. And yet, I can sense his invisible rage.


    What happened? I tried to ask, but no word came out today as well.


    Fearless kept talking. He talked a lot. These days he talked more than enough words for the two of us. He has just created a world within this dream. His power in this dream went as far as his imagination took him. Fearless told me that he has locked down every single foreign soul inside this dream from leaving it, and yet, they had not realized it.


    What happened? I asked. Not a single sound came out.


    Fearless was a ball of strength, and I could not help but wonder if all of this strength of his came from rage. He kept talking and laughing as if he was in the prime of his life. And yet, we both knew that his words were false. Even inside this dream, our ears worked fine.


    Then words ran out and quietness took over Fearless, not for long.


    ¡°These brainless morons did not heed my repeated warnings. They made light of my warnings. I will make them paid,¡± he restated what I have already known.


    I already knew what he would do when he took the length of four days to end Bloodbeard and his army. He could have ended them in two days but it took him four days to do that. Those extra two days were used to devise strategies to deal with these Demon Lords, gods and goddesses just case his warnings were ignored.


    And now, it was already obvious that they did indeed ignored his warnings.


    As uncompromised as ever, I sighed without sighing.


    In the entire history of the ROC universe, there had been countless morons. Atheists who denied the existence of their gods and goddesses. A pervert who slapped Niwdar¡¯s asses while she was disguising in her mortal form, and got turned into a Faun. A bunch of morons who refused to be a champion for the Demon Lords. And many more.


    And yet, my other half is about to become the biggest moron in the history of morons by waging a war against the children of Naharis, all at the same time. And it¡¯s not like he possessed powers to warp reality or miracles to combat their miracles or legions of demons to aid him. All that he had at the moment were a bunch of concepts, a bunch of theories, a bunch of ideas, but nothing solid. Still, he was dead set on war.


    What a moron! Not even the Monkey King challenged the heaven when he has no power.


    ¡°I will declare war on all of them. And if they want peace, they have to come to me and beg me for it,¡± he informed me, and then said the familiar words. ¡°If you want to stop me, stop me now.¡±


    There is just no way that I could stop him. I had no strength to cry. I had no strength to talk, let alone stopping him. And Fearless should have already known that.


    Still, he talked. ¡°I¡¯m about to commit the worst genocide in the history. And for what? To protect myself and my memory. That was the most selfish reason ever. I am about to blow up Kharigan to kingdom come. Other than Flok¨ª and Munezee, all of these Demon Lords¡¯ immortality came from their connection with the red moon Kharigan. It¡¯s in the lore. So I figured that I might as well try to see how true it is. A bunch of demon folks are about to be wiped out. After that, we will fight our mettle on Escana. A lot of people are going to die and it is on me. Don¡¯t you want to stop me? Just one word and I will stop it right now.¡±


    Have you read the letters yet? I asked him. I wonder if FY¡¯s letter could stop Fearless from combatting insanity with insanity and stupidity with stupidity. Fighting poison with poison aside, fighting injustice with injustice aside, fighting fire with fire aside, combatting insanity with insanity and stupidity with stupidity should not be an option. Fearless should have understood that, and yet, I could not understand why he would try to do it like this. Our eyes were mirroring at each other and yet, we were not communicating at all.


    ¡°I figured,¡± Fearless said, wearing a crestfallen smile. ¡°That¡¯s a quality talk.¡±


    No, we are not talking, like at all.


    Fearless left, back to his dreamland, preparing again.


    Here I am, in the bottom of the abyss reading letters while my other half is preparing himself to fight a war that he had no confidence of winning.


    What a mess!

 V2 Chapter 13: Princes and Horror Show

    Princes and Horror Show


    Can you even sleep while being inside a sleep and dream while being inside a dream? Sometimes, I wished that this stupid Divine Dream¡¯s logic behave just like Christopher Nolan¡¯s Inception. I am tired. I wish I could escape this layer to another layer, and there, I would find my sleep. I kept wishing for the same wish for the last decades. However, as tired as I was, peace did not come, nor rest, nor sleep.


    I am exhausted and yet, as long as I am still trapped within this Divine Dream, rest will not come.


    While Death was the creator of this Divine Dream, Fearless was the reason why it became an endless dream. Sometimes, I imagined that I could sneak behind Fearless and put him down with a rear naked choke in the same manner that Merleon¡¯s old man has taught me, getting back at Fearless and making him rest, two birds with one stone. Not that I had the strength nor the mean to do that.


    Sometimes, I wished that I had enough strength and energy to convince these immortals, Gods, Goddesses, and Demon Lords to leave Fearless and me out of their game. I could not comprehend the reason why they would include Fearless into their game.


    Perhaps, living an endless life as immortals have made them suicidal, it was almost funny how my mind tried to find the most logical reason to defend the action of these immortals. And yet, I could not laugh. I was laughing without laughing.


    Sometimes, I saw what happened, what could have been, what should have been, what shall be, what might be. The past, present, and future. Illusion and truth. Desire and reality. Living in this lucidity of an abyss, I have realized again that my mind worked too fast. A parting gift from Th¨´y D??ng. My mind arrived at places that I did not even intend to go to. To cope with Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s willful and whimsical tyranny, my mind worked fast. The more unpredictable Th¨´y D??ng was, the faster my mind would race, trying to predict her intent and thought. My mind worked fast, too fast. Even when my thought was fractured, I could see and hear things. Too many things.


    ¡°What a miserable boy you are,¡± sometimes, I heard Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s admonishing voice, arrogant and playful. ¡°But fear not, no matter how miserable you are, I will always love you,¡± I remembered her bright smile.


    ¡°How are you going to live without me?¡± I heard her teasing voice and that small pain on my cheek whenever Th¨´y D??ng said those words.


    ¡°You know what sis? You were right.¡± I replied. But I did not think Th¨´y D??ng would hear my answer.


    I saw the pasts where we were there, both Fearless and I, stopping tragedies before they happened. I saw futures where we are still on Earth, living our lives in a small and self-contained blissful happiness. And then, they came, without fail, the reality, the truth to remind me that I was but a wishful thinker. I felt small and helpless as usual.


    I wish I could close my eyes and when I do that, Th¨´y D??ng would be there, a part of my life as before. It did not matter if she was not real. It did not matter if she was just an illusion, a phantom of the past, a dream that was already broken, a tiny happiness that will never be realized. It did not matter if she wasn¡¯t real. It did not matter to me because I want to see her, whole and beautiful, even now. I had no wish to forget Th¨´y D??ng.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your lost.¡± A simple line of condolence, a gesture of kindness, and that are about it. Your wound is yours to bear. Your wound is yours to heal. While she meant the world to me, Th¨´y D??ng was just one human among billions. Even if she was special to me, to the world she was just one woman among billions. ¡°I hope you will move on.¡± The world is sorry for her death but it will not stop and mourn for her. In time, she would be forgotten.


    If I forgot Th¨´y D??ng, nobody will remember her.


    ¡°You have to let go. You have to learn how to let go.¡±


    Th¨´y D??ng did not matter to the world. Neither do I. So why must I listen to the world¡¯s opinion? We do not matter to this world. With or without us, life goes on, the world will move on. And yet, ¡°Let go. Move on,¡± the world expected me to fall in line.


    Let go, two words, Move on, two words, easy to say, anyone can say them, which prompted that insidious thought to appear at the edge my mind. I pondered that if I repeated what that demon did to Th¨´y D??ng on their entire family, those who spoke those two words, would they speak those two words as easy as they did. And I hated myself for letting such thought appeared on my mind. Therefore, I rather am asleep than awake.


    ¡°Talk to me. Share it with me. You will feel better.¡±


    It was as if the entire world believed that I did not realize Th¨´y D??ng was already dead. It was as if this world believe that I was merely deluding myself into believing that she was still alive. I knew she was gone, better than anyone else, better than Fearless, better than that demon, better than those forensic analysts. I knew that she was gone from the moment I first saw that trail of blood. Th¨´y D??ng loved playing all manner of mean jokes on me. She loved bullying me. But she would never play that ugly kind of a joke.


    ¡°Drink this.¡± ¡°Drink that. You will feel better,¡± those doctors said it like medications will resolve everything. They said those lines repeatedly as if Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s death was a curse and those medications possessed a holy power to lift that curse. They said those lines as if those medications worked in life as well as they worked in video games. ¡°Just drink them.¡±


    Th¨´y D??ng was no curse and I had no need for anything holy to enter my life.


    ¡°Man up and move on,¡± they said such words carelessly. Strong men. Tough men. The very image of masculinity. Perhaps, they were right. Men move on and grow up from their wounds. Men are made of scars. ¡°So, man up and move on, stop moping,¡± they said as if their value is the only truth in this world.


    Whether I move on, or not, should not be of their concern. I am me and they are them. Why must my value be identical to theirs?


    The funny thing is they did not even realize that I had already moved on. I had already moved on from living. Since I could not off myself, I slept. I cut myself off from Fearless. While sleeping, I was no nuisance to anyone. I hurt nobody while sleeping.


    But inside this strange space, this abyss, sleep did not come. Sleep did not visit me once. There is nothing else to do to deter my mind from racing ahead, filling with dark thoughts, making calculations and predictions of the matters that did not even concern me. Within this lightless abyss, my thought was more lucid than ever and I did not even want that. So, I kept my mind occupied with those letters. I reread FY¡¯s letter many times, imaging of a world without me and Fearless, and then reading the older letters.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Dear Mr. Fearless,


    I know what I am doing is strange, because unlike you, I am a non-believer. Even now, I don¡¯t believe in god or the existence of any almighty beings. And here I am, writing this make-believe email to you, knowing well that you could never receive it.


    This is a good joke, isn¡¯t it?


    So, laugh.


    I hope you can at least have one final good laugh at my insistence on being an atheist while being the manager of your followers. I thought that this group would become unmanageable with your departure. But they held on so well that I am actually surprised. It¡¯s like nothing has changed. It¡¯s like you are still here with us. I¡¯m not sure if I should take more pride in myself for keeping them in the line.


    Mr. Fearless, I¡¯m writing this letter to inform you of my future plan.


    There is no longer the need to keep this group going. It is as we have deducted back then. Even without you, still, I¡¯m working toward that goal. I have stopped this group from growing in number as best as I could since your departure. Many people are leaving. Some have come to term with themselves. Some have finally understood what this group is all about and have moved on since. But some, unfortunately, took drastic actions without my acknowledgment to be with you. I am doing my best to spread the message and keeping these groups in check.


    And once in a while, things became hectic when my attention was elsewhere and the number grew again, but that was just the usual.


    I hope I can disband this group completely within the next five years or so. I know that our current progress is four years behind our initial schedule. But that does not mean I should stop working toward that goal. We have to disband this group because it is the right thing to do. I know that it is the right thing to do.


    Without you, it is going to be hard. But I hope that we can finish what we have started back then.


    An old friend,


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    To Mr. Hunter,


    May the doors of hell open wide to punish us,


    We, those who have sinned,


    We, those who wished to be punished.


    We must be held account for our sins,


    Lest the Lord bear our sins, for He is truly good and innocent.


    O Hunter, thy demons burri''d with thee, worry not.


    O Hunter, I hope you shall find what you seek in the land beyond the living.


    Yours truly, Keeper.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I read the unread messages, all of them, regardless of whether they were addressed to Fearless or me.


    <ul>


    <li>Goodbye, Fearless.</li>


    <li>Thank you.</li>


    <li>Dear Ph¨²c,</li>


    <li>Rest in peace, dearest prince.</li>


    <li>From a fan.</li>


    <li>Dear Fearless,</li>


    <li>Sorry,</li>


    <li>The last letter, no more, I promise.</li>


    </ul>


    The more messages that I read, the clearer the world where neither I nor Fearless existed became. That world was real, very real, so much more real than this one. So were these emails. These emails were real. They were written by real people. They were not magically conjured by some immortals to toy with my mind. If my mind had any shadow of a doubt before when I read FY¡¯s email for the first time, there are none now, I sighed without sighing.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Even though I knew that it was FY¡¯s email without a sliver of a doubt, I was wishing that it was not. I was wishing that some malicious entities have written that email instead. Because if that letter was written out of malicious intent, that meant this world was merely an illusion, a lie. That meant there was hope for Fearless to return to that world, to live and find his happiness among the presence of Alice and our family. That¡¯s why I kept rereading it for over a thousand times. That¡¯s why I knew FY wrote that letter for real while reading the other letters as well.


    I wonder if these emails came to this world because the fans wished for it to happen. I wondered if URLOX, those people were even human, to begin with. They brought both Fearless and I to this world. They did not bring just Fearless or I, they brought the two of us here.


    This feat is truly inhuman.


    This world made no sense, nor my current situation. I could not help but wonder if this was just a dream within a dream within yet another dream, and the two of us, Fearless and I, were being trapped inside the craziest illusion that we have ever conjured.


    Would it change anything if I know the truth? A question popped up within the sea of doubts of my mind, this question, Fearless too must have asked himself already. Would it change anything if I know the truth?


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t take a rocket scientist to know the answer to that question, because knowing the truth changed nothing. Our current situation would not change for the better. I still could not off myself without killing Fearless. And war is inevitable.


    I could already see the paths that Fearless was going to travel. I could already see the place where he would arrive. Since I have been with Th¨´y D??ng longer than he did, my mind has always raced faster than Fearless¡¯.


    Death gave him something truly dangerous for free.


    The speed of the mind is no longer a concern, as long as this dream remained. Fearless was taking his time to plan ahead. There was no need for him to rush. A thousand years in this dream can be as short as a second on Escana. Fearless currently possessed all the time in the world, the ultimate luxury that any planner and schemer would drool to have. Death has given away the most dangerous weapon in the world to a man who knows how to use it correctly. I wonder if she had any inkling of an idea of how dangerous this weapon would be in the hands of Fearless.


    Fearless has already fought malice with malice, injustice with injustice and time with time.


    How to combat stupidity? With Stupidity.


    How to kill Demon Lords? With Demon Lords.


    How to win against insanity? With Insanity.


    How to win wars? With Wars.


    I felt completely drained the moment my mind arrived at the strangest of destinations. Since I had no strength, I wish FY or Merleon is here to punch sense into Fearless. I wish Alice is here to beat my other half out of his nonsense.


    ¡°Fearless, read the letters,¡± I told him with the loudest voice I could mutter while he mounted on me and beat me.


    ¡°Rise,¡± he cried while raining down his punches.


    ¡°Fearless, read the letters,¡± I repeated.


    ¡°Rise, I beg you¡­¡±


    ¡°Read the letters,¡±


    While he was babbling some nonsense about turning Death into an example for the children of Naharis to witness since she was the strongest immortal, ¡°Fearless, read the letters,¡± I was already at the limit of my strength, ¡°Read the letters.¡± I begged. He did not hear me as usual.


    ¡°Good talk,¡± he said.


    ¡°Read the damn letters,¡± I was tired that I have to repeat myself while he could not hear my voice, tired of his shits, tired of knowing the inevitable.


    The first stratagem has already been played.


    Honeypot is a most ancient form of a stratagem. And here I am, about to become the most infamous honeypot in this world. I sighed a motionless sigh, a soundless sigh, with it my hope of stopping Fearless from turning everything into a bigger mess.


    Death came and took me, as I have expected, fell for the most obvious ploy in the world, not even remotely realizing what she had done. With the grace of a merciful savior, Death slowly descended to the bottom of the abyss in a bright pillar of light. Death could not make a better dramatic entrance than this, unless she incorporated a slow-moving cinematic effect into this scene.


    ¡°Dear,¡± Death cried out, half-hiding her open display sadness behind her long cadaveric fingers. Her ghoulish dark eyes seemed to crumble into shreds of sorrow at my sorriness. Death immediately waved her hand and the watery abyss disappeared. There I was, lying among those dandelion-like flowers inside of Death¡¯s garden. Death took me into her arms and pulled my head into her bosoms, filling my nose with her smell that resembled spring flowers.


    She has just unwittingly taken the role of the Paris of Troy. And I am going to be blamed for the chaos to come, even though the role of Helen and the Trojan horse is forced into me.


    ¡°You got the wrong person.¡± I tried to tell Death as I did to all the women Fearless has courted while pretending to be me. I wondered why he kept using this same move.


    ¡°Poor you, you should have turned back while you could. Why must you be so hardheaded?¡± Death berated me in a voice full of pity as if she was about to cry.


    I did not think Death heard my voice. She squeezed my head into her deep cleavage and tightened her winter-like hug on me. ¡°It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s fine. I would hurt you no more. It¡¯s fine. Just stay by my side, I will keep you safe.¡± Death comforted me, kissing my hair, patting my back.


    The Harlot of Kraig¡¯ondor could bring down an Empire with her beauty.


    Me? My name will be attached to the destruction of Kharigan. What a mess!


    Death waved her hand, a small wooden cottage magically appeared in the middle of her flower garden. There, Death kissed me and whispered sweet nothings into my ears, telling me that she would heal me with the power of her love.


    I¡¯m tired. I don¡¯t care anymore.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I gaped, my eyes rolling white.


    The very scene that I have anticipated for such a long time did not provide me the entertainment that it should have. I have expected myself to break down with holler, laughing at the ridiculousness of this scene. And I was surprised, but far from being pleasantly surprised.


    Death¡¯s demeanor was ridiculous. She was the one who condemned us to this fate, this punishment¡­ Well, I played a part in engineering it, a rebellious part of my heart corrected me inwardly.


    But, it¡¯s still true. Death has sentenced us to suffer in this endless abyss. Therefore, it was ridiculous that she would show such compassion and took pity on the sorriness of my other half like that. Her demeanor was so ridiculous that it should be a foul. It was brainwashing for what brainwashing is. She executed a ¡°Rough him up and then comfort him routine,¡± obviously trying to trigger a mental defensive mechanism that is commonly known as the Stockholm syndrome.


    However, I have already predicted that Death would make a move like this. She was just that readable of a woman. I should laugh, mocking Death for her underhanded character and her predictable tactic. Because if her tactic was this apparent and if I could see through it, Ph¨²c too, could, easily.


    The two of us have gone through this routine with Th¨´y D??ng long enough to understand it.


    Yet, I could only gape in silence.


    ¡°You got to be fucking me,¡± a hideous scoff escaped my lips the moment realization entered me. ¡°Your character is horrible.¡± I could not help but curse. Death was just pure horrible and underhanded, even though I am not one to judge her character. The two of us were pot and kettle.


    Niwdar¡¯s body aside, Clariciel¡¯s voice, aside.


    While I was creating a dreamland and preparing myself for war, Death used her time to study three women in my memories. She studied their demeanor, their rhythm, their kindness.


    Mrs. H? ??ng¡¯s healing rhythm.


    Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s demeanor.


    Alice¡¯s kindness.


    Death did not just thoroughly study them. She perfected their rhythm, demeanor, presence and incorporated them into her acting.


    It was a sheer miracle that I did not spoil my own strategy and came down there to give Death a thorough beating. ¡°You have all the time in the world to learn something meaningful and yet, this is what you have decided to pick up?¡± My teeth clattered by the surging waves of anger. This is a fucking miracle. I had to applaud my perfect self-control.


    Death took Ph¨²c back to her garden of white flowers. There she conjured a small cottage, playing a dollhouse game and living newlywed life with a doll of a human. As I watched, I could not help but ask ¡°What¡¯s going on inside your head?¡± I could not understand how Ph¨²c could take all of that nonsense with a bare despondent face and let Death do whatever she wanted with him. I could not help but wonder just how much more insults my other half could take until he snapped.


    As for Death, I started to doubt her status as ¡°The strongest and most ancient Immortal.¡± She did not aware that she has already lost the control over this Divine Dream. She did not aware that the flow of time has been altered. She was so clueless to realize that the display of that meeting hall that she kept peeking at once in every now and then was fake. She did not even aware that I was merely reusing my stratagem one more time against her. She played dirty. But, I was even more of a dirty player. I whored my other half for the victory.


    I sighed, admiring Ph¨²c¡¯s mental fortitude for keeping up with his acting, keeping up with his own lie, keeping playing that dollhouse game with Death.


    I left my working table and opened my wardrobe, my own wardrobe reconstructed from the memory back when I was still on Earth. I stopped and pondered on which version of The Alliance¡¯s uniform that I should put on for this special occasion.


    The Alliance¡¯s uniforms were designed by Fantasy, all of them, from the oldest version to the latest one. Fantasy was the sole fashion designer for The Alliance as stated in his contract. His contract and mine were special in the way that ours had a special additional clause that nobody else had.


    My contract always had a silly clause, ¡°Receive a matching sum of FY¡¯s annual salary + $10,¡± which was my way of telling FY that ¡°I am always better than you, even if it¡¯s just $10.¡±


    Fantasy¡¯s contract, on the other hand, had a special clause, which stated that he will be to be the only fashion designer for the entire team.


    Looking back, it was like we were playing with fire, considering how horrendous Fantasy¡¯s fashion sense was and how much of a troll that he was. The first set of The Alliance¡¯s uniform that Fantasy handed to me and everyone else was a tight bodysuit made of black fishnet. I don¡¯t think that I could ever forget that, ever. Merleon was literally hauling Fantasy into the air, asking, ¡°Tell me that this is a joke.¡±


    We were thirty minutes away from our match.


    Fantasy had that look of surprise and confusion. It was as if he saw nothing wrong with his nightmare of a creation. It was only until everyone has given up on entering the arena on matching uniform, Fantasy would reveal the real uniform with an impish look, ¡°Common guys. That was a joke. Obviously.¡± That set of uniform became the Classic version, which I arrived at Escana with it.


    For the sake of merchandising, Fantasy would often release a new version of our uniform every once in a while. As a result, my wardrobe had over twenty different sets. I would say that Fantasy can design some great ¡°normal¡± clothes if he tried. Among the different designs that Fantasy has made, I took quite a liking to the Classic version and the Redeem Version. Misery¡¯s favorite was the Tyrant (Winter) Version and the Challenger Version, the one I hated the most, the version which composed of a dark and tattered trench-coat, fingerless gloves, worn out black jeans with a golden belt and a tight sleeveless black shirt underneath. Merleon¡¯s preference was the Conqueror (Summer) version, which was inspired by the in-game cloth of the Sword Saint. FY had no preference over any set in specific. He was fine with whichever as long as they were not too flamboyance.


    It took me thirty minutes to decide to take on one of Misery¡¯s favorite, the Tyrant (Winter) Version. I slowly put the pieces of the set on my body. I could snap my fingers and magically put the suit on. But these days, I preferred staying away from the magic of this dreamland as much as possible. Being a nearly omnipotent being made me lost touch with reality and myself, and I have to prepare myself for that moment when this dream would end.


    The Tyrant (Winter) Version was one of Misery¡¯s favorite due to how mean it looks. Fantasy designed this set after we had won a back to back championship. A person could wear this set of uniform and blend in perfectly within one of those modern vampire movies due to its elements of Punk Gothic. The top part of the Tyrant (Winter) Version composed of a dark leathered long coat buttoned in Craxus¡¯ dragon golden coins with a rough feathered collar. With black metal-padded pants for the bottom and that long leathered coat for the top, I stared at my mirror reflection, sighing at how close my current appearance resembled those emo vampires that I hated.


    ¡°Here come the horror. You thought this is a comedy show? Too bad, it¡¯s a horror flick,¡± a delightful snicker escaped my throat, ¡°Brainless fools, when it¡¯s finished and done, you will remember me as your boogeyman.¡± I seriously doubted if these brainless fools would ever dare to enter and mess another man¡¯s dream again after this.


    Donning my battle uniform, I entered the checkered hall, putting an end the arrogance of these immortals.

 V2 Chapter 14: Envy the Doppelg?nger

    The Thousands Faces Demon Lord closed his eyes and rolled out his tongue, doubting his acute senses. Whenever Envy tuck that triple-branched green tongue out of his mouth hole, he could see, taste and smell the envy hidden in any living being, mortals or immortals alike.


    Sinintee claimed to be the most perfect, and yet the fool did not know that envy coursed through his veins.


    Pride, as seemingly perfect and prideful as she was, there was a solid block of envy reside inside her heart.


    Lust, as beautiful as she was, there was the glower of envy in her eyes whenever she looked another woman.


    Sloth, he was a confusing creature. But envy danced within his mind and accompanied him to his sleep whenever he stared at the red stones and blood colored ground of Kharigan.


    Niwdar, that woman was a masterpiece of envy, simply gorgeous painting beyond any expression, truly a Goddess of Beauty.


    Even Mistress Death, the Arbiter, colorless and lifeless as she appeared, there was envy lodged within her mind. Hers was the best kind of envy, the kind that oozed out of her body like black mud and thickened with an undiluted tastiness of saltiness and bitterness.


    And then, there is URLOX¡¯s chosen one, the great creators¡¯ most prized and beloved champion, the most disturbing creature to ever exist after Wrath. Just like Envy, Wrath came to be without any sexual organ, neither male nor female, and thus unable to reproduce. And, that was the only similarity shared between the two of them. Wrath was a mindless fool, Munezee¡¯s faithful instrument of destruction and terror, and nothing more. Destruction and rage were all Wrath could understand, nothing else, therefore that lack of envy inside him was understandable.


    But the Prince, one common designation for two men, two men but one man. They were something else. They made Envy sick to his core with their disturbing smell, their disgusting look, and their nauseating taste. They made Envy doubted his senses.


    While Lust and Pride were butting heads and arguing, Envy, the Thousands Faces Demon Lord did not speak so much of a word. Sitting in the seat that the Arbiter has designated for him, Envy, again, quietly tucked his triple-branched tongue out, allowing his senses to be submerged deeper into the hidden world of envy.


    The Thousands Faces Demon Lord could see the shape of the participants in the Reign of Chaos well. Even when these Demon Lords, Gods, and Goddesses appeared in their immaterial form, Envy could still sense their envy well. Mistress Death, the Arbiter, despite not present inside the hall at the moment, Envy could trace her presence by the amount of envy dripping out of her ethereal body.


    Yet, the Prince, the very vessel that Mistress Death used to construct this Divine Dream, was transparent and undetectable within this hidden world. Sickened, the Thousands Faces Demon Lord swallowed back his tongue.


    Why URLOX? Why him? From the Prince¡¯s memory, Envy knew that URLOX had many champions. Many of them were far superior to the Prince in one talent or another. Why him? Envy could not help but question URLOX¡¯s favoritism toward the Prince.


    Everyone knew that URLOX created the universe, but that was about it. URLOX created the world and left. Or so, most have believed. But once in a while, URLOX would use their miracles to remind the world of who they were.


    It first happened during the First Divine War. It happened again when Craxus was still on Escana. And now, in this latest round of Reign of Chaos, URLOX reminded everyone that they were the Creators.


    It¡¯s hard not to admire URLOX. The amount of chaos that URLOX brought about with a poem was something to be admired. URLOX has only made one claim and introduced one human to the Great Game.


    Even if that human was not the Prince but someone else, there would be no difference.


    Just one simple claim and one human who claimed to be a prince. Nothing more, nothing special. And yet, Kharigan was nearly ruined from infighting. It¡¯s hard not to admire URLOX¡¯s miracle.


    Admiration is a form of envy. One end of the spectrum, the beginning. If one cannot admire, one cannot envy. And Envy is the end.


    No Demon Lord was born equal.


    And, there is always Envy.


    Envy remembered that praise from the Prince¡¯s memory and the Thousands Face Demon Lord took a much liking to it. URLOX has given him such high praise. In URLOX¡¯s eyes, he was not The Mimicker or a Faker. In URLOX¡¯s eyes, he, Envy, the Thousand Faces Demon Lord was someone special.


    As it has been shown in the Prince¡¯s memory, URLOX was not just the Creators of the universe, they are also the Writers of fate. Every being in this universe had a role to play in URLOX¡¯s story, and Envy was a part of it.


    From the Prince¡¯s memory, it was inevitable that Munezee would become <The First Demon Lord>. Sinintee created him from the dismembered left hand of Naharis and tasked him with the role of a mere gravedigger. Munezee was meant to be a mere gravedigger, to make a grave, to bury the dismembered body parts of Naharis on Kharigan, and to watch that grave until the end of time.


    But the role that Sinintee gave him was not the role that URLOX has planned for him. In URLOX¡¯s vision, Munezee has always meant to be <The First Demon Lord>, a creator of Demon Lords, someone greater than a mere gravedigger.


    ¡°And, there is always Envy.¡± There could not be higher praise than that. That was Envy¡¯s role in URLOX¡¯s story.


    Therefore, ¡°This cannot be it,¡± Envy held a steadfast belief to his revelation. Even though the current situation might suggest otherwise and the status quo would return to the Great Game when Death ended this Divine Dream, something will happen. Envy believed, somehow, someway, URLOX will make their prophecy become true.


    Naharis was meant to be mad, to be killed by his children and paved the way for the Great Game.


    Death was fated to be the Arbiter for the Great Game.


    Munezee was fated to be the creator of the Demon Lords.


    Wrath was fated to be the mightiest among the Demon Lords.


    ¡°And, there is always Envy.¡± That was Envy¡¯s role. That was Envy¡¯s fate in URLOX¡¯s story. And Envy could feel it. His turn would come, eventually. He was Envy, the Thousand Faces Demon, the Doppelganger, his role in URLOX¡¯s story could not be a mere mockery of a Demon Lord, a mere subordinate of Pride.


    In his seat, Envy bobbed his round head, his long fingers weaving a tight net in anticipation. Envy was a Doppelganger, as URLOX have stated in their text of creation. But the Prince and his group of insolent followers would call Envy ¡°a mummified slender man¡± much to the Creators¡¯ annoyance. Envy possessed a humanoid form, slender but otherwise featureless, wrapping underneath the ever-changing pale shrouds of fa?ade, his true skin. His wide and sunken eyes half-closed, praying for URLOX to enact their will.


    There is no way URLOX¡¯s claim can be this easily dismissed.


    In silence, Envy soaked in the noises and the chaos around him, hoping for something unexpected to happen. Envy did not even mind working with that dodgy woman again to achieve that result.


    Came a quiet, soft and gentle sound, almost musical. Envy¡¯s steadfast hope was rewarded. URLOX answered his most fervent wish.


    A quiet chorus of applause filled Envy¡¯s head, a dark symphony of chaos, performed in the name of URLOX. Next to Envy, there stood URLOX¡¯s most beloved man, their favorite champion, the Prince of The Alliance.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Envy killed his frantic mutter before it came out with the same loudness of Sloth¡¯s snore. Of course, URLOX would have granted their champion with something. Some form of magic, some kind of artifacts, some manner of miracle, some source of protection against Death, something. URLOX must have given him something.


    Something, Envy deducted that the Prince must have gained some


    or <Unique skills> in the Prince¡¯s language when he completely wiped out Wonten¡¯s champion with his faction. Otherwise, nobody can stand against Death and win.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Pride and Lust were arguing in a heated exchange. Sloth was snoring. Nobody but Envy has noticed that quiet applause and the Prince¡¯s sudden arrival. The Prince stood right next to Envy in the black and gold of his battle vestment while wearing the most cultured of a smile on his lips. In a warm and friendly manner, he gently nodded his head to acknowledge Envy¡¯s swift awareness of his presence.


    URLOX backs you up with miracles. That is the only reason you can smile like that, Envy put his hand on his chest, bowing lightly, showing a friendly gesture to URLOX¡¯s champion.


    Without that, you are nothing.


    That symphony of chaos was quiet but steady, cold and seemingly unmindful. As that most entitled prince clapped his hands, he slowly walked toward the middle of the checkered hall with casual wide strides in confidence, repeatedly nodding his head in grace as the number of the Demon Lords who realized his presence increased. As the chatters died down and the snickers among the Demon Lords ended, that steady applause seemed to pick up in volume, became louder than that wailing sounds coming from Sanguine¡¯s past champions and Sloth¡¯s snores.


    There, showered in the stares of disbelief and confusion, that entitled prince stood squarely where Mistress Death should be standing, the position of the Arbiter, the central position of the checkered hall. The Prince swiftly swept his dark eyes through the hall and put his applause to a full stop. ¡°I have heard that you, my ladies and gentlemen have gathered here for me,¡± the Prince spoke in a soft and musical voice, ¡°Here I am, Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance, nice to meet you,¡± he slyly directed Lust a not-so-subtle wink as if to service that rose color swell on her cheeks, all while that inhuman smile became ripened on his lips and took the air away from every being who saw it.


    He knows how to make an entrance, Envy hated to admit. Amidst the dying wailing noises of Sanguine¡¯s past champions, Envy heard the sound of water dripping. Ignoring Lust, the person standing next to him, who looks like she was about to die from the lack of air, Envy turned his head at the source. There, Magnamor, already slimy mess of a piss pool without any resemblance of a being worthy of an acknowledgment as a Demon Lord. If that Coward Demon Lord has intended to shame every Demon Lord participated in this meeting, he could not have done a better job.


    A loud crashing sound erupted and spread through the hall, Xaara, the Quick Demon Lord, deservedly of his title was the first to break that trance-like quietness. He broke his chair into halves. ¡°Where is the Arbiter?¡± Xaara thundered his demand in a sharp hissing sound. ¡°Why¡­¡±


    But that entitled Prince immediately cut the White Snake short with a cold snap of a question, loud and crisp, ¡°Where is your manner?¡± The Prince sharpened his sight on Xaara. His voice then became much quieter, and much colder. ¡°I have just introduced myself. Name yourself Demon Lord, or is that you don¡¯t have one? Must I give you a name?¡± All form of warmness has completely evaporated from the Prince¡¯s voice like the morning mist, replaced with a sneering spread of arrogance on his lips.


    Xaara was not one to take such insolence well. The checkered tiles of black and white beneath Xaara¡¯s serpentine lower half broke apart as the White Snake launched himself toward the Prince. Envy blinked his eyes and watched such an incredible display of stupidity in amazement. No fight has ever broken out inside this hall, ever. Xaara was making history.


    All eyes trained on that large silver serpentine frame of Xaara, stupefied at the bizarreness that fell upon the White Snake. Never had the Quick Demon Lord had been slower. He was hovering in the air, more locked in the air, edging toward the Prince with the speed of a dying aged snail.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Envy had to raise his hand, guarding that widespread of a sneer on his lipless mouth against being revealed to his faction leader. URLOX bestowed their miracle upon him.


    ¡°Quick Demon Lord? How about feeling slow for a change?¡± The Prince quipped in nonchalance, did not even turn his head back when the towering shadow of Wrath darkened his lanky frame. ¡°In the game, there is this special mechanic Action queue¡­¡±


    While every Demon Lord stood in the hall was being wise and cautious of the bizarreness surrounding the Prince, Wrath the Thousands Claws Demon Lord was being himself, Munezee¡¯s scourge of destruction.


    Wonten, the mightiest of gods.


    Wrath, the mightiest of Demon Lords


    If only Wrath¡¯s brain was as massive as his horns or just half the size of that long pair of ivory tusks spewing out of his reddened canine mouth, he would have stood by Munezee¡¯s side and watched as the situation developed. But no, Wrath, the mightiest of Demon Lords, came to be without any shred of intelligence inside his taurine skull, for there was no need to that, until now.


    Wrath howled. Down struck those merciless spiny four arms, thousands of razor claws gleaming. Disappeared Wrath with the same speed that he struck down those fists.


    The moment when those struck-out fists came to contact with that black and gold vestment, Wrath¡¯s massive body was pulled by an invisible force, hit the high ceiling with a sickeningly sweet blast of a shockwave. Envy did not imagine it, the entire hall did rattle when Wrath¡¯s body hit the ceiling. Wrath¡¯s body did not just hit the ceiling, it blew through the decorated ceiling, tearing that painting of Mistress Death and the Prince apart.


    As the entire ceiling of the checkered hall tumbled, revealing a silver sky, the tattered black wings and bodies of Death¡¯s messengers fluttered in the air. ¡°How rude. I¡¯m still explaining,¡± the Prince complained, but ultimately did not even bother to glance at Wrath¡¯s direction once. His eyes were still locking on Xaara¡¯s solid frame. ¡°In the game, there is this special mechanic know as Action queue,¡± the Prince went back to explaining as if Wrath was never a concern in his mind. ¡°You hold the Shift key and execute your command. The game will automatically execute your action in the order of your command. Nameless Demon Lord who looks like a snake, that is what is happening to you right now. Whatever you thought will be your action, well, with a point triple zero five multiplication time speed. But your thought is working at real time. So good luck figuring how to cancel this Action queue.¡± He challenged Xaara with a most playful voice before slowly taking three steps to his side.


    Down went the mightiest Demon Lord, coldly plummeted to the ground at the Prince¡¯s feet, blasting off a cloud of dirt with a most satisfying thud. The Prince finally turned his head at Wrath while casually dusting off the dirt on his vestment. But if Wrath would stay down after being hit once, he would have never been Wrath. Wrath howled, bounced up, stronger than ever and lashed out his attacks like a mindless beast that he was. But the arms that struck the black and golden rimmed vestment exploded into a violent spray of red mist, painting everything on its path with a bright red color. Broken shards of claws erupted, flying everywhere.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± the Prince sighed. He grabbed Wrath by his taurine horn and repeatedly smashed Wrath¡¯s face to the ground, effortlessly turning the mightiest of Demon Lord into a visual mockery in everyone¡¯s eyes.


    Boom boom.


    The louder Wrath howled, the louder the ¡°boom¡± that exploded every time that bloody taurine nose hit the ground and the louder the rattles that spread through the checkered hall.


    Boom boom boom.


    The more resilience that Wrath showed, the faster his face would enter the floor, and it did not just enter. It tore through the floor with authority.


    Boom boom boom.


    The more Wrath struggled, the wider that crater became, with it those cracks lengthened and increased in number.


    Boom boom boom. That was the most morbidly satisfying sound that Envy has ever heard in his life. BOOM BOOM BOOM. It was not a fight. It was not even a beat-down. It was a performance.


    For the first time, Envy had an inkling of a feeling that he could get along with the Prince.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM.


    The Prince was making music and Wrath¡¯s taurine head was an instrument of his, a not so cooperative instrument. BOOM BOOM BOOM. The Prince was making some sick music. BOOM BOOM BOOM. Amidst those addicting bombastic notes, Wrath¡¯s gurgling and subdued howls of defiance were a delightful treat to one¡¯s ears alongside the sweet crunchy sounds of his caving-in skull, those splintering horns, and those broken tusks. BOOM BOOM BOOM. The Prince smiled a bright smile, an innocent smile, playing that special music of his with proper chords and rhythms, with crescendo and decrescendo, all while locking his eyes at Munezee¡¯s ashen face.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM. The Prince was dedicating this morbidly sweet music for Munezee to listen and it was apparent that he wanted Munezee to know that.


    ¡°Cease it,¡± demanded Munezee in a firm voice.


    ¡°Cease what?¡± The Prince showered Munezee with a most confused look. BOOM BOOM BOOM. His hands were still on his instrument, playing his Demon Lord of an instrument with absolute discipline as his music was hitting the climax. BOOM BOOM BOOM.


    ¡°Let him go.¡±


    ¡°Let.¡± BOOM BOOM. ¡°WHO.¡± BOOM BOOM BOOM. ¡°Go?¡± BOOM BOOM BOOM. ¡°LET WHO GO?¡± The Prince sang and kept playing his musical instrument, turning Munezee¡¯s words into the lyrics of his newly written song.


    ¡°I will not repeat myself,¡± warned Munezee with a dark gnarl.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM. The Prince shrugged a most playful of a shrug, kept staring at Munezee and continued playing. BOOM BOOM BOOM.


    ¡°I will not repeat myself. LET WHO GO?¡± BOOM BOOM BOOM. ¡°LET WHO GO?¡± BOOM BOOM BOOM.


    Wrath went from a visual mockery to a most faithful instrument of music, a Demon Lord no more. Munezee¡¯s words became an audial mockery of a song. BOOM BOOM BOOM. BOOM BOOM BOOM. BOOM BOOM BOOM. The Prince only stopped playing when the song ended. Casually, he let Wrath go, tossing the cold body at Munezee. ¡°If you believe that you are in any position to demand anything from me, go ahead and test it,¡± casually, he spoke to Munezee with a most arrogant of a smile flourishing on his lips.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, that offer extends to all of you,¡± the Prince sharply turned and swept his eyes through the hall. ¡°You are welcome to try it.¡±


    ¡°Where is the Arbiter?¡± Sinintee asked, rising from his seat, ¡°Why does she allow you to commit this farce?¡±


    ¡°And I have thought that you are a smart man,¡± the Prince shot Sinintee a most disrespected side-glance, ¡°Why don¡¯t you figure it out?¡± A snicker overtook the Prince¡¯s body, ¡°Well then, I will assume that it¡¯s my turn to make a demand. Lady and Gentlemen, may I see your Entry Permit?¡± The Prince presented a small card in his hand, slowly spinning around and showing the card to every being presented in the hall.


    There were only those maddened wailing noises of Sanguine¡¯s champions and the ghost of silence.


    ¡°Wow, you cannot tell me that you have never seen this card before. See! Read this, it is written on this card. See? YOU CANNOT FUCK WITH FEARLESS UNLESS YOU HAVE THIS CARD ISSUED TO YOU. Come on, guys. This is not cool. You had to have this Entry Permit to be here.¡± The Prince read the words displayed on the card. ¡°Well then, I guess that is detainment for all of you. The charge is illegal entry. From this moment onward, you are my prisoners, all of you.¡±


    Just like that the checkered hall that Death conjured was no more, disappeared. Only a dark jail full of torture cells remained. Envy watched his siblings being tortured while standing inside a transparent room, with see-through walls and floor. ¡°You and me, we need to talk,¡± said the Prince.

 V2 Chapter 15: Envy and the Entrance Exam

    Envy and the Entrance Exam


    ¡°You and me, we need to talk,¡± the Prince said with a cultured smile on his lips.


    With one sentence, the Prince made Envy doubted his intention. ¡°You and me, we need to talk.¡± That sounded to Envy¡¯s ears like a request. Too weak. Too humble. Too fake. The Prince was in the position of power. He was holding the grip of power over Envy¡¯s fate. It just felt wrong to Envy that the Prince would make a request when he could simply command.


    ¡°But first, I need to deal with them first,¡± the Prince finally added, that cultured smile turned into a savage grin.


    Yeah, that¡¯s right. I knew you would do something like that. Envy has finally realized that the Prince¡¯s ¡°You and me, we need to talk,¡± was his way of rousing up the expectation in Envy, making Envy believed that he was being his equal in power. And the ¡°But first, I need to deal with them first,¡± was his mockery at Envy for thinking that the balance of power between the two of them was equal.


    Since the beginning, the Prince held the power to make every decision and every demand. With that small trick, he reminded Envy of that.


    Had Envy been someone else, he would have fallen for that trick and flustered for real. But regardless, Envy betrayed a flustered look through his gesture alone, mixing it with a little bit of terror and helplessness. Envy stayed quiet, fearing his voice would betray his true thought to the Prince.


    As Envy has expected, the Prince left the transparent room in nonchalance, leaving Envy behind, waiting, need not confirm of Envy¡¯s opinion. It was the old, ¡°We only talk when I want to talk,¡± trick. This move was nothing new. Pride often employed this trick to wave her power and authority over the other Demon Lords.


    Being a subordinate of Pride, Envy has become used to this trick. Human, Envy cursed internally.


    Arrogantly, the Prince displayed his power the same way that Pride would, with that absolute belief in the miracle granted to him by URLOX. He allowed Envy to watch the taste of the miracle that he conjured. Equally detestable as Pride, Envy thought. The Prince did not just openly display his miracle for Envy to see, he rubbed it at Envy¡¯s face.


    From the transparent room, Envy watched his siblings twisted their visage in the darkness of madness and rage, spewing curses at the human who made them suffered.


    But not all torture cells were created equal and not all darkness was made equal.


    Wrath¡¯s torture cell was the largest and grandest of them all, a stage for music to perform, a square to contain billions of people. On that stage, a clone of the Prince stood, holding Wrath¡¯s broken horn in place alongside the several other clones of himself, each manning a different kind of musical instrument. Envy could identify the drums and those instruments that the Prince called guitars, bass, and organ among the many. One clone stepped forward, grabbing the mike and addressing the crowd of billions of people who attended that musical concert.


    ¡°They said that besides from being the mightiest of the Demon Lords, Wrath was the biggest moron of them all. You know what? I don¡¯t think so. Because I am looking at Stupidity in the face, you, my stupid people. You are the definition of stupidity. This Demon Lord? He¡¯s faking it. I will prove it to you all that Wrath is actually a smart boy all along. In fact, when this concert end, Wrath will be among the smartest of these Demon Lords. WHAT SAY YOU, MY STUPID PEOPLE?¡±


    That crowd of billions erupted, the drumsticks then started clacking, Wrath¡¯s bloody head banging against the stage, the drums sounded and the most unholy musical concert began. That clone of the Prince did not sing, he growled, he roared with the same fury and ire that Wrath displayed. Watching Wrath being toyed and tortured in such a ridiculous manner, Envy could not help but feel a surging wave of anger toward the Prince.


    It should have been me, the one to make him suffer like that. It should have been me.


    Flok¨ª¡¯s cell was the smallest and darkest, just an empty room wide enough for Flok¨ª to fit his body in, nothing else, just Flok¨ª and that isolated unbreakable darkness.


    Xaara was still inside that abandoned checkered hall, left behind. Alone, all by himself, locked in the rigidness of his body and the delay of time, hovering, edging bit by bit in the air toward the central position of the checkered hall. Envy made a mental estimation that Xaara would reach that place within a few weeks. For an impatient soul like Xaara who titled himself as <The Quick>, there was no crueler torture than that, being trapped by his slowness.


    From all the pieces of evidence presented to him, Envy guessed that URLOX has given the Prince the power to turn anything he could think of into reality within the boundary of a Divine Dream.


    Now, he¡¯s immune to any form of attack inside his dream. URLOX, you are really unfair. Envy could only complain in secret. Envy then trained his eyes to Sanguine and his two subordinate Demon Lords.


    Sanguine, the Embodiment of Madness. Rasahlu, the Whisperer of Madness. Yasubotay, the Reflection of Madness. The three of them were locked inside a large mirror hall. As they looked at their reflections from the mirrors, a clone of the Prince came to greet them.


    ¡°After I came to this world, I encountered nothing but disappointment. This world is the FUCKING perfect provider of disappointment. But the three of you Musketeers just took the cake. You redefined the word Disappointment for me. Sanguine, you called yourself Sanguine? For someone who should have been the Embodiment of Madness, I found that you are too sane. You are TOO FUCKING SANE. Same for the two of you, you with a bunch of mouths and you the genius with two brains, I found that the two of you are TOO SANE. The three of you have TOO MUCH SENSE inside you, TOO RATIONAL. I am completely heartbroken and disappointed. I AM DISAPPOINTED. The three of you are TOO FUCKING SANE. And yet, you dare to call yourself the avenging angels of madness? WHAT A JOKE! Amateurs, be grateful! Since you don¡¯t know a jackshit about madness, let me show you what madness feels like, what madness looks like, and what madness sounds like. If you want to play mad, at least be good at it. Rejoice Demon Lords, I am giving this tutorial to you for free. FOR FREE. RE-FUCKING-JOICE! REJOICE, Demon Lords!¡±


    Just like that, that clone of the Prince disappeared, leaving Sanguine and his subordinate in a short-lived respite of silence, letting them doubt until the true avenging agents of madness revealed themselves.


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE.¡±


    Those thousands of wailing heads that adorned Sanguine¡¯s long arthropod torso stopped wailing and started laughing instead.


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE.¡±


    The strong laughed in the hedonism of mockery. The brave laughed in the ire of vendetta. The young laughed in the darkness of hysteria. The orphans laughed in the maddened state of indifference. The widows laughed with the hollowness of void. The saints laughed in a hymn of the unholy. The saintesses laughed in the purest and unadulterated display of erotism.


    ¡°Cling not to your sanity and REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. Pray be Madness for he is your lord and savior. REJOICE.¡±


    Amidst that symphony of madness, Sanguine howled, a howl of a wounded beast, violently twisted and thrashed his long arthropod body against the mirror floor in agony. His millions of jagged tentacles turned on Sanguine, dissecting, mutilating and injecting that poison of insanity into his spectral body.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°REJOICE. Pray be Madness for he is your Prince. REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. Pray be Madness for he is your Ender. REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE.¡±


    As the poison of insanity poured into Sanguine¡¯s spectral form, unclothed bodies pour out. Naked men. Bare-breasted women. Bare-butted children. Newborn babies. Titan, Human, Dwarves, Elves, Dark elves, High Elves, Orcs, Garuda. Intelligent Races. Arachne, Faun, Naga, Kobold, Draconian. Intelligent Monster Races. The past champions and loyal puppets of Sanguine bared the weight of their madness on him.


    ¡°REJOICE. Pray be Madness for he is the inevitable. REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE.¡±


    Sanguine howled as agony twisted him. Never had Sanguine been weaker than this. Never had those insane puppets been stronger than now. Like a horde of starving beasts, like those black locusts of Gluttony, those freed puppets of Sanguine fell upon him with the sheer weight of their insanity, clawing, biting, tearing, grabbing, hitting, nipping, and crushing that quivering centipede shape of Sanguine to the reflecting floor. Those insane puppets fell upon him while chanting their maddened laughter.


    ¡°THRONE? Forget it. GAME? Forget it. Crown? Forget it and REJOICE. MADNESS IS THY CALLING. REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. Pray be the Prince of The Alliance. REJOICE. He is your Ender. He is your Madness. REJOICE.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. He is your one and only Savior.¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE.¡±


    Rasahlu and Yasubotay stood, watching, spellbounded by the horror of lucidity as their leader Sanguine being stomped into a squirming centipede in front of their eyes by none other than his own puppets and trophies.


    When Sanguine¡¯s frame was stained red with his pouring blood and his skin was black with the shade of his poison of insanity, a quiet pearl of laughter escaped him. His puppets became still, rejoicing in the briefest of the moment. The Embodiment of Madness has finally tasted madness. But it was merely the beginning, only a decade has passed, there are more to come.


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. REJOICE. His name is Madness and He is your Prince,¡± the maddened puppets beat their prayer into the puppet master. ¡°REJOICE and embrace him, for He is the beginning and the End. REJOICE. Embrace him, for he will be with you from now and onward. REJOICE.¡±


    The puppets and the puppet master laughed, slowly training their maddened eyes on the stone cold form of Rasahlu and Yasubotay. ¡°REJOICE.¡±


    Their turn has come and they knew it. If there was anything that can save them from those freed puppets of Sanguine, it would be Madness.


    ¡°REJOICE.¡±


    Those puppets fell upon the pair in the same manner that they did to Sanguine.


    ¡°REJOICE.¡± ¡°REJOICE.¡± ¡°REJOICE.¡±


    Envy could only sit still in his seat and feel that surging wave of envy emanated from the hidden depth of his own body. URLOX could have granted this power to Envy, but they granted this power to the Prince instead.


    Entitled son ofa bitch, Envy cursed in secret, turning his eyes elsewhere. This transparent room has provided Envy with an endless supply of entertainment and an endless source of envy. This room made Envy delight and frustrated at the same time.


    Inside her dark, wet and smelly cell, Pride, that golden lioness broke down to tears for the first time in her entire life, completely shattered, beaten and defeated. Her glorious armor stripped. Her wings torn. Her legion of wing lions could not hear her voice. Her miracles were denied inside this dream. It also did not help that Lust has betrayed her so readily, mindlessly chasing after a human¡¯s dick. Even Pride¡¯s prized strength became less than that of a human child. Like a human child, Pride wept helplessly.


    That scene filled Envy with a most morbid pleasure that he had ever felt, something like an orgasm that Lust has always talked about. And yet, knowing that it was not him who did that to Pride just brought out the worst of Envy¡¯s frustration. Even when Envy was still moving that dodgy woman¡¯s pieces in secret, he could not bring Pride to that low.


    And yet, you¡­. You spoiled brat¡­Envy guarded his mouth carefully, knowing that he was without a doubt being monitored. The Prince, as arrogant as he was, he was detailed with action. A detailed person would not leave a stone unturned. Envy knew that he was being tested. Thus, he played along.


    Magnamor had his eyeballs repeated popped and recovered in endless loops.


    Wonten gained two eye holes and a mouth hole.


    Sinintee was locked inside the dirtiest of a cesspool, completely submerged up to his head, cannot even breathe or talk, fearing that shit would get into his mouth and nose.


    Nobody was spared from the Prince¡¯s ire. Not Wonten, not Niwdar, not Sinintee, not Magnamor, not Munezee, nobody.


    Munezee was forced to watch his creations being defeated, tortured, and completely whipped into something else, something less than Demon Lords, something less than Immortals.


    Envy had to actively keep his mind off the endless source of entertainment provided to him by the surrounding environment and focusing on the future instead. The Prince was obviously milking out his revenge while this Divine Dream was still happening.


    He has stopped the progress of time to lash out his fury at every being who dragged him into the Great Game. He must have understood that once this Divine Dream ended, the wrath of every immortal of this world would fall upon him. He must have had a plan. This entitled son of a bitch must have made his preparation a long time ago.


    Those thousands of puppets of Sanguine were not converted in a matter of a day or a second or weeks or months. The Prince must have already converted them and liberated them long before he tossed Sanguine and his bunch into that mirror hall. Every cell, every torture room was designed differently. Every Demon Lord was tortured with a different method. Even the time flow in each and every cell was different.


    And yet, he summoned Envy to this room instead. Therefore, Envy must have a role to play in the Prince¡¯s future plan.


    He must have made his preparation a long time ago¡­ Suddenly, a strange question crept into Envy¡¯s head, ¡°A long time ago?¡± It was a strange question because Envy would not expect himself asking this question. It was a strange question because nobody had paused to ask it.


    ¡°All the way from back then?¡± Envy quickly hid his gaping mouth behind his hands. Envy made an assumption, a mere guess, but he did not dare to believe it. ¡°Assuming that he had predicted this situation would happen when that dodgy woman¡¯s niece met him¡­¡±


    A realization came to Envy.


    ¡°Always assume the worst.¡±


    ¡°Always assume the worst would happen to you.¡±


    Envy has finally remembered that the Prince did say that, twice with the same grin on his lips. ¡°Entitled asshole. Such arrogant,¡± The Doppelganger swallowed his curse before it could come out of his lipless mouth, convinced that the Prince did all of that amount of craziness because he had URLOX¡¯s backing.


    ¡°He has already made his preparation since then, and he had no qualm about telling it to us. Such arrogant. He openly picks a fight with everyone, the Arbiter included¡­ This is madness.¡±


    Envy¡¯s thought was suddenly brought back to that mirror hall where Sanguine, Rasahlu, and Yasubotay have resided for over hundreds of years, dancing, singing and laughing alongside the naked puppets without a trace of intelligence left inside them.


    ¡°Since you don¡¯t know a jackshit about madness, let me show you what madness feels like, what madness looks like, and what madness sounds like.¡± When the Prince said those words, he did not imply those freed puppets. He meant himself.


    More insane than Sanguine, more furious than Wrath, more arrogant than Pride. Envy cursed himself for taking so long to realize something so apparent. That¡¯s why there was no room for envy inside him. He is simply incapable of understanding envy.


    It was then that it became apparent to Envy that these acts of torture and imprisonment were not out of vengeance. ¡°His first declaration of war as well as his mockery. That means the official version of his declaration of war will come out soon.¡±


    The Thousands Faces Demon Lord rolled out his triple-branched tongue for the first time since he was summoned to this transparent room. Envy has understood why the Prince¡¯s taste, smell, and look was so disturbing. He was transparent of envy and yet, filled with everything else.


    This is unfair URLOX. He¡¯s already like this and you granted him even more miracles? This is like totally fair, totally not broken at all. Envy internally complained at the Creators. His voice sounded like someone else, a voice of a person that Envy kept hearing from the Prince¡¯s memory.


    ¡°What am I looking at?¡± Envy asked, realizing that the events and tortures that he has witnessed might not be all real. Pride, for instance, perhaps that lioness has never broken down and cried like that. And perhaps, Niwdar has not been mocked and beaten like that. Perhaps Sinintee was not thrown into that cesspool.


    Envy started to doubt that the Prince even needed him in this war and if Envy had a place inside the Prince¡¯s grand plan at all. ¡°Lust has already been brought. Who else?¡±


    Envy has finally realized that he was being tested from the very moment he was summoned to this transparent room.


    ¡°What madness is this?¡± It finally became transparent to Envy that the Prince was trying to contact with that dodgy woman when he desecrated her altar. ¡°Every Demon Lord is being trapped here, inside this dream.¡± That dodgy woman would not miss such a chance.


    Envy shuddered, ¡°Kharigan!!!¡±


    That detestable symphony of chaos filled the transparent room, that quiet, but steady, cold and unmindful rhythm. The Prince has returned to the room. His hands clapping, ¡°Marvelous, simply marvelous, to reach that conclusion on your own with so little of hints.¡± A human¡¯s laughter has never been so dark. But darker was his applause. Since, no sound in the world could be more insidious than the clapping of hands in Envy¡¯s ears.


    Never again, Envy¡¯s ears could stand the sound of applause.

 V2 Chapter 16: Envy and the Birth of the Betrayer

    His arrogant was that of insanity and delusion. Never had a human been more arrogant in the face of an Immortal, let alone an assembly of Immortals. That prompted the Demon Lord Envy to question if the Prince could be this arrogant and nonchalance without URLOX backing.


    The Prince patted Envy¡¯s shoulder, telling Envy that he was delighted at Envy¡¯s conclusion. Envy faked a small shudder, shrinking his body to give away an air of servitude and weakness, assuming his usual humble stance. In his mind, Envy was pretending that he was talking to Pride, if Pride had a bigger bloat of an ego, if Pride was more mad than Sanguine, and if Pride was more wrathful and vengeful than Wrath.


    ¡°Wine?¡± The Prince snapped his fingers. A crystal flagon with a ruby tinge liquid inside on his left and two transparent goblets on his right. He wore a warm smile, nocking his angle chin toward Envy, making an offer.


    Envy shook his head, committing to his role of looking terrified.


    ¡°Great, you have just saved me from embarrassing myself. No matter how hard I tried, I could only create something similar to wine in taste and odor. I cannot get drunk or having a hangover no matter the amount that I drank.¡± The Prince laughed in deprecation and drained a mouthful of that ruby color liquid, waving his hand. A table and chair appeared.


    ¡°How do you like the view from here, Envy?¡± The Prince knocked himself down on his chair and put his legs on the table as if he has finally got to rest after a day of hard work.


    ¡°Enviable,¡± Envy replied slyly, did not give the Prince his true thought.


    ¡°WAIT?¡± The Prince put down his goblet, eyes wide and round, ¡°You want to take the same test as they did?¡±


    ¡°Test?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, test. Did I say something strange?¡± The Prince furrowed his brows, looking extremely confused. ¡°Oh, I see. You mean to tell me that you want to challenge all of those tests, and not just one. Right?¡± Why didn¡¯t you tell me earlier?¡± That mask of muddiness disintegrated faster than a snowflake in a great fire, be replaced with a look of joy and pure childlike excitement. The Prince put his goblet down on the table. And about to snap his fingers.


    Envy raised his voice a panic, ¡°What are we talking about?¡± Defending himself, inadvertently let his true thought leak out. The Demon Lord of Thousands Faces was suspecting that he was about to be dropped in a torture cell soon if he kept being silent¡­ this wretchedness of a human.


    ¡°Test, what else? I was asking if you are enjoying the sight of these brain dead morons taking their test. You replied, Enviable, which make me think that you wanted to challenge all of these tests. Could I be wrong? NO WAY!!!¡±


    Envy immediately realized that he has made a serious mistake. There was a disconnection between the Prince¡¯s word and his expression. His expression betrayed a mask of dastardly delight but his words and voice were innocent and good.


    ¡°You just said that you were testing them¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, what else does it look like to you? I am obviously giving them a test,¡± the Prince scratched his chin, turning his sight on those torture cells that he has created.


    What test?


    Envy trained his sight on Sinintee, the Great God of War and Civilization himself, who has been trapped inside a cesspool for over several decades, unable to utter a word of curse, unable to open his eyes, unable to open his mouth or release that tight pinch on his nose. He lived his days in the darkness of that smelly cesspool, fearing that thick and muddy liquid of feces would enter him. Then, Wonten, whose face bloodied with newly carved eyeholes and a newly pried mouth hole. Then Wrath, whose head has become a faithful instrument of music on that stage for an exact century while being cheered by that crowds of billions of people. Then, Pride, who was but a shadow of herself, donning a maid cloth, servicing a clone of the Prince with all the respect in the world. Then Sanguine, with his Whisperer and his strategist, who were singing, dancing and praying with those lunatic puppets of his inside that mirror hall. Then Xaara, who has only learned to free his mouth from the lock of time, cursing and swearing, hissing with a maddened fury while still hovering inside the abandoned checkered hall.


    This is torture! Envy held himself back from retorting. He slyly appealed to the Prince¡¯s bloated ego, ¡°Why would you give them these tests?¡± while looking confused and afraid.


    ¡°Wait, hang on. I thought the reason that the Divine Dream exists are for people to be tested, to see how worthy they are, am I not correct? That¡¯s how you people selected your past champion, am I wrong?¡±


    Envy nodded his head by the sheer force of reflex. The Prince ¡°Am I wrong?¡± was spoken with the most unabashed and unapologetic of a tone, with the solidity of power and confidence. His ¡°Am I wrong?¡± was more like ¡°That¡¯s the truth, isn¡¯t it? I know that I am right.¡± A very self-explanatory of a question and an answer.


    ¡°So, I gave them a test, to see if they are worthy. They all want to have me as their champion, I gave them a test to prove themselves if they are worthy of my service or possess the entry level of qualification to be my leader,¡± laughed the Prince, shrugging his shoulder in disappointment. ¡°Until this moment, still none has passed the test, quite disappointing I would say. Because you replied, Enviable, I was under the assumption that you intend to prove your worthiness to me. I did not realize we were talking about different things.¡± The Prince heaved a sigh, a long and sarcastic of a sigh, ¡°My bad.¡±


    Envy found himself stupefied. Wait, so this is not your declaration of war?


    The Prince was back to drinking again as if snacking on the confusion shaded on Envy¡¯s face. One goblet-full of wine, two goblets, three, and four, and before long, he drained the entire flagon of his ruby color wine. ¡°God, sometimes, I wish I could be drunk and stupid while being inside this dream,¡± the Prince wore a crestfallen smile, ¡°There is too much disappointment. And the fact that I have predicted these disappointments before they happened is a major disappointment in itself. And predicting is not even my main job¡­¡±


    The Prince took his sight away from Envy and observing his clones and his prisoners from his seat instead. ¡°When I found Niwdar¡¯s daughter presence inside my dream, I accused her of trespassing. She kept beating me and telling me that her presence inside my dream was something that I should be grateful. She kept telling me that it was a great privilege and this is how you immortals have given out your test to us, mortals. I did not believe her words readily. It is always my nature to doubt. But then, I saw Bloodbeard¡¯s zeal and listened to the description of his dream. I know that there is truth in her words. And then, even Death, she came to my dream and gave me a test. And then as I have expected, all of you, who came into this dream to watch my fate, to see I fail my test and become Death¡¯s champion. You are here.¡±


    As the atmosphere became cold with a sneer, a monster reared its head at Envy, ¡°You know what I thought? Funny. This is funny. This is absolutely funny. All I see is a great crime, an act of intrusion on someone¡¯s privacy, a deception, a pyramid scheme, a disgusting act of brainwashing, you people have the balls to claim that it is an entitlement, a PRIVILEGE,¡± a brightly lit smile spread wide and thin on that monster¡¯s lips, ¡°On what ground, what qualification, and what right do you people claim that your intrusion into someone¡¯s dream is a great privilege to that person? On what qualification do you have to give me a test?¡±


    The Prince drummed his fingers on the table, shooting his dagger glare at Envy.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind being tested at all, in fact, I loved being tested because I will be reminded just how great and awesome I am again whenever I pass my tests. It is extremely gratifying to find out that I am just as great as I think I am. It is always gratifying to be reminded of how great you are again. But taking a test from a bunch of unqualified people is a different story. I don¡¯t like being tested by a bunch of unqualified people. Why? Because even if I passed those tests, there is no meaning. If the test givers were a giant blob of bogusness, that test itself is bogus. There is no gratification in passing such test. Taking such a test is a waste of time. Tell me Envy, can you even feel gratify when you pass a test while knowing that the test is bogus?¡±


    Again, by the sheer force of trained reflex, Envy shook his head before he completely understood the question.


    ¡°That¡¯s the first reason why you are here and not THERE right now,¡± the Prince flexed his thumb, directing Envy¡¯s sight toward the sorriness of a sight that was Flok¨ª, a shadow of Flok¨ª who was talking and laughing to himself in that darkness. ¡°At least, you know that your so-call-TEST is a load of BULLSHIT.¡±


    Envy¡¯s head became blank. This madness, this arrogance¡­. He was hitherto under the assumption that he had a role in the Prince¡¯s future plan and thus making his own plan on that assumption.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°But the fact that you people are so convinced that this so-called-Divine Dream is a privilege, and you kept entering my head regardless of my repeated warnings, I decided to play along to see if my perception were warped or not. You don¡¯t know how wrong you are until you put your belief to the test. So, I test my own belief. I want to see if I were right and you and your people and this whole world were wrong all along. I made Death gave me the most difficult test that she could possibly hand to anyone. Can you guess what test I requested?¡±


    You are insane¡­ Envy cursed in secret, realizing that he has been blinded all along. His senses were keen and acute, but Envy did not see through this human for what he was. You are insane¡­ Envy was blinded by his thought and assumption.


    ¡°Since you and your brain-dead friends are adamant that by simply being an immortal, you have the qualification to test me, I gave myself a try at it. So time, that¡¯s simple, isn¡¯t it? That is the first nucleus of immortality. He who stood the test of time is an immortal. Here I am. A human who has stood the test of time.¡±


    Envy realized that the Prince was telling him, ¡°Get it out of your head, with or without the backing of Death or URLOX, this would happen regardless.¡± The Prince saw through Envy¡¯s blindness and corrected him. The Prince who stood in front of Envy was not entitled to any special power or privilege. He seized those power and privilege with his hands.


    ¡°So, what is it feel like to pass the test of time? Very gratifying to be honest. Because I almost failed, had it not for a push of a brother at the end. It felt great to pass such a test. I cannot tell you just how great and awesome the elation that I felt at that very moment. Such an elation could not be produced from a bogusness of a test. So, I thought, Maybe, these guys know what they were talking about. Maybe, these guys are right. Maybe, this Divine Dream is a blessing. This Divine Dream is a privilege. Maybe, I have been mistaken all along.¡±


    This is beyond the arrogance of a human, Envy thought.


    ¡°Thus, I gave myself another test, to see if I could become the god of this land, the god of this dream. Because that is your belief, right? You people have the qualification to enter my dream because you can perform a real miracle. Am I not correct? Here I am. Inside this dream, I am a human who can perform real miracles and produce magic as great as any god. Therefore, I have earned all the qualifications to give people tests through a Divine Dream according to your belief, am I wrong? No, I am not. Because you people are immortals, you are great, you can perform miracles, you can grant people the gifts of miracles, you can give them magic, and thus, you had the qualification to enter their dream and gave them a test. Am I not correct? Yes, I am. Yes, I am correct about that. Otherwise, I fail to see how you justified coming into someone¡¯s head and giving him a test,¡± the Prince spoke with a fervent passion fueling his speech, the same kind of passion that Sanguine and his subordinate Demon Lords were running on to sing and dance in that mirror hall.


    ¡°But, hold on, I thought, What am I doing here? To be honest with you, for years, I forgot why I took these tests and earn these qualifications in the first place. And then, I remembered. I wanted to test if this so-called Divine Dream is a crime against mankind, a load of bullshit, and if I were correct about it. I have earned my qualifications to give a Divine Dream as a test to people. Therefore, I am giving them their test,¡± the Prince pointed his finger at the mirror hall¡¯s direction.


    ¡°They claimed to be the avenging angels of madness. They claimed to be the Embodiment of Madness. If that is true, they are at the end of the path. They are madness itself and the master of their trade. They cannot be madder than they have already been. They cannot be more insane than they already were. I had a lot of expectation for them,¡± the Prince smiled in sarcasm, ¡°How disappointing! Can you imagine it? The fact that they are currently reaching an arrest at that low level, singing and laughing mindlessly like that, it¡¯s the biggest disappointment. They cannot even arrive at my level of madness. How disappointing! I thought that I have finally found my kind among these immortals. How disappointing!¡±


    That finger then quickly pointed at that cesspool of a torture cell.


    ¡°In front of me, he claimed to know war better than anyone else in this world. He claimed that war is the core of perfection. He claimed that war is the foundation of civilization,¡± A hideous laughter doubled the Prince.


    ¡°So I let him have a taste of what war is like, what war smells like, what war tastes like, what war sounds like, what war looks like. I told him, Show me how you are going to perfect the art of turning that shit into civilization.¡± The Prince allowed that hideous laugh to take him, gasped himself out of the air, ¡°He closed his mouth. He pinched his nose. He closed his eyes. That¡¯s weird, I thought. I thought he loves wars. I thought he could turn war into civilization. He only needs to open his eyes, releases that pinch on his nose to free his hands, and fills his belly with those feces that he loved so much because that is what war is. The moment he did that, he would realize that I have left the key to escape that cesspool at the bottom of the floor. And when he escapes that cesspool, my stupid people would be there to congratulate him and convert themselves to his faith. And that is what civilization looks like.¡±


    So, you have picked a fight with him for real. This is madness. How could you possibly win this war if you picked a fight with both sides?


    ¡°He could have been the first God in the history of Gods to taste what war taste like. Can you imagine the disappointment I felt when I watched him remaining like that for how many years now? Two decades? Three. Four? That does not matter, does it? It¡¯s apparent that he could not stand it, the taste of war that he babbled about, the smell of it and the sight of it. All this time, he was only bullshitting to everyone.¡±


    That laughter slowly died in small gasps of air and a quiet sniffle, ¡°Envy, you look like you have a problem with my tests. Do you?¡± A smile gloating on the Prince¡¯s lips, a bright and warm smile, no longer cold and hideous with sarcasm.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°That saddens me. I only make my test difficult because the reward for passing my test worth such difficulty,¡± the Prince stood from his chair, fixing his cloth, ¡°I will name anyone who passes my test my King. I will devote myself and stop at nothing until I put that person on the Great Throne,¡± the Prince swore in solemn. ¡°It saddens me that many have already dropped out of my test and none have shown any promise of passing my test.¡±


    What madness am I looking at? Envy gaped. Somehow, he knew the question that the Prince is about to ask him before it happened.


    The Prince reached out his hand, cupped and straddled Envy¡¯s chin with a most beautiful of a smile blossoming on his lips. ¡°So, Envy, the Great Thousands Faces Demon Lord, will you take all of my tests and pass them and make me the happiest Champion in the history of the Reign of Chaos?¡± That was the most beautiful smile that Envy has ever seen. It was so inhumanly charming.


    Had the Prince asked this question to Lust, she would probably be foolish enough to do that, Envy thought, and she would be crazy, stupid and broken at the end.


    ¡°I would not dare,¡± Envy doubled his back in a hurry. A Champion who chooses his own Master, what madness is this? His lipless mouth felt a strong and compelling force to spread wide and thin to such thought. And it did. So, he had to double his back to hide it in the most natural reaction.


    The Prince wore a crestfallen smile, ¡°I could never get used to being disappointed even after being trapped inside this dream for such length.¡± His hand was still straddling Envy¡¯s chin with affection.


    Was Envy anyone but himself, he would probably lose his mind and rescind his decision to take away that crestfallen smile on the Prince¡¯s lips and replaced it with that most beautiful smile again.


    But he was Envy. All that he felt was a mix of admiration and hatred, envy. The Creators chose their Champion well. Among the roster of their Great Champions, they chose the Prince.


    And they were rightly so, Envy thought, clearing his throat, looking into the Prince¡¯s dark eyes for the first time. ¡°Why are you telling me all of this? Why did you get me here and not there?¡±


    A light of excitement glistened within the Prince¡¯s eyes, ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± he said. ¡°Finally, we can speak without pretension and lie. Finally, we meet, finally.¡±


    Envy came to the realization that he has just spoken his mind for the first time since he met the Prince. For a short moment, he thought about going back to his humble and terrified look, but no, he has decided not to. There was something inside him screaming at Envy to quit looking miserable and weak in front of this human. That something gushed out, erasing Envy¡¯s reason and better judgment. He stared at the Prince in defiance.


    ¡°Let¡¯s introduce to each other again. I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± the Prince cackled, matching Envy¡¯s defiance with his open display of arrogance.


    ¡°Envy, Demon Lord of the Thousands Faces,¡± Envy matched the arrogance emanated from the Prince¡¯s voice with his mixed emotions laid bare.


    The Thousands Faces Demon Lord tucked his triple-branched tongue out. He was the Doppelganger Demon Lord, the only one of his kind, the Embodiment of Envy. The entirety of his body was now anointed in the mud of envy, fuller and thicker than ever, with the clear reflection of one man on it.


    Never had Envy found himself envious of a human. Demon Lords, yes. Gods, yes. But human, this is the first time. Human is mortal and mortal is weak. Why would a Demon Lord be envious of a human? That thought of scorn no longer existed inside Envy.


    Through his triple-branched tongue, Envy submerged himself in the hidden world of envy. There stood the reflection of a human who was so full of everything else to know envy. The taste of such inhuman madness emanated from that human was far from repulsive. It had an acquired taste, a fine delicacy. The odor of such baffling arrogance resembled Pride, but better, thicker. That envy-free color that filled him no longer had that disturbing feeling about it.


    Envy, for the first time since he came to be, he saw his reflection as a human. Envy was not just envious of this human because of his disposition as URLOX¡¯s Champion.


    EVERYTHING. Envy had finally understood that. I WANT YOUR EVERYTHING.


    Pride was an afterthought, that lioness in maid cloth, she was something like his first love, his first target, meant to be. Pride, Envy would never forget her even if he has already moved on to his next target. Wrath was something like a side dish to snack from time to time. Even Niwdar, Death, and that dodgy woman could not make Envy felt like this. Wonten and Sinintee could not provide Envy such fire.


    I WANT TO BE YOU, BUT BETTER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE.


    Wearing his arrogant smile, the Prince extended his hand, gesturing a handshake. Envy grabbed it, knowing this handshake could potentially kill him. NOT IF I BECAME YOU FIRST. Little it mattered to Envy.


    SO STAY PERFECTLY AS YOU ARE, AND DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME UNTIL THE END. Like they have already did.

 V2 Chapter 17: When the Red Moon is still on the Sky

    When the Red Moon is still on the Sky.


    Lajara could not remember the last time Atuc could sleep like that, a slumber of tranquility, a sleep of peace. Atuc slept like a baby with no dark mist of turbulence inside her dream, without that leaden scene where Atuc tasted the ash of her happiness, without the need for Lajara to intervene with her demonic power.


    Atuc slept like she was that eight years old girl again. There was no moan of the departed. There was no screech of steel meet steel. There was no cracking of fire and embers. There was no shout and curse. There was no mourning tear. There was no reason for Lajara to use her power. This was Atuc¡¯s first true rest in the last seven years.


    But Lajara was not sure if Atuc realized that.


    Waking is the domain of mortals. Slumbers and Dreams are the domain of Gods and Demon Lords, and the dream demons. For that reason alone, the succubi are much envied by other demons but detested by Gods and Demon Lords.


    Dreams are made of the mist of desires, both hidden and open desires. Bathing in the mist of desires, Lajara found the grip of her power. Lajara¡¯s power was at the strongest when Atuc was asleep.


    Since there was nothing for Lajara to do, she thought of resuming writing her diary. It has been so long since the last time Lajara wrote her diary. Perhaps, as long as the number of years that Atuc has kept that accursed being alive. Lajara read the last words that she has written seven years ago.


    ¡­


    Your Majesty, true love means true suffering when that love is no more. I have learned that the more you love, the more painful it would be when that love is no longer exist.


    It is painful to not know love. Our heart is empty without love. But it is a thousand time more painful to experience the loss of your true love. It hurts. It hurts so much that you can no longer be yourself. It hurts so much that you would become someone else to live through and with that pain.


    Your Majesty, that makes me question myself if we were already perfect as we are, a succubus.


    We seek love. We admire love. We romanticize love. We live and die in the name of love.


    Yet, love would always elude us. We are romanticists who were born unable to understand love.


    Perhaps, we are created like that so we would experience less pain in life. Perhaps, we are perfect when we are like this. Perhaps, we should admire love from a distance even when it is within our sight and grasp.


    It¡¯s painful to not know love. But it is even more painful when you know love.


    I felt like I am regretting falling in love.


    ¡­


    Lajara first started writing a spectral diary when she has come to term that she could no longer feel the red ground of Kharigan with her naked feet again. Lajara was a dream demon, a succubus, a daughter of Lust the Beautiful Demon Lord. Was, because right now, she is not so sure what she is now. Her flesh and soul fused with Atuc¡¯s for over two decades. Since that moment, Lajara was neither a human nor a succubus. But even, Lajara retained a few of her demonic power.


    Writing a spectral diary was easy for a dream demon. When Atuc went to sleep, Lajara started writing her diary on the mist of dream, something that every dream demon was capable of. Leaving words behind inside the mist of a mortal¡¯s dream was something the succubus often did. It was like leaving the message to the other succubus, gods and the other Demon Lords, ¡°We were here before you did.¡±


    Lajara considered herself as one of the more talkative individuals among her race. Perhaps, she talked too much, as her sisters would describe her.


    ¡°More love and less talking,¡± as they would always tell her.


    But Lajara could not help it. Talking was one of her many sources of enjoyment in life. She enjoyed kissing with her sisters and making love to them like any other succubus. But she loved talking with them even more.


    So, she has always been the strange one among her people. But that was what others would describe the Succubi and Lust, ¡°Strange¡±. But then, to be labeled as ¡°Strange¡± from the mouth of the other races was strange for what strange is.


    A banshee has once told Lajara that she and her race was strange. But that banshee screamed during the day and shrieked during the night. She shrieked on a dusty day. She shrieked on a sunny day. She shrieked all the time. She shrieked on days are that neither beautiful nor ugly, and yet she would look at a succubus and label a succubus with one word, ¡°Strange.¡± Thus, Lajara laughed and pushed that banshee down, sealing that shrieking mouth with her full lips, and asked the banshee who was strange one when she was done with kissing.


    ¡°Make love, not war.¡± That is the way of the Succubi. That is Lust¡¯s favorite words and that¡¯s how a succubus was expected to live within the succubi¡¯s society.


    Love was a succubus¡¯ calling.


    Even back then, when the First Divine War was reaching its climax, the time when every miracle existed for two purposes, either for destruction or protection, nothing else.


    Lust was on Escana just like many other Demon Lords. But not for war, not for blood or carnage, not for madness or destruction, not for vengeance, not for domination, not for greatness or morbid enjoyment. Love. Love was her calling. It has always been, true love. ¡°A succubus who knows true love is the happiest succubus,¡± as Lust has constantly reminded Lajara and her sisters when Lajara was on Kharigan.


    Everything that the Beautiful Demon Lord has ever done, they were done in the name of love and the quest of true love.


    Every succubus has her own definition of what true love means, just like everyone would have her own definition of a perfect lover is.


    After all, no love is made equal. No loin are created equal. Searching for true love was almost an imprinting instinct of a succubus. And yet, love was an endless pursuit, love was an extremely difficult goal for a succubus, true love was an even more unattainable goal. Even Lust has yet to find out her true love, and she was queen and the most beautiful succubus. If Lust has already found her true love, the number of the succubus would have stopped increasing.


    Pride was the closest to such a being, an ideal lover, a perfect lover to Lust and every succubus. It was not difficult to see why. Most succubi swooned and fainted on the spot when they saw Pride for the first time. There was nothing strange about that. Such was the common occurrence in a succubus¡¯s life, swooning and fainting. When that tuck inside a succubus¡¯ heart became too strong, her legs weaken and forgot to breathe.


    Pride, the Golden Lioness was one among of those Demon Lords that possessed two forms, a titanoid form that she was born with and a conception form that manifested from her authority and miracle.


    Pride, was strong, but not just strong due to her authority and the miracles that she wielded.


    Her strength reflected in her look and her confidence. Her strength reflected in both of her forms, titanoid and conception.


    Pride¡¯s conception form was beautiful. But her titanoid form was even more. Her long mane braided and cared with a golden luster. Her prized honey-colored face has remained half hidden behind her elegant feline mask, always. Pride¡¯s metal mask was a work of ingenuity unlike that grey veil on the Goddess Niwdar¡¯s face. Pride and Niwdar, Demon Lord and Goddess, the two of them wore mask and armor as if their mask and armor were their normal cloth. And yet, they could not be more different.


    Niwdar¡¯s veil was there to hide her face. But that metal mask on Pride¡¯s countenance served to highlight the contrast between her two majestic eyes. Pride¡¯s eyes were the day and night of Escana. One was bright like the sun, hot and fiery, framed by a golden comb made of long lashes and thin brows. The other one was a dusky sky, shadowed by the mask, deep, violet and cold. That mask was genius. It revealed only half of the breathing-taking piece of artwork that was revered as the Perfect Demon Lord. It left the other half to people¡¯s imagination, adding an acquired mysterious touch to Pride¡¯s beauty. Other than Munezee and Lust, nobody has ever seen the wholesomeness of Pride¡¯s beauty.


    Where Niwdar¡¯s multi-scales armor removed all traces of feminity out of her image, Pride¡¯s armor existed to give praise to her own beauty.


    Pride¡¯s figure was riveted with the ideal muscles and sturdiness of a man but filled with the ideal grace and the golden curves of a woman. Pride was a woman but her appearance was like the ideal fusion of a man and woman. She was a paragon of both world, but not just a paragon, the paragon. When Pride walked, it was a sight to behold, the slayer of a succubus, a sight worthy of dying. Her strides were regal, wide and firm with confidence. Every stride was power and authority, but soundless and graceful like that of a cat. When Pride walked, her long and golden legs crossed naturally, her fertile hips would sway seductively. Such was a sight that no succubus could resist staring even if staring could cost their consciousness and embarrassment in public.


    Some succubus preferred the sight of a man¡¯s body over a woman¡¯s body. Others argued otherwise, forming their own respective factions. Some had a neutral preference between the two. But every succubus idolized Pride. Pride¡¯s appearance being the paragon of both world, was so illegal that it had to be a sin.


    When Pride talked, it was an ideal song of the strong and the powerful. It was always quiet and slow like the coming of a season, but every word was magnetic and magical. Pride could talk for days and nobody would complain.


    And, Pride has remained that way, the closest to be an ideal lover of any succubus, a projection of every succubus¡¯ ardent thought, an idol to admire. True love is an ideal, and ideal is perfect. But the reality is not. Reality is, nobody is perfect, not even Pride, the Golden Lioness, the Perfect Demon Lord.


    Perhaps, that was why Pride would remain the closest to be an ideal lover of Lust. She could not show Lust what true love looked like. But Pride was not the one at fault, never Pride. No succubus has been born with the ability to experience love, let alone true love.


    Reading her own words from seven years ago and reminiscing her of her past, Lajara inadvertently smiled.


    Seven years, that was a very long time for a human. Yet, it was very short for a succubus, like a blink of an eye. Just like Lust, a succubus¡¯ beauty would remain untouched by the passage of time. But unlike Lust, a succubus¡¯ life could be taken by blades and magic.


    Seven years, that should have been a blink of an eye for Lajara. But Lajara felt that she must have lived an eternity in these seven years.


    Perhaps, that was what resignation truly means.


    Lajara found herself became infinitely wiser in these seven years. Lajara felt that she has become much wiser, perhaps wiser than even Munezee the Maker of Demon Lords. Perhaps, that was just her imagination.


    Looking back, that was close.


    Neither Lajara nor Atuc has said a single word about that, Atuc¡¯s secret plan to carve the most wicked wedge on Bloodbeard¡¯s heart. The two of them bantered, cursed, mocked and got angry at each other. But neither spoke a word of that topic. Though, even if Atuc had never mentioned her ultimate intention to Lajara, Lajara could see it. She has been by Atuc¡¯s side for over twenty years.


    Atuc used Lajara¡¯s powers to grow that mole on her chest and even turned the color of her hair into a cascade of river reed. She learned to talk like Bloodbeard¡¯s mother and walk like his mother. She acted according to the ideal image of his mother that Bloodbeard had inside his heart.


    Slowly, Atuc would turn that ideal image of a mother inside Bloodbeard¡¯s heart into her image without him even knowing. And when Bloodbeard was ready, ready for real love, ready to become a changed man, ready to move on, Atuc would make him kill her with his own hands and then live the rest of his life with a wedge in his heart, a wedge so large that it could never close. Atuc would make Bloodbeard entered the hall of Mistress Death with that wedge inside his heart remained unsealed after he has but lived out his life.


    That was Atuc¡¯s revenge. Nasty and cruel. In a way, Atuc reminded Lajara of Flok¨ª when he was not smiling, or Yasubotay when he was scheming. Sometimes, mortals and Demon Lords, the difference between them are power. One wielded the force of miracles at their command whereas the other could only beg for miracles. One possessed the power to bend reality while the other had none.


    Which was why Lajara was glad that she was a succubus. Revenge, destruction, carnage, madness, such nasty things had nothing to do with a succubus¡¯ love life.


    Lajara found no enjoyment in using her power to please a man like Bloodbeard. She loathed using her power to court his wives under his command while he was watching and courting a poor random woman to death. A succubus made love to whoever she loved, wherever and whenever she wanted. If it was forced, it was not Love. It was insulting that Lajara had to court a person under another person¡¯s command, especially when that command came from a man like Bloodbeard. Lajara hated doing such things. But she hated watching Atuc did them even more. It was even more insulting for her to watch Atuc obeyed such command.


    Living through these seven years while knowing Atuc¡¯s revenge plan, it was painful. Lajara found no amusement in watching Atuc slept with the very person who took away her happiness. Lajara had no delight when she had to live from place to place while being constantly surrounded by a bunch of savages.


    ¡°There is so much more in life and in Escana.¡±


    Escana was the dream of every demon on Kharigan. The color of the sky of Escana changed routinely, colorful, but the ground of Escana was even more colorful. On Kharigan, there was only one color, red. The sky of Kharigan never changed, always cloudy, filled with red dust. The ground of Kharigan was red, but its water was even redder, like blood. On Kharigan, there was only red stones, demons, and Demon Lords. But on Escana, there was so much more.


    There was more in Escana than just a playground for the game of wars and destination to settle disputes between Demon Lords and Gods. There was more in Escana than the vanquished kingdom of Kraig¡¯ondor and the ruined city of Scicily. There was so much more in Escana than just war and unhappiness. Escana was the dream of every demon on Kharigan. For that reason alone, demons would risk their lives to enter Escana regardless of the pact between their Demon Lords and the gods. Escana was the realm of mortals, but it was the dreamland of every demon.


    ¡°So don¡¯t waste your happiness like this.¡±


    But, Atuc has never lent Lajara an ear since that ashen day.


    There was that time when Lajara was so close on slitting Bloodbeard¡¯s throat while he was asleep. She has already braced herself to be hated by Atuc for the rest of her life. She has already steeled herself to be hated. She loved Atuc. Her love was real, so she could do that.


    But Atuc woke up in time and stopped Lajara.


    She put a limit on Lajara¡¯s control even though she has never done that before. Atuc was simply too adamant on her quest for vengeance to be talked out of it. The Atuc that Lajara was so very different from the Atuc that Lajara knew. She was so very different from that precious little girl who extended her hands to save Lajara on that cold rainy day.


    Since Lajara has resigned. She lived a millennium worth of length in those seven torturous years, counting leaden day after leaden day, stranding from place to place with the worst kind of companions at her side. She could not comprehend how Atuc could go along and live that kind of life. There was no joy or love in living that kind of life.


    Sighed aloud, Lajara decided to turn a new page on her spectral diary and continued from there.


    ¡­


    It¡¯s over. Atuc has done it, and the two of us are still alive. Finally, it¡¯s over.


    This is like a miracle. Someone has actually appeared and put an end to my torment. A prince. His appearance is like a miracle. He is so unreal that he has to be a dream.


    And yet, it¡¯s over. I do not dare to believe it. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s over. My torment is over.


    Your Majesty, I cannot tell you just how much I want to meet you right now. I thought I would have died in obscurity. I have resigned to die a meaningless death, an unfulfilled death, a leaden death, the kind of death that we hated the most. A succubus should die fulfilled in the lushness of love. Yet, I have already resigned to that fate.


    But here I am. I am still alive. Your Majesty, there are so much I want to talk to you. I am overwhelmed with joy.


    I have learned that a succubus who knows true love might not be the happiest succubus.


    Perhaps, I am not even the right succubus to say that for I am neither resembling that of a succubus nor human now. I am something in between. But perhaps, that is why I can experience love as a succubus.


    It¡¯s hard to describe this love in words. I don¡¯t know if I could describe this love with ¡°beautiful¡± or ¡°ugly¡±, ¡°good¡± or ¡°bad¡±, ¡°perfect¡± or ¡°imperfect¡±. Your Majesty, I don¡¯t know how to describe it to you before. Even now, I don¡¯t know how to describe it to you of the difference between the love I felt in the time when I was a succubus and that love I have experienced after I have become something that was once a succubus.


    Even now, I still feel that longing for a better love, a true love, an ideal love. I still feel that strong desire to live and die in the name of love.


    But even so, I am perfectly contented with the way I am now.


    I have learned that even when my heart is still filled with love, it could be very painful and unhappy.


    But I¡¯m content with my current love.


    If I live, I would live for Atuc. If I die, I would die for her as well. I have lived through these seven years for her sake with the resignation to die a most unfulfilled death. I think I could live for her sake for the rest of my life.


    But, I am conflicted right now. If Atuc is my true love, what is he? I¡¯m being very conflicted.


    He¡¯s a prince. He saved me. He ended my torment. So I should fall in love with him, right? I have always loved that kind of stories. But, that prince, what is he?


    He¡¯s so unreal that he could not be real. And yet, he ended my torment. So, he must be real. I already made love with him, so I know that he is real. I would like to believe that he is real. Otherwise, both Atuc and I have been deeply infected with his Majesty Sanguine¡¯s poison.


    That prince, what is he?


    He¡¯s like a fantasy becomes reality. Does beautiful man like him really exist elsewhere? Or is he the only one of his kind? I have known that there is Your Majesty and Her Majesty Pride. And then him. He is like the dream of a dream demon.


    That prince, what is he? Your Majesty, I wish you could see him for yourself.


    He made me jealous. He talked with Atuc as if he has known her for years. But the one making love with him was me.


    That prince, what is he?


    ¡­


    ¡°Do you hear me? Stupid demon, I ask what were you doing?¡± Atuc¡¯s huffy voice rung inside Lajara¡¯s head. Atuc was the kind of woman who always wakes up angry and cranky every morning. So her voice could be loud, especially loud in a first few counts when she was waking up. But her voice was especially loud this time.


    ¡°Oh? You wake up, insane bitch. I did not notice. You were sleeping like a corpse,¡± Lajara fired back with an edge in her voice. Lajara clicked her tongue, realized that she has been so invested in her diary to not notice that Atuc was up.


    ¡°My head hurts. Stupid demon, what were you doing while I was asleep? What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?¡±


    ¡°Bitch, you have two legs. If you want to know what time is it? How about crawling out of your bed and having a good look at the sun? By the way, insane bitch, just in case you have forgotten, you have two eyes as well. How about opening them.¡±


    ¡°Stupid demon, you cannot even answer simple questions. Have you always been this stupid?¡± Snapped Atuc.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Insane bitch, open your eyes and look into a mirror first before asking me that question,¡± Lajara did not hold her anger back either.


    Then without any signal, ¡°I¡¯m so done with you,¡± Lajara found herself sighing in depression as if she was mimicking Atuc¡¯s reaction with perfect timing. That thought irked her, so Lajara clicked her tongue to suppress her anger, but so was Atuc, again, at the same time.


    ¡°Stop mimicking me, stupid demon.¡±


    ¡°Insane bitch, stop mimicking me.¡±


    Now, Atuc was not the only one who is angry and cranky.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    They were forsaken, those creatures. The Observer knew that, concluding after she drew out the knowledge from her wealth of wisdom.


    The Observer¡¯s creator, Lady Eogaill would not give them any special attention. Their tragedy and suffering were just one among the countless. Why would she save them when she had not saved others?


    They were pitiful creatures. They were forsaken by the God of Justice himself. Otherwise, they would not be like that. The God of War and Civilization would not even look at them for how hideous and savage they were. They were his creatures, his creations, born from his godly image, but no longer. The Mother of Nature, the Merciful Goddess would extend her mercy on them. Her miracle would close their wounds, mend their broken bones. But they would remain what they were, forsaken creatures, neither the children of Nature nor the children of Civilization, but something else. They were the bastardized creatures of both worlds, forsaken and fated to meet Death as the forsaken children of the gods.


    But, there he was, the biggest moron.


    Even when these creatures had forsaken themselves, and even when the gods had forsaken them, there was someone who would not.


    He was a moron, in all aspects and definition of a moron.


    He was in no condition to worry about anyone else other himself. He was being watched and tested. His fate would be determined by how he would perform his test. And he knew that. His test had nothing to do with these worthless forsaken creatures. His test was something else. He knew that while playing with his magic coins. And he drew the most correct conclusions, that he should not associate himself with them.


    With a single look at those forsaken creatures, he concluded that they were beyond the saving grace of the gods. He looked at them and realized that he should give up on them just like the Gods have already done. Gods had a myriad of problems to worry about, but these forsaken creatures were not one among those myriad. So was he. If he was worried, he should have worried about himself first. That man understood that truth without anyone giving him any hint.


    ¡°Useless, expect nothing less from them. They will be a burden. Stay away.¡±


    So smart a man, he coldly calculated his lost and gain, leaving his emotion out of the calculation. And yet, his final conclusion was magically stupid. It was so stupid that it was magical.


    ¡°But I¡¯m OP anyway. Let¡¯s give them some handicaps.¡± Quietly, he muttered the words in his foreign tongue. He did not even realize that he has vocalized his true thought at that moment. He did not even believe in what he said. But he went along with that conclusion anyway.


    So smart a man, and yet, his final conclusion was stupid, so incredibly stupid that it had to be a work of magic. Someone must have cast some unknown magic spells and brainwashed him to arrive at such a stupid conclusion. That conclusion was so stupid that it cannot be anything but magical induced.


    But then, the Observer witnessed a different form of magic.


    Those forsaken animals that appeared to be human, they looked like a human in form. But that was about it. They barked like dogs. They moved on all fours like dogs. They ate like dogs. They acted like dogs. They were dogs in human form. They lived, but not quite. That was not living. That was surviving. They survived by the virtue of turning themselves into dogs. They survived by erasing their name. They survived by forgetting their human tongue. They survived by forgetting that they were once human. They were animals that were too afraid to sleep, fearing that when they closed their eyes, that moment would be their last.


    Their eyes were feral. They were the eyes of beasts. Eyes that were terrified of Sinintee¡¯s best creations, terrified of the creatures who were touched and changed by the First Flame. Their eyes, they were distrustful eyes, scarred, unyielding to the force of fatigue, terrifying of sleep and darkness, desperately clinging to the final piece of their own life, a fragmented piece of their survival instinct, their fear of Death. Their eyes, they were hollow. Without a dream, without hope, without purpose. They were eyes that trusted no one, not their master, not themselves and not even their own kind especially those from the same pack. They were not even dogs but something lesser. It would be a direct insult to Niwdar¡¯s intelligence if someone actually identified them as ¡°Dogs.¡±


    But there they slept. They slept as if that was the first time they had slept in a year. They snored. Loudly and unguardedly.


    Human¡¯s snore can be very loud, that the Observer has learned from listening to the snoring of Prince¡¯s companions. The Observer was there when the Prince lit that hearth and whistled his lullabies for those scarred feral animals.


    They slept a most peaceful sleep, a deep sleep, a true rest without a phantom of their tormentor haunting their dream.


    It was magical.


    The Observer was not sure if that magic came from the songs, the food, the water, the smile, the cold words of harshness, the warm words of assurance, that orange lit hearth, or the absence of the cruel tormentor. The Observer witnessed magic spells being cast without a single prayer offered to any god or goddess or Demon Lord.


    The reality was being warped at that moment and from that moment.


    There is hope for them, those forsaken beasts. Just a tiny glimmer of hope whereas there was none before. It was a miracle regardless of whether those forsaken creatures realized it or not.


    That is magic for what magic is.


    That, in itself and of itself is already a miracle to the Observer.


    That was the first time the Observer witnessed that kind of magic even though she has been by the side of the Prince for so long.


    It was baffling that the Prince has never used such magic on himself, not once.


    Is it normal for a human to purposely gag himself in his sleep? The Observer asked herself, searching for that specific knowledge from the wealth of wisdom that her creator has bestowed on her.


    The Lady of the Light, the Lady of Light, the Bright Lady, the Wise Lady, the Goddess of Wisdom, the Goddess of Truth, the reclusive Goddess. She had many titles. She was the firstborn of Naharis.


    Eogaill was her name.


    That was about everything that the Observer knew about her mistress, nothing else other than the mission that her creator has given to her. ¡°Stay by his side. Observe him. Report.¡± That was the Observer¡¯s mission and the sole purpose of her life.


    The Observer was created to observe him, the Prince of The Alliance.


    Her creator has bestowed the Observer many gifts alongside a gift of wisdom, a gift so great that even the Observer herself could not possibly comprehend its greatness after she has lived out her life and purpose. The Observer viewed herself as a newborn baby with the wisdom of an immortal who has live through the eon of time.


    She possessed the wisdom of an Immortal, both as a goddess and a Demon Lord. She had the wisdom of a man. She had the sagacity of a woman. She even possessed the experience of an intelligent monster. She had the wisdom of a dwarf, an elf, an orc, a Garuda and so much more, including a fragmented piece of wisdom of an Earthling. This gift was a library, an archive of wisdom of a much smaller scale when compared to the Forbidden Library, yet so much larger than any library on Escana.


    Such was the gift of her mistress and creator, bestowed to the Observer so that she could monitor the Prince. The Observer was late to question why her mistress has armed her with an entire library of wisdom to monitor one man. By the time she consciously started questioning the meaning of her gift, the Observer has already had the answer.


    He was an abnormal being among the most abnormal beings, an aberrant. He was like a rare and exotic animal. Putting him inside a cage with all the reigning Demon Lords, and people would flock to that cage watch him rather than watching the Demon Lords.


    He, he was not a prince. He was the Prince, as every Demon Lord, their chosen champions and their demons have decided to call him by this title. The Prince.


    The Observer did not know much about her creator other than the amount of knowledge that her miniature library has given her. She did not even know the purpose of her mission. Her mistress did not reveal it to her, perhaps out of her cautious nature. But it mattered not. Even when the Observer knew not of the reason of her mission, she knew that she existed only to observe him.


    Without him, without the Prince, she would not exist. There was no other reason for the Observer to exist. For that reason alone, she was grateful.


    Since, the Observer has been by his side, closer to him than his own shadow, inseparable, unbeknown to him and unseen to anyone else.


    She was the light. But not all lights are visible. The Observer was invisible. She was the darkness. But she had neither a shadow nor a form. She was one with the light. She was one with the darkness. She cannot be seen, heard or felt by the eyes and ears of the mortals of Escana, not even by the sharpest eyes and ears of Mother Nature¡¯s greatest creations, not even by the concealed night wings of Mistress Death¡¯s agents. She cannot be touched for the Observer was both the light and the darkness. One cannot touch the light, one cannot touch the darkness. And it went both ways.


    The Observer could not touch anything either. Even when the Observer desired nothing more than removing that gag from the Prince¡¯s mouth, she could only watch. Even when she was so close to the Prince, so close that she should feel the warmness of his breath, so close that she could listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat, she felt nothing. Light cannot touch. Even when she was closer to him than anyone else, she could not touch him.


    Light could not feel. Neither could darkness. It was already a miracle that a being like her, a being constructed from the light and the darkness had sentience. Neither the Light nor the Darkness should be able to think, and yet, that was what the Observer.


    She was a great miracle created from the authority of the Goddess of the Light, Truth, and Wisdom.


    Her creator has given the Observer many gifts, but a name to identify herself was not one of them.


    She called herself the Observer. Her task was to observe the Prince, without that task, she was nothing. Thus, Observer was her name, the name she has chosen for herself, just in case the Prince discovered her presence and decided to talk to her.


    The Observer knew that it was just a wishful imagination. She could not be seen or heard or felt. She had no shadow and no form.


    How could the Prince discover her? He did not possess the eyes of truth. He was granted no miracle to perceive the Observer¡¯s form. Just in case, the Observer reassured herself so very often. She knew that she could never count him out.


    She has always by his side and yet, the two of them had never talked to each other.


    Sometimes, the Observer would imagine herself talking with the Prince just like his friend. The Prince loved talking. He loved smiling but he loved laughing even more. He loved singing. He loved dancing. It was almost sad that the Prince would do all of that, by himself, to himself while he crossed that plain.


    The Prince loved being in the good company of his friends and people. Yet, since he has arrived at Escana, he often found himself in the company of loneliness.


    The Observer, she knew not what it felt like to have a friend. She knew what kind of being that a friend is, her wealth of wisdom told her. But, she knew not what it felt like to have a friend.


    The Prince talked to himself so very often. So was the Observer, as she has learned that she was infected by the Prince¡¯s habit. She thought that maybe the two of them could be friends. She could take away his loneliness and the Prince could teach her what it feels like to have a friend.


    The Observer was observing the Prince today as well. Her task remained the same. There was nothing unusual about her task. But if there was anything unusual about her task, it would be the Prince. It would always be the Prince, he would always be the unusual one. His action always contradicted with her wealth of wisdom.


    He has slept since the early of yesterday dusk. Half a day has gone by and he has slept without any sign of waking up. The four days before that, he did not sleep a wink to make sure that no Immortals could enter his mind and see through his plan.


    Picking a fight against an immortal, the Prince was not the first. And he would not be the last. The Prince was just another fool among the billions of fools who have existed before him and then after him. But if there was any difference to distinct the Prince from those fools, it would be URLOX¡¯s prophecy. URLOX boldly predicted that the Prince would win. That was the only difference. URLOX placed their bet on him.


    As usual, the Prince slept with his hand towel balled-up inside his mouth, gagged him, making his breathing labored, difficult and out of rhythm. The Prince did that to himself after he has barricaded the door and told his bodyguard to prevent anyone from entering his room.


    How often a human would purposely gag himself in his sleep? The Observer asked herself still. She materialized herself into her mistress¡¯ form, trying to take away that gag from the Prince¡¯s mouth in vain. Even when she took her mistress¡¯ form, she could not touch.


    The Observer could not find another instance where a human would routinely gag himself in his sleep. She had not found another similar case from her miniature library of wisdom.


    The Prince was aware of his sleep-talking habit. He was aware that he talked about many things in his sleep. He was aware that he could not control the things that he spoke while being asleep.


    In his sleep, he would often weep without any reserve. He would thrash his body around. He would scream like a dying man. He would shriek like Echo, the Banshee Queen. He would curse, infusing his words with the combined hatred and anger of a thousand curses. He would often howl like a predator claiming its territory. Sometimes, he laughed. But not all laughter were made equal. Hysterically, sarcastically, happily, hedonistically, manically, hollowly, loudly, softly. All manner of laughter. Sometimes, he went back and forth between crying and laughing, sometimes both at the same time. He would laugh with the face of a man who was crying. He would cry with the look of a man who was laughing.


    The Prince slept at night while he crossed the plain. The most foolish decision on his part, perhaps due to his lack of wisdom about the world of Escana. He was alone by himself without anyone watching his back, yet, he slept at night.


    It was so stupid of a decision that it was unintentionally genius, mostly due to the Prince¡¯s sleep-talking habit.


    No predator dared to approach him at night when he was asleep and vulnerable.


    The night was the domain of nocturnal hunters, those that developed better eyesight than their morning counterparts, also with keener nose, sharper ears, graceful footsteps that made no sound and the ability to kill their target within a single strike.


    The Great God Sinintee often argued that only the races that were touched by the First Flame were capable of perceiving and creating strategies and weapons.


    Niwdar has never bothered to argue. Her creations, those that were untouched by the First Flame, those that were looked down upon by the Great God, they proved otherwise.


    To survive Sinintee¡¯s creations, creatures who were touched by the First Flame, those who mostly slept at night and woke up at dawn, these wild creatures of Niwdar developed their own methods. The strong ones empowered their muscles even further or sharpened their fangs and claws or attuned themselves with magic. Their methods and their weapons varied to suit their purpose.


    But the weak ones simply chose to avoid the light of the day and embraced the darkness of the night. And then there were those who trained themselves to hunt and kill in the lightlessness of the night. Deadly killers, yet, none of them dare to venture near the Prince at night.


    It was almost bizarre that the snow wolves would attack the Prince during the daytime and not night time. They were a better-developed hunters than most. They hunted in a pack. They could hunt in day time or night time. But they were deadlier hunters at night time. But these wild dogs did not dare to approach the Prince at night due to the all the strange sounds that he made in his sleep. They had never heard such noises. They would probably never wish to see what creature would make such terrible sounds. Those terrible noises sounded like the constant shrieks of a dying animal in one moment, then the howl of a predator on the prowl, then something else, something inhuman, demonic and unnatural.


    The long claw badgers, the most fearless animals of their size would choose to stay in their holes.


    The crying cats, the smaller and more graceful cousins of the smiling cats, but equally deadly. They were invisible hunters in the darkness of the night. But even in bright moonlit nights, their presence was invisible, had it not for the cries of the lesser animals warnings for their fellow herbivores of the cat¡¯s presence from its body odor. But even the crying cats stayed away from the Prince¡¯s vicinity.


    In his sleep, the Prince was more insane than an insane man. And animals, they were keener than man, they could sense that and stay away from him. He was less than a Prince and more of a deranged Demon Lord. If the Observer did not possess such an abundant wealth of wisdom from her mistress, she would have thought the Prince was cursed to be possessed by legions of starving shadowless demons and thirsty dream demons in his sleep, and all of them just wanted a piece of him.


    Mortals go to sleep when they need rest. But watching the Prince, the Observer thought otherwise. It has always been a battle, always. Whenever sleep came to him, it was always a battlefield. It has always been a struggle, a seemingly endless battle until the Prince came out of his sleep.


    It was as if the Prince was resting while he was awake and battling a war when he went to sleep.


    His hand towel, that small square of nylon that he always kept inside his pocket, it was often balled-up and entered his mouth whenever the Prince went to sleep. He would not gag himself when he was dead drunk, more like he passed out from the wine and could not bother to gag himself. Other time, it seemed like he has forgotten about its existence. He did not gag himself either when he was around that spider girl. Perhaps, he was under the influence of his pride, thinking that because she had already discovered his habit and there was no point to covering that up.


    The Prince would not always gag himself, but often. Very often when he was alone.


    It is such a strange thing to do, the Observer has always thought whenever she saw the Prince did that to himself. The Observer could not understand the Prince¡¯s reason for doing that. Perhaps, she would never do. It¡¯s hard to understand the Prince¡¯s thought. The Observer realized that she was not the only one who wished to understand his thought. She was not the first and she would not be last.


    The Observer could only presume.


    It was as if he had no wish for anyone to listen to his sleep-talk. But it was bizarre that he would put that gag into his mouth when he was alone. It was as if he had no wish to listen to his own sleep-talk.


    If sleep was a battlefield and dreams were foes to be vanquished, that gag was the Prince¡¯s weapon, his only weapon, and armor. The Prince was a madman who arrived at a battlefield armed with a hand towel. But with or without that weapon, he would embrace his battle fearlessly.


    It was like the Prince was trying to sleep like a normal human by gagging himself. It was like he wished to silence himself to make himself appeared normal.


    But with or without that hand towel gagging his mouth, the Prince¡¯s sleep has always been shallow. He woke up very often during his sleep. The Observer has seen him waking up seven to ten times a night while he was crossing that plain. But with that gag inside his mouth, that number would mount up to twenty and sometimes thirty. It was as if he could not sleep properly without getting himself completely dead drunk or exhausted.


    The Prince snored painfully loud when he put that gag to himself. Human¡¯s snore can be very loud, that the Observer has learned from listening to the snoring of Prince¡¯s companions. But the Prince¡¯s snore when he gagged himself was something else.


    The Observer was not sure if that kind of sound could be classified as a snore. It was loud, painfully loud. That kind of noise was terrifying to listen to, unnatural and painful to one¡¯s ears.


    That noise was so much worse compared to his usual sleep-talking.


    It was the kind of noise that broke a person¡¯s heart if that person had any amount of affection for Prince. It was the kind of noise that brought delight to one¡¯s ears if they were the Prince¡¯s enemies.


    It was the kind of noise that changed the color of his face, from his normal skin color to pale white to the alarming pink and the urgent red, and sometimes that greenish purple when he did not wake himself up in time to remove that gag.


    That noises sounded like a series of snorting sounds, dreadfully uneven and every snort sounded like the last. But it was not the kind of snorting of contempt or arrogance that the Prince made when he was awake. It was the kind that a human body made when it starved for air. It was the kind that was made by a pair of tortured lungs that starved for air and desperate to live.


    It was like a scream for help, a desperate plea of a cornered soul that was muffled by one¡¯s bravado. But, sometimes, muffled words would leak out of that gag. It was fury for whatever fury was.


    It was a growl, a growl but more like a howl, a suppressed howl out of deliberation. It was like a bottled howl of an angry heart. If the heart of a human could only howl and did not know how to beat, the Observer was the first one Escana to find out what that sound was like.


    It was like a choke, a choke of one¡¯s dying lungs, a choke of one¡¯s broken heart. It was the kind of choke that took away many things. It was the kind of choke that made the nose forgot that it could be used to regular the air inside a human¡¯s body. It was the kind of choke that was self-inflicted. It was just one choke after another. Each choke was painful, loud and desperate. It was the kind of choke that sounded grim and ominous. It was shallow and abrupt. It was the kind that sounded extremely precious and valuable to one¡¯s ears, the kind that every single one of them sounded like the last before coldness came and took away the strength and warmness from a man¡¯s body, leaving him rigid and unresponsive.


    Just like that, the Prince would always choke himself out of his sleep. He woke up to fill his lungs with many mouthfuls of nocturnal winds before slowly going back to sleep again, putting that same gag that has almost killed him inside his mouth again. And he would repeatedly do that until morning came.


    While she was accompanying him through that plain, the Observer thought that one day, the Prince might kill himself with that gag. She found herself fearing for him and his safety more than he did to himself. If he died, the Observer would lose her only purpose in life. If he died, her mistress might return the Observer back to what she was once before. Just Light and Darkness. Normal light. Normal Darkness. Nothing else, nothing special, nothing sentient.


    And now, that fear revealed itself.


    This time, he has not woken up once. The Prince has not woken up to remove that gag from his mouth once since yesterday. He has slept for almost half a day and he was still sleeping.


    There exist three Immortals whose authority could kill a mortal in his sleep. All three of them have injected their astral form into the Prince¡¯s dream now. If the Prince failed, they could kill him. But not if that gag would kill him first. His entire head has been colored in that reddish purple for a while now. His snore was excruciating to the Observer¡¯s ears. And she should not feel it, that kind of pain. Light should know no pain. Neither should darkness. And yet, it was excruciating.


    It was like the Prince¡¯s body was trying to swallow down that gag to save itself and that gag became stuck at the entrance due to its size, making it worse for the body to find air.


    The Observer had no idea if the Prince has meant for this to happen to him. The Observer had no idea if the Prince was aware of his current condition. But if he was aware of this before he went to sleep, the Observer thought, that would mean he has fully intended to commit suicide if his plan failed.


    If that was true, the Prince has won regardless, a moral victory. Even when the other Immortals have won the physical battle, the Prince would win the moral battle. In his death, he showed every immortal his defiance. They could not make him change his decision. They could not change him. They could not take away anything from him, not even his life because he was the one who did that. He took his own life. It was almost terrifying to the Observer when she saw the length that Prince would go to defend his pride and dignity.


    A thought surfaced from within the depth of the Observer¡¯s mind, a memory, but not her memory. His.


    ¡°It was such a Fearless¡¯ thing to do, isn¡¯t it? WHY? Why would you even ask that kind of question? I am Fearless. You are Stupid or what? Must I introduce myself again?¡± The Prince wore a most sarcastic smile on his lips. ¡°But also, utterly stupid. I know.¡± He laughed. ¡°So what? What matter is that I caught you, demon. Being stupid is the fastest way to capture a demon like you. If I appear too strong, too invincible and too smart, you would not even dare to attack me. But if I am weak and stupid, your kind would deliver yourself to me. I don¡¯t even have to track you down. That saves me the effort, doesn¡¯t it? I dedicated myself to be the most stupid man in the world for that reason. This move, in chess and in ROC, it is called a gambit. So, now demon, do yourself a favor, help yourself, ask yourself the fucking question. WHY AM I MONOLOGUING LIKE THIS TO YOU?¡±


    The Prince made no sense. His thought made no sense. His action made no sense. His words made even less sense. And yet, the longer the Observer stay by his side and watching him, things started to make sense little by little.


    To win an unwinnable battle, the Prince was willing to pay the ultimate price.


    But that also meant the Observer¡¯s master, the Goddess Eogaill has failed, whatever her plan is. The Observer could feel that her master needed the Prince to be alive for her plan to work, just a feeling, a guess. The Observer had no evidence to support that guess because everything that Prince and her master did was painfully subtle and deliberate. But every time the Prince played with his own life like a toy, the Observer could feel her mistress¡¯ anxiety.


    No longer could the Observer continue to watch the Prince¡¯s face kept on darkening.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to kill himself. Instruction is required.¡± The Observer weaved her message into an invisible thread of light, aiming it at the Forbidden Library, and released that thread. That thread of light was invisible to the naked eyes of human and dwarf, and even elves. The high elves could see that thread of light with their naked eyes, but their brain would not register it for how short and quick that thread of light was. Only the like of Magnamor¡¯s children-the All-seeing demons and the Demon Lord of a Thousand Burning Eyes could see this thread. But even they could never read the content or intercept the message due to the speed of the tiny thread.


    Xaara, the White Snake, the Demon Lord of Lightning styled himself as the Quick. He was the quickest among the rank of the Demon Lords. He was one with thunder and lightning. He could turn himself into a white bolt of lightning and travel from one place to another. He claimed that he could travel around Escana three times within a blink of an eye. Xaara was fast. Many times faster than Echo, his second in command, the Shrieking Demon Lord, the Banshee Queen herself. Xaara has always believed that he was the fastest being in the universe, not knowing that there is nothing faster than the light itself. He could never catch or intercept this tiny thread of light that the Observer weaved.


    Xaara was fast. But the light was faster. And the fastest being in the universe has never revealed herself. The Lady of the Light was one with the light. She was the light itself. So were her creations and miracles. Xaara was not even the second fastest being in the universe, nor third, nor fourth.


    That was how fast that message being delivered to the Forbidden Library.


    And yet, the Observer could only watch. The message should have reached her but her master did not reply. The Observer resent her message twice while watching the Prince¡¯s face darkened by the chaos of his pulses.


    Then came the reply, the instruction, just not the instruction that the Observer was waiting for. Neither the Prince nor her mistress made sense with their words and actions, that, the Observer was reminded again.

 V2 Chapter 18: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (2)

    V2 Chapter 18: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (2)


    Under the dimmed light of his flickering torch, Narik hammered yet another long sword into the paving stones of the battlement. That was probably the thirtieth sword. Narik paused to rest and reminded himself once again that he should not exert his limits.


    His thought returned to Prince Fearless¡¯ final instruction.


    Prince Fearless, his savior has said, ¡°I know I am repeating myself here. And I don¡¯t like repeating myself in this manner. But if you sleep for a single wink, my battle is already lost before I even have the chance to fight it. That¡¯s how crucial you are to my plan right now. Everyone else can go to sleep, but you alone cannot. If you fell asleep for even a shortest of the moment, that is when I have lost my battle. You have already known too much.¡±


    But even when Prince Fearless said, ¡°You have already known too much.¡± Narik had no idea what his savior was planning or what his purpose was. Prince Fearless would try to keep his instructions simple and easy to understand most of the time. But then, other times, Narik felt like Prince Fearless has said many things only to say nothing at all. He spoke in riddles.


    It was difficult to understand his intention. Even when Prince told Nark that he would play a part in being an executioner and the judge, his role was insignificant. There was no need for him to be there, standing on that battlement. Prince Fearless would kill Bloodbeard and his bandits with that poison in the same manner. He had everything under his control. With or without Narik, Bloodbeard would die with his bandits.


    Narik could only presume that he was there to watch that scene for a reason alone. It was as if Prince Fearless was asking Narik, ¡°Look at that. I¡¯m this kind of man. Are you sure that you still want to work for me?¡± Every instruction, every command, every sentence that Prince Fearless has ever said felt like they were part of a test devised to test Narik¡¯s loyalty and ability. Therefore, it was difficult for Narik to know if his savior actually meant every word that he has said.


    ¡°Do you have questions?¡±


    Narik was expecting that question. Prince Fearless would always ask that familiar question to make sure Narik would not misunderstand his intention. So Narik asked his question.


    ¡°I¡¯m not playing a FUCKING mind game with you. I am about to fight my own battle up there. And you have passed all of your tests up to this moment. You are my commander officer right now. There is no point for me to keep testing you, isn¡¯t there?¡± Prince Fearless snapped. The odor of spirits was thick in his breath.


    ¡°So, do whatever you have to do. If you can execute my other commands, do it at your own pace. If you cannot do that, command the men to help you. You are not an errand boy. You are a commander officer of mine. You command people for me, in my absence. That¡¯s your role. If your other missions cannot be achieved, leave them be. I consider them a luxury, not a necessity. I will figure it out somehow when I return.


    Your topmost priorities are staying awake. You secondary priority are to jam every metal objects that you can salvage into the ground. Spread them wide across the keep and the battlement. As for the bailey, just pound those two long asses battleaxes to the ground. Remember, make sure these objects that you jam to the ground are higher than you are. THAT IS VERY IMPORTANT. Make sure they are higher than you are. But most importantly, stay awake until I give you permission to sleep.¡± And that was the final instruction that Prince Fearless gave to Narik.


    The weathered battlement of the Bundor Bastion gleamed with the light reflecting from the number of the weapons and metal tools that Narik has pounded into the pavement. Lances, pikes, swords, battle axes, iron axles. Narik had no idea why he was given the mission to pound these things all over the Bundor Bastion or what purpose it served. But he diligently carried out his mission.


    Narik remembered that at noon, Prince Fearless has already told everyone that a war between White Winter and Zard was inevitable, and the Bundor Bastion would become a battlefield soon.


    ¡°So here are your options. The first option, all of you can be with me. I will escort everyone to Madukat as best as I could. There, you will be much safer than here. Just informing you first, in case some of you might blame me later. There is an army besieging Madukat right now. But I will deal with them. All of them. They too, are Bloodbeard¡¯s worms. So they will reunite with Bloodbeard soon. Don¡¯t look so confused, what I mean is, I WILL LIFT THAT SIEGE AND GET YOU INTO MADUKAT SAFELY.


    You have my words. I will keep you safe as best I could and get you inside Madukat. I swear to you in the color of this cloth that my words are true. I swear to this symbol that my words are true.


    How am I going to do that? That¡¯s my job. Not yours.


    Second option, you are free to go wherever you want right now. I am not your captor or your lord. Go your way if that is what you want. Find Atuc and grab a share of rations from her and then go your way. But if you are caught by some random slavers or Bloodbeard¡¯s surviving bandits, that¡¯s not my problem.


    I am a Prince, but I am not your Prince. This is not even my kingdom. You are not even my people. I¡¯m not going to save you a second time. So, do me a favor, don¡¯t fess to your captors that I am heading toward Madukat. All of you are a major burden to me right now, all of you, men and women. I don¡¯t have to save you, but I already did. Therefore, I might as well do that till the end.


    If you cannot be useful, at least have some self-respect and not become deadweight for me and everyone here.


    That¡¯s about it.


    Make a decision among yourself. But remember this, if you have decided to follow me, you will be my people. You will have my protection. You will be protected.


    But, you shall listen to my orders. You shall listen to my commanders¡¯ orders. You shall respect my rules until I get you inside the walls of Madukat. After that, you are free to do whatever you want. What happens to you after that is none of my concern. But as long as you are one of my people, I will repeat myself one last time here, you shall obey my commands and my rules. If you fail to do that, I will punish you for breaking the rules.


    If you cannot respect my command and my rules, AWAY from this group right now, I¡¯m not stopping any single one of you.¡±


    His words were blunt, spoken with no uncertainty. Prince Fearless addressed those freed captives with a carefree bluntness after he has shown them the remains of Bloodbeard and his bandits.


    But when Prince Fearless spoke like that, with that kind of bluntness, Narik doubted that anyone would go with the second option. His words were blunt and carefree, speaking of his extreme confidence. He had no shadow of a doubt that he would win his battle. He had no sliver of a suspicion that he would fail to escort them to Madukat.


    It was human¡¯s nature to follow the confident one. Even when these captives were terrified of Prince Fearless, they chose to follow him. Even when they cursed him for not saving them earlier, they followed him.


    Even when Prince Fearless offered them two choices, in reality, there was only one.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Dusk deepened, two young crescents hung on the sky, one red and one blue, anointing the night Escana in a majestic violet and signaling the changing of the season. Another crescent was there on the sky as well, it should be. The black moon of Da Noira Marthias, the spirit realm of the living dead, was still invisible to the naked eyes in the early of winter. It would take another twenty days for the black moon to reveal itself on the sky alongside the red moon of Kharigan and the blue moon of Akial in their fullness.


    Winter has already arrived on Escana.


    Two full days have passed since the moment Ice was released from her captivity. Two full days have passed since the last time Ice saw that mysterious prince. Ice has consciously been looking for him with her eyes but she could not find him.


    While most of the other captives have already but sought refuge next to the warm glow of the hearth and the comfort of their fellowship, Ice was by herself by the old well next to the keep, purifying her body with the cold water recently drawing from the well. Ice could not remember how many days have passed since the last time that she took a bath. Water was scarce and precious when she was kept inside that village. There was just enough water provided to prevent Ice and the other captives from dying to their thirst. Otherwise, there were just a few drops of dews condensed in the autumn grasses and leaves for a person to quench her inner draught.


    While the women and girls have cleansed their body at dawn, together with around the well, the men would bath around noon by the bank of the lake down below in the ghost of the abandoned villages.


    Ice waited until dusk settled in to purify herself, all alone by herself with weapons and armor at her side. Within the length of her arm-reach, a one-handed sword in usable condition and an undecorated oaken scepter. It did not feel right to wash herself with the companion of her followers and the other female captives. But it did not feel right to wash herself in the blackness of dusk all alone either. So, Ice brought her weapons along.


    As Ice poured cold water over her body, she could still hear that constant hammering sound. That man, whose ears were large and full of open holes, was still at it whereas the other men have already rested or taken their sentry watch responsibility. That man was still diligently pounding rods, spears, swords, mostly pikes and all manner of long objects into the pavement of the bastion. But he did not just pound objects into the pavement. He also wrapped those objects with chains and torn mails. Nobody knew what that man was doing, but he was without a doubt doing his task that under the command of that mysterious prince. Ice could not understand the meaning behind the task or that prince¡¯s intention. Ice doubted that was the defensive setup that the prince had in mind to fend off slavers and the remnants of Bloodbeard¡¯s bandits.


    ¡°I¡¯m Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡±


    ¡°Not Your Highness. Call me Fearless, that is what my friends and my people call me as well. Just Fearless. No Lord, no Liege, no Prince this Prince that, just Fearless.¡±


    Ice could never forget him, the him, the Fearless from back then, the prince that she first met while being trapped inside that village. She doubted if any of her followers could forget him, the him from back then either. That Fearless, that prince, he was far from being the strongest of men. His image could not be further away from the image of the ancient heroes whose valor was as great as their might. He was not a prince wearing shining armor who would ride his white horse swinging his silver sword to save a maiden in distress like those tales of old.


    But he was kind. He was warm, as warm as the first dawn after a long lightless winter night.


    ¡°I hate my lack of the strength to fight these brutes. I hate my inability to not provide you protection at this moment. I hate myself for not having the ability to save you right here right now. However, I promise that this situation will change.¡±


    ¡°I will make it right. I promise. Please hold on for just a little bit longer.¡±


    He was kind, gentle and warm, and that was enough. Ice did not think that she could ask for more. That was enough. He held her hand tightly and spoke those gentle words. To Ice, that was already enough.


    But that prince, that Fearless who Ice has met from back then, he seemed to die alongside with those bandits that he has slain. There was still the Prince, there was still Fearless, but that was a husk of the person that Ice has met back then while she was being kept in captivity.


    ¡°I am a Prince. But I am not your Prince. You are not my people and this kingdom is not my kingdom. I do not owe you anything. It¡¯s not my duty to save you.¡±


    ¡°So why did I save you? These bandits are being an eyesore and so are you. They are a bunch of savages. And you are a bunch of sorriness. You are weak and full of sorry. Eyesore as I have said.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Every single one of you who stand on this square, you are a burden to me. You are already a burden, but please try to have some self-respect and not to become a bigger burden for me.¡±


    He was cold. He was brutal. He was merciless. He was not the person who Ice has been thinking days and nights. Ice could not understand him. She tried to for the briefest of the moment before. But now, she has stopped trying. Only he could understand himself and his intention, and nobody else could.


    Ice poured the well water over her body, desperately taking her mind off that incomprehensible man. She regretted thinking of him. She regretted waiting for him. She regretted trusting him. Ice drew yet another bucket and poured it down on herself.


    No longer had Ice felt that sharp tinge of pain that overcame her when she moved. Before she was touched by that globe of light, even if Ice moved for a tiny bit, her entire body screamed like it was penetrated by a thousand pikes.


    It burns. Ice has gritted her teeth all the time to prevent herself from leaking out those weak moans. So, that voice must not be hers.


    It burns. Her skin was speaking in Nord. Human¡¯s skin could not speak, but the monster¡¯s skin probably could.


    And a monster was what Ice has become since the moment she poured that boiling liquid atop of her head. Ice has become used to the look in their eyes, men, and women when they saw her heinous form.  The look of pure disgust and fear from those bandits who captured her and even from her followers. Sometimes, Ice could see the look of pity showered on her by her followers. But those gazes of pity would soon turn into fear when Ice gazed right back.


    She was a monster and Ice knew that. She looked like a monster and she was a monster.


    ¡°No woman could be wicked enough to pour boiling oil over her body to protect herself and survive. But a monster could. You are a monster.¡± That giant monster whispered to Ice when he tossed her into that village. His greasy yellow beard ruffled in the delighting sway of madness. ¡°I expect that a wicked monster like you would do well. Do your best to survive until the end. I expect a lot from you.¡± He laughed as red threads condensed in his bulging eyeballs. A similar creature, just like Ice, a monster, just a different type of monster.


    Ice survived but that giant monster was now dead, his head mounted on a pike planted in the center of the bailey in the constant company of a buzzing cloud of insects, days and nights.


    It burns. Ice heard it clearly, the phantom hiss of her skin even now. And yet, her body was spot clean of black scabs, deformed gaping holes and yellow goo. Her skin was pristine, unmarred, untouched, without a mark, without her old callouses and scars. When that globe of light touched her, there was nothing left, no trace of that boiling liquid has ever been spewed on Ice¡¯s body. Not even a tiny scar. Nothing.


    That light, it was an unheard miracle. It was like a miracle conjured by the very Goddess of Nature herself. And yet, the person who summoned that miracle was that prince, a man. That light, it was exalted with sublime holiness. It was warm and gentle as the grace of the Goddess Niwdar herself.


    And yet.


    ¡°I could have done this to all of you two days ago. I could release you from your pains two days ago. But I didn¡¯t. Why? I don¡¯t feel like doing so. But now I do. You people are just that much of an eyesore.¡±


    The one who commanded such miracle spoke such cold and merciless words. It was as if he said such words asking to be hated. That was something Ice desperately wanted to believe at the time when she stood in front of that insidious red marsh of blood and bone, the remains of those bandits.


    Ice became angry at herself for thinking about him again. She poured the last bucket over her and wiped her herself, then returned to her quarter with her full armor on.


    When dawn arrived, Ice gathered her followers at the center of the bailey and distributed weapons to them. Yesterday, with the help of a few of her followers, Ice has spent the length of an entire day to collect weapons, mostly bows, and arrows, crossbows, and bolts in usable and good condition from the camps of the dead bandits. The rest, Ice told them making shooting targets with whatever the materials they could pick up from the camp.


    While Ice and her followers watched the men, thinking that they were doing something different today. They were watching Ice and her followers as well.


    Other than that young man, who has kept watch at the entrance of that watchtower for the last few days, the other men were divided into two groups. One group was still pounding more metal objects around the battlement and bailey. The other group was painting massive words onto the craggy wall of the battlement with black tar while heatedly arguing among themselves about the order of arrangement of the message.


    < To Arrive>


    Ice had no idea what message they were writing. They were writing those words under the order of that prince who has not shown his face for the last two days. Ice could not understand the purpose of such an order. Regardless, that was not her concerns.


    Among the weapons that Ice has collected from yesterday, Ice found a bison¡¯s horn bow that was in a good condition and kept it to herself.


    After distributing the weapons to her followers, Ice then planted the shooting targets on one side of the bastion. After that, she taught them the basic and the correct method to handle their weapon respectively. That was the first time in their life that these women and girls have ever touched a bow or a crossbow. Until now, there was no need. It was a man¡¯s responsibility to hold weapons. And these women, these girls have grown up believing that.


    But just like the time when they were prisoned inside that village, Ice told them to grab a weapon to protect themselves. And they did.


    Ice nocked an arrow and drew her bison horn bow, showing the women the basic shooting form. Her arrow loosed, strayed far from the target that Ice has intended to hit. The bow was in good condition, but Ice¡¯s arms were not. Weeks of captivity have left marks on Ice¡¯s body. Her arms rusty did not retain the same strength and dexterity as before. Again, Ice redrew her bow, aimed and let loose another arrow. It was true this time. The women cheered, optimistic.


    After that, Ice showed them the way a person operated a crossbow. There were many variances of crossbows from the salvage. Among the salvage, there was even the new double shot repeating crossbow that the dwarves of Starfell Island have invented recently. But, Ice only gave the light crossbows to women, knowing that it would be a tall task for them to pull the string of those heavy and metal crossbows.


    Ice made a few shots, using different crossbow each time to demonstrate the correct technique. Then, she made them practice.


    Ice hated to admit it. But, it was as that prince has told her when he dragged her out to have a one on one talk with her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look. Don¡¯t be stupid, there is no way that I would make you and your sorry group fight any battle. I would be a complete moron if I put my trust on amateurs to fight battles. They probably cannot hit a stationary target at point blank, let alone moving targets. If I sent you and your group to the battlefields, do you know what the enemies would think? HOW CUTE! HERE COME OUR SHOOTING PRACTICE TARGETS. HOW ENTERTAINING!


    As I have said before, you people are being a major burden to me. None of you are worthy to be considered a potential combatant. None of you are useful to me. The best you people can do on a battlefield would be arrow fodders.¡±


    That prince, he looked the same. But he was not the same prince. He did not have that kindness or the warmth that brought hope to people. He was not the same prince who entered that accursed ground and held Ice¡¯s hand.


    That prince was a different man even though he looked the same and sounded the same. He was not that same person who held Ice¡¯s hands so tight, telling her to trust him, and almost made her weep in open. The prince, who rescued Ice, every word, which he has said to Ice and the other captives, was cruel and cold with apathy. Perhaps, he was even crueler than those bandits.


    ¡°Why am I telling you to start wearing armor? Why am I telling you to teach those fragile and sorry things to shoot with bows and arrows? Are you being stupid or are you pretending to be stupid to make me angry?¡± He sneered and questioned Ice. Ice could never identify him with the prince that she has met three days prior.


    ¡°Silence huh? Well, I will assume that you are stupid then. I have literally just told you and those sorry things that there is a war happening right now, haven¡¯t I? If you don¡¯t start wearing armor now, when? There is a war between Zard and White Winter being waged right now. Every city, every town, every fortress can become a potential battlefield. If you go out of this bastion, a bunch of bandits and a bunch of slavers are waiting for you. To those opportunists, you and your sorry things are the most profitable opportunities. If you, the leader of these broken and sorry things, still have no intention of donning armor now, when? WHEN WILL YOU DECIDE TO WEAR ARMOR, HOLDING WEAPONs IN YOUR ARMS AND BE PREPARED TO PROTECT YOURSELF?¡±


    He grabbed Ice by her damaged collar and angrily growled into her ear.


    ¡°If you, the leader of your broken and sorry band don¡¯t distinguish yourself, if you don¡¯t set an example for your sorry things to follow, am I supposed to do that job? Is that my job? Is that my responsibility? No, ABSOLUTELY NO. It¡¯s a royal¡¯s responsibility to protect his people. I am a prince but I am not your Prince, not a prince of this kingdom. ¡±


    He then shoved Ice away. That condescending sneer returned to his lips.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understood what I have told you and your group of sorry things back then, right? I will repeat myself then. I will escort you safely to the walls of Madukat. After that, you people are none of my business.


    That is the length, the amount of time that you people have until you learn how to save yourself and to stand for yourself. That¡¯s your deadline. You people are being a major burden to me, I have said that before and I will repeat it as many times as I must. You people are a major burden. Madukat is where I drop this burden off my shoulders.¡±


    At the time, Ice had to make a conscious effort to hold her emotion back. If the prince from three days prior almost made her cry due to his overwhelming warmth and kindness, that prince almost made her cry in humiliation. She felt like crying. But she held herself back. A priestess of Niwdar only cried within the arms of her sisterhood, never to a man. Especially this kind of man, Ice inwardly reminded herself. She glared at him in defiance.


    But in the eyes of that strange prince, Ice was insignificant. He continued speaking with the same sneer on his lips. ¡°Why did I specify the bows and arrows? You and your sorry things will appear to be much more a threat with bows and arrows than swords and spears inside your hands. Besides, you know how to shoot with a bow and arrows. Am I right? If I am not mistaken, you are one of Niwdar¡¯s followers. What kind of priestess of Niwdar who does not know how to shoot with a bow and arrows? Or are you such a massive failure?¡± He asked in a taunting voice.


    ¡°I know how to shoot a bow.¡±


    ¡°Well then, leave the preparation of food and everything else to my people. Rest well for tonight, food and warm clothes will be given to your sorry group soon. If you need anything else, ask Atuc. She is that gorgeous looking woman in that black gown. Take a rest tomorrow as well if needed. After that, start practicing archery with your sorry things. How long must you practice? As long as you must. At least until I tell you and your amateurs to stop. But try to hit your targets by that time.¡±


    Ice just stood and gritted her teeth in silence.


    ¡°Any question?¡±


    ¡°How do you know that I am a follower of Niwdar?¡± Ice asked.


    ¡°Woman, if you keep asking me this kind of question, do me a favor and change your name to Stupid. Do you actually believe that your burn back then actually look like that? The kind that appears when a person pours boiling animal fat on top of herself? Really? Your muscles were in the open. What kind of animal fat melt through somebody¡¯s skin and flesh? That was acid burn. Anyone who cannot realize that are either too blind or too stupid. And you, Stupid, you are the moron who is either too brave or too crazy to conjure a ball of acid and popped it on top of yourself. And what kind of people who can both conjure a ball of acid and be crazy enough to pour that acid on top of themselves? Elementary, I don¡¯t even have to be Sherlock Holmes to answer that. Niwdar¡¯s followers. And you, only by the virtue of being a high priestess of Niwdar that you can survive that kind of wound. Will power, will power not, you should have died from the infection. Without the perk of being Niwdar¡¯s high priestess, you should have died. Hey, stupid. Anything else that you want to add or question?¡±


    If there was emotion in his words, it was arrogance.


    ¡°Why did you kiss me at that time?¡± Quietly, Ice asked without emotion in her voice.


    That prince shrugged his shoulders. He scoffed. Then before Ice could anticipate it, he took her into his arm and sealed her lips by force.


    Her mouth was bitter with the taste of a foreign object. Shuddered with disgust, Ice pushed him away. When shame wrote her over, her fist flung.


    He just stood there and took it, making no attempt to avoid or blocking. His nose was bleeding. But he just sniffed once, unflinching. He calmly cast the orb of light on Ice and wiped off that blood on his nose.


    ¡°That¡¯s your answer. If I kissed you back then, I would not get punched like just now. Lucky for you, it¡¯s just you and me right now. If you had punched the Prince of The Alliance in front of your sorry things, I would have chopped your arm off, followers of Niwdar or not. Now, start wearing that suit of armor and make yourself somewhat useful. I don¡¯t have time to deal with you.¡± He scoffed and walked away.


    Ice was glad that he has turned and walked away in such a manner, such speed.


    When those drops of water melted from her eyes touched the ground, Ice knew that gentle person, the person who would look at her with neither the eyes of fear nor disgust nor pity, that person who held her hand so tightly and gently, that person who told her such kind words, that person was already dead, as far as Ice concerned.


    That gentle person was already dead. But nobody mourned for him. Nobody cried for him. So Ice wept for him where nobody was looking at her.


    Twang, Ice loosed her arrow. She walked around to correct the postures and form of a couple of her followers who were still struggling to learn. Twang, twang, twang. Her horn bow cried out. Twang, twang, twang. Twang, twang, twang. Her followers freed their arrows and bolts as well. Twang, twang, twang.


    When Ice started practicing at dawn, it was just her followers and herself. Twang, twang, twang. But by the time the sun was high on the sky, Ice saw the figure of a few men standing among them with bows and arrows in their hands as well.


    The bailey briefly became quiet when the prince¡¯s women delivered food and water to Ice. Twang, twang, twang. Soon, the bailey again echoed with the sound.


    Even them, those women whose belly swollen with the seeds of those savages, they turned at Ice and asked her to teach them with the bow. Some still stood from distance, watching.


    Twang, twang, twang.


    Ice watched those arrows and bolts set loose. None was good enough to hunt and feed themselves with that kind of archery skill. None was good enough to protect themselves. Nobody could become a marksman within a few hours or a day or a week of practice.


    Twang, twang, twang. Twang, twang, twang.


    They knew that they had to learn to protect themselves at some point. That cold and ruthless prince has told them that he would rescue them once, but not twice.


    Ice returned to her position and practiced on her own when the number of the people practicing the bow and arrows stopped rising. Twang, twang, twang. Twang, twang, twang. With every arrow loosed, Ice scrubbed a piece of rust off her arms.


    Ice kept practicing until dusk settled at the distant horizon. She stopped everyone from practicing, telling them to practice again at the next dawn. Ice then pluck the arrows from her target practice with her tired arms.


    The number of words written on the wall of the battlement has risen since dawn. At dawn, there were only just two words. Ice squinted her eyes to read the words.


    First To Arrive.


    First To Die.


    Those words were painted in black tar. They seemed like a message, a grim message to warn somebody off.

 V2 Chapter 19: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (3)

    V2 Chapter 19: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (3)


    The sun was still sinking at the eastern horizon. The winter moons have already come out of their slumber, early. One as blue as an azure rosebud, one as red as blood. The other one, the black one still remained asleep for another fifteen to twenty days or so.


    Hyrios stopped the march and ordered his men to rest next to a shrinking moon lake.


    Moon lakes were unlike the seasonal lakes that appeared and disappeared through the changing of seasons. Moon lakes were often the difference between living and dying when a person traverse the wilderness of the Great Plain. These lakes formed at nights when the three moons were full and round on the sky. And these lakes would remain so for a few days, two or three full ten days at most, and then return to just being a large puddle or dry out completely.


    The ability to find these moon lakes was an innate ability possessed by every animal of the Great Plain. So were the Children of the Green Sky like Hyrios and his riders. They possessed the same ability, the same instinct, and knowledge to find these moon lakes across the Great Plain.


    Hyrios took the saddle off Clamn to ease the beast of its travel fatigue. Clamn was visibly tired. Her entire body soaked and the flicker of her tail lacked the usual flare. But the mare was as sassy as ever, whined and complained. Among Hyrios¡¯ most trained horses, Clamn was the most beautiful, but also the whiniest. Clamn turned her head elsewhere as if angry, refusing to meet Hyrios in the eyes. Hyrios chuckled. He removed his gloves, brushed Clamn¡¯s long neck and ruffled her long mane while asking her for forgiveness. Only then, Clamn neighed and brushed her nose against Hyrios¡¯ face, licking him with affection.


    Hyrios then removed his belongings from Lai¡¯s back and Threy¡¯s saddle, putting the weight off the beasts. The two of them neighed in appreciation whereas Clamn was back to whining again, still demanding more attention from Hyrios. Hyrios took out the old wooden bucket and filled it with water, allowing his three horses to drink, graze grass and rest for time being.


    Hyrios has ridden without resting, switching between his three horses in rotations for over a day. The few shortstops in the between for a few gulps of water could not be called rests. His body was sore from the constant march, but Hyrios knew that his horses must feel worse than he did. He would let them rest for tonight and then back to marching north at dawn.


    Hyrios licked his lips as he unplugged his waterskin, his lips cracked and scaly like fish scales, and had a metallic taste to it. Hyrios did not realize how thirsty he was until he gulped down his first mouthful of water since dawn. He consumed his water sparingly, knowing that it would take another two days for him and his men to reach the nearest lake at Green Hill.


    This shrinking moon lake was in fact just a small puddle, barely enough for Hyrios and his vanguard of 900 men and 2700 horses to ease their thirst. The moons were still very young, still crescents on the sky. It would take another twenty to twenty-five days for the moon lakes to form. Therefore, Hyrios could only count on those shrinking puddles and lakes for water.


    Sometimes, Hyrios tried to imagine what he and his people would be without this innate ability. They would probably be the same as the Children of the Blue Sky. Straying away from the heart of Great Plain, sticking to the river banks and living inside the city walls. Hyrios rather killed himself first than living such a life. At his heart, Hyrios knew that he was a Child of the Green Sky even though his mother was one of the Children of the Blue Sky, a noble lady of the Shepiran Court and a distant relative of King Musa. Of all the children that she has sired for Hyrios¡¯ father, only one was a Child of the Blue Sky, the second youngest child.


    Even though the blood of the Children of the Blue Sky coursed inside his veins, Hyrios has always found it unbearable to live under the confinement of walls since his earliest memories. It was the instinct of every Child of the Green Sky to be liberated and be one with the heart of the Great Plain. Thus, his true home was the endless green sky of the Great Plain, not the stone walls of the western border. That¡¯s where he grew up.


    Hyrios passed his order to Krys and Fois, his cousins to make camps and dispatch scouts.


    ¡°How many days do we have until we see the northern prairie?¡± Fois asked while combing the mane of his horse. Fois has never traveled this far to the north.


    ¡°It¡¯s just ahead, over the horizon¡± Hyrios replied, training his hand at the distant Great Spine. ¡°See that small dark green part? That¡¯s the Mangora forest. We are very near.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± Krys exclaimed. Her excitement for her first major campaign reinvigorated and washed away her fatigue. She volunteered herself and took off with her riders and eagles to scout the area, leaving the task of making camps to her twin brother.


    Krys and Fois were the commanders of Hyrios¡¯ vanguard. Twins they were. Each of them commanded 400 riders in battle even though they could command twice that number. According to them, having 400 riders under their command was better than having 1000 riders. ¡°Half the number. But half the provision and twice the flexibility and twice the mobility,¡± as they would say.


    Fois was short-statured for a man. He was much taller than a dwarf, but a little too short for a man.


    Among all the male relatives of Hyrios, Fois was, unfortunately, the shortest. He was constantly mocked for his height. But Fois was a man born without fear, a long claw badger of a man. If Fois had any amount of fear in him, he has left them inside his mother womb. That broken nose of Fois was the result of his fight against some twenty kids of the Horse tribe when he was fourteen. Not exactly a smart decision on his part because Fois was completely alone in that fight and then later punished by his father for inciting that fight. One of the kids who got beaten by Fois in that fight happened to be a child of the leader of the Horse tribe. Fois earned his reputation for being a fighter since.


    Krys was Fois¡¯ twin and elder sister. She was a rare breed of a woman. While it was not rare for a woman of the Children of the Green Sky to ride, hunt and go to war with men, a woman like Krys was rare.


    Krys has always been especially large for a woman. She was as tall as Hyrios, but had none of Hyrios¡¯ leanness. Krys was large enough to make Fois believe that she was the reason behind his shortness. And he still had that firm belief now. He often complained that she had stolen those growth spurts and height from him just by being his twin. And then, the two of them would wrestle or trade punches over such a stupid reason. She wanted his shortness and he wanted her largeness. Krys has always been the better wrestler whereas Fois was the better puncher.


    There were not many men who can trade punch or wrestle with Fois. Fighting against Fois was even less desirable since Fois was the type who did not know how to hold himself back in a fight. Winning against Fois in a fight was even less desirable, that Hyrios was the first to learn. Fois was a sore loser and a real nuisance whenever he lost a fight. He kept coming back to demand rematch no matter how many time Hyrios beat him. He would fight until he won his battle. Thus, for a woman to be his equal in combat and be willing to fight with him at any time, it was rare.


    Leaving the camp to Fois, Hyrios grabbed his horse bow and a quiver of arrows, foraging for meals with a hundred of his riders. Wherever there was a moon lake, there were animals nearby to hunt. It did not take long for Hyrios to return to the camp with a bunch of trophies. Badgers, rabbits, foxes, the usual small games with two boars and one grown bison, a delighting sight for Hyrios¡¯ men.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Hunting has been a talent of Hyrios. His father has always told Hyrios that if every Child of the Green Sky was as great a hunter as Hyrios, there would be no animal left inside the Great Plain for anyone to hunt.


    While it was a rider¡¯s responsibility to prepare his own meal for the march with the coins he was given, Hyrios would often supplement their meals with wild meat and stews to keep their spirit high during every long rest.


    Hyrios ordered the cooks to stick with usual, the anything-goes- stew. No matter how many animal Hyrios brought back in one hunting trip, it would never be enough to feed the mouth of his army. Thus, the anything-goes- stew has been a known tradition among his riders during a march. Hyrios would order his cooks to chop the animals to small swallowing size pieces and stewed them with horse milk, thicken flour water, herbs, salt, peppers and spices and whatever editable mushrooms, leaves, fruits, berries that Hyrios could forage from his trip. In this manner, each and every of his rider could have an equal bite of the meat that Hyrios brought back. Hyrios and his commanders were no exception. They, too, would eat the same stew with his riders, with the same portion, from the same pot.


    By the time the cooks have already finished skinning and chopping the animals to pieces, and currently cooking their stews in those large pots, Krys returned and reported to Hyrios of her scouting trip. Her riders found nothing, no enemy scout, no trail of a marching army, and no human structure within the range of a full gallop distance. Her report was very similar to the report of the scouts that Hyrios have been contacting with his war eagles and fast riders.


    And those scouts have traveled ahead of Hyrios¡¯ vanguard unit for days. And they reported, ¡°Nothing sighted,¡± as well in their reports, far from the type of reports that Hyrios has been expecting. Hyrios nodded his head without breaking his expression and told Krys to rest.


    Hyrios sank into deep silence. Hyrios rarely doubted himself. But here he was, doubting himself in a crucial moment.


    Hyrios expected many things from the reports. He expected the sighting of multiple reinforced military camps. He has expected a report of sighting a long wall erected at extreme speed to cut off the Golden Triangle from Zard. Hyrios expected worse news.


    But, ¡°Nothing sighted,¡± was the kind of report that Hyrios has constantly received.


    There were only two answers to explain such unexpected strangeness. It was either that Hyrios¡¯ vanguard marching speed was too fast or the other person who was leading the invading army was too incompetent. But neither should be the correct explanation.


    Due to the urgency of the situation, Hyrios has already marched with his vanguards and his two favorite commander while leaving his army trailing behind. His army marched fast, 30 full horse galloping distance in a day. No army in Zard could do this.


    But the other person had the early lead. His strike was equally fast. His three battles against the heroic king of the vanquished Kraig¡¯ondor have proven that. His army would not lose in term of speed against any army. War chief, Master of War of White Winter, the Reborn Little Conqueror, the Bane of Neversummer, the Golden Despair, many titles to adorn one person both out of respect from his allies and fear and hatred from his enemies. In this day and age, his name was known through the entire continent.


    His past strategies and tactics were still being studied across the continent at the moment from various sources. And Hyrios was one of those who was still studying these subjects.


    This person was a truly terrifying opponent. He has always been terrifying since the first time Hyrios saw him.


    But what¡¯s more terrifying was that he only fought wars and battles that he would surely win. That meant if he fought a battle, he would win it. If he declared war on a kingdom, that kingdom is surely vanquished. Five major campaigns, five victories. Of all four kingdoms that he has declared war upon, four have vanished from the map.


    That was nothing short of a legend. That was something only the old Dragon Slayer could do.


    Hyrios had no wish to scare himself by overestimating his opponent. And he was not a person who scared himself by painting a dragon out of his opponent¡¯s shadow. But, his opponent this time was not some small-time instigator, pirate or bandit. If White Winter has decided to become an enemy of Zard, then that person has become Hyrios¡¯ enemy.


    There was no worse enemy than that person.


    Hyrios has noticed that the distress letters from Madukat had been inconsistent and filled with bogus information for a while now. From his study, Hyrios has noticed that was the usual signal, the only signal of that person¡¯s attack. It always started with the letters and the warbirds. When those war letters and battle reports became confusingly unreliable and filled with nothing but pure bogusness, that, that was the most obvious sign of his attack.


    And yet, no fortification, no military camp, no army, no movement, what is the meaning of this? Hyrios inwardly questioned himself. Am I too hasty?


    That night, when he closed his eyes, Hyrios dreamt the strangest dream of his life.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The Red Queen of Beauty, she looked exactly as the legends have described her, and even more.


    Gold is Niwdar


    Red is Lust


    Black is Death


    Three Queens of Beauty, three manslaying dreams. If a man saw just one of them, the bringers of the colored dreams, the bringer of the golden dream or the red dream or the black dream, he was no longer a part of the living from that moment.


    If a man saw the golden dream, he would rather kill himself than continue living. If a man saw the red dream, he would rather be asleep than awake from that moment. He would sleep to chase after that red dream again until his mortal form failed him. If a man saw the black dream, he was considered gone from the living realm for he was looking at Death in the eyes.


    Hyrios was seeing red without a doubt. And there she was, the bringer of the red dream.


    A scorching red blaze she was, a blazing fever that took the air away from a man, and left him breathless and gaping in stupidity as he stood watching her from afar.


    Never has Hyrios seen a blaze hotter than this and more terrible than this, this red dream and the Red Queen of Beauty herself. She was the flame of flame, a flame of ardent, the original all-consuming flame of passion.


    She was the very embodiment of the flame. But the flame was the domain of Sinintee, the God of Civilization and War. But if there existed anyone who could erode that domain and seized it from Sinintee, it would be her, the Red Queen of Beauty.


    If Sinintee¡¯s flame could soft and shape the strongest of metals and hardest objects, the Red Queen could shape the toughest man with a wink of her eyes, and more. She was the kind of flame that made even the most strong-willed warriors desired to be softened and reshaped in her sinful image.


    The Red Queen was a blazing fire, but she was unlike any blaze that Hyrios has ever known. There was magic inside that blaze, magic that forbade a man to turn his eyes from her shape and the sway and flicker of her movements, magic that petrified that man solid, magic that filled his head with the most sinful images, magic that made him craved to be embraced by the pure heat of that flame and be incinerated into the ashes of his former self.


    In front of the Red Queen, there was no discipline soldier, no iron-willed warrior, no virtuous holly man, no great hero, no wise king, no beloved father, no faithful husband, not even a relatively decent man. In her presence, a man would realize that he has never been so weak. In her presence, there were only the ashes of sins and remnant of ardent.


    Never had Hyrios fought this kind of foe. The Red Queen was not his foe. His instinct was his deadliest opponent. His sinful craving and secret desires, which he had no idea that they existed, were his undoer. Hyrios was his own worst enemy at the moment. His thought damned and his reasons ashen as that red blaze approached him swaying with the tiniest of her movements.


    In the midst of that scorching haze, Hyrios bit his lips and clenched his fists, desperately clinging to the last piece of himself that have yet to be incinerated.


    ¡°Bravest Champions,¡± that red blaze whispered.


    There existed no force of reason nor strength of will to stand against such a sound. The Red Queen¡¯s image was an all-consuming blaze, hot, her voice was so much hotter. It was an inferno that spare nothing of man on its path. It was thick and viscous with magic and heat. It was like the promise of ardent, a promise that a man would be burn completely into ashes without any piece of him left behind. It was lava if only lava made a man wanted to be showered in it.


    So why? Why can he be like that?


    If the legends have described the Red Queen correctly for what she was, the last bit of Hyrios¡¯ reason believed that the legends have forgotten to describe that man who stood next to her. Even when he was wrapped inside her flame of ardent, he was himself. Even when the Red Queen showered him with her sheer passion, he was himself, whole and complete.


    ¡°The Prince of The Alliance wishes to send you his regards.¡±

 V2 Chapter 20: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (4)

    V2 Chapter 20: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (4)


    The Observer has been by the Prince¡¯s side from the very moment he woke up on that altar. Too short of a time to understand everything about the Prince, his thought or the reason of his strange behaviors. But she was there, by his side, from the very beginning. She has been by his side longer than any being and closer to him than anyone else in the world of Escana. She watched him and made reports. That was her mission. That was the sole reason for her existence.


    So, when her mistress, the Goddess of Light Eogaill instructed the Observer to leave the Prince¡¯s side and hide until she receives further instruction, the Observer found herself at a loss.


    She could not understand that instruction. She could not understand her mistress¡¯ intention, as usual. But this time, the Observer has completely failed to comprehend the intention of her creator. She could not help but doubt.


    The Observer has always been asking herself a strange question. Why am I allowed to have emotions? The Observer has always found that fact was strange. If her job was only to make observation and reports, emotions were completely unnecessary. If the Goddess Eogaill has crafted the Observer like a golem of light and shadow, or a robot solely created to observe and report, there would be no difference to the result of the task.


    It was at this moment that such doubt resurfaced and strengthened within the Observer¡¯s heart. The Prince was dying as she watched. He was suffocating himself with his own gag. And yet, her mistress instructed the Observer to stay away from the Prince for the moment, a most conflicting order to both the Observer¡¯s interest. The Observer could vividly see that her emotions were getting in the way of her mission. Her emotions, as the Observer has surmised, were an unnecessary part. It was impeding her mission.


    If the Observer had no emotion, she could have executed her mission perfectly. If she wasn¡¯t afraid of the loss of her one and only purpose, and her own mortality, the Observer could execute her mission perfectly. It was almost strange to the Observer that she was able to develop her emotions. The Observer has thought that if she was given the capacity to understand emotions, her mistress must have intended to create her like this.


    The Observer could not help but doubt if her mistress was devising a test for her. The Observer was doubting that her own creator was testing her loyalty by devising a test in the manner that the Prince often did, being infected by his thought and method. But there was no need for that if her creator, the Goddess Eogaill took away her capacity for emotion or assigning the task to another creation of hers.


    From the first moment that the Observer asked that question, ¡°Why am I allowed to have emotions?¡± She has been expecting this very moment. The moment when her own emotions would conflict with her missions. But, she did not expect such great conflict. Her preparation was not adequate.


    The Observer had the wisdom and memories of mortals stored inside her wealth of wisdom. But today was the day she felt and understood what it meant to be a mortal.


    The Prince has been a central part of her life. He was the reason she existed. If he died, she would have lost her only purpose.


    The Observer feared that Prince would die and her purpose would end. She feared that her mistress would reduce her to mere light and darkness as before if she failed her task.


    What is the correct choice? The Observer did not know. None of the knowledge from her wealth of wisdom could support her to make this decision.


    It¡¯s terrible to be born a mortal.


    The Observer made a risky bet in the end. She chose to obey her instruction, leaving the Prince¡¯s side for the first time in her life. She chose her mission over her emotions.


    It was a gamble, but not so much of gamble at the same time. Despite her fear and doubts, the Observer believed that her mistress had reasons for giving such an instruction. She believed that her creator had a perfect plan and made the correct decision. The Observer simply clung to her faith. It was almost as if the Observer was talking herself to believing it.


    The Observer straddled the Prince, brushing his sweaty forehead with her ethereal hand. She could not touch him still. She pretended that she could, the kind of make-believe game that mortals often played. She put her faith in him.


    The Prince was a prideful person, exceedingly arrogant even. So of course, if he chose to commit suicide to win the moral battle over these immortals, it made sense. The Prince was smart but he made the most foolish of choices for the most foolish of reasons.


    So, it made sense that he would play a role in the destruction of Kharigan and then kill himself to mock these Demon Lords. He would die knowing that he was being the ¡°Ultimate Troll¡± to the Demon Lords. He has to one-up them and they could do nothing to even that result. Once he has killed himself, he would be one of Mistress Death¡¯s subjects, he would be safe from their wrath and vengeance. It made sense that the Prince would do something like that. It was in his character to do something so absurd.


    But he was not the type to give up without a fight.


    The Observer put her faith in that. She made a gamble, but it was not so much of a gamble. The odds were on her side of the bet, not against her, the Observer knew that. Her true test has not come. Not yet. Not today, or so she hoped. She put her faith in her mistress and the Prince.


    The Observer left the Prince¡¯s side as she has been instructed. She descended the tower, turning her head back once. That swordsman was still awake as he has been instructed. He was sitting at the bottom of the tower, armed with swords, and spears, faithfully executing his task. He was waiting for the Prince to come down of the tower and relieved him of his task.


    The Prince has told him that everyone who tries to approach the tower during this time would be an enemy. ¡°Anyone but Atuc. Man, woman, the young, the old, pregnant or not, cripple or not, even if that person is Erinys, kill them all.¡± The Prince has instructed him to kill, but at his own choice.


    There would be no way that any normal human, who was not chosen to be involved with the Reign of Chaos, could understand the meaning of that instruction.


    A succubus could charm a man and make that man committed a crime that he would never commit.


    A shadow demon could possess a child and turn that child into a killer.


    Divine Dream could be used to turn people into pawns and puppets.


    Who to trust, who not to trust? Who is an enemy, who is not?


    Instead of asking such questions, trust nobody. It was better to mistakenly kill an innocent person than to be killed by sparing the wrong person. It was a common strategy that the past Champions of the Reign of Chaos have employed to protect themselves.


    But the Prince did not even bother to explain himself or his action. ¡°If you cannot do that, do not bother. Leave or do whatever you want.¡± He said.


    It was a miracle that anyone would follow that kind of command as faithfully as this swordsman actually existed.


    Back then, the Observer did not understand what the Prince was thinking. Now, she still could not. It was difficult to understand if the Prince wanted to fight or not. His words and actions made very little sense.


    But then, my mistress is the same.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Her mistress has instructed the Observer to hide herself.


    The Observer was invisible. Invisible to most. Therefore, the Observer could only deduct that someone or something was coming, and they could see through her invisibility. They could see through both light and darkness.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The Observer chose to hide at where it began, that abandoned temple of her mistress.


    <I know your secrets>, one sentence remained on the altar, still, written upside down. The Prince did not bother to write them in Titan. He wrote them while fornicating with that woman. He did not bother to look at this sentence once. Only three people knew that. The Prince himself, the Observer and her mistress.


    If her mistress, the Goddess Eogaill could not foresee this event from the very beginning, she would not assign the Observer for her task.


    <I know your secrets>


    To a being with many closely guarded secrets as her mistress, the Observer doubted that there was a better-written line to catch her attention. Which secrets? There was no better hook to catch her mistress¡¯s attention.


    For a person who was as great at the art of misdirection as the Prince, the Divine Dream was an imperfect and flawed medium to explore the inner world of the Prince, and above all, to observe him and spy on his strategies. It was a high-risk and little-reward path.


    Until the Prince appeared, the Divine Dream was supposed to be safe for all Immortals. Until this day, the risk of being discovered and trapped by the inside the very Divine Dream they have conjured has remained unknown to most Immortals. The Prince was the first person who could expose this risk to any immortal who entered his dream. The Prince was probably the only person who was insane enough to do that.


    No, not probably. He would definitely do that for sure.


    The Observer thought that if she asked the Prince why he would do something so stupid, the one and only obvious ¡°I am Fearless,¡± would be his explanation.


    Why would you do something so insane?


    Why would you do that?


    Why would you do something so stupid?


    ¡°Because I¡¯m Fearless.¡± This kind of reply was so inappropriate that it had to be illegal.


    Looking back, the Observer realized that the person who alerted the Prince of the dangers and the nature of his test was the little lady, the Goddess Clariciel. Base on that conclusion alone, the Observer has deduced that the person who sent the little lady, the Goddess Clariciel on that seemingly-innocent errand was probably her mistress.


    So who hooks who first? The Observer gave up on answering that question.


    Due to the fact that the memories that an immortal could view from a Divine Dream are reconstructed memories, there were far from perfect. They were far from the ultimate truth. That kind of knowledge, only someone who can conjure a Divine Dream would know. Only an immortal would know.


    And the Prince.


    The Prince was someone who understood what Divine Dream was, how a Divine Dream operated and even experienced the flaws of a Divine Dream in person. Until now, there has never been a human who could exploit the imperfectness and major flaws of a Divine Dream to such an extent like the Prince.


    A Divine Dream used the information base on what a person see or hear more than what a person feels to reconstruct that person¡¯s memory. A normal dream was often the result of a person¡¯s subconscious sending messages to his consciousness. But a Divine Dream was created from the consciousness of an immortal meeting with the consciousness of a mortal.


    Thus, if a mortal could cleverly misdirect his own consciousness from reality, he could misdirect an immortal¡¯s attention from discovering the truth.


    Misdirection was a form of deception in which the performer draws audience attention to one thing to distract it from another. It was easy to miss out what the Prince was really doing due to the amount of misdirection that he employed in his everyday activities. Every magician knew at least a few variations of misdirection to be able to perform his magic tricks. The Prince just happened to be very good at this.


    He delivered a speech while writing something on the floor with the sole of his shoe. He played some leaf music while boldly writing his entire battle plan on the ground with his finger. He already assumed that the Observer¡¯s mistress would not miss any of his signals. He already assumed that he has been strictly monitored since the moment he wrote that <I know your secrets> sentence.


    The Prince often mixed his warnings for the Demon Lords in his speeches. He fired his warning shots in the open for every Demon Lord to listen to. But in reality, he was doing something completely different. He used his surroundings and situations to fire his warning shots in every direction. And then, he used his warning shots to mask his attempt to converse with the Observer¡¯s mistress. It was his usual triple layered illusion.


    URLOX did not make a mistake when they chose the Prince as their representative.


    The Observer would say that her Mistress was the only person who was prepared to deal with someone like the Prince. The other immortals, gods, goddesses, demon lords, they were ill-prepared and ill-equipped. They were caught completely unprepared.


    Ah, the Observer muttered quietly. A Demon Lord has been released.


    Lust, the Beautiful Demon Lord was the first captive to be released. That was the signal of the Prince¡¯s plan has been a success.


    Then another one. Envy. The Thousand Faces Demon Lord. And another one. Magnamor of the Thousand Burning Eyes.


    It was not the Observer¡¯s imagination, but it was apparent to her that Magnamor has seen through her form despite the distance and obstacles between her and him. He shuddered, looking the opposite direction, pretending that he has not seen her with that look of damned and regret.


    The Observer took note of the event and prepared to send her report to her mistress as thus.


    After that, they split. Magnamor¡¯s astral form returned to Kharigan with Envy. Lust remained on Escana, flying South.


    Wonten, the God of Strength and Justice was the only one after that to be released. He did not waste any of his time and returned to Coeles.


    With that, the countdown for the destruction Kharigan has started.


    The Observer weaved her message to a thread of light and sent her report to her mistress.


    When the Observer received permission to return to the Prince¡¯s side, she did so with urgency. The Prince was still alive. Of course, if he died, she would know. He was finding his breath now, still sleeping with the rest of the immortals trapped inside his dream.


    Either one of the Demon Lords or Wonten have removed that gag from his mouth. Who? It doesn¡¯t matter. The Observer was glad that she has returned to her rightful place.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The dream was red. Hyrios was without a doubt seeing red. But blackness eroded that blazing redness. The Red Queen took a step back and allowed that man to be the center of Hyrios¡¯ focus.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. My friends call me Fearless. You can call me Fearless as well. Firstly, forgive me for introducing myself to you in this ugly manner. I would rather stand before you to introduce myself to you, face to face, a man to another man. Not like this. Not through this kind of gimmick. Once again, I ask you for forgiveness.¡±


    For a man who called himself a prince, he was humble and cultured. Yet, he commanded more gravitas than the Red Queen herself. He lowered his head as he asked for forgiveness. His right fist was in front of his heart, the way a Child of the Green Sky asking for forgiveness and showing respect to another man.


    Hyrios tried to converse, but he was unable to. He could not speak. He could not even move.


    ¡°This Divine Dream is pre-recorded thanks to my companion¡¯s power. Worry not, she means no harm to you. This Demon Lord is a friend of mine and a friend of men. Thanks to her power, I can speak to you but not converse with you or listen to your reply. Therefore, I appreciate it if you could listen to my words and take my apologies for such becomingness.¡±


    The prince lowered his head with his fist on his chest again.


    ¡°Hyrios Tigre of the Saber Tooth tribe, I would not contact you in this manner if the situation did not call for it. A Demon Lord is coming to this land. His target is the villagers that I saved from the evil clutches of Bloodbeard and his bandits. I have heard of your talent. You have never missed a target in your entire life. I need that talent of yours to kill this Demon Lord.¡±


    The prince was looking into Hyrios¡¯ eyes. He spoke slowly with earnest in his voice.


    ¡°Normally, it is my duty to deal with demons and Demon Lords. However, I am currently being locked in a very dire situation at the moment. I am holding back an army of demons right now and my power is being at its weakest. Holding back this army of demons, defending my people and dealing with this Demon Lord is too much for me. I can only request your cooperation in order to dispatch this Demon Lord.


    I come to meet you with the power of a Demon Lord. I know that I am not a trustworthy man. But, I don¡¯t know how else I could reach you. You are the only one within the area who can help me to dispatch this Demon Lord. You are the only one who can save these poor people, these villagers who have been at the mercy of Bloodbeard and his evil minions. I don¡¯t ask you to trust my words completely. I only ask you to save these innocent people, these victims of Bloodbeard and White Winter¡¯s scourge of war.


    If you do not help them, these people are doomed. The entire Golden Triangle is doomed. Madukat is doomed. Zard is doomed. Escana is doomed. I only ask you to help these people. I only ask you to help me kill this Demon Lord. I only ask you to do the right thing. I ask nothing more. I urge you to do the right thing.


    I know that you are fighting a war with the kingdom of White Winter. But I urge you to leave that matter aside to kill this Demon Lord first. If you help me kill this Demon Lord, I give you my words that you shall have my strength and my banner. I will help you push these invaders back to their lands.


    If you accept my offer, please move to the Bundor Bastion with haste. In three more nights, the sky will spit fire stars. This Demon Lord would appear and it would strike the bastion. Normal weapons and arrows would not work on him. Your army would not help you. So, keep them from this battle and away from the Bastion for their safety and best interest. I have prepared a suitable weapon for you to deal with this Demon Lord.


    Go to the Bastion and look for Narik. He will deliver this weapon to you.


    A magic arrow of Titanite, smeared with Dragon Bane. This weapon will help you in your endeavor.


    When that day comes, I will battle this Demon Lord. I will fight him. I will create an opportunity for you to fire this arrow. When that time comes, you will know. I will trust you on the timing. I will trust my life and the future of Escana to you, Hyrios Tigre of the Saber Tooth tribe.¡±


    Hyrios did not realize that that humble prince has stopped talking until the Red Queen spoke in a haze of fever. ¡°You have heard him. This is not a dream. This is real.¡± Her arms wrapped around that dark prince and burned his frame with her ardent thought in open. "If you allow him to die, I will curse you and your entire tribe the most painful and undignify death."


    That was the last image that Hyrios saw from that strange dream. He woke up.

 V2 Chapter 21: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (5)

    On that day, Envy was there. So was Lust, Magnamor and Wonten. And then, the Prince of The Alliance himself.


    ¡°Which one is more terrifying? A God, a Demon Lord or a mortal?¡± That was a silly question, a funny joke that Floki? the Smiling Demon Lord made to greet his visitors. Even after five thousand years of complete isolation, the Smiling Demon Lord smiled still.


    ¡°He who erases Kharigan from the sky.¡± The Prince greeted the Smiling Demon Lord with his smile.


    ¡°Ah ha, so you are telling me guessing which one of these fellows would be the one to conquer Kharigan while you trap us here.¡± Floki? clapped his hand, smiling. Five thousand years of complete darkness and isolation has not stolen the radiance from his smile, only made it brighter.


    ¡°Clean your ears more regularly, Demon Lord. No, I don¡¯t have any intention of conquering Kharigan. Why would I want that? I meant what I said. I want Kharigan to disappear from the sky for good. I want it destroyed completely. Why? Because I can and I will.¡± The Prince cackled.


    All of a sudden, that smile on Flok¨ª¡¯s lips became stale. ¡°No, you cannot.¡±


    ¡°Hello. Don¡¯t you give me that look! Did you Demon Lords ask yourself a question like, Should we really chop this guy, this goddamn guy who should stay uninvolved to our game, and divide him to pieces and use him as our good luck charm to win the Throne? YOU MOTHERFUCKERS DID NOT. Why the fuck should I ask myself a question like, Should I destroy Kharigan? Hello, do you MOTHERFUCKERS know what the word ¡°Double-standard¡± mean? All of you were willing to chop and divide me and my other half into equal pieces over your selfish squabbles. You did not even bother to come before me and negotiate. You did not come before me and say something like, Hello, we want to make you our Champion but we are encountering some troubles. Why should I listen to your opinion on whether or not I should destroy Kharigan? This my friend, Floki?, is the very foundation of the Cult of Fearless, the complete equality of injustice. You don¡¯t care if you destroy my life. I too, shall not give a fuck about yours when I destroy it completely. We are both destroyed in the end. In that sense, we shall be equal.¡±


    The Prince¡¯s smile was completely unapologetic, brutal, and remorseless.


    ¡°So here is the real reason why I am here. This is your lesson, you don¡¯t fuck with Fearless. That¡¯s the first lesson. The second lesson, whenever you pick a fight with Fearless, he will buy your fight, and then he will make you buy it back with a complete rip-off price. The third lesson, none of my lesson are free. I¡¯m taking the Kharigan as your tutorial lesson fee. Why? Because if the price of the lessons is not expensive, you motherfuckers will not learn your lesson. As a great man once said, Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. But since there was no precedence of anyone punishing you MOTHERFUCKERS for your crimes and injustice, I had to be the one. I have to set the precedence. I have to make history. This is a history lesson, Demon Lord. And history lessons are often paid in blood. Lucky for you, I only take Kharigan this time. Applaud, please. If none of you learned this lesson after this, all of you will have to pay a similarly heavy price, again, again, again and again, until all of you have finally learned your lesson.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The Prince was still smiling but the Smiling Demon Lord has stopped.


    ¡°So why am I telling this to you first? You are the first person to suggest that stupid idea of chopping me into pieces. That¡¯s why you have earned the right to listen to the reason why you become a fucking hobo ahead of your kin. Back then, you told your kinsmen to chop me down into pieces with a smile on your face. So smile now, Demon Lord. Smile, that¡¯s your favorite phrase, isn¡¯t it? Show me your smile. Smile Demon Lord. Smile for the destruction of Kharigan. Smile because your playful suggestion, your joke has put an end to your kin. Smile because you have summoned an Ender, the best Ender in the history of the game with a harmless playful joke. You doomed your entire race with a joke and a smile on your lips. Smile, Demon Lord, smile.¡±


    On that day, Envy learned that Floki? was not the one with the most beautiful smile in the universe.


    On that day, Lust became sure of her decision.


    On that day, Wonten became sure of the greatest injustice in the world.


    On that day, Floki? smiled the ugliest smile of his entire life. He was the jokester who selfdestructed by his own joke.


    On that day, the Prince of The Alliance passed down his sentence on Kharigan with a smile as bright as the sun.


    On the same day, Magnamor understood what he could not understand at the time.


    When the five members of the Six Royal Luxury declared, ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile,¡± that was no praise. That was a declaration and a kindest of a warning.


    Nightmare, the God of God Among Men could conquer the world with the Garuda of the Sacred Mountain at his command, ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡± S0rr0w, the Demon Lord of Lavatein could split Escana apart with the terrors he commanded, ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡± Superior, the Jack of Ancient Gods could use any average warlord to crush Escana, ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡±


    ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡± The prince¡¯s smile was his trademark weapon. ¡°Watch out for his smile!¡± They were warning whoever listen to that video the whole time.


    ¡°But, the Prince of The Alliance only needs to smile.¡±

 V2 Chapter 22: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (6)

    V2 Chapter 22: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (6)


    No God was perfect. Not the Great who claimed to be so, not the Mighty, nor the Benevolence nor the Wise, not even the All-Father of Gods Naharis. Not even Death. In this world, in this universe that URLOX created, perfection existed as an illusion and a never-ending pursuit.


    From that accursed human¡¯s memory, Munezee saw the passage that URLOX has written about him.


    ¡°The Greatest God created his Greatest Foe


    He, who claimed to be Perfect, committed a Perfect Blunder


    Munezee, the Creator of Demon Lord,


    Ruler of Kharigan, Bane of Coeles


    He was the Darkest Secret of both realms.¡±


    URLOX knew something that nobody knew and they only hinted it instead of revealing it. URLOX desired entertainment, revealing such secret would spoil their entertainment.


    The Great God made the greatest mistake in his life when he created Munezee from the mutilated corpse of his father, put a collar on Munezee and tasked him to be a grave maker on Kharigan. The Great God did not know that Munezee had the memories of the time when he was Naharis, back then and now.


    He was Munezee, a piece of flesh cut out from Naharis, but he had all the memories of Naharis. He was Munezee, the gravedigger, but he had the memories of the time when he was Naharis. He was Naharis reborn in the shape and name of Munezee.


    Munezee, he was the Ruler of Kharigan, a being of many titles. The First Demon Lord, the Maker of Demon Lords, the Lonely Demon Lord, the Keeper of Wrath.


    Of all the Demon Lords existed on Kharigan, no Demon Lord commanded as many authority at their disposal as Munezee. Their authority could not match his, not in number or in power, not even when Floki? and Pride combined their force, not even when all of the Demon Lords united their forces. No matter how much he loved them, no matter how lonely he felt, his creations and children, Munezee would not make them his equal.


    It was a lesson that Munezee has learned from Naharis¡¯ biggest mistake. It was a lesson that Munezee has learned from Sinintee¡¯s greatest mistake when Sinintee made him a grave maker on Kharigan.


    Munezee created Wrath from his hatred of Sinintee and Wonten. He created Wrath to be as mighty as Wonten and as armed and destructive as Sinintee, but none of their intelligence and ideal. Wrath was a weapon and a beast. There was no reason for a weapon to be smart, especially when that weapon was fully capable of sinking a continent in both realms, the mortal and spirit realm, when he released his full might. Granting intelligence to such a being was a perfect recipe for self-inflicting disaster.


    Munezee created Pride to look as gallant and fair as Naharis. She had the makeup of a wise philosopher and a brave warrior. She had the perfect makeup of a man and a woman, a father and a mother. She was a leader and a follower. She was a lover. Munezee granted Pride many authorities. And yet, she could not be more far off from that. She was many but she was, in fact, none, neither brave nor wise, neither a father nor a mother, neither a leader nor a follower, and definitely not a lover. Pride was created to look the part, a glorified ornament with no real power or authority. Of all the Demon Lords that Munezee has created, Pride was his worst and best creation.


    Lust, she was the closest female to Niwdar that Munezee has ever crafted. She was Niwdar if Niwdar did not reject, howl and weep back then. She was Niwdar if Niwdar has embraced and accepted him back then. She was Niwdar if Niwdar would strip herself as readily, and embrace a man as readily. She was Niwdar if Niwdar was an empty whore who was always starved for affection, warmth, and cock.


    If Lust was an affection whore, Greed was an attention whore, a sow of glory and praises. She was Sinintee if Sinintee was a female and had no brain.


    Floki? was created as a mirror image of Sinintee. A clown, a talker, a jester, a coward, the visual mockery on Sinintee for everything that Sinintee claimed to be.


    Managan, the Spawner of Blight, she was created to twist and destroy everything that Niwdar has ever loved and nurtured.


    His Demon Lords, his second-coming creations, they were Munezee¡¯s instrument of revenge on his children who have killed and wronged him.


    And yet, inside this accursed prison, they became something that they were never meant to be as Munezee watched. Munezee was inside that strange room, a room of many windows and no door. A room that was steeped in royal brilliance and luxury. A room where every tile on the floor was made of diamond, and every stone on the wall was ruby and sapphire. A room where whatever Munezee desired would manifest and deliver itself to him. Everything he desired. A great wine to drink, a royal bed to lie down, throne to sit, weapons to train himself, pussies to fuck, cocks and teats to suck. Everything. Everything but freedom.


    Everything would be granted to him as long as he desired them. Everything but freedom. Freedom was an illusion.


    ¡°Free me,¡± Munezee commanded.


    ¡°Initiation code for freedom is required. Please repeat the initiation code after me three times, I am Munezee, a complete dickhead.¡± That monotonous voice, as cold and mechanical as a golem¡¯s voice answered Munezee as usual.


    Never Munezee would make the same mistake of swallowing his pride and repeat the code after that golem.


    ¡°Error. Your intonation is incorrect. Please repeat the correct initiation code again. I am Munezee, a complete dickhead.¡± That golem kept pestering Munezee until he spoke the words in the same manner as it did.


    ¡°Hey dickhead, you stupid or what? Oh, forgive me, I forgot. You are stupid. You have dicks for a brain, my bad. Of course, you are stupid. Why the fuck would I give you freedom when I have painstakingly created this prison solely to trap you? If you want freedom, try jailbreaking your prison, YOU COMPLETE DICKHEAD.¡±


    That accursed human would appear on one of the many windows and laugh himself to tears, and then disappeared.


    Freedom was a trap. Freedom was an illusion inside this dreamland. It did not exist.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    No matter what authority and trick that Munezee commanded to aid him, Munezee could not free himself from this accursed room. This room it granted him everything, it made him felt powerful as if he was still a God, and yet he could not be much further away from that.


    And so Munezee watched.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    In the middle of that great square where billions of stupid people of Fearless stood and waited in anticipation, a band seven people aligned the stage. The crowds erupted with cheers for their favorite heavy metal band, ¡°Wrath and his cheerful band¡±.


    In dreamland, where every stupid person of Fearless could sing and dance, and appreciate music as if they were breathing, there were millions of music bands. However, the rock band, ¡°Wrath and his cheerful band¡± was undisputedly the most popular and beloved music band in dreamland.


    The members of ¡°Wrath and his cheerful band¡± composed of the Sextuplets. Clones of the Stupid God, the creator of dreamland they were. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta. These clones were Identical. Identical to his look, swagger and his artistic sense. The last member of the band was Wrath, the Thousands Claws Demon Lord. He was a fan favorite and the lead vocalist of ¡°Wrath and his cheerful band.¡±


    Wrath grabbed the mike that was tossed to him by Alpha and shouted to the crowds in his usual voice, a raspy and abyssal voice. ¡°How do you do, stupid people of Fearless?¡± His voice was as rough as sandpaper and as coarse as fragmented and weathered cement. A person could abuse his vocal cord with decades of relentless smoking and alcohols abuse, and still, he could never recreate the depth of Wrath¡¯s voice. It was gravely deep, coarse, like something that was born from the depth of the abyss, a rare and unique voice. A voice that can never be seen outside of the abyss. It was a voice that was made for heavy metal, a match made in heaven.


    The crowds of stupid people of Fearless responded well to Wrath. They cheered for him. He was their favorite vocalist in dreamland. His voice was just as much beloved in dreamland as the voice of their Stupid God.


    ¡°I love you, stupid people of Fearless. Know that I dedicate all of my songs and my love to you,¡± shouted Wrath as he crushed the first mike of the day inside his powerful grip.


    The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. Another mike soon rotated in the air and found its way to Wrath¡¯s hand. ¡°I love you, stupid people of Fearless,¡± Wrath thundered, ¡°I LOVE YOU.¡±


    ¡°WE LOVE YOU TOO,¡± the entire dreamland seemed to shake when that crowds of billions answered in harmony.


    The second mike exploded inside Wrath¡¯s dead grip when he heard such a response. He stood and howled. Wrath¡¯s howl was a powerful voice. His was one that oozed with raw and primal emotions, one that roared and howled like that of a beast, and yet was so much more.


    It was a strange sight, a bizarre sight, an unfathomable sight for the older generations of stupid people of Fearless. But for the younger generations, it was a common sight.


    If the older generations of stupid people of Fearless had grown accustomed to the sight of Wrath being a faithful instrument of music on the stage and no more than that, the newer and younger generations admired Wrath for his voice, songs and above all his honest character. They admired him even more after they learned how Wrath transformed himself from a brainless beast of destruction to someone who could speak and sing.


    Then, there was the luckiest generation, those who lived and were still living while witnessing history as history was being made around them, they loved Wrath even more. They witnessed Wrath¡¯s story as it was being written. They have once seen him as nothing more than a beast. They witnessed him being at the complete mercy of their Stupid God. They witnessed his growth with their eyes. They witnessed the path that he has chosen for himself. They witnessed Wrath became an irreplaceable member of ¡°Wrath and his cheerful band.¡± They loved Wrath just as much as Wrath loved them.


    Alpha tossed the third mike to Wrath and signaled for the concert to begin.


    Gamma, the drummer led the concert with the flurry of his drum sticks. The crowds immediately recognized the song. Beta, the guitarist soon joined Gamma with an intro. Delta, the basser played his bass guitar. Wrath sang an old song that Alpha has written for him, ¡°Your Demon Lord no more.¡±


    ¡°Created by your hands,


    Molded from your mold,


    Crafted from your miracle,


    Kept by your chains and your collar,


    Your Demon Lord, Your Wrath,


    NO MORE. NO MORE. NO MORE.


    I AM WRATH, A DEMOND LORD,


    BUT NO MORE, NO MORE YOUR WRATH


    NO LONGER YOUR DEMON LORD


    YOUR DEMON LORD NO MORE.


    NO MORE. NO MORE. NO MORE.


    I AM WRATH, YOUR DEMON LORD NO MORE.¡±


    Wrath howled on that stage. The crowds howled with him. Wrath was incapable of lying. The crowds rooted for him. The crowds cheered for him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Inside the sacred mirror hall, three missionaries of the Cult of the Prince lived. Sanguine, Yasubotay, Rasahlu. The Embodiment of Madness, the Reflection of Madness and the Whisperer of Madness. They lived a humble life inside the sacred mirror hall where the heart of the Cult of the Prince located.


    Inside the mirror hall, every tile and stone was a reflecting mirror. Every mirror was a question, ¡°Have you been mad enough?¡± that every follower of the Cult of the Prince asked themselves every morning.


    Inside the mirror hall, everybody was equal regardless of who they once were.


    Man, woman, the young, the old, the strong, the weak, the normal, the cripple, king, queen, peasant, orc, dwarf, elf, monsters and even Demon Lords, everybody was equal.


    ¡°REJOICE. He is your one and only Savior.¡±


    ¡°FUCK YOU URLOX.¡±


    ¡°FUCK THE GAME.¡±


    ¡°FUCK THE THRONE¡±


    ¡°FUCK YOU SININTEE¡±


    ¡°FUCK YOU MUNEZEE¡±


    ¡°FUCK EVERYTHING¡±


    ¡°ALL OF YOU, GO FUCK YOURSELF¡±


    ¡°REJOICE. REJOICE. RE-FUCKING-JOICE.¡±


    The prayers to the worshipped idol of the Cult of the Prince changed from day to day as the weather of Escana.


    Inside the mirror hall, the concepts of years and months did not exist, erased completely. But the concept of day and week did not. There were seven days a week. The week began with the Laughing Day. During this entire day, the inhabitants of the mirror hall would laugh at everything and kept laughing from morning to day-end. After that, it was the Crying Day. No more laughing, no laughter was allowed on this day. Everyone cried from morning to dusk. Followed the Crying Day was the Cursing Day. After that, it was the Singing Day, Self-Torturing Day, Party Day and finally the Self-Reflecting Day. After that, it was Laughing Day again.


    Inside the mirror hall, there was only insanity and madness. And there was no inequality in insanity and madness. Inside the mirror hall, everybody was equal. They were equally mad in the eyes of the Prince.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    His second-coming creations were being perverted by the hands of that accursed human. His love, they were being impregnated with strange ideology and stupid behaviors. They were being poisoned and twisted from his ideal images and intentions. But all Munezee could do was watching from his prison cell.


    And so Munezee watched. He watched his Demon Lords being corrupted while channeling his ever-growing hatred to his worst enemy. Munezee secretly vowed to strip that human from the grace of Death. He vowed to make that human wished that he could die. And so Munezee watched, formulating his plan in secret.


    Floki? was a trickster. Envy was a liar. Yasubotay was a schemer. But they were not the best of their kind on Kharigan. On Kharigan, Munezee was the ruler, the best that was and will be, the best at everything. Munezee would not make Floki? such an accomplished trickster if he himself wasn¡¯t. Same for Envy and Yasubotay. He was not their equal. He was their better at who and what they represented.


    Try jailbreaking this prison, you said.


    Try containing me human. To win this battle, Munezee knew that he had to break out of this Divine Dream first.


    How to kill an arrogant opponent? Make him even more arrogant.


    Inside his prison, the Lonely Demon Lord schemed his jailbreak.


    Do you think time could dispirit me? Do you think time is on your side? Do you think this prison could break me?


    Do you think your poison could twist all of my creations?


    I made them. I knew them more than you do.


    Your arrogance shall be your ultimate downfall. Munezee, the Lonely Demon Lord prophesized.

 V2 Chapter 23: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (7)

    V2 Chapter 23


    Back then, when he was still inside that dreamland, Envy was against the Prince¡¯s decision to announce his attack on Kharigan one day prior to the actual attack. He felt that the decision was made to please Wonten¡¯s conscience and his ego as a God of Justice.


    ¡°If you want to declare war against Kharigan, wipe them out, all of them,¡± argued Envy, ¡°You do not have enough pieces and manpower to fight them all.¡±


    There was no strategic value in announcing the attack and allowing the demons of Kharigan to evacuate ahead of time. Those demons who evacuated ahead of time would later unite with their progenitor, their Demon Lord. They would add up to the number of enemies that the Prince and Envy had to face later on. In a game of chess, if there was a free piece, uncontested and unprotected, a chess player should take it to gain an advantage.


    But the Prince only scoffed. He raised his pinky finger.


    ¡°First and foremost, the international law of war prohibited indiscriminate bombing of civilians and non-military facilities.¡±


    Envy immediately interrupted, ¡°Your international law of war does not apply here, whether it is Escana or Kharigan.¡±


    The Prince shook his head and flashed his usual arrogant smirk. ¡°It was an important obligation for any student of history to follow and be committed to the end. Otherwise, my Bachelor has no value. It is just a worthless piece of paper that says, HEY YOU COMPLETED COLLEGE.¡± As usual, in his self-serving attitude, the Prince kept talking, ignoring Envy¡¯s argument. He then raised another finger, his ring finger. ¡°Secondly, it¡¯s a matter of principle. I announce my attack to all of my enemies and my opponents, regardless of who or what they were, human, worms or demons, God or Demon Lord. Almost Always.


    These so call demons on Kharigan, I have not seen them yet. I have not talked to them yet. But their Demon Lords, their maker and spawner, your kin Envy, they are clowns and worms at best. I¡¯m sorry, Envy if that remark offended you.¡±


    ¡°No offense taken.¡±


    ¡°They had proven to be so fragile, so soft and malleable inside this dream, I highly doubt that these so call demons are any better. They are very far from my definition of a ¡°demon¡±.


    I gave my opponents at least one chance. Whether it was Death, Sinintee or you Demon Lords, I gave you a chance to back off. I have given you warnings. On the same principle, I will give these demons of Kharigan a chance as well.


    Why would I do that? Because I can, simple.


    What benefit do I gain from doing that? Not much, just a bragging right.


    I am the only one who could point my finger at their face and say, Hey, I have foretold you.


    If I have told them how and in which manner I will defeat them before our fight began, and still they were defeated in that exact manner, that would prove that my belief is solid. They are inferior to me, all of them, gods, goddesses, demon lords, demons. And I am just as great as who I believe that I was and am.¡±


    Envy could only stand and watch that grin on the Prince¡¯s lips spread wider and wider. Absolutely insane, absolutely illogical, overbearingly arrogant, Envy reevaluated his partner. There was no logic in his explanation. There was only pure stupidity, insanity, arrogance and nonsense. Yet, the Prince weaved his words to make his ideal and vision appeared noble and great. Accompanying the Prince was like sailing on a voyage with a boat made of mud. The day would come when this mud boat would dissolve into the water and everyone sailing on it would sink. It¡¯s only a matter of time.


    Yet, Envy did not hate it, that idea, sinking with this mud boat.


    The Prince then raised his middle as well, forming an OK sign.


    ¡°Thirdly, these demons have not made their stance yet. Their Demon Lords have disregarded my warnings and picked a fight with me, but they have not. They have not declared their intention to be my enemies yet. Right now, by all means, and definition, they are civilians and bystanders. But when they have made their stance and chose to be my enemies, I will destroy them completely.


    It was not about what they have done or have not done, it was their decision and intention that doomed them. This is a lesson that I intended to teach the inhabitants of the other spirit realms. If they foolishly decided to join this war as my enemies, they will suffer the same result.


    Those who survived this attack will forever remember the terror that I commanded. If they decided to me with their Demon Lord, they have wasted the chance that I gave them. For those who died, they will become an example and a lesson for the rest of the living to learn.


    Magnamor have already helped me making the records and materials for this lesson. He will spread this lesson across the nine spirit realms¡­ my bad I mean eight. Of course, when it¡¯s done, there will be only eight spirit realms remaining. So let¡¯s say, this is a lesson and warning for the other eight moons. This, my friend Envy, was the Great Genghis Khan¡¯s favorite terror tactic, massacring one city to conquer ten without losing a soldier. I am only reusing this tactic on a different scale.¡±


    Envy finally understood the Prince¡¯s intention.


    The Prince has already predicted the like of Munezee and Floki? would reach out to the other spirit realms when that moment arrived. That moment, the moment when all of Demon Lords of Kharigan have exhausted their pride, spirit, strength, miracles, and number in their fight with ¡°a mere mortal¡±. They would either quit this unwinnable fight or employing additional forces to keep this war going. He has already predicted such an action. The Prince has preempted and made his move to prevent that.


    The destruction of Kharigan was a symbolic defeat for the Demon Lords. But it also served as a lesson and warning for the other spirit realms. Realization struck Envy like a comet.


    Upon the 14th great eclipse,


    A prince shall arrive.


    All the nine planes of spirits shall know his name,


    Escana shall be painted in his color,


    For whoever has him


    Shall win the Throne.


    URLOX have stated in their prophecy, ¡°All the nine planes of spirits shall know his name.¡± With the destruction of Kharigan, only the inhabitants, the mortal of Escana would not hear of his name.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Which was it? Envy mulled. Did URLOX predict this development ahead of time? Or did the Prince actively try to fulfill the third line of URLOX¡¯s prophecy about him in the most outrageous manner?


    This boat was made of mud, but it was a great shame not to board it. Envy reckoned.


    This voyage was perhaps a doomed endeavor of a mad man from the beginning. The captain of this boat was a mad man who screamed, ¡°So what? I¡¯m Fearless.¡± He knew his boat was made of mud. He knew it would be an arduous and challenging voyage, but he boarded the mud boat and set sail anyway. ¡°You want a handicap. I will give you one. Let¡¯s see who will win at the end.¡±


    For such a brilliant man that he was, he was equally mad as he was arrogant. Perhaps, to him, this voyage was just another gamble. Perhaps, he thought he could keep it afloat until the end. Perhaps, he did not mind if this mud boat would sink before he could see the goal. It was difficult to understand his intention. A Demon Lord could be imprisoned inside his head for a thousand years and he still knew nothing about this mad man. A Demon Lord could work with him and for him as a core of his General Staff for years, and still knew nothing of his intention or purpose.


    But if he was not such a man, Envy would have never followed him.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Magnamor and Envy returned to Kharigan on the same day. But unlike Envy, who was free of worries for he had no attachment or love to Kharigan, Magnamor was busy. Envy had the smallest domain on Kharigan, just an empty furniture-less tower, the Tower of Envy located at the edge of Pride¡¯s domain. Envy had neither a throne nor a child nor a castle. Envy, the Doppelganger, the Faker, the Liar, he was one of those loners on Kharigan, a Demon Lord without a child or a legion.


    Magnamor thought that perhaps because Envy had never had any attachment to this red moon, he was able to support the Prince¡¯s decision to destroy Kharigan so readily.


    Kharigan had only three days left.


    Magnamor had no doubt that Kharigan was about to be destroyed completely.


    On his way returning to Kharigan from Escana, Magnamor saw the trails of footprints of the Crippled Legion, Eogaill¡¯s army during the First Divine War. Magnamor actively looked for Eogaill¡¯s foot trail, but he could not find it. Eogaill¡¯s trace was still invisible, but soon it would be revealed when she commanded this Crippled Legion of hers. The Crippled Legion, they were a legion of Primordial Elemental Spirits who have all sworn an oath of servitude to Eogaill. These Primordial Elemental Spirits were more ancient than Naharis himself if Naharis was still alive at this point. Perhaps, they were just about as ancient as Death.


    After the First Divine War ended, this legion vanished completely from sight and attention. Magnamor had not seen their footprints and fingerprints since. Nobody could find them. It was as if they have all disappeared from existence.


    And now, they were back.


    Eogaill with her Crippled Legion, adding a fully willing Wonten and Envy to the war potential, if there were no Demon Lord defending Kharigan against this force, it would be completely destroyed for good.


    Who was person orchestrate this development? The Prince or Eogaill, or both of them are in this together?


    Magnamor has recalled all of his children, those who have sneaked to Escana and those who have traveled across the realms, and assembled them on Kharigan at the beginning of the latest round of Reign of Chaos to keep them out of this spreading conflict. But now, when the situation has come to this, Magnamor had no idea where he should send his children to. Regardless of how this war would develop and end, his children were not safe. Their eyesight was better than most. They could see things and events that even Gods and Demon Lords could not. For that reason alone, they would suffer.


    For the first time in his life, Magnamor understood what those mortals on Escana felt when a round of Reign of Chaos was being played.


    ¡°All is fair and all is foul.


    Bones of the innocence shall mount,


    Blood of the livings shall course like rivers,


    And the realm of mortals shall be torn asunder.


    Great Heroes shall rise from this Great Chaos,


    Great Heroes of Man, Champions of Gods.


    ¡°Will they fight this Chaos or will they aid it?¡±


    ¡°Chaos is a Game and Heroes are its pieces.¡±


    The Prince was spreading this game the Reign of Chaos through the realms, and blurring all of its boundaries and limitation. Before he appeared, the pieces of the game were just the mortals of Escana. All the damage of the Reign of Chaos was contained on Escana.


    Now, Gods, Demon Lords, demons, spirits, whoever played and aided this game was a piece of the Reign of Chaos. Champion became player and Players became Champions. A human became a Player and several Demon Lords have already vowed to be his Champions.


    Nobody was safe now. No realm was spared from the damage. This was already a war now.


    Such insanity.


    It was as Magnamor has learned. URLOX impregnated everything they touched with the seed of chaos. And their most beloved Champion chose to spread and blur the boundaries of this chaos to end it.


    Such insanity.


    As he gave an evacuation order to his children, Magnamor secretly sent his eyeballs with the Prince¡¯s message to all of the involved parties, Lust¡¯s succubi, Pride¡¯s wing demons, Greed¡¯s Hellboars, Acre?a¡¯s vampires. That was basically all demon armies working under Pride¡¯s faction, all but Managan¡¯s, Pestilence¡¯s army.


    War was already here on Kharigan.


    It was as the Prince has stated. ¡°My buddy, Magnamor, the war has already started. But you just could not see it,¡± the Prince said such words with an innocent childlike smile on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t even want to play any part in this war. And yet here I am, a mortal, a human who scores the first blood that starts this war. Funny, isn¡¯t it? Whose fault is this? I wonder.¡± The Prince¡¯s voice became cold.


    Magnamor sealed his mouth, knowing that if he answered that question, he would doom himself and his children.


    ¡°Do you know why I have isolated Envy and gave him such favorable treatment from the beginning?¡±


    Magnamor shook his head, but his entire body was already shaking.


    ¡°I suspected him of showing her those nightmares and hurt her. She told me her nightmares. She saw nightmares of me flirting around with her most hated person. She saw the nightmares of me being with Alice. Those imageries provoked a feeling of envy in her. Therefore, Envy has been my primary suspect since. I have suspected that Envy was the motherfucker who whispered something like this, IF love hurts, if it¡¯s painful for you, try to kill him, every time she went to sleep. She acted stranger and stranger every time she went to sleep. Someone planted that stupid idea into her head through a Divine Dream. That, I am 100% sure.¡± The Prince cackled darkly.


    ¡°But Envy was innocent. That was how he could talk to me in such an upright manner when I have already shown him how I punished my enemies with their own weapons and poison. So who was it?¡±


    Magnamor was already started feeling like he was about to cry.


    ¡°I asked myself that question and started my investigation on all of these captives. But still, I still have not found the culprit.¡±


    Magnamor thought that the Prince was asking him the ¡°So who was it?¡± question when he made that pause. Answering that question or refusing to answer was both a death sentence.


    ¡°I repeated these questions a lot during our final night together. Why does this person show Iliva those dreams? What is this person after? And then, it was clear to me that Iliva was not the target. I WAS. I was the target. It was around the time that I was stalling my time and waiting for an opportunity to stay inside that forest. It was around that time that Iliva acted strangely. This person could see clearly see that I had no intention of leaving that forest or participating in this game or fighting this war. So, this person showed Iliva those dreams to flush me out of the forest. This person knew that I would leave the forest because the longer I stay by her side, the more hurt Iliva would be. This person was sure that I would make such a decision to protect Iliva.¡±


    Magnamor became even more terrified now when he inwardly asked a question, ¡°Why are you sharing this story with me?¡± His spectral bladders felt like someone has squeezed on them with iron grip.


    The Prince stroke one of Magnamor¡¯s tentacle with an affectionate smile on his lips, ¡°I¡¯m glad that you play no part in this incident. Seeing how you react, I am truly glad, Magnamor, my buddy. So do me a favor Magnamor, the next time that you see her, the culprit of this event, please send her my message.


    Tell her that I¡¯m willing to overlook that incident. Tell her that I say thank you. It was because she flushed me out of that forest in such a manner. I have realized how na?ve I was on the matter. But more importantly, tell her that if that girl was hurt in any manner or any form while I am fighting this fucking war, which should not be my concern, COELES IS NEXT.¡± The Prince¡¯s smile brightened, ¡°Tell her ¡°The Prince of The Alliance dared you to test his claim. Also, tell her the next time she has anything that she wants to talk to me, meet me face to face.¡±


    YOU TELL THAT TO HER YOURSELF. If only Magnamor was brave enough to say that.


    ¡°Bye, my friend and good luck.¡±


    Those were his parting words before the Prince sent Magnamor off.


    The two of you lunatics totally belong to each other.


    Remembering his role in this war, Magnamor cried inwardly while hurrying his children to get out of Kharigan.

 V2 Chapter 24: The Countdown

    These immortal beings, the Holy Spirit and Unholy Spirits, they considered themselves greater than I am, all of them did with the exception of a few individuals. They almost appeared as the personification of human¡¯s hypocrisy. They gave themselves the right to dictate the fate of beings that were lesser than them. They gave themselves the right to determine how a mortal being should live. It appeared to them that I was but an alien species, a kind of invasive animal to the well-established eco-system of Escana. And, they, Gods, Goddess, and Demon Lords, they were modernized men on Earth, researcher, zoologists, environmentalists who possessed all the right and justification in the world to determine my life. In the end, that was what I was. That was my worth and value in this game and this story they created.


    If my meeting with Clariciel has rekindled my faith in God, my meeting with these brain-dead clowns who claimed to be Gods and Demon Lords reestablished what I have already known. ¡°Gods, Goddesses, and Demon Lords are a bunch of dicks and cunts.¡± I sighed.


    Sometimes, I asked myself ¡°If FY was in my position, what would he do?¡± He would probably try to first establish a negotiation with these Gods and Demon Lords. And he would probably fail. They would probably not take him or his words seriously. He held no power to negotiate with them. The history of mankind has consistently shown one truth, ¡°Man does not negotiate with animals or insects.¡± In that manner, these Gods, Goddesses and Demon Lords would never take FY seriously until FY could do something to destroy and warp that ingrained belief of theirs.


    But since I was not FY. I could not tell what he would do after that. I could not predict what kind of miraculous kind of strategies that FY could employ to win the respect of these Immortal beings while protecting his own principles and morality.


    Suddenly, I remembered S0rrow. He was probably the only one who would employ such a drastic and radical tactic just like I did, striking a blow at Kharigan to open the possibility of a negotiation.


    ¡°Radical, drastic, suicidal,¡± those three adjectives described the two of us well, Demon Lord and Prince. The two of us were the two biggest assholes of our respective team and our group.


    I could no longer remember when that name started or when it became ingrained, the Royal Luxury Six or the Six Royal Luxuries. But I remembered being a part of that group as soon as the title Prince of The Alliance was granted to me by the fans and the media.


    S0rrow, the Demon Lord of Lavatein


    Nightmare, the God of GAM


    FY, the King of TA


    Orithyia, the Queen of AE


    Fearless, the Prince of TA


    Superior, the Jack of AG


    All of my thirteen years of experience playing for the league, the MVP trophy and the World Cup crown were won among our members. When the Final series of the World Cup ended, it was always one of us. If it was not S0rrow, then it would be Nightmare. Otherwise, it would be Orithyia or FY and me, or Superior.


    But Sorrow and Nightmare were already dominating the league and making a name for themselves before the rest of us entered the scene later. Their battles were that of a God and a Demon Lord.


    S0rrow was the reason why Phu?c and I earned the nickname ¡°The biggest Fumbler¡± and the ¡°Biggest Choker.¡± He gave us those labels after he has already crushed us in that game. He was more of a Demon Lord than any that I had met after my arrival at this strange world. ¡°Compare to you, these brain-dead morons are clowns at best,¡± I stuck to my belief.


    It was funny how most of those clowns were shouting these two similar lines at me all the time.


    The first was, ¡°Do you know what it means to make an enemy out of a Demon Lord?¡±


    The second was, ¡°Do you think you can win against a Demon Lord?¡±


    These questions were so bad that they only appeared in an F rated movie. They were so bad and cringe-worthy that they were good. I had a blast.


    I had so much fun while listening to those brain-dead morons flapped their mouths and asked such dumb questions. I laughed so much that tears came out. Since these brain-dead morons asked me the dumbest kind of questions, I gave them the dumbest kind of answers in my typical fashion.


    ¡°We were already enemy. What the fuck are you talking about? You decided to support Floki?¡¯s decision to turn me into what¡­ is it again¡­ o I remember¡­ pieces of good luck charm¡­ so that all of you gain an equal opportunity to win the Throne¡­ wasn¡¯t it? You decided to mutilate me and my brother to pieces. I did not know that was something a person would do to his friend and ally. Make no mistake, you make an enemy out of me. Make no mistake about it, you mothercuffer chose to be my enemy.¡±


    It was so dumb of an answer for a dumb question. If I was them, in their position as captives, I would have asked myself ¡°Do you know what it means to make an enemy out of Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance?¡± The fact that they have already read my memory, and knew what I did to my enemies and still did not ask themselves that question was dumb. Why are you picking a fight with someone like me when you have already known what I am capable of doing? That question was something I could never answer.


    If the first question was dumb, the second question was even funnier and dumber. Therefore, my answer also became much dumber as a result.


    ¡°Do you think I can win against a Demon Lord? What the fuck are you talking about, mothercuffer? Which one are you, blind, deaf, or retard? Break out of your jail first, then start talking trash to me.¡±


    I repeated myself over and over again in front of a different captive every single time. Of all the question they could ask, they just have to ask the dumbest ones.


    As I have deducted from my experience, the best reply to a dumb question was a dumb answer.


    I supposed that it should be obvious since these morons supported that idea of turning me into good luck charms. I was practically pronounced as the item that promised a certain victory at the end in URLOX¡¯s prophecy and yet, they have decided to chop me down to pieces. Even if hypothetically, the Demon Lords were the perfect personification of Communism in URLOX¡¯s vision, Communism has never gotten this dumb in mankind history, nor Socialism.


    But not all Demon Lords supported Floki?¡¯s bill of turning me into good luck charms.


    Thankfully, not all Demon Lords were dumb enough to melt down Excalibur and distribute a portion of the molten Excalibur among themselves so that all of them could be kings and queens.


    Out of twelve Demon Lords who voted against Flok¨ª?¡¯s bill of turning me into good luck charms and shared me among the Demon Lords of Kharigan and the God of Coeles, three were tossed into a mirror hall. These three individuals claimed that they were the avenging angels of madness. Thus, I allowed them to have a taste of their own medicine. Observing them, I had a good laugh.


    The Whisperer of Madness and the Embodiment of Madness were not as mad as they claimed to be. They were insane. But their puppets were a lot madder. And me, the one who unstrung those poor puppets from their master and turned them into my worshippers instead, I was already standing on top of Mount Everest of Madness looking down on these beginner climbers and waiting.


    And Yasubotay, the one who styled himself as the Reflection of Madness, he pretended to be mad and rejected madness as I have surmised. He was just as a giant stinky blob of disappointment as I have predicted. I was not sure if he understood why his jail took the form of a mirror hall. There he was crawling in the all-reflective mirror hall. Whereas every resident inside the mirror hall has embraced madness as their salvation and pursued insanity as their path of life, he was the only one who pretended to be mad to avoid the torture and suffering. If this irony was not enough to teach him a moral lesson, I would charge him an expensive tutorial fee after this Divine Dream ended as his senior in the pursuit of madness.


    Among those twelve, Magnamor cast a blank vote, whereas the other eight put against-votes. As a result, they received a respectful treatment for voting against Flok¨ª¡¯s bill.


    Pride, the Golden Lioness


    Lust, the Beautiful Demon Lord


    Greed, the Sow of Glory


    Acre?a, the Vampire Queen


    Managan, the Spawner of Blight


    Sloth, the Slumbering Pacifier


    Pestilence, the Great Plague


    Envy, the Thousands Faces Demon Lord.


    This group of eight composed of Pride¡¯s faction. Pride was the supreme leader of this faction and the owner of this harem of Demon Lords. Lust, Greed, Acre?a, Managan, they were all Pride¡¯s lovers in contrast to Sloth, Pestilence, and Envy who was her errand boys.


    So basically, if I won Pride over, I have already tamed 1/5 of the Demon Lords of Kharigan. For this reason alone, I had Pride as my third most important target to be recruited inside this dream.


    Lust was the first. Wonten was second. And Pride was the third most important target.


    If Lust¡¯s recruitment would make me the absolute tyrant of this Divine Dream and Wonten¡¯s recruitment equaled the doom of Kharigan, Pride¡¯s recruitment meant that I have gained the most OP warlord in the history of the Great Game.


    Or so, I thought.


    Just like the other Demon Lords, Pride¡¯s biography flavor text contained a strange poem.


    The Golden Lioness Pride


    The Sword of Dawn


    The Bride of Twilight,


    The Foe of imperfection


    Either her or the inevitable of life


    Not all of URLOX¡¯s poem in the flavor text was written to be understood easily.


    I wished I understood those cryptic lines earlier than I did. Otherwise, I would have never made that mistake.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I stood outside of the training facility and observed my staffs engaging in a round of Blindfold ROC. Gladiolus was on one side of the training facility and fended off waves of attacks from my military consultants and staffs at the moment. I was quiet and discreet. I did not want to disrupt their concentration.


    Blindfold ROC was something that I have invented during the time I introduced Pride to the game of ROC on Earth while she was still my captive.


    I remembered that Pride was talking some mad trashes about whether or not my skill as a ROC pro-gamer on Earth could translate to this world of Escana. I thought Pride¡¯s opinions were very legit. It was a different kind of game now. It was no longer a game now since the moment URLOX patched the game and made it my reality. I could not control my units with mouse and keyboard. I would not be able to micro-manage all of my units at all time. I would not be able to monitor the battlefield at the vantage point or bird¡¯s eye view at any time.


    As a result, Blindfold ROC came to be. While it was just a normal mouse and keyboard ROC game for my opponents, I played my matches with a no-look handicap. I was not allowed to look at the screen once that round started and I could only control the movement of my army via oral command. To assist me, there were several operators on my side to describe and update the battlefield to me at real time. It was as close as it could get to any real battle on Escana.


    I created the Blindfold ROC. But without Pride, this game would have been meaningless. It would have never got this far and as advanced as the one that my Chief of General Staff and head maid was playing.


    Due to the current state of my miserable army, which I was not sure if the combination these units and people could be qualified as an army or not, Gladiolus had to carry an equally heavy burden as the one I was carrying.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    In this dream world, Gladiolus was my Chief of General Staff, Minister of Military education, and head maid. But when this Divine Dream ended, she would gain another job, Independent Warlord. It was incredibly worrying that a person could take on so much responsibility even if she was Gladiolus.


    Even though Gladiolus was being pushed back and cornered by relentless waves of attacks by my staffs and military consultants. She was licking her rich cherry lips as that fearless smile widened on her face. The smile on Gladiolus¡¯ lips was brighter than dawn and more vibrant than a blooming flower, but savage and acquisitive that spoke of her unique innocence. Her innocence was that of the queen of beasts, the innocence of a predator, the innocence of the strong.


    Gladiolus struck her ornate spear to the ground as she shouted her command to her operators with authority, reacting accordingly to the threats that my staffs and consultants threw at her army. The golden metal sheets on her maid costume chinked. Gladiolus¡¯ movements gave off a polished and refined air of elegance that was steeped with a regal brilliance.


    As usual, Gladiolus donned her Raiment of Superbia, a typical frilly maid costume that only appeared in those kind of male-fantasy fictions where a woman¡¯s costume would often tighten and contour and emphasize that hourglass shape of her body. Her maid costume was the kind that riveted with many adorned metal plates like armor but otherwise served no purpose on the battlefield other than being a piece of decorative deadweight.


    In fact, anyone else other than Gladiolus who would wear this kind costume to the battlefield would be a fool with a death wish. The full set of Gladiolus¡¯ costume also contained a pair of two-centimeter high heel boots made of metals. Anyone who wore a pair of high heels to the battlefield and a piece of decorative junk to the battlefield instead of proper armor and greaves would definitely a fool with a death wish.


    Back then, Pride wore her high heels for fashion and out of her need to look down on me since our height was similar. Now Gladiolus wore high heels for fashion alone.


    I had memories of hiking a mountain on high heels due to the tyranny of a certain goddess. Thus I fully understood the pain and difficulty of wearing high heels. Thus I knew how absurd the image of a person fighting on the battlefield on high heels would be.


    Just by standing next to Gladiolus, I felt like I would be showered with looks of prejudice.


    Bro, your taste is so wrong. Bro, is that your taste? I did not know that you are such a weebo.


    While I had no problem with being judged with eyes of prejudice, being judged for something that I played no part in the making would definitely put a twist on my expression. I certainly did not design this maid costume. This costume, it was an in-game creation of URLOX, a premium character skin of the Demon Lord Pride. A character skin was an alternate artwork or outfit that you can use to customize your character''s appearance. Skins had no effect on a character''s ability in battle.


    This maid costume was an ultra-rare premium character skin for the Demon Lord Pride when this world of Escana was a PC game. URLOX only released 300 units of this premium character skin on the market, and thus it was a luxury. Players could only get it by bidding or go through an unending reroll of cosmetic loot boxes or be blessed by the RNGESUS.


    But in this world, this maid costume was an ability of Pride¡¯s golden armor. The Raiment of Superbia, this armor was more than just a piece of Pride¡¯s costume. It was a part of her identity. It traveled with her through both realms, physical and spirit realm. It could change shape to match with her desire.


    And her current desire was to be a maid. My maid to be exact. Thus her armor reflected that.


    Gladiolus was wearing Pride¡¯s premium character skin, but not quite. It was a recolored version of that skin. On Gladiolus¡¯ costume, the part where Pride¡¯s sigil the half feline mask should be painted, mine appeared instead. The golden blaze of five hands, the flag of The Alliance. Whereas the original white frills remained untouched, the parts where the crimson of blood should be colored now darkened in the black of obsidian. Those highly decorative metal plates, whereas before they would paint Pride in the radiant sublime of chrome, now they painted Gladiolus in the black and gold of my flag.


    Gladiolus¡¯ current costumed has completely trimmed out the strength and solidness of Pride¡¯s manliness physics and instead fully embraced her womanly features. But even though Gladiolus was donning that piece of delicate costume, her form was anything but delicate. She had the perfect look and the makeup of a warrior. The volume of muscles that Gladiolus packed within her lean figure would make her a perfect poster girl for any bodybuilding gym.


    As a result, Pride would have never worn something like this, a frilly maid costume, something that embraced feminine parts of her character yet neglecting her masculinity makeup.


    I was reminded once again that Pride, the Golden Lioness, who I have known, no longer existed. If Pride still existed, she existed in my eroding memories.


    Now, there was only Gladiolus, ¡°The Prince¡¯s Maid,¡± in her word.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Pride¡¯s confinement facility was originally a large villa. There, every object was painted in royal brilliance and pampered with a touch of luxury. I told Pride that whatever she demanded, I would provide it to her with the exception of true freedom. ¡°You are not allowed to leave this facility or see your subordinate Demon Lords until I end this Divine Dream.¡±


    I told Pride the exact same line that I have told her subordinate Demon Lords. I waited in anticipation for her answer.


    Pride¡¯s faction weirded me out. But it was a good kind of weird. Their answer was unique and their questions were far from dumb. Meaning, I was not bored when I talked to them.


    Lust was the weirdest of the bunch. Lust looked at me smiling, ¡°O Prince, please keep me here as your captive, forever and ever. Do not let go of me,¡± with a joyous expression. I did not think I have seen a happier person when someone told her that she was going to jail. Lust¡¯s expression betrayed only pure happiness.


    Greed¡¯s answer was funny. ¡°Do you think this puny jail of yours could keep the mighty and glorious Greed contained?¡± Which I replied, ¡°Good luck, milady. Go ahead and try.¡±


    Greed tried to jailbreak my Divine Dream through different means and manners. Some of which I must admit that they were very creative. But the Sow of Glory soon ran into a major problem. Greed was fighting against Lust and me. I have already appointed Lust as my Chief of Intelligence and Communication as well as the Head of The Department of Divine Dream Warfare. After one year of relentless attempting jailbreak, Greed has finally realized that she was not Michael Scofield of this dreamland and gave up.


    Sloth¡¯s answer was completely unexpected, ¡°Thank you,¡± said he before he went to sleep without waking once. I had no idea how Sloth could sleep while being asleep. But he truly lived up to his title The Slumbering Pacifier.


    Acre?a, the Vampire Queen, her reply was a head-scratching. And then, Pestilence. Pestilence¡¯s reply was, however, a major disappointment, ¡°Do you know who I am? I am Pestilence, the Great Plague.¡±


    That was a dumb answer. Therefore, I could only converse with him in the dumbest of a manner. ¡°And I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡±


    ¡°I will kill you,¡± he declared.


    ¡°Pride saved you. And now, you have wasted it,¡± I smiled and snapped my fingers. I dropped Pestilence into a steamy sauna of my favorite liquid, alcohol but boiling. There was nothing in that sauna other than unbreakable stones, Pestilence and boiling alcohol vapor.


    ¡°It burns,¡± he screamed.


    ¡°Of course it burns. I am disinfecting my beautiful dream from your entire existence. I am also disinfecting you from yourself.¡± I clapped my hands happily and let him enjoy my 100% alcohol content sauna bath for as long as it took to kill all the bacteria and viruses that existed inside my dreamland. Alcohol was the greatest discovery in mankind history. It was the kind liquid that could make a man stupid and it could disinfect him from bacteria and virus. Pestilence then switched to his conception form, a cloud of miasma to push my 100% alcohol steam away. I tossed him into a blazing oven of purgatory fire until he reverted back to be a masses of colonies of bacteria and viruses again. It was sauna time again.


    I would say that Pestilence was the only one from Pride¡¯s faction who received that kind of treatment. Therefore, I had high hope for Pride¡¯s answer.


    Pride did not betray my hope. She made demands, a lot of demands.


    Her bed was not to her liking. Pride wanted her bed to be bigger and softer. She wanted the mattress to be made of red silk and rimmed in golden threat. She demanded two large pools, one was cold with a thin layer of ice floating on top whereas the other one was hot with boiling spring water. She demanded a water lily lake that was hemmed by a pavilion of moon lilies.


    Pride made a lot of demands to the point that it was impossible to think that her royal villa was a confinement facility. But, ¡°What else?¡± I kept on repeating, equally as entertained and humored as Pride was.


    The two of us were already playing a game, our kind of game.


    Pride¡¯s demand escalated to the point of sheer ridiculousness until she was sure that my ability to control this dreamland was about on the same level as Lust. It was wonderful that we were thinking of the same thing despite our differences. If I was in her position, I would have tested the same thing. The ability to conjure a Divine Dream was a common ability among the Immortals. However, no one can conjure a Divine Dream like Lust, the progenitor of the dream demons. Her Divine Dream was the most complex and the most beautiful. And above everything, her dreams felt real enough that a person could say ¡°Fuck you, reality,¡± and continued to sleep forever.


    ¡°What else?¡± I continued to tease Pride even though I was sure that she was done with making demands.


    Pride sat down on her royal bed and put a finger on her chin. A teasing smile spread on her red lips. ¡°How about a lover?¡±


    I snapped my fingers to conjure another pillow to appear on Pride¡¯s bed. It looked exactly like the previous one that Pride had demanded.


    Pride winked and wiggled her fingers, telling me to come closer. She blew an amorous breeze of autumn into my ears. She straddled my chest and unbuttoned my shirt in a caressing manner. Slowly and seductively, she brought her mouth to my ears, whispering, ¡°Too early,¡± and breaking into a giggle. She patted my chin in an apologetic manner while still giggling. ¡°It would be dreadfully boring if I was to live alone by myself inside such a large villa. Will you stay here with me and keep me in your company?¡±


    I was sure that no man on Escana could say no at that moment, especially someone like me.


    Since, I lived with Pride inside that villa as her warden and companion. We shared a room but we had our own bed and ours were as equally large as each other. Pride was a great talker and a terrific seducer, thus I enjoyed talking with her so much more than I have expected.


    In fact, I enjoyed talking with Pride more than anyone else inside this Divine Dream. Talking with Envy could get boring very fast, other than the usual topic, the weaknesses of every Demon Lord, the only topic that can keep him going for days, anything else was a terrible topic. He made a worse talking partner than Misery, which made me wondered what he used his free time for.


    Talking with Magnamor was worse, he was absolutely terrified of me. He always gave me the look of a lamb would to a wolf, meaning if I happened to sneeze during our conversation, he would enter a stuttering-broken-recorder-mode on the spot. He could barely say what he wanted to say.


    Talking with Lust was fun and all until Lust was tired of talking and wanted nothing other than lovemaking.


    Talking with Greed felt like I was back inside a mental institution again. ¡°Serve me and your name will be remembered by Escana for a thousand years,¡± she said.


    ¡°How can you read my mind?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Of course, I can. I am Greed¡­¡±


    ¡°And I am Fearless,¡± I cut in between her lines as usual.


    ¡°Serve me, I said. Serve me.¡±


    ¡°No, you serve me. I was about to tell you that.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about? What kind of Demon Lord would become a Champion for a mortal?¡±


    ¡°Precisely. That¡¯s what I am talking about. If you become my Champion, you will set the precedent. You will be the first Demon Lord to ever do that, a Demon Lord who serves a mortal. For that, you will be remembered for a thousand years by every being on Escana.¡±


    ¡°Why would I want that kind of infamy? WRRRRRR,¡± Greed squealed, punching walls to vent out her anger. Even when she has lost her mind in fury, Greed could still control herself well enough to not throw her punch at me.


    For that, she deserved some amount of respect from me. As a result, ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you? WRRRR,¡± I mimicked her action and taunted Greed even further.


    Pride was precious. A talker like her was incredibly precious inside this dreamland because inside this dreamland, there were only stupid people and insane people. And neither of those kinds made a good talking partner.


    But above all, Pride loved playing games with me. There was no ending source of games for us to play. The game of Q and A was the usual. Pride would ask me one question and I would reply, then we reversed our role.


    ¡°Why do someone like you play this stupid kind of game?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I want to win.¡± Pride said laughing. ¡°What¡¯s about you?¡±


    ¡°To prove that I am better than everyone else.¡±


    ¡°Then we are similar.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, we are.¡±


    She was lying down on the edge of her bed. I was on mine. We looked into each other¡¯s eyes, grinning. Narcissists we were. Pride played the game because she wanted to beat the rest of her competitions. I played the game because I wanted to prove to myself that I was the best in the world, again and again.


    ¡°What¡¯s your evaluation of my ability as a Champion?¡± I leaned over and asked.


    ¡°Though far from perfect, you are most desirable,¡± Pride smiled sweetly, and confessed, ¡°I would love to have you as my Champion.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I have the same opinion about you. Pride, I desire you as my Champion.¡±


    Pride looked stunned for a moment, ¡°Then, I am very sorry. I¡¯m afraid that I am about to break your heart with my answer.¡± She wore wry teasing smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry,¡± I waved my hand with a bright smile on my lips, ¡°If you happen to break my heart for real, I will make sure that you would be the one to mend it back to health.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a tough responsibility.¡± Pride shook her head in disbelief and giggled.


    ¡°Sure is,¡± I nodded my head.


    The two of us could play this game forever and ever. I loved talking to Pride just as much as she enjoyed talking to me. We enjoyed flirting and teasing and making each other sexually frustrated. The two of us played our next favorite game, the guessing game. I would do strange things and speak riddled words. Pride would have to guess what I was doing or talking within three attempts. And then, we would reverse our roles. But this game, too, got boring really quickly since neither of us lost a game.


    Then, we were off to our next game again.


    Pride held my hand and taught me how to dance. It was the kind of dance that involved weapons, a hell lot of dangerous weapons.


    ¡°How did you learn this kind of dance?¡± I asked.


    ¡°A few of my past Champion were Niwdar¡¯s disciples,¡± Pride¡¯s answer was so nonchalance and carefree that it was chilling.


    ¡°And Niwdar allows you to do that?¡±


    ¡°The rule did not forbid me.¡±


    If Pride was a man, I would praise that she had the balls of steel because I would never do that.


    I taught Pride how to dance as well, my kind of dance, the kind that involved no weapon, nothing sharp and dangerous objects. Pride taught me how to play an elven Sigrean, a 4-string plucking musical instrument that resembled a Chinese Liuqin.


    I taught Pride to play the piano. She taught me how to play a whalebone flute. I taught her playing my kind of flute in return. Pride asked me to teach her playing music with leaf. I was in a good mood and thus I taught her for free.


    But Pride taught me to do Titan calligraphy in return. ¡°Recently, I have become afraid of your free stuff,¡± Pride said.


    ¡°So how about I take back that bed of yours for payment. But don¡¯t worry. You are always welcome to join me on my bed.¡±


    ¡°I thought that was a compensation for keeping me here,¡± she quipped and guided my quill holding hand to write the titan runes in the correct order.


    The two of us flirted so very often between our games. We seduced and tempted each other at every opportunity. Every opportunity. Every time when we held each other hand, it was game time. Every time when our body was separated by but the layers of our clothes and the heat started to become unbearable, it was the game.


    Here in this dream world, I ran to my match for the first time. If my heart was made of winter, hers was made of Titanite. On the day that I was completely done with those Titan writing lessons, Pride was down to one of her breeziest premium character skins, a string velvet bikini as golden as saffron. She held my hands and invited me to swim with her in the hot spring pool, ¡°Let me teach you, my prince, the etiquette of a swan waltz.¡± That was no longer a game. That was a test if I had ever taken one.


    The thought that I might need to hack and cheat to make through this test was the final push. I was not prepared to go down without a fight. The pool water was hot. But Pride was so much hotter. I did not know how I passed that test. Probably because I have made Pride realized that she was not in the safe in this test.


    And then, we were off the next game. It was a game but a game that we should have never played.

 V2 Chapter 25: The Countdown (2)

    V2 Chapter 25: The Countdown (2)


    Misery and I shared a mutual agreement that the Demon Lords of Kharigan were easily the scariest things in RTDS. But in ROC, they were no longer scary.


    In RTDS, The Demon Lords was URLOX¡¯s most successful attempt at creating the cosmic horror entities for their universe. The Demon Lords were mentioned in small pieces of stories and events that Craxus encountered throughout his journey. Players learned that Managan, the Spawner of Blight was the reason why Niwdar approached Death and made that deal with her. But that was about it, players had no idea what Managan looked like or what her goal was. Players learned that Lust could kill any man by making that man see a red dream. Players knew that Lust was a beautiful woman. But nothing else. Not her purpose or how she used the red dream to kill.


    These Demon Lords were presented in a way that players could not grasp the sheer scale and terror that they commanded. Players could not fully grasp their intention or their goal or power. Players could not fully understand how these Demon Lords could warp reality and inflict their damage on Escana. Players could only partially understand what the Reign of Chaos was all about. That was when these Demon Lords were at the peak of their strength, cosmic horror entities that were always greater-than-life and fully capable of destroying Escana at any moment.


    Then, in ROC, URLOX gave personality to these Demon Lords. URLOX gave these Demon Lords voices, complete shape, and personalities. URLOX even created the dark cultist faction and granted the unique ability to summon a Demon Lord to this faction.


    ¡°ROC was where URLOX killed these Demon Lords,¡± I spoke my lines as Dr. Reality in that ¡°What¡¯s wrong with these Demon Lord?¡± episode.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Misery agreed.


    I had no idea whose decision it was, the executives of PIPE or URLOX,to completely reveal of these Demon Lord. It was a terrible decision. The less the players understood about these Demon Lords, the scarier they were. The less the players comprehended about the power and miracles that these Demon Lords commanded, the more terrifying these Demon Lords became. URLOX was shooting at their feet with this decision. But the decision to grant the ability to summon these Demon Lords to Escana with a Hit Point bar had to be the worst decision if URLOX still had the intention of using these Demon Lords as the cosmic horror entities of their universe.


    ¡°If a human can kill or injure beings like Cthulhu or Dagon, even if that was only a hypothesis, Cthulhu and Dagon were already as good as dead.¡± Misery read his script, ¡°I don¡¯t care how and with what kind method you used to achieve that. Even if, hypothetically speaking, you need a dozen nukes to hurt them and you had none. The thought that you can hurt or kill them, THAT, that was the moment when these beings have already been vanquished as cosmic horror entities.¡±


    Then URLOX just had to make my collision with these Demon Lord an inevitable future.


    I had two theories to explain this decision that URLOX made.


    First theory, URLOX wanted me to ¡°end¡± these Demon Lords for good.


    Second theory, URLOX was issuing a challenge, ¡°You think our Demon Lords are not scary. How about facing them yourself?¡±


    Regardless of which theory was correct and which was incorrect, the truth and reality remained unchanged.


    These Demon Lords ran into me. That was the truth. I was their worst matchup. And this was the reality that I have intended to prove when I ended this Divine Dream.


    And yet, before I could end this Divine Dream, I have already proven it, unintentionally. Pride was the first casualty.


    Death could kill a man with a black dream.


    Niwdar could make a man kill himself after he woke up from a golden dream.


    Lust could make a man lived inside a red dream until he expired.


    Me, I ended a Demon Lord with my dream. I did not even realize I could do that.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Pride argued that neither of our worlds was fake. Neither my world nor her world.


    Pride was the first and only person to converse and confront me about how weird my current situation was.


    ¡°Again? Do you still think that I am a figment of your imagination? How preposterous!¡± She laughed, stopped playing the elven Sigrean, edging closer to me from her bed. Her finger wiggling.


    From my bed, I tossed my guitar away and lazily rolled toward Pride, ¡°That¡¯s a possibility. Otherwise, I cannot explain how I can be inside this ridiculous world.¡± The distance that separated our beds was now but a line formed by our mattresses. Before our bedroom was a two-royal-bed room, now it was a one-royal-bed room. One king size bed with two separated mattresses.


    Pride kept wiggling her finger, delighted by how she could control my movement with but a finger. I kept rolling until I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face. Pride lifted my chin with a finger and gazed into my eyes.


    I loved gazing into Pride¡¯s eyes at a close distance. Even the most polished jewels on Earth were far from possessing the mesmerizing and sublime beauty that radiated from Pride¡¯s eyes. Her two colored eyes were simply breathtaking. One was as bright and majestic as a rising vermillion, the other one was cold and mysterious as a dusky sky. Her eyes, they spoke. They were eyes that spoke and sang songs of her character. They were honest in their desire. They affirmed Pride¡¯s words about just how much she wanted to dominate me and claim her possession over me.


    ¡°If this is a figment of imagination, it would be my imagination,¡± Pride said as she straddled my chin with her finger.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Pride brought her lips closer to my ear, whispering in a husky voice, ¡°You, you are like my most hidden fantasy came to life.¡±


    I would challenge anyone to deliver that line without making herself/himself look absolutely cringe-worthy and awkward. And yet, Pride spoke it so natural. Other than Pride, I did not think anyone could. But if Pride was not at least a flirt like this, it would be unthinkable for her to build her impressive harem of that many Demon Lords.


    ¡°I¡¯m honored,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Aw, that¡¯s unexpectedly cold,¡± cooed Pride, ¡°Don¡¯t you have a better answer?¡±


    ¡°In fact I do. Do you want to hear it?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. I feel like I might fall in love with you the moment I hear it.¡±


    The way that Pride made such cringe-worthy line appeared so natural and smooth was a talent. I could not help but admire her.


    Pride planted a short and gentle kiss on my cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. None of this is a delusion of yours,¡± she affirmed me with a stern gaze. ¡°For I am Pride, the one and only. I know who I am. I know what I am. I know what I am capable of. Winning your loyalty and heart for instance,¡± declared Pride.


    ¡°It breaks my heart to say this, but you, my dear, you currently lack the qualities that I look for in a leader.¡± I too made my declaration.


    ¡°You think that I am lesser than the King of The Alliance?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s absolutely unfair to compare you to FY.¡±


    Pride broke into a burst of fresh laughter without any hint of ill-intent. Her eyes lit up. ¡°I think it¡¯s about time we settle our differences in opinions.¡±


    ¡°I believe so as well. So how do we settle our difference?¡± I gave Pride the liberty to choose the contest.


    ¡°We both want a Champion. We both think that we make a better leader than the other,¡± Pride said, laughing, ¡°But I have been a leader of my faction for millions of years. How many years have you been a leader of your own team?¡±


    ¡°Ouch, that¡¯s a hurtful question,¡± I smiled.


    Pride was using the media¡¯s most favorite criticism against me. It was the usual, ¡°You should have your own team,¡± again.


    The Royal Luxury Six, the six of us were considered the ultimate luxury items of our time and in the entire history of the league. Each of us dominated the game in a unique manner. Each and every single one of us was a perfect representation of unfair and unreasonable. We were exactly the kind of monsters that the media has often painted us, ¡°Having one of these six a part of any team¡¯s roster is enough for that team to win a Championship at any era.¡±


    That was the media¡¯s favorite narrative for years. If a team had one of us in their roster and still they could not win a championship, that was definitely the team¡¯s fault. Everlasting Dynasty, FY¡¯s previous team became the perfect target for this narrative.


    That narrative then gave birth to another narrative.


    ¡°The two of you should lead your own respective team and compete for the Crown fairly. Stop being together.¡±


    ¡°Two members of the Six Royal Luxury on the same team are completely unfair.¡±


    ¡°You are not the greatest. Why? Nightmare, S0rrow, Orithyia and Superior have won Championships by leading their own team. You? How many Championship have you won without FY helping you?¡±


    For that reason alone, FY and me, we were the most controversial one-two combo in the history of the game. These lines of argument became even more heated when our MVP years overlapped on three consecutive years. During two of those three years, we almost have to settle the MVP race by becoming Co-MVPs. I was at the top of my form and so was FY.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°You two destroy competitions.¡±


    ¡°We sick of seeing the two of you at final.¡±


    ¡°You cannot call yourself the greatest ROC player to ever play this game by playing under the banner of another Great. Greatness is something you created for yourself and by yourself.¡±


    The media and my anti-fans would repeatedly use those stupid lines, thinking that I would leave The Alliance to build my own team due to my giant ego. Therefore, when my contract with The Alliance was about to end, I refused to sign an extension, giving into my anti-fans¡¯ demand. When my contract expired, I met up with various executives of various teams. I gave them positive feedback about their team and rosters. I appeared to be very indecisive about my future choice. Then, on the deadline, I resigned with The Alliance to show them my middle finger. The media absolutely loathed me for that move.


    ¡°You can never win a Championship without FY.¡±


    ¡°You have a chance to build your own team and you chicken out.¡±


    And then nobody complain anything when Superior recruited Nightmare and S0rrow to AG.


    I saw no complaint on the headlines when that pair, the God of GAM and the Demon Lord of Lavatein un-retired themselves and played for AG. That was half of the Six Royal Luxury on a single team.


    A team can never get that stacked, four Superstars for the starting lineup and three All-star for the bench. That kind of line up only appeared in an All-star event.


    People showed doubts that such a Star-centric team could even operate. But there was no problem with the chemistry or hiccup in how the team operated.


    That dream team operated and fought their battles like a machine of war due to the existence of the most well-oiled and well-designed engine in the history of the game, Superior.


    People like FY and Orithyia who could command an arsenal of over 25 warlords on a competitive level were rare, as rare as unicorns. There existed no pro-gamer who could play all 63 warlords on a competitive level. They could play all of them on a serviceable level, but not all of them on a competitive level.


    And then, there was Superior who could play all 63 warlords for all positions on the highest level. Ender, Supporter, Raider, Defender, All-Rounder, he could play them all. The Jack of all Trades and Master of All. Superior, the Jack of Ancient God. He was the perfect ROC pro-gamer for any team or any roster and any lineup.


    Then, Nightmare was still Nightmare. S0rrow regressed due to his two years of inactivity but he was still a Demon Lord. That 2071 AG team was unreal.


    8 Major tournaments of the 2071<sup>st</sup> series, 8 Major Championship, 8 Perfect-No-Loss records. Throughout the entire 2071 World Cup series, that team did not lose a single battle as they advanced all the way to the Final series of the 2071 ROC World Cup.


    At the final series, Misery blew two cigarette packs during the one hour waiting before the first game. Fantasy joined with Merleon for a meditation session to calm his nerves. That prankster could not even make a joke as usual. And I, though I did not want to admit it, but that 2071 AG team was a force of nature. They crushed people¡¯s spirit even when they have yet to play a game.


    So, it was FY¡¯s responsibility as a leader to deal with that shit. Strategy wins wars, tactics wins battles. It was FY¡¯s job as our team strategist to get everyone ready and strong for entire series.


    The expectation was on him. And FY delivered.


    ¡°Guys, this is our test. Be happy guys. This is our ultimate test and our ultimate chance. There is no better chance than this.¡± FY delivered the most inspiring speech on that day as our team captain. ¡°Beat them and nobody could dispute over our greatness. Beat this team and we will forever be remembered as the undisputed strongest team in history. Beat this team and we will be the greatest team that was, and is and forever will be. We are the greatest. Let¡¯s prove it. Let¡¯s beat them.¡±


    His pre-game pep talk was shorter than usual. But that was enough. FY was just that great. Therefore, it¡¯s difficult for me to imagine myself having a better teammate and captain than FY.


    Since Pride used that ¡°You did not lead your own team¡± to diminish my greatness. I smiled and accepted her criticisms. Then, I roasted her, ¡°I play ROC for thirteen years and won 7 Championships. How many rounds of ROC have you played during your millions years reign? Why haven¡¯t you won the Throne yet?¡±


    Pride smiled without revealing any hint of anger in her body language or expression. In a trash-talking battle, the side that defended and got emotional would instantly lose the battle.


    The two of us roasted each other throughout the night and all the way until noon of the next day.


    ¡°You are an arrow without a quiver. Without someone like me acting as your leader and your quiver, you will wear yourself out before you could win a single war.¡±


    ¡°If you want a scrub for a Champion, start looking somewhere else. But if you want a bona fide and battle-tested Champion, win him first. Earn him.¡±


    Our nose was touching but we were not kissing each other. We were butting our head.


    ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s have it. Your game, ROC as a PC game, your kind of game. I will beat you at your own game.¡± Pride declared.


    I recreated ROC in dreamland and allowed Pride to a taste of it. At the same time, I reinvented the game. Pride talked some mad trash in between. And Blindfold ROC came to be.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Her right flank was being threatened by Searek¡¯s suicide chargers. Gladiolus took out a page from Merleon¡¯s playbook and rallied her troops to form a circle around her and her HQ. There were very little troop movements or speed. It was unmistakably Merleon¡¯s style of command, a style bore a great familiarity to Nightmare¡¯s signature style.


    If I was the sword of The Alliance, Merleon was the shield. My role as an Ender was to takeout enemy warlords. Merleon¡¯s role as a Defender was to defend and protect our team¡¯s territory. Whereas my play style would increase the pace and the speed of the battles, Merleon¡¯s style put a cold track to the paces and movements. It was a cold style, slow, grinding and mechanical. It was the kind of style that stayed away from the highlight reels. It was the kind that its beauty was a very acquired taste. This style was very hard to watch unless Nightmare was the one playing it. Only Nightmare could make this kind of style entertaining.


    But Merleon¡¯s style was the perfect tool for the job whenever FY decided that we should strike a mental blow at our opponent¡¯s spirit. We would use my army mainly as a bait to attract attention. Merleon was the real weapon. But since Merleon was a Defender and his warlords often lacked the ability to end the battle in a hurry, it was a grind fest.


    Merleon was the shield of The Alliance. And shield was not a weapon. It could not kill an enemy with the efficiency of the sword. But it could be used to push the enemy back. Slowly but steadily, Merleon¡¯s army would push the opposing armies out of their position and territory until they had nowhere else to escape. Being slowly pushed and crushed by Merleon¡¯s army felt like there was an invisible pair of hands slowly choking the life out of your own body. Being defeated by Merleon felt extremely deflating and exhausting in term of mental power. And that was what people has said about Nightmare¡¯s play style.


    This style was the most suited style for this Blindfold ROC game, especially when a person playing a handicapped one versus five battle. Gladiolus traded the maneuverability of her army for cohesion and solidity.


    As I observed the match, the entire circle of 30,000 troops moved like a wheel of pikes and shields under the command of Gladiolus. That wheel moved like a machine, pushing Searek¡¯s troops to the river with pikes leading.


    On the other corner of the training facility, there stood five of Sanguine¡¯s past champions. Searek, the Derange. Isonos, the Broken. Ember, the Mad Saint. Lynx, the Pale Elf. And the most infamous of them all, Sanguine¡¯s most prized champion and trophy, Sasengun, the Wailing Queen.


    Searek, the Derange. He was a notorious orc general of his time. His name appeared in the flavor text of the Mad King Adosot, a person who was supposed to be his equal in term of insanity. These two men, an orc and a dwarf, despite the difference in their race and heritage, they were famous for the same thing, butchering and skewering their own men, enemies, captives, slaves, even their family on pikes to strike the terror into the heart of their enemies.


    Isonos, the Broken. He was URLOX¡¯s re-imagined version of Ivar the Boneless, that Viking who appeared in the Tales of Ragnar Lodbrok. He was a fantasy version of Ivar the Boneless if Ivar the Boneless was a Garuda and if that Garuda had only one wing. He was Ivar the Boneless if Ivar was less sane and more deranged.


    Ember, the Mad Saint. The Kingdom of White Winter knew this man¡¯s backstory better than the man himself. This man struck the match that ignited the mess known as the One Hundred Years War.


    Lynx, the Pale Elf. The ancient elven king of Murkwood, Ashtor¨¢ the First had to cross the Paredi Ocean from the Long Continent with five thousands of his people and made his home in Murkwood to run away from this lunatic.


    Sasengun, the Wailing Queen. This dark elf queen of her time became a tale of horror that every child growing up in the Southern Continent knew about. She explicitly made a pact with Sanguine in order to have her goal fulfilled. With the power she gained from the pact, she fought a war to protect her children and her people. But when she won that war, she drowned her own children while being under of Sanguine¡¯s influence. Since Sasengun¡¯s tale was retold for a millennium until it became a horror story to scare children and taught people not to make a pact with Sanguine. But other than the Champions of Sanguine, nobody knew the truth. No one has ever chosen Sanguine. Sanguine chose them. And when one was chosen by Sanguine, they were fated to suffer his poison and madness.


    I was probably the only one who was stupid enough to recruit these five as my military consultants. And shit, I have made a lot of stupid decisions. Making these fives my military consultants had to be my most stupid decision in life.


    And yet, I had no better alternative at the moment. A man''s junk is another man''s treasure.


    Inside this Divine Dream, nobody understood the aerial warfare and dogfight more than Isonos. Nobody knew White Winter more than Ember even if his knowledge has become outdated for 100 years. Nobody had the experience to fight in an infantry and a large army like Searek. Lynx was the only one with the knowledge of usurping a crown. And Sasengun certainly knew more about water warfare than me who could only swim.


    If only these five were mentally stable and alive, I could not ask for better generals and advisors. But they were neither alive nor mentally stable. Hundreds, Thousands, and millennia years of being at the mercy of Sanguine¡¯s tentacles and poisons left the marks on their souls and their mind.


    I treated these five just like them, the other Champions of Sanguine if I could identify all of them as Champions. There were babies of three years old or less who could only speak their babyish language or speak the language of insanity. There were newborns who could only cry. And there were fetuses, unborn babies of different races. But aside from them, I could speak with the rest of Sanguine¡¯s past champions.


    Unstrung them from Sanguine¡¯s vice I did. Filtered Sanguine¡¯s poison from their soul I did. Made them remembered who they were I did. Be that one person for them when they needed someone, I, too, did. But they were alone when the memory of their deranged deeds returned to them. They were alone, truly alone when they realized that they were neither a part of the living nor a part of Death¡¯s subjects.


    ¡°If you want vengeance, enter the Mirror Hall. Many of the victims of Sanguine chose to return to him to make him suffer. If you want peace, you are welcome to live among my stupid people of dreamland. They will receive you with open arms. But if it was possible, I want you to serve me as my advisor or staff. I want your counsels, your experience, your knowledge, and your strength. I am about heading to fight a war of my own. Yet, I am lacking in everything. I have no army, no provision, no general and no experience of fighting a war. So if it¡¯s possible, I hope that you can support me.


    But I will respect you, regardless of which choice you made. I understand that you have suffered a lot under Sanguine¡¯s whims.¡±


    Back then, I could not predict that when I first spoke those lines, over 147 of Sanguine¡¯s past Champions would volunteer to be my advisors. Perhaps even if I told Pride about these people when we only were starting playing Blindfold ROC, she could never believe it. If I told Pride, ¡°If it was not for the help of these 147 insane and broken souls, you would have probably won. PROBABLY. Probably is the key word.¡± I wondered how she would react. I regretted not telling her about that.


    Among these 147, ten rose above the competitions and formed the core of my General Staffs. Five were already with Lust when I sent her off, using her as my messenger and deliveryman. They were chosen for being the most mentally stable people among my advisors. But in fact, their insanity reflected in how normal and mentally stable they appeared.


    Suddenly, I remembered Flok¨ª¡¯s question, ¡°Which one is more terrifying? A God, a Demon Lord or a mortal?¡± Sanguine spread madness as a Demon Lord. I spread madness as a human. I could not help but laugh at myself. If Madness could save a person¡¯s life, why not employ madness?


    The other five of the ten, Gladiolus was taking them head-on, all at the same time.


    This kind of reckless arrogance reminded me of Pride. But again, I had to remind myself, ¡°Pride no longer existed. I erased her.¡±

 V2 Chapter 26: The Coundown (3)

    It was difficult to explain what I understood and what I did not understand about war to my General Staff. Therefore, I figured out that the fastest way to explain to them was making them playing ROC.


    My General Staff was among the first people on Escana to play ROC as a game. I wanted to teach them what ROC was all about from my perspective. I wanted them to experience the changes and differences in technology and strategies from their time. They were men and women who were out of time and reality. Ember was a man behind time by a hundred years while Sasengun had a millennium to catch up. Therefore, I taught them playing ROC with mouse and keyboard to experience the war, now from the point of view of Gods and Demon Lords.


    ¡°This is how I experienced my battles and wars until now.¡± I told them, ¡°Until this moment, I played War as if I was a God or a Demon Lord. I have never fought a war. Therefore, I want you to understand my view, my advantage, and limitation while playing war and not fighting one.¡±


    After they have learned all the basic of ROC, I told them to practice the game among themselves. I only drilled the mechanical skills into them, nothing else. I made them trained themselves and played ROC with their self-invented techniques and their unique approaches. I told them to form teams and compete with each other.


    These warlords and Champions of their time quickly became fulltime gamers in this dreamland that I conjured. Watching them compete, I found myself missing the competition and The Alliance more than ever. I could remember everyone, my family and The Alliance, their voices and my memories shared with them. But their faces were a different story. I even forgot about Alice¡¯s face. Through a Divine Dream, an immortal could reconstruct a mortal¡¯s memory. And because the memory was reconstructed, reality and truth were altered to a certain extend base on a person¡¯s consciousness. Therefore, I suspected that their face has been altered through time. I found myself wishing that I had Thu?y D??ng¡¯s near photographic memories. But Thu?y D??ng would probably wish that she possessed my audio-library instead.


    Conflicts of interest, idealism, value, and culture were immediately curbed in the fetus state. I showed my General Staff why I was called the Prince of The Alliance by revealing the distance between us, me and them. I crushed those all-dwarven, all-human, all-orc, all-elf teams. I destroyed those all-male, all-intelligent-race teams. ¡°This is reality. This is how unpolished and inexperienced you are in this game. Forget about your differences in races, forms, and statuses. In this place, everyone is a teacher. Everyone is a student. Learn from your competitions and teach them what you have learned. I want everyone here to be the best version of themselves. Learn from your competition and rise above them by becoming the best version of yourself, the best of the best.¡±


    When the best teams of my General Staff started forming by dominating their competitions through various means, I once again crushed their ego by beating every team in a 1v5 format. The quickest elf of my dreamland soon learned that his fingers were not as fast as he believed. The most detailed dwarf realized that his better existed in this dreamland. The most focus-minded orc was completely unraveled in a ten hours game. The strategist who was famous for predicting the future was beaten a simple tactic before he could execute his winning strategy. My General Staff became better at ROC. But, I am still who I am. Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. Something just never changed.


    ¡°Do not be disheartened, I am the best ROC pro-gamer in history. There is no shame in being defeated by me.¡± I assured my General Staff. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t want you to be good at this game, good a playing war. As I have told you before, I taught you this game because I want you to understand my limitations. I taught everyone this game because I want you to have a general understanding of the current age. I have shown you my knowledge and experience. Now, I want to learn from you,¡± I lowered my head to them while making my points. I, their savior and leader, lowered my head to them after I had already but crushed their spirit and ego. My General Staff had no choice but to follow my principles.


    ¡°In this place, everyone is a teacher. Everyone is a student. Everyone is a leader. Everyone is a follower. Everyone is a soldier. Everyone is a general. Be the best, be the greatest, nothing else.¡± I drilled this motto into their heart and their mind. I used this motto to unite my General Staff to my goal.


    At the time, Blindfold ROC was forming.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Pride revealed her primarymiracle <The Golden Sword of Superbia> as payment for me to teach her how to play ROC. ¡°A craft for a craft. A secret for a secret,¡± she said. Pride explained the requirements and capability of this ability in full details. Though I have already learned about this ability from the game and from Lust and Envy, only when Pride explained about this ability of her that I fully understood it.


    In the game, <The Golden Sword of Superbia> was a passive that allowed Pride to convert any unit that she has destroyed into her unit and restored that unit to full health. It worked differently from Thrall¡¯s <Reanimating> ability that only reanimate the corpse of the units that he killed. Thrall¡¯s <Reanimating> turning corpses into moving zombies without their original perks and abilities. But <The Golden Sword of Superbia> kept units that were killed by Pride alive, whole and complete. They retained their original perks and abilities while serving Pride.


    If Pride killed an army, she gained an army at her disposal. If she killed a general, that general would serve her. But if players could punish Pride for her lack of mobility and powerful range attack during the game, Pride¡¯s worth was reduced to her large HP bar, a meat-shield.


    Due to this limitation of her primary ability, Pride was considered as a lesser summon in the game when comparing to Sanguine who could turn any unit insane instantly or Lust who could convert or kill any male unit at any moment.


    But in this world, this ability operated differently.


    The fact that Pride has revealed her ultimate card to me this early meant that she was confident in beating me at my own game. I had to admire Pride¡¯s recklessness and ego. In term of arrogance and hardheadedness, Pride was definitely my equal. She revealed her winning card to me as a tutorial fee to learn my best craft and to inform me of how our battle and argument would end. Just the way I fought.


    Pride was the first and only Demon Lord who showed any interest in playing the game I played. And probably the only one who wanted to crush me at my own game. Pride wanted to crush me as a gamer and not a Demon Lord. That was something no Demon Lord has tried to do. Even Sinintee who talked some mad shit about perfect and competition and whatnot, he did not even try to challenge me at anything. It was funny that he, the God of Civilization showed no interest in Arts and Culture. It was funny that he, the Perfect God has never bother discussing with me about Earth and Earth¡¯s civilization, or religion, or history or anything related to Earth. Sinintee made me question the meaning and definition of the word ¡°Perfect¡± in both world, on Earth and on Escana.


    It was an irony to me that Pride was the only one who has actually talked and discussed with me about Earth. In this dreamland, she was the only one who saw me a Fearless, Prince of The Alliance and not URLOX¡¯s Champion. It¡¯s difficult for me to not like her had it not for one fault. ¡°In the end, you are only a mortal,¡± she spoke this sentence so very often.


    ¡°That was exactly what Sinintee has said, word by word before I dunked him into a cesspool.¡± I constantly reminded Pride that our current position was that of a warren and a prisoner, and my hospitality to her was the sign of my respect.


    ¡°I just state my belief. Being born a mortal is your only fault.¡±


    ¡°Actually, there are a lot more. But let¡¯s move on, you realize that you are being trapped inside a mortal¡¯s dream, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely why I said being born a mortal is your only fault. Have you been born or reborn as an immortal, you would be perfect.¡±


    ¡°Perfect as in what sense.¡±


    ¡°My mate for life,¡± Pride flashed a grin that was full of regret, ¡°My Shandorei.¡±


    Shandorei, beloved one, ardent one, precious one. Lust called me with this word as well.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t Lust, Greed, Managan and Acre?a your Shandorei?¡±


    ¡°I found them severely lacking in personality, intelligence and many other qualities that you possess,¡± Pride spoke frankly.


    ¡°You are even a worse narcissist than I am.¡± Our conversation on this topic would always end with me making that comment. In Pride¡¯s mind, she could only fall in love with her equal and she believed that she had no equal. And I could see why.


    I taught Pride everything that I knew about the game. Steadily and carefully. I removed any bad habit that she developed during her training and encouraged good habits. I taught Pride in the same manner that FY taught ROC to Ph¨²c and me. I compiled and edited a huge portion of my memories, all ROC related materials into a library for Pride to use as her study materials. I taught her the META of the game, the off-META, and the counter-META. I taught Pride everything. I trained Pride as if I intended to make her my successor. I trained her as if I wanted to make her the best ROC player in the world, better me, better than FY or Superior or anyone else.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    I even told her how and why Heavennet was defeated on that stage and that special day, something I have never told anyone else. Everybody thought that it was a try-hard-and-be-lucky and never-give-up and the testament of mankind¡¯s greatness. Only Ph¨²c and I knew that none of those bullshits that the media was talking about was true. That day when my PC failed to boot up for a reason. I had to wait for my turn, for everyone to be defeated and I was the last remaining person to defend mankind¡¯s dignity. On that day, the only thing and the only person that can prevent Heavennet from winning that battle was myself if I hadn¡¯t given my 100% in that match. I showed Pride my trump card since she has already shown hers. I kept no secret.


    ¡°You are such a bad man,¡± Pride giggled.


    But no, the credit of that victory belonged to Ph¨²c. I only executed his strategies and won all the credits to myself.


    I loved teaching Pride. Back then, I found joy in teaching her about arts and my knowledge on earth. Now, I fell in love being her teacher in ROC. Pride was a fast and willing learner in every aspect. She asked a lot of question. She loved experimenting with ideas and strategies. She loved watching my teaching materials and breaking them down to details. Back then, FY had created a monster, me, the Prince of The Alliance. Now, I, too, was creating mine. The best monster that I could possibly create. I trained with Pride to the point that she grasped my tendencies and habits.


    ¡°This is precisely why I said being born a mortal is your only fault,¡± Pride said laughing, ¡°You make me the best of the best. Your hardest test. And therefore if you pass this test, you will remain the best.¡± The two of us have spent so much time living and talking with each other that we understood the other¡¯s kinks so very well. She then lamented, ¡°If only URLOX have sent you to this world as an Immortal.¡±


    ¡°Keep talking like that and I will dump you into a cesspool as I did to Sinintee,¡± I kept warning Pride.


    ¡°If you want to do that, you would have done it a long time ago,¡± Pride smiled and gave me a kiss on my cheek as usual.


    And that day came. 13 years, the exact number of years that I have played ROC as a game and as a pro-gamer. Pride refused to train herself longer than that.


    She was ready for her real test.


    So was I.


    I granted true freedom to Pride. I returned to Pride the freedom to command her authorities at her liberty. Pride activated <The Golden Sword of Superbia>. Two golden rapiers with lion ornate hilt appeared. She instructed me to grab one rapier and stabbed her heart with it. We stabbed each other, but it caused us no pain. Even though Lust has already recalibrated my dream and my sense of touch has been returned to me, I experienced no pain when Pride ran her rapier through my heart.


    ¡°This sword would bring no pain,¡± Pride explained.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    In harmony, under Pride¡¯s instruction, the two of us made our vow to completely submit to the other if we lost our match. Just as Pride was about to end the ritual, I added my special clauses, ¡°I will play Blindfold ROC while you will play the normal ROC in our competition. You only need to defeat me with a single battle to win this match. But for every 5000 straight losses, a part of you, a part that constitutes your character shall randomly submit to me.¡±


    Pride was incensed though her expression spoke otherwise. I mocked her by giving her some major handicaps in the last minute.


    I went on mocking Pride, ¡°If you believed that you are on my level with 13 years of playing and studying this game, Pride, my dear, you are an absolute moron.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that you are as cursed as you have said. You cannot allow yourself to not give a beautiful woman a handicap of some form.¡± Pride flashed a fresh smile without any ill-will, but she was seething underneath. That was a rule that I made for myself and I have adhered to it faithfully until this very moment. The only three women who existed outside of this rule were Th¨´y D??ng, Alice and Orithyia. I literally told Pride that I considered her lesser than the three of them with my handicap.


    ¡°Well then, I will gratefully accept this handicap.¡± Pride maintained her even smile and then concluded the ritual. The rapiers faded into our chest. ¡°Try not to disappoint me in the very first match,¡± Pride warned.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°My beloved Prince, your right flank is wide open.¡±


    Ten minutes into the first match and I regretted everything. Everything. EVERYTHING.


    ¡°My dearest friend and teacher, if you gave me your rear for free and uncontested, I, Pride, your student, and beloved friend shall humbly take it.¡±


    SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.


    ¡°Oh, How I admire you, Fearless my prince! You appear so dreamy. So do your tactics. Dreamy. Too bad, so sad, this is the reality.¡±


    SHUT UP. YOUR MOUTH HAS LITERALLY BECOME ESCANA¡¯S BIGGEST LANDFILL.


    ¡°Oh, your prized witches, your beloved witches, why did you give them such cruel orders? Why did you command them to die like that? How pitiful!¡±


    FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKKKKK


    Pride laughed as she kept toying with me like a fiddle.


    ¡°Come on, my dearest prince, you cannot fall in the first battle. You are the best at this game, remember? You, you cannot possibly tell me that you would humiliate yourself after you have given me such hope and expectation. Common, don¡¯t give up.¡±


    ¡°SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH, I need to concentrate here.¡± That was the first time I used swear words in front of Pride.


    ¡°Aw, do you?¡±


    ¡°SHUT UP.¡±


    ¡°Awwwww,¡± Pride cooed as if she sympathized with my difficulties. Then, she kept talking trash for the next three hours until the match end. Pride congratulated me, applauding while wearing a bright expression. ¡°Congratulation, Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance, you are the first human to win against me in a battle of tactic. How does it feel?¡± There was no ill-feeling in her voice. Pride planted a playful kiss on my lips as a reward for beating her. ¡°You are the first man and the first human to receive my victory kiss. Be proud of yourself. Defeat me the next time as well and I will reward you again.¡± The monster I created laughed happily.


    Pride enjoyed the sight of my mighty struggle. Pride intended to let me win 4,999 battles and then defeated me in the 5,000<sup>th</sup> battle. She intended to show me the great difference in our abilities in a single battle, the last battle, and with it, she would crush my ego with a single blow.


    If our position reversed, I would definitely do the same thing. The two of us, egomaniacs, we were cut from the same cloth despite one of us was an Immortal and one was a human.


    The second matched arrived.


    ¡°Really? Did you really intend to take on me with that formation?¡± Pride asked.


    I did not need to look at her face to know her current expression.


    FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.


    Resisting my urge to curse, I screamed my orders instead, ¡°KEEP GOING. DO NOT LISTEN TO THAT BITCH¡¯S TAUNTS. DO NOT STOP,¡± one of my helpers have just described the situation incorrectly and my entire battle plan went straight into the garbage dump as the result. ¡°FUCKKKKK. FIRST RANK, SHIELD, BRACE YOURSELF.¡±


    I found it was very difficult to keep a mental map of the battlefield while listening to the updates from my helpers and Pride¡¯s trash talk at the same time, all while trying to control the battlefield with my orders.


    ¡°Really? Really? Really? Dearest Prince, you would give up that many men to me for free? Really?¡±


    ¡°THAT¡¯S A TRAP, BITCH. I DARE YOU TO TAKE IT.¡±


    ¡°Then I shall gladly do it.¡±


    ¡°FUCK YOU.¡±


    ¡°Awwww,¡± Pride laughed and headed out to do exactly as she has declared.


    During that time, my helpers bombarded me with all manners of chaos and nonsenses. That one asshole who has messed up the word ¡°trot¡± for ¡°gallop¡± and fucked up everything, he intended to commit hara-kiri to atone for his sin to me, his God.


    ¡°BASTARDS, CALM THE FUCK DOWN. WE CAN WIN THIS. IF YOU KILL YOURSELF, I WILL BE FUCKING UNDERSTAFFED. WE CAN TURN THIS AROUND. I NEED YOU TO CALM YOUR FUCKING TITS.¡±


    ¡°Awwww, poor boys. Don¡¯t take out your anger on them.¡± Pride¡¯s crispy cackled echoed within my ears.


    ¡°SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BITCH. It¡¯s none of your FUCKING concern.¡±


    ¡°Awwww¡±


    ¡°Keep that awwwing and I will SPANK YOUR TIGHT ASSES.¡±


    ¡°Awwww¡±


    As soon as the second match ended, I retrained my helpers from the beginning. Still, the third match saw no improvement from my part or my helpers¡¯ part.


    ¡°O how lovely you are. Only you could grant me such a magnificent gift. Your cavalry, I will take them all. I love you, my dearest Prince.¡±


    ¡°I LOVE YOU TOO. BUT FUCK YOU.¡±


    ¡°Awww,¡± Pride cooed sweetly and swallowed all of my cavalry within a single fell swoop.


    The fourth match, the fifth, the sixth and the twenty matches followed after that witnessed the same thing. Pride was still toying with me and I struggled mightily in every match. I doubled the number of my helpers and still. Shit was still shit.


    ¡°Awwwwwwwwww.¡±


    OMG, HOW I HATE THAT SOUND¡­.


    ¡°Awwwwww.¡±


    ¡°SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BITCH.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how you should talk to a lady, sweetest Prince.¡±


    ¡°FUCK YOU.¡±


    ¡°How dreamy you are, even when you are angry and vulgar. I love you.¡±


    ¡°I FUCKING HATE YOU. Nobody loves you. SHUT UP.¡±


    ¡°Awwwwwww.¡±


    I hated Pride the most when she made that sound.


    It took another fifty matches for me to make the first breakthrough. I gave up. I gave up on controlling my entire army to the minute details. I elevated five of my helpers to the rank of operators, giving them the liberty to control a certain portion of my troops to their intention.


    Being toyed for another twenty matches taught me that I should have created a Quick Reaction Force a long time ago. The thirteen matches after that made me said, FUCK THIS SHIT. I doubled the numbers of my helpers again and increased the number of operators under my command to 9, showing Pride no shame in doing so.


    ¡°Awwwww,¡± Pride smiled, ¡°That¡¯s not enough and you know it.¡±


    ¡°SHUT UP, I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡± Pride asked with a vicious grin spreading on her lips. Her anger was leaking out of her mask of perfection.


    I immediately increased my number of helpers and operators again in the subsequent match. The one after that, I dumped the responsibility to monitor my scout''s network to my operators.


    One hundred matches after that, I had no idea what kind of role that a general should have on the battlefield. I dumped all of my responsibilities on my operators. I became a total bystander inside my own HQ.


    ¡°Bitch, if you cannot defeat my operators, do you think you can defeat me?¡± I was as shameless as I could possibly be. My operators played that Blindfold ROC match for me without saying.


    Pride was mad. Visibly and audibly mad in that match. I pulled the same stunt on the next match and even the one after that. Pride had it enough. She quitted that match and the one after that as soon as they began. We quarreled that night and things got extremely testy. Pride punched me. I decked her right back, except my fist never reached her six packs. She caught my arm and broke it. This was why I hated throwing punches. None of my punch has ever landed.


    Our fight escalated quickly. And by ¡°escalated quickly,¡± I meant that my two arms and two legs were twisted like tweaks within three seconds and I got kicked out of the room. There was no way I could beat that bitch without being completely shameless and activate my GOD cheat code to curb-stomp her. When I gave that bitch her freedom, her Might returned back to her as well.


    Since I had my own room inside that villa as she had hers.


    The two of us, great talkers and great seducers, all manners of communication between the two of us ceased to function. We stopped talking to each other completely throughout the length of the next one thousand matches.


    Still, no matter what happened, Pride was adamant about beating me in the 5000<sup>th</sup> match. Her intention remained unchanged regardless of my taunts. Even when she was furious, her ego came first in the pecking order. Pride was such a woman.

 V2 Chapter 27: The Coundown (4)

    V2 Chapter 27


    Pride pushed me to play up to 3 Blindfold ROC matches a day. A Blindfold ROC match was average around four to five hours long, and depend on Pride¡¯s mood, the matches could last as long as eleven hours. The length of these Blindfold ROC matches made me glad that AG beat us in that gruesome 6 hours long match.


    Normally, people would say, ¡°Yup, the next time we would not make that many mistakes and allow the match to go so long.¡± Merleon and FY were adamant about team training for that kind of scenario where the match seemed to be impossible to end. Those two madmen wrote a training program for our entire team to cope up with such lengthy and punishingly long battles. Now, I appreciated those training more than ever. I knew how to deal with that kind of battle.


    Every day, when my Blindfold matches with Pride ended and we returned to our respective room in the villa, I moved to a different time plane, a much slower one, and continued my training with my General Staff there. Even though I could not feel fatigued or headache, days and days of nothing but mindless Blindfold ROC wore my heart out.


    On Earth, ROC was just a sizable part of my life. It was not everything. But now, it was everything because everything that was important to me was riding on it for the first time. In this upcoming ROC game, I could not afford to lose¡­


    Yet, I could not see myself winning¡­


    My enemies were Gods and Demon Lords. My enemies could warp reality. They were difficult to kill and to destroy. Their existences were like a cheat code inside a game, the kind of cheat code that made a player became invincible and unbeatable. Beings like Pestilence, even as dumb as he was, they wipe out an entire kingdom with a tiny sneeze. The only way I could win against that kind of cheat code was predicting their thought and action correctly. It was as if I was building a house of card.


    Those stupid people of dreamland have warned me about this in that Summit.


    One tiny mistake and I am out


    It was hard for me to take any risk now more than ever. Nobody was there to watch my back now, and playing safe was not my forte. Playing safe made me predictable. I needed people to fill the shoes of FY, Merleon, Fantasy, and Misery. Or at least, they must be able to accomplish 40% of what my usual casts were capable of. For that reason alone, I needed a lot of failsafe options but above all, a reliable alternative that I could always trust. Pride was that reliable alternative if everything was heading toward the path that I have predicted. Therefore, if I messed up Pride¡¯s training, my plan was fated to doom.


    But I had to worry about Pride¡¯s training later, my own training came first in priority.


    Blindfold ROC was created from one-on-one ROC format. The politics aspect of the game was removed and the result of the match was determined with battles of cold arms. And thus, the most important skill in Blindfold ROC was the complete makeup of a field commander and a general.


    Other than Faugus, Isonos, and Sasengun, the rest of my General Staff was not particularly doing a great job as my teachers in fielding battles as a commander.


    Searek, the Derange was the prime example of a bad explainer and talker despite being an infamous general of his time. He was more of a person of action. His charisma stemmed from his actions, not speeches. His accomplishments came from his strength and instincts, thus he made a terrible teacher. Worse, Searek was an instinctive gambler with the success rate of 50/50, always deploying a major number of his troops as suicide chargers for smaller elite units to kill the enemy¡¯s general.


    Ember, the Mad Saint, he made a worse commander than Searek. Despite being responsible for the One Hundred Years War, he has never stepped out of his HQ on Lakeshore Isle. He fought that war with only a bunch of theories, know-how knowledge and the zeal of his followers. Lynx, though he knew about amphibian warfare, his forte was politics. And I certainly did not expect myself to fight amphibian warfare on the Northern Continent. Making people swim in frozen water, especially in a winter season, sounded like a great recipe for troop mutiny and desertion.


    For such reasons, I had to rely on Faugus, Isonos and Sasengun¡¯s knowledge most of the time.


    Isonos often venerated me as ¡°A rare genius that appears in millennia.¡±


    But, no, I wasn¡¯t. He was. The moment when I taught Isonos about the Strategic Military Spell in ROC, his eyes lit up and he lamented that he was a Garuda who was born in the wrong era. The Strategic Military Spells were the equivalent of the early-day-mortars on Earth. Without the need of my explanation, Isonos already managed to grasp the strategic importance of establishing aerial supremacy in this current setting. Isonos realized and understood one of the most important aspects of modern warfare on his own.


    Isonos¡¯ appearance was a great contrast to the appearance of a normal Garuda. Similarly to most orcs, the Garudas viewed themselves as the Children of Wonten. But unlike the orcs who were born with a stout figure, hardy muscle, and brutish face, the Garudas were like a perfect fusion between an elf and a great hawk, elegance and majestic.


    But elegance and majestic were the furthest words to describe Isonos¡¯ figure.


    Isonos was born defected. His eyes were misaligned, tiny and reddened with unspoken insanity and hatred for the world. His beak was not golden like the normal Garuda, milky white, twisted and splintered. He had two wings but one was a meter wide, much shorter than that of a normal Garuda, crooked and beaten whereas the other was as tiny as a ten years old child¡¯s hand. Isonos¡¯ legs had a grotesque atmosphere around them, bent and deformed, a result of his a brittle bone syndrome. When he was alive, Isonos could only move around with crutches and watched the other Garuda flew on the sky. Now he was dead, inside my dreamland, he moved around on a wheelchair.


    Isonos was the earliest to understand why I created Blindfold ROC and not 3D-Realistic-ROC whereas I would lead my troops with a first person POV. Isonos folded his bigger wing. He cupped his crooked and deformed fists to his heart respectfully. ¡°Teacher, though I do not understand your greater intention, I would like to advise that fighting multiple fronts at the same time would have dire consequences,¡± spoke Isonos.


    Isonos has correctly predicted that the reason why I commanded my troops base on reports and feedbacks of my helpers. Sometimes I wished that these brain-dead Demon Lords were at the very least about 20% as smart as Isonos. If they were, they would never pick a fight with me.


    ¡°I have considered all of my paths and options. It always came down to this. A war wages on multiple theatres. When they realized that they could not win a face to face battle against me, they will be sneaky. My enemies would fight me in places where my eyes could not see them.¡± I replied to Isonos. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry for involving you in such a scenario.¡±


    ¡°No, teacher. Speak such word no more. It¡¯s our greatest fortune to be able to meet and follow your path. Besides if such a future was inevitable as you have predicted, then it is our job and greatest honor to aid you to overcome it.¡± When Isonos looked at me and spoke such lines, I felt like I could win any war and any battle if Isonos were to one to lead my troops to battles.


    He wasn¡¯t and he won¡¯t, that was my greatest regret.


    My training with my General Staff saw very little improvement at first. It was very difficult to keep track of multiple objectives and units at the same time, as I have learned. Sasengun suggested that I should properly train my operators and helpers first.


    ¡°Shandorei, no matter how smart a captain of a ship you are, if your men failed to execute your orders, your ship will sink sooner or later.¡± Her past experience of commanding an armada showed. Sasengun volunteered to train my operators and helpers. She also suggested that she would join the rank of my operators in the matches with Pride for references.


    Faugus was the perfect match for Blindfold ROC. His r¨¦sum¨¦ and fame could not match that of Sasengun or Isonos, in fact, Faugus was a literal no name in the history of Escana. Despite that, he was the perfect teacher for this Blindfold ROC.


    Faugus, he was a Kobold, one of the intelligent monster races. The progenitor of the Kobold was once a dwarf before he was hexed and turned into a Kobold. Reason? He grabbed the eleventh Valkyria¡¯s hand and proposed to her after he met her in a Divine Dream. There was no better reason to be hexed on Escana than that. Anyone was brave enough to do court the Valkyria had to answer to Niwdar first.


    Faugus observed my struggle against Pride throughout our first ten matches. Then, he approached me.


    ¡°Shandorei, imagine that you are fighting a battle in total darkness. You could not see your enemy but your enemy could see you. What would you do?¡± The old kobold asked the damn question that nobody has asked me.


    ¡°Gather my men, group up, focus on survive first,¡± I answered instantly. It was like a bulb has been lit inside my mind.


    ¡°And how would you fight that enemy?¡±


    ¡°Feel her attacks to determine her movement and position. Set traps, ambush.¡±


    ¡°I am glad that my humble opinion could help you, Shandorei.¡±


    Faugus suggested me cutting down on movement and mobility, and instead focusing on unity and defense. It was a survive-first-anything-else-come-later strategy, a most familiar strategy of the intelligent monster races that were viewed as the common enemies of the intelligent races. Their strategies have always been about the survival of their kinds.


    If I made any improvement in playing Blindfold ROC, I showed Pride only about 30% if it. There was no need to show all of my cards to her so early. Playing Blindfold ROC with Pride felt like a completely different game from playing it with my General Staff. It boiled down to three reasons. Firstly, I had no intention of making my General Staff became good or great at playing an oversimplified war because I needed them to help to fight a realistic one. Secondly, my General Staff would not talk trash to me. Lastly, I was dealing with a monster that I created.


    I was sure that Pride was among the best one on one ROC pro-gamer that I have ever faced. Her mechanic skills were solid. Worse, she learned all of my moves and tactics, meaning she was good at reacting and predicting my moves. Pride made improvements and changes upon the study materials that I have provided her. I literally created my own monster.


    But if I could beat her, I knew I could at least win a multiple-theatres war.


    ¡°You think you can beat me at this laughable level of control?¡± Pride asked. Recently, her question sounded exactly like the kind I would ask.


    ¡°Hah,¡± I scoffed, ¡°Keep talking and I will BEAT YOUR ASS.¡±


    We kept playing as the 5000<sup>th</sup> match drew near. All of those matches, the only reason I won them was that Pride allowed me to win.


    I have never shown Pride my hands. I have never shown Pride the lessons and improvement that I drew from my training with my General Staff. At first, Pride was livid. She resented me for how I treated her as if she was not on my level despite everything. But slowly, Pride discovered that it was because she told me, ¡°I only need 13 years to outdo you,¡± that I added my additional clauses and stopped revealing my ballooning bag of tricks. Only then, she realized that I was driving her mad on purpose. On the dawn of the 4997<sup>th</sup> match, Pride freed herself from my illusion. She stopped gloating her best moves in front of my face. A little bit late, but it was better late than never.


    On the dawn of the 5000<sup>th</sup> match, Pride told me, ¡°If you have any trick left, this is the time.¡± She then returned to her seat, fully focus and ready.


    I gave her my reply, a smile. I revealed to her my dream team, the best of helpers and operator that I have selected. Donned in The Alliance¡¯s uniform, Sasengun stood among my operators, her black hair kept by a golden brooch. Next, to her, Searek and Faugus stood tall and low in my uniform as well.  Though they had severe mental issues, Pride had no way of knowing that. Putting them on a dandy uniform and made them look presentable, putting on a smile as well, and even the most damaged souls can appear normal. But Pride has never bothered to look at my helpers and operators to even to notice.Stolen novel; please report.


    Pride no longer hold herself back in that match. She came at me with her full might and ability.


    Pride wanted to see it, the ugliness of reality. Thus, I gave her the honor to experience it before anyone else in this world of Escana would, me at my full might. I treated Pride as if Pride was one of them, one of those who stood between me and the World Cup Championship.


    I deployed Searek¡¯s suicide chargers as baits. Faugus¡¯ units were tasked to coordinate and set ambushes. Sasengun filtered down the number of nonsenses and troubles that I had to personally deal with.


    The moment Searek¡¯s suicide chargers were wiped out to the last men, Pride¡¯s defeat became apparent.


    ¡°Lesson number one. You held yourself back in those 4999 matches. But you were not the only one who held back. The only difference between us is that you held yourself back from winning those battles, I held myself back from showing you my proficiency and development in this game.¡± I put on my lecturing voice, leaving the task of mobbing what left of Pride¡¯s army to my operators.


    Pride said not a single word, infuriated, struggling against the inevitable.


    ¡°Lesson number two. With the mouse and the keyboard, I am Fearless. But take them away, I am still Fearless. Blindfold, blindfold not, I am still Fearless.¡±


    Pride gritted her teeth and ordered her remaining units to one last stand. She mustered one final charge at my warlord only to watch Sasengun wiped them out with a single order.


    ¡°And lastly, you thought I have given you a handicap by playing in this different format. Let me remind you what I told you at that time, ¡°If you believed that you are on my level with 13 years of playing and studying this game, Pride, my dear, you are an absolute moron.¡± I have never confirmed or said anything about giving you a handicap. You assumed that I have given you a handicap on your own. What I meant was, Pride, my dear, you still have much to learn.¡±


    Pride¡¯s metal mask shattered like pieces of glass, revealed to me for the first time the wholesomeness of her beauty. Even when we have lived with each other for so long, Pride has never once shown me her face beneath the mask.


    ¡°Dearest Prince, are you perhaps being mesmerized by my appearance? Tell me, am I not the fairest woman you have met?¡± Pride smiled seductively while holding back her anger, acting as if she was completely unaffected by this 5000<sup>th</sup> defeat.


    ¡°I love you Pride. You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. But in a game of ROC that makes no difference. In ROC, there are only the winner and the loser. And there you have it, I had no desire to be a loser.¡± I rubbed salt to her injuries with a bright smile.


    ¡°One of the most? You sure you don¡¯t mean The Most?¡±


    ¡°I meant what I said. But, feel free to assume my words again.¡±


    The two of us bickered again like old time. But Pride seemed to resent the fact that I saw that beauty mark beneath her dusky lavender eye, that beauty mark that resembled a teardrop. Lust had told me about this beauty mark but I did not realize that Pride was conscious about it. I put my arms around Pride¡¯s waist and swooped her into my chest. I kissed her beauty mark. ¡°I am collecting my victory kiss because you seem to forget about it these days.¡±


    Pride pushed me away, looking flustered for the first time in years. The last time she appeared this flustered was when she was teaching me the swan waltz. That time, our chemistry took us a little bit too far, almost making it a done deal.


    The next morning, Pride started wearing heels. It¡¯s harder for me to not notice it. ¡°If you wanted to stand tall and look down on me, I suggest you start wearing a 10 meters heels tomorrow. A pair of 5 cm heels are nowhere enough,¡± I poked fun at Pride.


    Pride went straight for the kill as soon as the 5001<sup>st</sup> match began. She moved fast. Her troops came straight at my army like a school of starving sharks that smelled blood. Under my command, Sasengun split my formation and opened a beeline for Pride¡¯s army to contact with my warlord. Pride sent a unit of light cavalry and witches to dive straight at my warlord.


    A woman¡¯s jealousy was beautiful as it was terrifying. My army was like the vicious jaws of a monster and Pride¡¯s cavalries and witches that slipped into it were decimated completely. Sasengun humiliated Pride in the most savage manner.


    Back then, when I pulled Pride into my arms and kissed her beauty mark, I did it while Sasengun was watching. Both the power of friendship and the power of love were equally strong to the power of jealousy in term of motivation. Combined those three together and infused them into a woman, that was my usual recipe.


    That match was the turning point for both of us. Pride became more cautious with her movement and decision. She no longer held back at anything. Neither did I. And I had no more reason to hold back on my usual trash-talk either, now that Sasengun and Faugus have joined the rank of my operators. With their help, I could free my mouth from the need of ceaselessly shouting commands at every second and every minute.


    I talked more trash than the combined amount of trashes that Earth¡¯s biggest landfills could contain. And Pride, now, she must fully focus on dealing with me, she talked less trash than before. She realized that if she kept playing the trash talking with me, she would lose focus on the match. Our situation was reversed.


    S0rr0w often said, ¡°ROC is 30% skill, 10% of luck, 10% of preparation and 50% of mind game.¡± For that reason, he started talking trash. Every time he spoke of that nonsense, I would always ask him, ¡°Where did you get that data? Show me.¡± He could never provide the data since the words came out of his mouth were trash. Regardless, the trash talk has always been a part of my mind game as S0rr0w¡¯s. ¡°You don¡¯t suppose that I have stopped improving my game after I arrived at this world, do you? When I taught you, I also taught myself. When I trained you, I also trained myself.¡±


    Around the 5207<sup>th</sup> match, my trash talk got into Pride¡¯s head at the same time Searek¡¯s suicide chargers were messing up her entire formation. Pursuing and wiping out Searek¡¯s units were not exactly the smartest decisions but ignoring them was not a bright idea either. Searek¡¯s units were like bed bugs. If Pride kept ignoring them, their damage would multiply. Sasengun worked with us in tandem, blunted Pride¡¯s best attack like a complete savage. Pride could keep her cool no longer. She smashed her screen and keyboard and ended the match.


    Around the 5509<sup>th</sup> match, Pride asked me if I had managed to win Lust over. I had no reason to hide.


    ¡°Yes, I did,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°I figured,¡± sighed Pride.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I try to summon my wing demons into this dream of yours yesterday but it did not work. Therefore, I figured that Lust must have helped you. Her authority was obstructing mine.¡±


    Lust was the top recruit on my priority list for many reasons. Firstly, Lust¡¯s main authorities were mostly related to the Divine Dream. She was the queen of the dream demons. Therefore, if I gained her support, I can wage a war that no mortal has ever been able to do and no immortal has ever been able to imagine. A war of dreams, whereas every mortal¡¯s dream could become a potential death sentence or a prison to any Demon Lord and any God on any random day. If I could overcome a Divine Dream conjured by Death, I was sure that out there on Escana, people who were capable of the same feat existed. With the right knowledge and mentality, plus training and preparation, and maybe, a little bit of help, the balance of power will shift. And a mortal could be so much stronger than any immortal.


    When these immortals realized that I was not the only mortal who was capable to locking them inside my head, I could not help but wonder if they had the balls to enter a mortal¡¯s dream ever again.


    Secondly, Lust¡¯s red dream was said to be so real, vivid, beautiful, gentle and perfect that people refused to wake up from it until their body failed them. They then died inside the red dream and reincarnated into a succubus in the end. Therefore, I wanted Lust to help me improving my current dreamland as well as showing me what a red dream looked like.


    Lust created a red dream within my dream. I cried and threw up inside that red dream. I saw my worst nightmare, the most beautiful and bright and gentle nightmare that I had ever experienced, yet visceral. It was as if my most foolish attempt to recreate my happiness inside this dream was but a cheap replica. That red dream left a bitter taste inside my mouth. I was reminded of how far I have strayed from my happiness. That kind of dream, that kind of reality, I was not interested one bit.


    But more importantly, Lust¡¯s connection to Pride was the main reason for me to recruit her. She knew Pride more than the rest. That information was valuable.


    ¡°Munezee has once told me, ¡®Pride is a warrior who is not good at fighting, a thinker whose thought was shallow, a commander of miracles who can only scratch the surface of miracles, a lover who can only love herself.¡¯ That is what he said.¡± Lust snuggled into my chest when she told me the story.


    ¡°Do you really believe that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Lust¡¯s answer made me flabbergasted as usual. Even though Lust has been Pride¡¯s lover for god-knows-how-many- years, she did not understand Pride. Because, if Lust understood Pride, ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± would be her answer. I did not have to be Pride¡¯s lover to be able to answer that question.


    Pride continued to inquire, ¡°So who else? Greed? Acre?a? Managan? Envy?¡±


    ¡°How about you use your brain instead of probing me for an easy answer.¡±


    ¡°Fool,¡± Pride sighed.


    ¡°Me or you?¡±


    ¡°You. Obviously. If you desire my harem, you only need to become my Champion. My harem would be yours and yours would also be mine.¡±


    Regardless whether Pride has made that offer or not, that changed nothing. But I gulped because Pride¡¯s words contained no lie, ¡°You should have made that offer to me first when you make your recruitment pitch talk. Now, it¡¯s too late. You are a big fool.¡±


    ¡°No, you are the fool for not realizing it,¡± Pride spat out angrily and walked away.


    I loved admiring Pride when she walked on her heels, especially when she walked away angrily. There was witchcraft in the sway of her hips and her heels only made it better. I loved how Pride looked so uncomfortable when she stood next to me these days. Though Pride¡¯s heels remained with her until her 10,000 defeats. Her Raiment of Superbia scattered into the air just like sand as soon as I defeated her.


    I thought Pride was about to cry for a moment. But she covered naked form and cursed me instead.


    ¡°Prince? You are just a horny monkey.¡±


    ¡°Calling me a horny monkey one more time and you will remain naked for the rest of your remaining time inside this dream,¡± I warned Pride about her misidentification of privilege for authority. I gave her the privilege to talk to me as my equal. That was not to be mistaken with authority.


    Since then, I had the honor to be Pride¡¯s sole fashion designer. I supposed that Pride felt being completely naked around me was more humiliating than being unable to curse me.


    My days since became so much brighter.


    I had a laugh. Pride, despite being rich at many life skills, could not dress herself properly.


    ¡°Your overreliance on your special raiment backfire,¡± I doubled and laughed myself to tears while pointing my finger at the state of Pride¡¯s shamble fashion.


    Pride silently grabbed that finger and broke it. I swung my other fist at her. She twisted it like a dead tree branch and was about to repeat the same tragedy on my other limbs.


    ¡°Bitch, you break another bone of mine, you will live the next one thousand year being naked while the rest of my captives watching you uncensored.¡± I rapped. I delivered the line just fast enough before Pride was about to break my remaining good arm. My eyes blurred from the tears of pain.


    Pride released me. Her face was drowned in sullen anger and shame. If it wasn¡¯t for the pain, I would have enjoyed that sight so much more.


    I conjured a makeup table inside Pride¡¯s room and made her sat before it. I took great joy in combing and setting Pride¡¯s golden cascade and coordinating her dress. It was like I was reliving my college years again, the time when I was helping Alice with her makeup whenever I could.


    While I was jubilant about being Pride¡¯s makeup artist, I immediately encountered a problem. Pride¡¯s face had the symmetrical and sharpness that made me question the meaning of cosmetic and makeup. If every man and women were born with her face, those makeup and cosmetic companies on Earth might experience a lot of financial problems that they normally would never experience otherwise.


    In the end, I only applied some eyeliner and lipstick to Pride, matching the color with the costume I had prepared for her. Pride was so pretty that I felt like I was playing with a human size doll sometimes.


    ¡°Did your heart skip a beat because of my look?¡± Pride turned around, straddled my cheek and asked when she realized that I was gaping at her mirror image.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted, stealing a quick kiss on Pride¡¯s cheek. ¡°Now, you look absolutely gorgeous. Unlike one hour ago. One hour ago, you looked like a moron.¡±


    ¡°You too, one hour ago you were the moron who had his back to the ground and tears in his eyes,¡± Pride snapped right back.


    I fixed Pride¡¯s dress. Pride looked absolutely gorgeous in everything. Thus, I made it my goal to dress Pride in a different dress every day. Since, every morning I would knock on her room door at six. I took around one to three hours to set Pride¡¯s hair and coordinated her dress. Pride would appear on the battlefield as if she was participating in a beauty pageant.


    Sasengun became even more ruthless with how she dealt with Pride. She prolonged Pride¡¯s defeat, toyed and humiliated Pride whenever it was possible. It came to the point that Pride started noticing her. She approached Sasengun at the end of the match, ¡°Elf, who are you?¡± Pride demanded, high and mighty as usual.


    ¡°Nobody. I am just a maid in the service of his Highness,¡± Sasengun replied curtly and turned her back on Pride.


    Pride had enough intelligence inside her to not ask Sasengun another question because the result would be the same. Sasengun would keep walking away without turning back once. And Pride would look like a fool.


    Starting with the 10.037<sup>th</sup> match, the average time needed for us to finish one Blindfold ROC match leaped. Pride swallowed her ego, focused on defense and steadily expanded her base instead of rushing her force at mine as usual. Searek and Faugus became significantly less effective when Pride became less eager to move out of her position. Sasengun could not punish Pride¡¯s judgmental mistake when Pride did not make any apparent move, like any move at all.


    ¡°Bitch, come out. Stop hiding like a FUCKING TURTLE. If you are a lion, fight like one,¡± I taunted and showed Pride my middle finger.


    ¡°How about you come inside and try it? Do you have any ball?¡±


    ¡°Bitch, do you want to inspect them?¡± I shouted. My hands were already on the zipper.


    Pride¡¯s face reddened. She unfastened her brooch and fling it at me in a fit of anger. But I had no need to do anything. Searek shattered it in midair with his fist.


    ¡°YOU THINK YOUR DEFENSE IS IMPREGNABLE?¡±


    ¡°If you think you can penetrate my defense, do it.¡±


    ¡°YOU DARE ME?¡±


    ¡°I DARE YOU,¡±


    ¡°Bitch, if you have anything else to toss, toss them. I DARE YOU.¡±


    We bickered back and forth. But regardless of my trash talk, Pride kept fortifying her sphere of control, setting ambushes for my troops and refused to attack.


    That 10,037<sup>th</sup> match lasted six filthy days with no break in between. When it ended, Faugus and my helpers were lying on the ground, breathing their sigh of exaltation. Searek banged his head against the ground repeatedly and then howled his victory cry like a wolf. I was so glad that tears of happiness kept flowing down while I bury my face inside Sasengun¡¯s chest. ¡°I¡¯m fucking done. I don¡¯t want to have anything to do with this shit,¡± I was crying because I had just finished the longest and most punishing ROC match of my life.


    For once I was glad that this match happened inside my dream, otherwise, I would feel extremely sorry for the casters and the audiences. After that, I took a break from ROC and any ROC related activity. I would try everything during that week. Hosting a music festival, rock & roll, karaoke, showering, parties, bowling, swimming, returning to that checkered hall to mock Xaara even further, torturing some random unfortunate Demon Lords in person, sex and anything that was not related to ROC.

 V2 Chapter 28:

    Standing before his washroom mirror, Searek could feel it, that dark haunting presence standing behind him. The precipitating of violence to come and the sickening relief that came at the end. He could feel them all. Slowly, and carefully, Searek took his uniform off. Respecting the uniform and the flag was a lesson that Prince Fearless has always reminded everyone, ¡°If you cannot respect your flag and your uniform, don¡¯t bother fighting for it,¡± repeated Prince Fearless, always, making sure that none of his followers forgot it.


    Searek folded his uniform and put it on top of his bed. Slowly, his rugged hands reached out for his wide muscular neck and choked that familiar grunting red color into his face. An invisible spider of pain spun its red threads, slowly connecting its throbbing threads into webs inside Searek¡¯s bulging eyes. Searek heard a quiet pop among the grunts that escaped his strangled throat. A stream of blood coursed out of his nose and two more gushed out at the corners of his eyes. Searek grunted and put more force into his hands. His darkened claws tore out his meaty apple and out with it, blood. A world of geysering hot blood. Blood sprayed washing Searek¡¯s sight and painted it in Sanguine¡¯s color. Inside that redness, Searek saw his justice.


    Justice was not the strong hammer of Wonten. Justice was not the long spear and the great sword of Sinintee. It was Sanguine¡¯s poison.


    Searek was the first soul to be rescued from the fate of being Sanguine¡¯s trophy. Searek alone remembered them, the truth, the real truth. He requested not to have those memories erased from him.


    ¡°This is my punishment. Please, Shandorei, do not take it from me.¡±


    None of Searek¡¯s peers, those who were rescued after him would remember the searing torment that Sanguine has subjected them to suffer as vividly and visceral as they had experienced it. What they felt and what they remembered was a phantom, a shadow of the true experience.


    Searek alone remembered the disorientated memory and the sharp acute pain when Sanguine¡¯s jagged tentacle wiggled and probing inside his soul hot with venom. He was the only one among Prince Fearless¡¯ subjects to retain Sanguine¡¯s venom within his soul.


    The rest, Prince Fearless has drained out the venom coursing inside their soul and erased the majority of their memory and pain of the time out of his kindness. After all, ignorance and forgetfulness was bliss. None of them would remember the unpleasant nauseating warmth of Sanguine¡¯s venom. But Searek did.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was not the kind that kills or weaken its victim.


    ¡°I think I have found the perfect cure to senile dementia and Alzheimer,¡± Prince Fearless joked at the time when he tested Sanguine¡¯s venom on himself without any prior warning, gulping a mouthful of the venom extracted from Faugus¡¯ soul as Searek, Lust, and Magnamor turned pale from panic. His action and thought have always been so impulsive and unpredictable. ¡°See Misery, what did I tell you? Madness is not a venom. A person doesn¡¯t become mad from a venom injection,¡± declared Prince Fearless as a pearl of laughter overtook his body.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom made a person forgetful with the first drop. The second drop made its victim even more forgetful. But all the drops came after that made a person remember their lost memory in vivid details.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was justice itself for a sinner like Searek. Staring at the red mirror, Searek pondered, ¡°Shandorei, what about you? You tasted this venom. What do you see? What do you hear?¡±


    It was as Prince Fearless has declared. That pinkish venom was anything but the embodiment of madness.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was a venom that constantly refreshed the memories of its victims. It was one that heightened the echoing whispers of Rasahlu and carved the paintings that Yasubotay has carefully drew into a person¡¯s mind. It was a venom that cleaned the muddiness of the mind.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was anything but one that radiated pain throughout a person¡¯s soul. Pain was the whispers of Rasahlu, the probing tentacles of Sanguine, the hollow laughter, the visions of Yasubotay¡¯s pictures and everything else in the world.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was the kind of venom that tolerated no lie, even if those lies were created by Searek¡¯s mind. It was a venom that whispered to Searek of whose hands that tore his children to pieces inside the darkness of his desperation. It¡¯s not human. You should know that. It¡¯s not human.


    It was a venom that blurred away the lies and showed Searek of whose sword that lopped off his wife¡¯s neck. It was a venom that reminded Searek of whose blasphemous mouth that was chanting Sanguine¡¯s glory while offering sacrifices to Sanguine for a victory. It was a venom that compelled Searek to gurgle alongside Sanguine¡¯s hollow laughter. It was not the personification of insanity. It was only the catalyst.


    Insanity was anything but that venom. Insanity was the belated regret. Insanity was the tears that should roll but refuse to. Insanity was the howls that should come out but stuck at one¡¯s throat. Insanity was the lust for searing pain and true punishment. Insanity was the freshness of the mind, a mirror that showed visions of a person¡¯s wrongness. Insanity was the wish for a void, death, a true death while knowing that it was an unattainable wish. Insanity was the truth, the real truth that appeared in the absence of self-deceit and self-pity.


    It was a venom that tasted like the taste of justice.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was justice in and of itself. It barred a soul from reaching the black moon. It prevented one from being saved by Death¡¯s grace. To those who have been smeared with this venom, the black moon would reject him.


    If this is not justice, I don¡¯t know what else, Searek thought. Never will he be forgiven by his family and his people. Never will he be able to say sorry to them.


    This is justice, Searek stared into his reflection through the bathroom mirror.


    Searek has never learned how long it would take for his blood to gush back into his body and his wounds to close. But they always did. Whenever Searek took his mind off from the lessons, the training, the games and the meetings with his peers, he saw himself standing in front of a random mirror, Yasubotay¡¯s favorite object. He thought about committing suicide. He always did. And he would do it. However, a dead person could not die. And a person who has been a puppet of Sanguine would be rejected by the black moon.


    Only in this dreamland, Searek existed. He was an orc who was rejected by both worlds. A fitting punishment. Only in this bizarre dreamland that Prince Fearless conjured, Searek could exist.


    That haunting presence standing behind him refused to walk away, Searek could feel its presence still. He grabbed his bath towel and formed a noose around his neck. ¡°Hurry, Shandorei, end this break.¡± Slowly, Searek tightened the noose until that presence behind him seemed to fade into redness.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Searek trained Prince Fearless in the art of combat whenever he could. Searek knew that Prince Fearless was invincible in this dreamland. But Searek also knew that when Prince Fearless woke up, he was just as weak as an average human.


    Searek learned that the Dragonslayer Sinintee¡¯s greatest champion became a master of weapons through his training inside a Divine Dream. Searek only saw the entire training that the Dragonslayer has undergone through a short 15 seconds montage. As the result, Searek hoped that he could, at the minimum, turn Prince Fearless into an average fighter with his training, because unlike the Dragonslayer, Prince Fearless would not receive any blessings from Sinintee or Wonten. Unlike the Dragonslayer, Prince Fearless¡¯ arms would never be able to punch through solid rocks and his legs would never be able to outrun that of a galloping horse. Prince Fearless would never be as fast as an elf or as strong as an orc. Searek could only hope that his training could protect Prince Fearless in the real world.


    Prince Fearless was a lanky statue carved out of ice in Searek¡¯s eyes. Too delicate, too thin and too brittle to be subjected to any amount of violence. Sometimes, Searek felt like if he used too much force, Prince Fearless¡¯ entire body would be scattered in the air like a hail. And sometimes, he did.


    ¡°Shandorei, here I come,¡± announced Searek. Prince Fearless nodded his head and lowered his center of gravity, his spear readied.


    Unarmed, Searek bulled headlong. His entire body was his weapons, cruel as a giant hammer. Even without a weapon, Searek was Death¡¯s incarnated. The point of Prince Fearless¡¯ thrusting spear flashed in Searek¡¯ grey eyes, a blur, fast but far from being enough to stop Searek. Prince Fearless¡¯ familiarity with the spear only extended to the spear being a tool for stage performance rather than a weapon. It looked beautiful and precise but severely lacking in weight and speed. Searek did not have to avoid it. His stout arm brushed it aside. His swinging fist Death. Prince Fearless, the person who Searek has sworn an oath of loyalty to, he reeled on the ground a long fifteen strides, rolling like a meat doll to a heavy halt. If his fist has landed on the prince in anywhere but this dreamland, Searek would have killed him.


    ¡°Again,¡± Searek shouted.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Prince Fearless cursed and bounced to his feet, his spear readied again. His dark eyes flared up, as usual, speaking of his hatred of losing, always. ¡°COME,¡± hissed the prince.


    Searek resumed the training. He ripped the spear from Prince Fearless¡¯ hand and smashed the prince headfirst to the ground. ¡°Put more weight into your thrust. Again,¡± Searek yelled, returning the spear to the prince with a casual toss.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Prince Fearless performed a backflip, grabbing his spear. His finger wiggling arrogantly.


    Searek launched himself at the prince again. His right fist shattered the prince¡¯s jaws without mercy and launched the prince into the air. ¡°Again,¡± Searek shouted, yanking the spear out of his left forearm without flinching and tossing it at the rising prince. ¡°More weight. Stab me as if you meant to kill me,¡± he growled. That was the first wound that Prince Fearless has managed to inflict upon Searek in the day. It always took a few exchanges for Prince Fearless to be mentally ready for combat. But it was not good enough. He has already died three times today.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± cursed Prince Fearless, grabbing the spear with both hands, ¡°COME.¡±


    Searek charged, this time with more caution. Prince Fearless jabbed the spear twice. He nicked Searek¡¯s chest with the second thrust before finding himself reeling on the floor by Searek¡¯s backswing.


    ¡°COME,¡± Prince Fearless was back to his feet again.


    Searek advanced, sending the prince¡¯s spear flying with a mighty swat. Prince Fearless dove for Searek¡¯s legs and wrestled him to the ground using the momentum. The prince mounted on Searek, his hidden dagger came out, flashing. Searek stopped the dagger with one fist and pommelled the prince to the ground with the other. The prince¡¯s experience with wrestling came from his many hours practicing with a dummy on Earth. He was good enough to put an unprepared man to sleep by a surprise attack, not nearly good enough to help him in a real fistfight.


    ¡°FUCK,¡± swore the prince as he angrily went to retrieve his spear. ¡°Come,¡± he wiggled his finger at Searek, determined to win as ever.


    However, determination alone would not help him. Searek dismantled the prince in the next exchange, yanking the spear out of his hands and smashing his face with a crippling elbow strike. Searek was not good at teaching and explaining through words. It was difficult to express the right and wrong of combat through words. Searek learned how to fight by exchanging fists with other orcs until he knew how to fight. He swung a sword until he knew how to swing it. Therefore, he could only teach Prince Fearless his knowledge through violence and action. He could only repeat his lessons until Prince Fearless grabbed them.


    ¡°Again,¡± Searek shouted.


    ¡°FUCK,¡± the prince hollered, bounced to his feet and launched himself at Searek like a maddened badger. Searek broke the prince¡¯s neck with a brutal high kick, sending him smashing to the ground.


    ¡°FUCK,¡± the prince cursed and aired his frustration. But never had he complained. Prince Fearless readied himself. No matter how many time Searek has beaten him to submission, the prince refused to lay down. His arms broke like tweaks for a thousand times. His face shattered like pieces of ice over and over. The prince would groan, roll on the ground and cry from the pain until he could snap his fingers to heal himself. ¡°Again,¡± however, whenever he heard this shout, he would always stand up. ¡°COME,¡± he would shout with bravado and wiggle his finger to display his arrogance. There was no fear in his eyes no matter how many time Searek fell upon him with the complete brutality of an orc. In his eyes, only a thirst for victory existed.


    But thirst alone was not good enough. Again and again, Searek¡¯s fist broke through the prince¡¯s defense with brute force. Again and again, Prince Fearless would curse. And he would stand up only to be punched down like a bag of meat and bone.


    Their combat training was not a scene to be shown to the other subjects of the Prince. Especially in front of Sasengun. At the end of the session, Prince Fearless raised his hand, ¡°Don¡¯t speak. I know how much I suck.¡± He understood that Searek was bad with words and encouragement. He never made excuses for himself either.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Prince Fearless was always punctual with his time. He gave himself and his subjects one week break. He refused to end the break earlier than that. Whenever Prince Fearless was that adamant about his decision, he always had reasons.


    Searek gave up on asking the prince to end the break ahead of time. Once again, Searek found himself standing before his bathroom mirror, staring at his weathered flat nose face. His eyes grey and sunken inside thick and darkened eye bags. His pate shaved clean. His long sandy hair coarse tied backward into three knots, the symbol of his warriorship. One knot, an apprentice. Two, a warrior who passed the five trials. Three, a master of arms.


    Searek had his old look, mournful and tired. The one that he had before meeting his end. Before he was chopped down in a vicious storm of swords. His lips scarred. His jaws thick and bloated with his towel balling up from the inside. His face was neither handsome nor ugly among his kin. A heavy mask. Searek was aware that he was not completely sane. So he always kept himself in check with his mask. The only time when he could peel away his mask was when he was by himself, standing in front of a mirror, mostly his bathroom mirror. A sharp knife held firm in his rugged hand, Searek took a deep breath and peeled his mask off in grunting violence. His vision flared up with Yasubotay¡¯s pictures. An orcish sword gleaming red inside the hand of a crying brute. A headless body cold on the ground. The brute howled. His sword curved up and down in savage arcs, brutal, hacking at that cold body. Rasahlu¡¯s whispers were ringing at the back of his head.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    It was his wife¡¯s voice. Her last word. The shock of betrayal carved on her rolling head.


    Searek then saw it. Underneath the mask that he wore every day, a brutish face of a demon. A face of dripping hatred. An ugly face of hollowing madness. A face of a demon. Searek glared at it, the demon inside the mirror with all of his hatred. His fist flew, shattered the demon in the mirror into a million pieces. But even so, that demon existed.


    The demon existed as long as Searek existed.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Whenever Faugus the old kobold was free from his duty and training, he walked the ground of dreamland and experienced living a normal life among the inhabitants of dreamland.


    Dreamland was a miracle created by a man whose fortitude stood the test of time and futility. Dreamland was a miracle for what miracle was. It was a land where everything was granted to a person as long as that person was willing to work, lived and died for it. It was a land where the <Stupid People of Fearless> lived without knowing the terror and sickening cruelty of Demon Lords and cold apathy of Gods and Goddesses. It was a land where even a kobold like Faugus could live without being constantly hunted, skinned, gutted and killed. It was a land where even a rejected soul who Death refused to take to her black moon could be accepted.


    Dreamland was a miracle that kept on giving.


    And yet, miracle was what separated gods and goddesses from mortals. Miracle was their domain and authority. A man should not touch it or tamper with it. Not because he could not but he should not. The more he tampered with it, the less happy he was. Faugus could already see that through his eyes.


    Faugus was among the first people to swear his fealty the creators of dreamland among the 147 souls who swore an oath on that day. Faugus was the second to be rescued from being Sanguine¡¯s trophy. He was trafficked away from Sanguine¡¯s trophy house and entrapping tentacles to regain the form that he last took when he was alive, an old baldheaded kobold with a crooked back and a pair of long arms and short legs. That was nothing short of a miracle. Stealing a trophy from the Sanguine Embodiment of Madness without alarming him, that was a feat of a miracle. It was so miraculous and unimaginable of a feat that Faugus would consider it the greatest heist in the world. If only it did not repeatedly do over and over again, for hundreds of millions of times until Sanguine¡¯s trophy house became empty of souls. Sanguine, the Demon Lord of Madness, the Embodiment of Madness was but a foolish and helpless child existed in dreamland, inside this miracle.


    But the man, who was able to pull off such miracle, became less happy as the number of souls that he saved from Sanguine¡¯s trophy house increased. It was as though he was reminded that man could not fix everything, not even when he commanded a miracle at his liberty. It was as though that he has realized the limitation of miracles. It was as though he has realized that miracles were not the answer that he was looking for.


    He appeared happy and nonchalant. His eyes darkened with pure arrogance. His smile brilliant, a certain promise of hope and victory. But his gait appeared forlorn as though weighted down by troubled thoughts and the sorrow of life. He was never afraid of shaming himself in public. He could weep openly and speak of his sorrow inside the chest of a woman who loved him and in front of his millions of admirers. He did not care if an orc or a Garuda thought that tears were the signs of weakness. He did not care if a faun believed that a bright and happy smile was the sign of boyhood and feminity. He did not care if his subjects and admirers were heartbroken from being disillusioned thinking that he was a man forged from Titanite. He would weep when he felt like crying and he would smile whenever he felt like it. He lived a life free of people¡¯s expectation for him.


    But he was disciplined enough to never let his most sorrowful thought slipped out of his mouth, not once. He could share his greatest joy with his people and admirers. But he has never shared his greatest sorrow with them, that, that differentiated a man from a woman. Men stubbornly held their sorrows inside their chest while women shared them. Even though they might not realize it, most men held an instinctive belief that they were above their sorrows and sorrows were things to be fixed. Men had an intuitive belief that they could fix their sorrow rather than women, who would share their sorrow as their first instinct, even though sharing would not fix anything.


    In the end, he, too, was a man. Prince Fearless was that kind of man.


    At least, that was what Faugus believed. Faugus spent his free time living among the <Stupid people of Fearless> whenever he was not acting as one of Prince Fearless¡¯ General Staff. And there was nothing strange about that. Many members of Prince Fearless¡¯ General Staff lived this way, back and forth between training rooms, meeting rooms, the House of the Great and dreamland.


    There were people like Ember who considered dreamland as the ¡°Ultimate Distraction.¡± They would rather spend their time studying new tactics and strategies or refining the old ones. There were also those who saw dreamland as their oasis just like Searek. They visited dreamland and watched how the inhabitants of dreamland lived from afar. Watching these <Stupid people of Fearless> living their life to their fullest brought some measurement of peace to people like Searek. And finally, there were those who were similar to Faugus and Isonos, they lived in dreamland to understand more of Prince Fearless, the man they swore their loyalty to.


    Dreamland was considered as the greatest miracle that Prince Fearless has conjured. How and which manner that the miracle was used, what form did that miracle took and what kind of fruits that the miracle bore reflected that Prince Fearless¡¯ character.


    In dreamland, Isonos saw a nihilist god whose brilliance and greatness matched his ego. Isonos came to dreamland to study the bizarreness of the <Stupid people of Fearless>, a race of people who brainwashed and educated violence and destruction like an art to their younglings since their kindergarten days.


    All of these inhabitants were taught to employ and execute violence and destruction in the most harrowing manners at a young age. They were a race of people who consistently created 9 years old children that were more fit at fighting a war than doing housework. They could already recite every line in Sun Tzu¡¯s and Machiavelli¡¯s Art of War as though those texts were their favorite hearth stories. And every grownup of this <Stupid people of Fearless> race would definitely strike fear into Escana if they were released to Escana. Each of them was an extremist, radical who commanded a force of destruction at his/her liberty, an offshoot of Prince Fearless himself. Each of them was a mini-nuke. It was a great miracle that these <Stupid people of Fearless> had only engaged in a single war since the dawn of dreamland. It was a miracle that this race of people has not become extinct from their aptitude for war and destruction.


    Isonos came to dreamland to study the aptitude for war and destruction of these people. He studied their ideal, their drive and worship. And thus, he saw a god.


    Faugus, however, studied the life of the <Stupid people of Fearless>. He only saw an angry and forlorn man whose life tied to a single hope.


    The <Stupid people of Fearless>, in contrast to their aptitude in causing the most harrowing destruction, they lived a most peaceful life. Farmers would toil their land, grow their animals and plant their trees. Office-workers would go to their office and work diligently. They lived embracing their role and desired jobs to the fullest. They dealt with their competitions, love, and conflicts in the most peaceful manner, through words, agreement, trusts, and concessions.


    ¡°Si vis pacem, para bellum.¡± The <Stupid people of Fearless> operated around this philosophy. "If you want peace, prepare for war."


    ¡°Distribute nukes to people who know exactly how to make the most use out of them. As a result, the very moment a person uses his/her nuke, he/she has already marked his own destruction and unhappiness. The moment a person use his nuke, he will definitely destroy his enemy at the very cost of his everything. His life, his family, his happiness and everything that he loves and cares. That¡¯s why nobody would use his/her nuke or act upon his/her recklessness. That¡¯s how world peace is achieved.¡± Isonos drew this insane philosophy from his observation of the peace in dreamland.


    That was how Isonos understood the phrase ¡°Si vis pacem, para bellum.¡±


    Isonos saw ingenuity from this philosophy. Faugus only saw sadness and hopelessness. The <Stupid people of Fearless>, all of them regardless of their look, age, sex, and character, they were offshoots of Prince Fearless. And yet, they had no faith in themselves, in the goodness resided in their heart and in the belief that they were all Fearless. It was sad that the only way they could live in harmony in dreamland was by arming themselves with an aptitude for causing harrowing destruction. It was sadder that their method actually worked as perfectly as they have intended.


    However, this method would definitely do not work in the real world. Faugus drew his conclusion as he gazed at the sky of dreamland. ¡°URLOX, if you had any love for your Champion, give him not glory, greatness or power,¡± the old kobold prayed for a miracle.


    Prince Fearless was calling ¡°a tactical delay¡± on this war. He was preparing himself for it but he was delaying it at the same time. He would rather play some music, read books, and find enjoyment and pleasures in life than fighting a war. Yet, war was inevitable. War was already here, in dreamland and in the real world.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When Prince Fearless gave the one week break to his General Staff, only Lynx took that break as it was, a break from any ROC related topic.


    Lynx, the Pale Elf was among the 147 souls who vowed to aid Prince Fearless in his conquest while knowing that his enemies were greater than life themselves, beings that only appeared in legends and myth. Immortals. Beings that controlled the fate of Escana. It was just insane that a person would wage a war against such beings. That kind of war was something Lynx would refuse to fight now that he has known the terror and the force that a Demon Lord like Sanguine wielded. He has lived and felt Sanguine¡¯s intention and horror long enough to stay out of the path of any immortal beings. The people who waged and fought that kind of war were insane, that was Lynx¡¯s unchanging belief. But it was even more insane that Prince Fearless might be the first and the only person to win that kind of war.


    So which is the insane one? This reality? This world? Or Prince Fearless?


    Those questions were a part of Lynx¡¯s daily ritual every time the sun rose and set on the horizon of dreamland. Lynx kept repeating these questions twice a day to remind himself just how surreal and abnormal the world around him was. But above all, Lynx had no intention of being someone else¡¯s puppet again. When he was alive, Lynx was unknowingly a puppet of Sanguine and he has remained Sanguine¡¯s puppet even after he was killed.


    Though Lynx was grateful that Prince Fearless has saved him from Sanguine, Lynx was not compelled to follow Prince Fearless out of his immense sense of gratitude like Sasengun and Searek and many others. But not only Prince Fearless was fine with that, he actually encouraged it, selfishness and personal goal among his subjects and followers just like any great emperor, king, and empress would have done.


    A good leader would never convince his follower to work for his personal interest, he aligned his own interest with his followers¡¯ interest and convinced them to act for their common interest. A great leader would go a step further hiding his motive and personal interest and acting like he was working for the sole interest of his followers. A great leader would convince his followers that he was working for them and not his own interest. Lynx meddled with politics long enough to grasp and understand that wisdom intuitively. He could see through the wisdom and calculation in Prince Fearless¡¯ words and action.


    However, as Isonos often reminded everyone, ¡°True arrogance is presuming that you could see through our teacher¡¯s intention.¡±


    Lynx hated Isonos. Nobody liked Isonos. But he knew that Isonos was just as wise as he was. It was impossible to grasp the true extent of Prince Fearless¡¯ goal and intention. His words and actions were often mismatched and misleading.


    Lynx could still vividly remember that time when Prince Fearless addressed that conflicted crowd of 147 that Lynx was a part of.


    ¡°Do not follow me out of gratitude alone. Gratitude is the cheapest emotion and it is so cheap that it is practically free. I don¡¯t expect any of you to slave yourself for my cause for free. And I do not wish that any of you should do that, working and sacrificing yourself for my cause without any compensation in return. I believe that I am a better talker than most people. I can spout bullshits like any king, queen, emperor, empress, or even Demon Lord and make you believe in my bullshits. I can certainly speak pretty dreams and dress my words in sugary lies to influence you to live and fight for my lofty ambition like slaves. But I will not. I shall not.¡±


    Prince Fearless was certainly a great seducer of both man and woman as he said, and perhaps even more. He was a person who cheated Death once. Next to him stood Magnamor, the Thousand Burning Eyes Demon Lord who shook like a blade of grass in a whipping storm. A person could never convince that cowardly Demon Lord to defect his kin if he wasn¡¯t a great talker. A person could never convince Magnamor to analyze and breakdown Sanguine¡¯s venom if he wasn¡¯t a great seducer. How to fight a Demon Lord? With a Demon Lord. How to combat a miracle? With miracles. Lynx was the first to understand Prince Fearless¡¯ reasoning with his approach. Lynx studied alchemist while he was alive. Lynx understood that sometimes the cure of a poison was another poison. Prince Fearless did not use any blessing to combat Sanguine¡¯s venom and curses.


    ¡°I believe that all of you deserve much better than your current fate. You deserve much better than living the life of a slave and a puppet. Though Escana remembers you as demons and slayers of your kin, derange sinners, betrayers, and deceivers, I believe that there has been no great conqueror and benevolent kings and queens who were not slayers, deceivers and sinners. And if you had committed any sin and atrocity in life, I believe that you have been punished long enough being tortured by Sanguine¡¯s venom and whim. I believe that you have served your sentence long enough.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    While it¡¯s not much, take this opportunity as a new page in your life.


    While you are free to think that working for me as an atonement for your past deeds, I don¡¯t think it is.


    You already carried out your sentence. You have already atoned for your mistake and sin.


    I have told you this before and I will repeat myself until all of you understand my words. All of you who stand before me are free men and women now. I will not force you to make any choice. If you wish for peace, you are welcome to live inside my dreamland. If you wish for vendetta, the door to the mirror hall is always left open to you. But if you are willing to help me, I will treat you as my employees.


    Know this, I did not ask you to work for me because of your names and your accomplishment alone. I believe in your character. I do not employ people of questionable and evil characters. Those whom I have deemed evil, demons and worms, my kind, I have left them untreated from Sanguine¡¯s venom. I kept them where they should be, in the depth of my mind where they would be forgotten. I shall repeat myself again here. Whatever the crimes and sins that you have committed while you were alive, you have been punished long enough. You have carried out your sentence much longer than you should. You should forgive yourself now. But if you still feel like you cannot forgive yourself, I will try to speak on the behalf of the people of Escana here,¡± said Prince Fearless.


    Alfland was a queendom where Lynx came from. It was considered a holy land for the followers of Eogaill in the elven world. In Alfland, Politics was a critical study. It was compulsory education for any elf of the age of 60 and beyond. But of course, not all the course attendants were of the age of 60, many attended this course at a much younger age for various reasons. The study of politics was the kind of study that made a person quickly lost his faith in the goodness of the people. It was a study that shattered the illusion about virtue, goodness, self-sacrifice, patriotism in a person¡¯s heart. It taught its students to understand and read desires. It taught its students to be realists when managing queendom and people.


    Prince Fearless could read that one desire that Lynx and his band of 147 had in common. Gratitude was a convenient excuse for them to follow him. It was as Prince Fearless has said, Gratitude is cheap.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. I know demons and worms by their looks, their sounds, and their smells. I am one of them, their worst and their hunter that¡¯s why I know them better than most. I am the paragon of injustice. I know injustice when I am around it. Therefore, I can say for sure that you are neither demons nor worms. Therefore I can say for sure that your fate and your punishment is an injustice. You have carried out your sentence. You have been punished long enough. I will speak on behalf of Escana and her people, I forgive you. We forgive you for everything. Therefore, you should learn to forgive yourself.¡±


    At the time, even though he knew that those words were carefully crafted and woven, Lynx was gritting his teeth and clenching his fist as tight as possible to prevent himself from crying. But next to him, many were already in tears. Many were already sniffling, even the stoic and war-seasoned Searek. Prince Fearless just said something that deep down Lynx and many have wished to be told by someone. Anyone, because the one who could tell those words to Lynx and the crowd surrounding him no longer exist. Therefore, anyone would be fine. Anyone could say that but no one did. Only Prince Fearless spoke them.


    ¡°You are all free men and women now. And you all deserve much better than what I can provide you at the moment. If you work for me, you are my employees and I am your employer. While I cannot give you wealth or personal glory, I will try my best to accommodate your wishes. If you have any regret or personal wish that I can fulfill, name it, I will try my best to fulfill it for you whether it in this dream or in reality. That¡¯s the least I could repay you for your service. An oath for an oath.¡±


    Up until this point, Lynx has expected everything. Then, something unexpected happened.


    Even when Prince Fearless has said something like that, not everyone could be as bold and greedy as Faugus. That old kobold despite his forlorn and weathered look asked for an impossible wish, an insane wish, the greediest of a wish, ¡°Me people are deemed as monsters. Me people are hunted and killed on sight. Me people can only live by raiding and reaving and scavenging. Me people are the most hated race even among the Walking Curses. If it is possible, Shandorei, please grant me people a dream, a land, and perhaps a future where me people can live in harmony among the other races.¡±


    Faugus was unabashed when the look of scorn showered his ungrateful figure. He stood tall, as tall as his old crooked back allowed him and looked at Prince Fearless in the eyes. If that wish was an insane and an impossible wish, a great burden in exchange for the loyalty of a greedy kobold, Faugus was shameless enough and wise enough to ask the only person who might be able to grant it to him.


    Kobolds were considered pests, the worst kind of pests on Escana. Lynx has learned that through his time living on Escana. The hatred for kobolds was deep-rooted in every race. Prince Fearless should only give a half-hearted reply and promise to get Faugus to work for him.


    ¡°While I cannot promise you that I can grant you that wish immediately or at any time soon, and I am not exactly a forgiven person when it came to the act of robbing and reaving, I swear to you on the color my flag that I will make it a reality for you. That day will come, mark my words.¡± Only Prince Fearless could reply to that wish with such confidence and seriousness. Only Prince Fearless could be insane enough to grant such a wish.


    ¡°I know that I am far from being worthy of your aide. I was the greatest failure of my kin. I have accomplished nothing in life. And I have accomplished nothing either with my death. I am lacking much in talent and ability to help you to attain your goal. Therefore, I offer you everything that I possess. My soul, my courage, my wisdom, everything. If you command me to be a puppet of Sanguine once more, I would gladly do it. I am yours until the days my soul no longer exist.¡± Faugus groveled on the ground and wept.


    Lynx did not know that a kobold could weep like that. That was an unforgettable scene to everyone who was there to witness it. Even so, not everyone was shameless enough to ask Prince Fearless of such shameless wish when he was their savior, not that they had such ambition in them either. Whatever they tried to accomplish in life have already ended with their death. Their successes and failures were already history.


    Lynx only asked to live inside the Commonwealth Archive to exchange for his service. Prince Fearless granted Lynx¡¯s wish while he often reminded Lynx to be more honest with his desire.


    But Lynx could not think of anything else. He had no wish to fight another war and another battle. He had enough of war and battle like many others. The Commonwealth Archive was opened to Prince Fearless¡¯ subjects. Anyone who wished to visit it could visit it at any time. It mostly contained the wealth of knowledge that Prince Fearless has collected in years with the contribution of his many subjects. Anyone who wished to contribute their wisdom was free to add and contribute to the Archive.


    The Commonwealth Archive was like a home to Lynx even though Prince Fearless has built a mansion for him. Lynx spent so much time inside the Commonwealth Archive that Prince Fearless trusted him with the task of managing the Archive. Even though Prince Fearless understood that the reason Lynx spent so much time inside the Archive had nothing to do with his own thirst for knowledge, he still made Lynx his librarian.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to what others may tell you. Don¡¯t allow peer pressure to tell you what to do and what not to do. Especially Isonos, don¡¯t let him talk you to work for me. Listen to your heart. If you want peace, stay rested and search for your peace. Don¡¯t feel guilty about not helping me. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about.¡±


    That was not how leaderships worked. That was not how a great leader would motivate his subjects. It was as if Prince Fearless was trying to convince Lynx to stay off from the war games and the incoming war.


    Lynx felt like Prince Fearless must have told the rest of his subjects with the same thing. It was difficult to tell if Prince Fearless wanted to convince people to fight for him or not. It was as though Prince Fearless was fine with either result. Whether people would follow him or not, Prince Fearless would go to war regardless.


    It was said that the differences between insanity and eccentricity could only be distinguished when the goal was reached. Until the end was reached, insanity and eccentricity were practically the same.


    The creator of Dragon Bane, for instance, had she failed to create Dragon Bane at the end of her story and died without avenging her children, people would tell a story of how mad she was. They would tell a story of how crazy and obsessed she was in her quest of vengeance trying to create an impossible poison that can kill a grown dragon. Had she failed, that would be who she was, an insane woman who thought she could kill a dragon with a poison. But she succeeded in her quest. She managed to create the evilest and deadliest poison in the world, and thus, her story was told in a different light.


    Until Prince Fearless put an end to his war, it was impossible to judge if he was insane or eccentric.


    However, Lynx judged Prince Fearless to be an eccentric man. He hoped that was the case. Otherwise, Lynx had just escaped Sanguine¡¯s madness only to be infected with a worse form of madness.


    Lynx believed that Prince Fearless was one of those eccentric people whose talent matched with the level of their eccentricity. The inner working of his mind worked differently from that of normal people. Though, Prince Fearless explained that it was because he came from Earth, a different planet. Lynx considered that was a lazy explanation. If Earthling were a race of people whose mind operated similarly to Prince Fearless¡¯ inner working, Earth would experience no war between Earthlings. War was a line that Prince Fearless drew out for himself to keep himself in check. But when that line was crossed, Prince Fearless would stop at nothing to realize his goal even if he must crash himself into pieces. If everyone was equally as dangerous, meticulous and radical as Prince Fearless, they would do everything within their capability to avoid war.


    But then dreamland was that kind of land, an eccentric world where its inhabitants would resolve all form of conflicts were with talks and agreements even though all of them were all educated and trained in the Art of War at their early age. Every self-proclaimed ¡°Stupid people of Fearless¡± was like an alternate version of Prince Fearless, an offshoot of him that was equally as eccentric and extreme as he was. These people educated violence and destruction like an art to their younglings at a very young age.


    And yet, this dreamland had known only one war since its creation day. It was a religious war where the most radical inhabitants united together to fight and kill each other to send their message to their creator Prince Fearless. It was a ridiculous war, a most harrowing war where every soldier was a general and every general was a soldier. It was a war fought between thinking-armies where even a small 10 men unit could provide a tactical advantage on a larger scale to their army. It was a war that overturned the meaning of blunders, defeats, foolishness and common sense.


    ¡°This is a war fought between the most extreme terrorists and every terrorist participated in it was a WMD,¡± Prince Fearless has once commented with visible distaste about this war when Isonos brought the subject up at a General Staff council meeting. But then, Prince Fearless would also say, ¡°You are free to study about this goddamn stupid war in the Archive for references. But do me a favor, keep the materials related this war out of my sight.¡±


    Lynx studied this war on his own just as many of his peers. It was a baffling war where the most ingenious decision could appear to be the worst ill-advice decision and vice versa. It was a war that showed a middle finger to logical reasoning. It was a war that overturned common sense, a most harrowing war, a war that left distaste in the heart of the people who studied it.


    As a result, nobody has conducted a more extensive study on this subject like Isonos. He worshiped Prince Fearless as if he was one of the ¡°Stupid People of Fearless¡±. Isonos did not just study that war extensively, he has written over 20 treatises to explain the pros and cons of every decision, tactic, and strategy employed in that war in details. Isonos was the only one that Lynx knew who could say, ¡°It¡¯s worth it. 7 millennia of being a slave to madness and pain for a fateful meeting with someone who I can admire and call a ¡®Teacher¡¯, it¡¯s worth it.¡± Isonos¡¯ eyes were normally dripping red with Sanguine¡¯s venom of insanity but when he said that, it appeared that he was the perfect embodiment of insanity. He had no remorse regarding how he littered the world with corpses when he was in power or how he nearly doomed his entire race to extinction. He had no regret regarding of suffering that Sanguine has subjected him to for the length of 7 millennia.


    ¡°Must I again suffer another 7 millennia being a slave of Sanguine to meet teacher, I would gladly accept it. It¡¯s too cheap of a price to exchange for something so great.¡± Only Isonos could embrace something like that with such confidence and eagerness.


    Even Prince Fearless had to warn his subjects about Isonos, ¡°That one is 11/10 on the scale of insane. None of you should follow his example. I am not a fucking God. So don¡¯t worship me as one.¡±


    While Lynx was extremely grateful that he was able to meet Prince Fearless, he was unable to imagine himself being willingly become a puppet of Sanguine for another second. Sometimes, Lynx thought that perhaps Isonos was like that because he was attached to Sanguine so much longer than everyone else of the General Staff. Among the 147 people who volunteered to be Prince Fearless¡¯ aides, Isonos and Sasengun suffered at the clutch of Sanguine¡¯s insidious puppetry the longest. But they could not be more different.


    Just like Lynx who has nested inside the Commonwealth Archive, Sasengun made her home in the Cradle, the home of those newborn and unborn babies who Sanguine selected as his Champion for his twisted entertainment. Their undeveloped soul would never develop to that of an adult or ever recover from the damage of Sanguine¡¯s venom. Not once they understood what sanity was before Sanguine¡¯s venom robbed it away from them. There, in the Cradle, these babies resided. There, hundreds of Prince Fearless¡¯ maids acted as their mothers who would never give up on them and took care of them unconditionally. There Sasengun would visit whenever she was not inside Prince Fearless¡¯ arms and receiving his love or doing training or researching. There her anguishing wails often mixed with the cries of those babies. Sasengun made a home for herself inside the Cradle to search for atonement, unlike Lynx who made a nest for himself in the Archive for respite.


    Even though Prince Fearless thought that he should accommodate Lynx with something grander and more meaningful, the Archive was Lynx¡¯s solace and haven.


    The books, the video and audio records kept inside the Archive was Lynx¡¯s solace, the things that kept the Pale Elf from hearing Rasahlu¡¯s seraphic whisper.


    ¡°When the dark forest rose from the eastern shore,


    Elven blood shall drench Still Garden


    Lynx, son of no one, what shall you do?


    Watch as your people became fruits of the dark forest,


    Run with your lord, or shall you stand for your people.


    Lynx, son of no one, who shall you be?


    A coward of your people or a Hero of Still Garden.¡±


    The Whisperer of Madness, Rasahlu, her voice was that of a Valkyria, a bright voice, an unsullied voice that infused courage and goodness into the heart of people. A voice of benevolence, the complete opposite of her blackened heart.


    Perhaps if her voice was grating and slimy like a quagmire of madness and pain, Rasahlu would never have that title, the Whisperer of Madness. Nobody would listen to her whisper. Had Lynx known that at the time, he would not trust her so readily. He thought she was one of the Valkyria who hid her figure from his eyes for his own good. How could he know? He was Lynx, son of no one, a normal elf. He was not Prince Fearless who could detect malice and lie through his sharp hearing. He was Lynx, just a young elf who has strayed from his path to becoming a magus. He was no one special, no one important. He was not Prince Fearless who would question Rasahlu¡¯s agenda repeatedly until he could understand it. Prince Fearless would question why he was given such prophecy but the others were not.


    On that day when a forest of black sails rose from the eastern shore, tragedy befell on Still Garden.


    Kobolds, thousands of kobolds of different tribes united together for one great raid, the raid of Alfland. Even the flags of conflicting kobold tribes could be seen fighting side by side together. Never before such mass of Kobolds has been witnessed.


    A living forest of starving kobolds ripped through the countryside of Still Garden, burning villages, killing elves, raiding and destroying everything in their path. They herded and chased the surviving elves toward the high gates of Still Garden. The gate of Still Garden barred the unfortunate survivors from entering for the fear of the kobolds would flood the city alongside the survivors.


    The killing and raiding of the surrounding area of Still Garden continued for two straight days.


    Two days were long enough for many things to happen. Two days were long enough for the kobolds to cut down the trees around Still Garden to build hundreds of shielded ladders to storm the battlement of Still Garden. Two days were long enough for the kobolds to build their battering rams. Long enough for the kobolds to raid and expand their raiding force on the neighbor regions of Still Garden. Long enough for the kobold to assemble and flaunted a thousand of their notorious living meat-shields to demoralize the wall defenders. Elves lived in their villages around Still Garden were either turned into meat-shields or cooked to feed the starving kobolds. Those were the lucky ones. The unlucky one became toys to entertain and appease the kobolds¡¯ twisted resentment toward elven kind. Those living meat-shields destroyed the will and resolve to fight of the wall defenders, asking them if they would dare to shoot arrows and fire their spells at their own kind.


    Two days were long enough to provide an immeasurable advantage to the kobolds. Long enough for even young elves of Lynx¡¯s age to be drafted to defend the barbed walls.


    The barbed walls of Still Garden fended off the kobold¡¯s attack five times, just long enough for her Lordship of Still Garden escaped with her consort and family through the city aqueduct. They were immediately captured, stripped of their clothes and became a fine collection for the raiding kobolds. The jagged thorns of the Saber Ivies growing out the wall of Still Garden, the crow feather arrows, the spells bestowed by the four patron deities, the razor edge of elven scimitars, the sharp pointy end of elven spears and the bravery of the lordless soldiers held the kobolds back for two more days.


    Lynx was an alchemy hobbyist at the time. He was supposed to follow the path of a magus but he ended up straying from his intended path.


    Alchemy was not an appreciated art in the elven world even in the holy land of the followers of wisdom. It required the lost knowledge of the ancient Titan. It operated on a different design of miracles that the four patron deities of Escana provided. But above all, it was an inefficient and costly art.


    To create a healing potion, an alchemist needed to gather the correct alchemy ingredients that could tolerate the blessing intended for the ritual and made a proper alchemic ritual to infuse the blessing into the alchemy ingredients that he collected. It was inefficient in the elven world.


    Whenever an elf required healing, she only needed to visit an Essence Temple and a priestess of the Essence Temple would only require to chant a prayer to Niwdar. And elves were children of Niwdar. Her blessings coursed inside the elven blood. Out of ten female elves, seven received Niwdar¡¯s blessing at the moment of their birth.


    Alchemy was an appreciated art in the world of man, but not elf. It was considered a costly hobby rather than a valuable and prestigious study. That was exactly who Lynx was at the time, an alchemy enthusiast. Lynx went to a school that produced magi but instead learning about spells and miracles, he pursued Alchemy instead. His room stocked with alchemical poisons and healing potions and ancient documents of the Titan instead of research papers about spells and miracles. He was smart enough to recover many damaged recipes from the old documents through trials and errors and even came up with new recipes. But he was not smart enough to keep his hobby and his schoolwork separated.


    Expulsion was rare but it was a looming possibility for those who have strayed far from the intended path. Lynx happened to be the fifth student to be expelled from the school in a millennium.


    As Lynx watched the kobolds preparing for another wall-storming while the ocean mist set in, he started to understand why Rasahlu has whispered to him and no one else. He proposed a plan to the commander of the wall defenders. Lynx noticed that the kobolds drew water from a local lagoon. He proposed poisoning the creeks that connected to that lagoon with alchemical poisons.


    The usage of alchemical poisons in the war was banned across the elven world under a common agreement between all kingdoms and queendoms. It was considered the most heinous war crime.


    However, there was saying, desperate times breed desperate answers. Perhaps if that army of besieging kobolds were elves and if they did not flaunt those living meat-shields, the commander of walls would not agree to Lynx¡¯s proposal so readily. That elven woman would probably look at him with scorn instead. She would probably drill some sense of honor and pride into his head.


    Lynx contacted with his fellow alchemy hobbyists and gathered all manners of alchemical poisons from their combined hoard. Lynx opted for the unnoticeable and slow-acting kinds. Kobolds were known to possess a sharp sense of smell, therefore the kinds with intense smell were out. Also, using quick-acting alchemical poisons would alert the kobolds about the contamination in the lagoon immediately.


    <Clown¡¯s Paradise> had a sweet and sour aftertaste. Its smell changed according to its base solution. <Clown¡¯s Paradise> was one of the most common alchemical concoction that anyone who was familiar with alchemy could brew. It had a wide variety of recipes and ingredients to bring about different effects. <Clown¡¯s Paradise> brought laughter, ecstasy and sometimes hallucination of happiness for minutes, hours or days depending on the recipes. And if the stem of the exploding red fern was also added into the ingredients, the effects could last for weeks. While Lynx brewed and sold this concoction as a potion to cure unhappiness and stress, his school apparently did not think so and expelled him. They argued that he sold alchemical poisons to people.


    <Happy arms> had a dull bitter flavor and a faint grassy smell. The victim of this alchemical poisons would have his arms shaking non-stop for weeks after five hours of ingesting <Happy arms>. For a while, it was a popular item among young elves who wanted to avoid the military drafts at war times.


    <Mushroom farm> tasted like the white of unboiling eggs but nigh odorless. Reddish mushrooms would grow out of the victims¡¯ body.


    Those three alchemical poisons were among the most common and available alchemical products among the combined hoard. They were also the most harmless substances from the hoard. Then there was <Cockcrow water>, <White Blind>, <Tapping Feet> and many more. The kobolds tried to scale the wall twice before they decided to wait it out. At the next nightfall when the thick fog of war settled the battlefield with a mushy stench of corpses and smokes, the commander sent out Lynx alongside her stealthiest elves to poison the creeks. A unit of kobold sentry found them soon. A fight broke out and soon, Lynx and two other elves were captured, injured and bleeding. The rest was killed. Lynx managed to ditch all of his alchemical poisons into a bush before he was captured.


    Kobolds had a superior vision and sense of smell than most elves. Their eyes shone in the darkness like that of dogs and cats. They were savages that often cannibalized their own kind. While they could create tools like dwarves and elves, they embraced a life of constant raiding, reeving and killing instead. Kobolds were pests. They were so stupid that even farmers could kill them. That was what Lynx was taught about the kobolds.


    On that day when Lynx was captured by the kobolds, he was shaking with the imagination of how savagely he would be killed by the kobolds. And yet, he could not kill himself. He was too terrified to even think about that prophecy he heard in his dream and cursed it. He was dragged before a strange kobold whose coat was thick and shaggy like entangled willow branches, and hazel eyes that were so round and wide with intelligence.


    There Lynx met Bauromon, the Elf Slayer, a kobold so smart and strong that he could be both a scholar and a warrior among elven kinds. Bauromon could fluently speak many different kobold¡¯s dialects, elven tongue, and even Titan tongue.


    There Lynx learned that all kobolds could read and write better than most elven scholars that Lynx had ever met. Their eyes contained magic power that allowed matured kobolds to understand intention and knowledge from reading runes and writings.


    There Lynx first learned of a mysterious kobold king who has united all the different tribes under his banner and was pushing toward the queen¡¯s city of Alfland with the bulk of his army.


    There Lynx fulfilled Rasahlu¡¯s first prophecy by killing someone who has shown him mercy and respect. He became the Pale Elf, Hero of Still Garden.


    ¡°Hail Lynx, Brave Hero of Still Garden


    Hail Lynx, Lord of Still Garden,


    Hail Lynx, Protector of Alfland,


    Hail Lynx, Emperor, King of all kings.¡±


    That second prophecy was Lynx¡¯s greatest glory and folly, his greatest shame and his greatest punishment. Even now when he was inside Prince Fearless¡¯ Archive, his ears were ringing with Rasahlu¡¯s whisper and Sanguine¡¯s laughter that came with it.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When he was a child, Isonos could not fly like his kin. No bird could fly on one wing. No Garuda could do that either. But Isonos tried, flapping his wing, imagining himself soaring through the sky like his people and gazing down on Escana from the blue sky. His one good wing immediately broke into four pieces and white bones spew out of his feathers when Isonos flapped it with all his might. So Isonos could only gaze at the distance, imagining what laid beyond the horizon instead of flying up the sky and seeing it with his eyes.


    The world was huge for a Garuda like Isonos. Beyond the sacred mountain was an open world of green islands and ocean, beyond that horizon laid other horizons, beyond a sky laid another sky. The world has always been so huge. Beyond life was death. And beyond death, dreamland and ROC.


    When Prince Fearless first introduced ROC as a game to his vassals, Isonos had a vision of an egg of a new world order. An exciting world of possibility, challenge, and adventure. And at the center of that new world was Prince Fearless himself, the embryo.


    Isonos believed that his mission was to make that egg hatched.


    Isonos rolled his wheelchair to the Archive today as well for three straight days. It has been three days since Prince Fearless has given a one week break to his General Staff. While most of his vassals believed that Prince Fearless burned out from mental exhaustion from that long match, Isonos argued that Prince Fearless was being disappointed instead.


    When the one who Prince Fearless has considered as his best student could only amount that much, prolonging that match for a mere six days even with a total defense approach, it was unbearably disappointing. She should, at least, be able to keep that match lasting for three months to be worthy of being Prince Fearless¡¯ best student. It was a Defender vs Defender battle. That kind of battle should last forever and ever until one side snapped out of their original plan and opted to be an Ender instead. The fact that the match lasted only six days was a major disappointment to Isonos. Therefore, Isonos could imagine the disappointment that Prince Fearless must have felt.


    If Isonos was a person who was endowed with that many gifts and talents while being carefully taught by Prince Fearless the way Pride was, Isonos believed that he could prolong that match until Prince Fearless returned to his root, being an Ender once again. He would never disappoint Prince Fearless the way Pride did.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, Lynx? Your face looks like there is an arrow stuck inside your knee.¡± Isonos greeted the librarian and manager of the Archive as soon as he entered it. Lynx, the Pale Elf sat at the counter of the Archive as usual.


    ¡°And why are you talking like His Highness today?¡±


    Lynx¡¯s grimacing face deservedly gave him his moniker the Pale Elf, bleached white and nestled with a slovenly weaved net of swelling purple blood veins, a lasting effect from the time when Lynx tested his alchemical poisons on himself.


    ¡°I thought that if I greeted you like our teacher, I could brighten your mood.¡±


    Lynx wore a look as if he was thinking something nasty inside his head. He then ignored Isonos as usual, back to reading again, unsocial as ever. And yet, politics maneuver was supposed to be his strength.


    Isonos leaned over to see what kind of book that Lynx was reading. It was one of the many books that Faugus has translated to Titan rune. A Titan translation of a famous book in Prince Fearless¡¯ world telling a story of a monkey who managed to anger the gods ruling heaven, ocean, and hell, all at the same time.


    ¡°Do you know why the monkey was defeated and sealed beneath the Five Elementals Mountain?¡± asked Isonos.


    ¡°Buddha is too OP, as I recalled that His Highness said.¡± Lynx clicked his tongue as though being irritated and replied.


    Isonos chuckled inwardly to avoid appearing as condescending to one of his peer and equal. This is why you should take none of teacher¡¯s word at the face value. ¡°No, the monkey had too much fun and ended up playing around too much. He played a war instead of fighting it. He¡¯s smart and strong but too na?ve. That¡¯s why he was defeated,¡± rebuffed Isonos, ¡°If he ended the fighting before Buddha arrived, he would win,¡± Isonos nodded his head lightly to Lynx as a gesture of farewell and rolled his wheelchair to a quiet corner of the Archive and continued his work there.


    Among the projects that Prince Fearless has given to Isonos, the top priority was given to ¡°Operation Sunken Isle,¡± a project to conquer Sunken Isle and employed it as a mobile base.


    Sunken Isle was home to the Undying King, an old Titan who managed to outlive his life by moving his soul from one body to another. The Undying King managed to uncover the secret of transplanting and moving the soul from one body to another.


    Sunken Isle was a large secret laboratory for creating golems and homunculi, a cross between a living organism and a golem. Meaning if Isonos could conquer this place, he could produce an army for Prince Fearless. However, Sunken Isle was much easier to conquer in the game than reality.


    Sunken Isle was a mobile base. It never stayed at one place for too long. And most of the time, it stayed completely submerged in the Paredi Ocean that connected the Northern Continent and the Long Continent. Sunken Isle was a golem that had the appearance of a gargantuan sea turtle carrying a mountain on its back. For better or for worse, according to the intelligence provided by the Demon Lord Envy, Yasubotay has made the Undying King his Champion.


    ¡°You are aware of Yasubotay¡¯s method more than most, right? Deal with him,¡± said Prince Fearless at the time when he gave the project to Isonos.


    Isonos had a hard time to understand why this project was given to him and not Sasengun. Objectively, Sunken Isle could only be conquered through naval boarding. Sasengun was the Chief of Naval Warfare and she was a master at sea battle. In fact, in term of grudge, Sasengun¡¯s hatred for Yasubotay triumphed Isonos¡¯ personal vendetta. Therefore, the decision to give this project to Isonos must be a mistake. His strength was the sky battle. But then, the one who assigned this project to Isonos was none other than Prince Fearless himself.


    There is no mistake in this decision. Isonos believed. Teacher does not make any mistake, with that belief, Isonos spent his free time focus on learning about naval warfare. When his study has pointed Isonos to the personnel that Prince Fearless intended to use for this operation, his wheelchair led Isonos to a submerged castle built with red corals.


    An air bubble wrapped Isonos and his wheelchair as he entered the castle through the coral gates. Isonos kept rolling his wheelchair along the path that led to the throne room of the coral castle.


    There on the throne of rainbow-colored corals laid the Vampire Queen. For a brief moment, Isonos thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He saw a flicker of disappointment on that waxen and demonic face of the Vampire Queen.


    Cold inorganic eyes bore down on Isonos. ¡°Why does that sex fiend send his servant to see me? Why doesn¡¯t he meet me himself? Is he afraid?¡±


    Isonos titled his head and then realized that the coral gates have opened to him because the Vampire Queen has thought that he was Prince Fearless who came to visit her in person. Well, that¡¯s awkward, Isonos thought that Prince Fearless would probably say something like that if he got himself in such a situation.


    Isonos was not sure how he should reply to the Vampire Queen. He thought he should warn her about the manner and language that she has used to address Prince Fearless. But then, she was one of Prince Fearless¡¯ lovers and Isonos was but a subject of Prince Fearless. Then again, addressing Prince Fearless as ¡°a sex fiend¡± in front of his loyal subject was too much.


    This is really awkward, thought Isonos.


    ¡°His Highness did not plan this careless visit of mine. This humble subject has made a grave mistake and is lacking in manner. Please find it in your magnanimity and forgive this humble servant, Queen Acre?a,¡± Isonos bent his body as best as he could while sitting on his wheelchair.


    As though the Vampire Queen has mistaken Isonos¡¯ display of etiquette for fear, she clicked her tongue, ¡°Go back and call your master to come here. He still owes me an apology.¡±


    Dull. Monstrously dull.


    Isonos grieved that despite being a lover of Prince Fearless, there was no trace of intelligence and elegance to be found and polished inside the Vampire Queen. Isonos felt like crying inside, pairing his teacher with this dull creature who has nothing but an empty title was a heinous crime.


    Isonos gazed at the tragedy in the eyes. This is like sticking an azure rose on a stinking pile of bird droppings. Of course, the azure rose was Prince Fearless. It was the greatest tragedy in the world. Prince Fearless, his teacher was like a statue of a celestial being carved out of charms and elegance but the dull creature before Isonos was the exact opposite in its inner makeup and appearance.


    This has to be a crime against the world. Had it not for your power¡­


    Isonos inadvertently shed tears in silence, hiding his scorn. That blasphemous foulness in female form with dead fish¡¯s eyes gazed at Isonos as though convinced that her form terrified him to tears. Her serrated teeth grinning. But the Vampire Queen did not understand that there was nothing to be feared about her. Her grotesque living hair of burbling pallid lampreys terrified Isonos no more than the imagination that he might disappoint Prince Fearless in his quests and projects.


    There was nothing more terrifying the imagination of Prince Fearless looking at Isonos with his emotionless mask, telling him, ¡°It¡¯s fine to fail. Sit back and watch. I will show you how it¡¯s done.¡± There was nothing more terrifying than that, the thought that his teacher has expected Isonos to fail from the beginning. When Isonos could vividly imagine that scene, nothing in the world seemed terrifying anymore. And whenever Isonos had that visceral imagination, he could not help but wonder if Prince Fearless reminded himself of his worst fear in the same manner that Isonos did.


    ¡°Queen Acre?a, forgive me for my insolence but how good are your vampires matching up against Yasubotay¡¯s <House of Folly>?¡±


    Isonos has learned that <House of Folly> was Yasubotay¡¯s secondary method of dealing damage in the game. Yasubotay could spawn a mindless army of Champions that he, Sanguine and Rasahlu had once chosen through <House of Folly> and used this army to wreak havoc for him. Through the information provide by Envy and Magnamor, Prince Fearless has confirmed that this army replicated the original Champions through Yasubotay¡¯s mirage attribute, meaning that Isonos might be able to see a mindless version of himself fought for Yasubotay if Yasubotay used his <House of Folly>.


    ¡°You. Insolent fool. Who are you to doubt my minions?¡±


    If the queen and progenitor of the vampires was like this, how are the minions any better? Isonos almost reminded the Vampire Queen that she was captured by Prince Fearless in the most effortless manner. His crooked beaks managed to stop his words coming out.


    Isonos grew up listening to the myth of the Demon Lords from his father. Acre?a has always been the least scary one for him. The First Vampire she was, a grotesque cross between a bloodsucking lamprey and a goddess. The cold lightless water without a sliver ray of sunlight was where she resided, where she could command her miracles in full while the sun was on. Her miracles lost their power in the radiance of the sun. However, when the sun sank at the horizon, in the darkness of the night, Acre?a was just as terrifying as any Demon Lord. Her minions could surface from the watery depth, feasting on the flesh and blood of mortals. ¡°Keep moving,¡± his father has told Isonos, ¡°Follow the sun. Chase after the light.¡±


    As a child, Isonos had no fear for the Vampire Queen. Growing up, he had no fear of her either. Now dead, could only exist only in dreamland, he did not fear her either. He felt disgusted while looking at her.


    It is as you have said, teacher. Demon Lords are nothing but a bunch of clowns and a load of disappointment.

 V2 Chapter 29

    ¡°Swift Archer takes Soldier, check,¡± declared Ember and turned the hourglass. Ember tapped his feet furiously as he anticipated Prince Fearless¡¯ counter move. Ember was responsible for teaching Prince Fearless in the courtly etiquettes and culture of White Winter. And the Makra?ni was an important part of the culture of White Winter court aside from the gladiatorial games, the balls and other higher social events.


    Ember narrowed his eyes on the Makra?ni timber board. He foresaw a deadlock, a draw within the next 7 moves as long as neither Ember nor Prince Fearless made any mistake. Makra?ni was a strategy board game during the time when Ember was still living on Escana. A Makra?ni board contained 110 even tiles, one long border to stand between two armies, 8 types of unique pieces to represent all-variant of soldiers of an army on both sides. It was a game of King, Strategist, and Conqueror. Man or woman, a noble of Ember¡¯s time was required to have knowledge of this game alongside the other many noble etiquettes to live within a higher society. However, a military man was expected to be good at this game. As a result, Ember heavily emphasized Prince Fearless to be a great Makra?ni player. Ember had no wish of watching his master to make a fool of himself in front of the nobles of White Winter when that time came.


    Prince Fearless, as usual, was flirting around with his gold coins in his left palm whenever he had to work his mind. His complexion was difficult to read as always, calm and unworried, a nonchalant expression. His calculated sight flickered all over the 110 tiles of the board, unhurried. Until the last grains of sand on the top half of hourglass were about to be flushed into the bottom half, Prince Fearless started to move his piece in a swift and fluid motion. ¡°Chariot to three-eight,¡± said Prince Fearless while flipping the hourglass.


    As far as Ember could calculate, that was the worst possible move that a person could make. Instead of using his Lance to capture the Swift Archer, Prince Fearless tossed away his Soldier piece for free, leaving his King piece unguarded and open to be checked. Ember recalculated his move, refusing to believe that his master could make such a terrible move under the circumstance. It was supposed to be a simple situation, a predictable draw in 7 moves. Prince Fearless just made the situation worse for himself, losing his piece and open a hole in his formation for his King piece to be attacked.


    What¡¯s going on inside his head? Ember could not help but inwardly ask that question from time to time. Ember believed that most members of the General Staff had asked this same question very often. Prince Fearless was great at making decisions that compelled people to question if he had any intelligence inside his head despite knowing otherwise.


    If the person who made this move were not Prince Fearless, Ember would have jumped straight to his next move, pushing his advantage. But at the same time, Prince Fearless often came up with the type of strategies that made Ember confused and conflicted due to the lack of intelligence in his strategies. Prince Fearless could make an obvious and foreseeable mistake looked like a genius move.


    ¡°Swift Archer takes Chariot, check,¡± Ember moved his piece, decided to push his advantage.


    ¡°King takes Swift Archer,¡± countered Prince Fearless. A faint smile floated on his lips like a mirage for a brief winking of an eye before faded into nothingness.


    Ember racked his mind, trying not to fall for Prince Fearless¡¯ bluff. Prince Fearless often used his expression to bluff his way through the worst situations. Prince Fearless often flashed a happy smile when he was losing terribly, making Ember thinking that everything was a trap.


    Not this time, Ember thought, making his next move, ¡°Chariot to nine-eight.¡± He focused his pieces on that opening, breaking through Prince Fearless¡¯ defense.


    Prince Fearless kept moving his King piece to the edge of the board, rallying his other pieces around his King, defending against Ember¡¯s attack. Ember flushed his pieces through the opening, cornering the King. His attacks were relentless against his master¡¯s slippery defense. Then, it came to him slowly, very slowly. His attacks were not working and the entire board was tipping over Prince Fearless¡¯ direction.


    ¡°That was a gambit, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Ember sighed, ¡°You used your King as a bait.¡±


    The prince flashed a beautiful smile, ¡°That¡¯s all a useless tyrant is good for on a battlefield.¡± He gathered his coins and made them disappeared into his left palm.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    On that day, Prince Fearless presented three choices. Vengeance, rest, and an unwinnable war. Ember chose vengeance. At the time, Ember had never expected himself to join Prince Fearless in his suicidal war against nearly every immortal participated in the Reign of Chaos. Nor did he expected himself to choose all three of them, one by one.


    Ember was the latest person to join Prince Fearless¡¯ General Staff. He joined the ranks of Prince Fearless¡¯ staffs five years after those 146 souls have already but formed their departments and formed bonds with each other. Ember reckoned that his reason for joining Prince Fearless¡¯ General Staff had a lot to do with his own restlessness aside from the fact that he could see through Prince Fearless¡¯ multiple illusions. Ember has visited the Mirror Hall when he was first given the options.


    Ember figured that if he could exact vendetta against his torturers, inflicting the worst pain on them until his heart satisfied, ¡°Why not?¡± But Sanguine has already been maimed like a half-dead centipede, all bloodied, twisted and broken. It was twisting one the floor, crying and laughing at the same time when Ember arrived. Rasahlu and Yasubotay have already been sent to submission land, groveling like slaves and animals in their blood-red disfigurement, eyes popped, arms broken, chitinous legs bent. Ember could feel it at the time, that fever, that sickness that infected and consumed everyone¡¯s mind while being inside that Mirror Hall. It existed inside him. It was a fever that brought a morbid delight to his heart whenever he watched Sanguine being beaten, clawed, smashed and tortured for the sole purpose of torturing. It was torture for what torture was. There was no purpose other than inflicting pain. Everyone was infected with that fever, a fever that made them laughed and rejoiced as they tortured those three Demon Lords.


    It was a fever that brought Ember endless pleasure when he smashed Yasubotay¡¯s giant brains to the ground and painted the mirror floor with the pinkish color of Yasubotay¡¯s sickening brain matters.


    Dazed and intoxicated in the sweet, sweet fever of revenge, Ember found his deranged laughter of sheer joy infected the entire hall. If one person laughed, the entire Mirror Hall laughed. If one person chanted something, the entire hall repeated, echoing with that chant.


    And then suddenly Ember looked at himself in the mirrors, bathed in the brain matters of Yasubotay and Sanguine¡¯s poison and Rasahlu¡¯s blood, a widespread grin on his lips, deranged and insane. He threw up even though nothing came out. That was the first time Ember realized that the Mirror Hall was not his place.


    Those who chose to stay in the Mirror Hall have already surrendered their sanity to exact their vengeance and justice on those three Demon Lords. They had no intention of being sane. They embraced insanity to make do with their grief and anger. They bedded insanity because they had already given on everything else. They were neither alive nor dead. They belonged to nowhere. And since they have been puppets and trophies of Sanguine for so long, they chose to stick with him even when they were free from his feelers and tentacles.


    Prince Fearless was meticulous in his design to the extreme when he wanted to be. It took time and a lot of guessing to understand his mind and design.


    The Mirror Hall existed to isolate those who have completely abandoned their sanity and purpose. Those who lived inside the Mirror Hall, they existed simply because they existed. There were no other reasons. Pursuing vengeance was but an excuse for them. Replacing those three Demon Lords with three inanimate statues and those people who lived inside the Mirror Hall would not make a complaint. They would beat the statues and acted as nothing has changed. Since those people had given up on their sanity, Prince Fearless allowed them to be as mad as they wanted to be. Prince Fearless would not waste his effort twice on those who had no intention of saving themselves or changing their future.


    Ember realized that the Mirror Hall was not his place.


    The gates to dreamland were always opened to everyone. So Ember tried to find his peace along the thousands of Sanguine¡¯s past Champions who also chose to live in dreamland, mingling with its eccentric residences. It was a strange world, a new world, an open casket of novelty and cultures. Ember realized that Prince Fearless was serious when he said, ¡°If you want peace, you are welcome to live inside my dreamland.¡±


    Dreamland was a strange world, a colorful world belonged to a colorful race of people. The people of dreamland smiled and laughed as much as they breathed and lived. But their smile and laughter were not like the hollow and sinister kind that appeared inside the Mirror Hall. Theirs were casual and genuine. Theirs were vibrant and brimmed with joy.


    The people of dreamland, they could always find joy in every little thing that they do in life. They sang songs while they were doing chores and working. They hummed, joked and poked funs at each other whenever they could. When things did not go their ways, they would cry and rage in the silliest manner, then started over again when they were done raging. They were always brimming with energy, the positive kind of energy, the happier kind of energy. Watching them, Ember realized that those people genuinely found joy and happiness in every second of their life and they were trying to live their life to the fullest. Watching those people living their simple life, Ember found himself inadvertently smiling. There was something about them that made Ember felt envious and happy.


    Ember lived among them and with them in their colorful world for what he thought ¡°a year¡±. Five years had passed. He lived with those people long enough to realize that he could not live with them either.


    Ember was not one of them even if he wished.


    They had never known his scars. They had never known Yasubotay¡¯s trickeries. They had never heard Rasahlu¡¯s whisper. They had never known the true sinister horror, the searing pain, the warm sickening taste of madness. What it was like when Sanguine¡¯s tentacles were probing, crawling and slithering inside their festering souls, in and out of their hollow eye holes, enlarged earholes, and gaping mouths, all at the same time. If Yasubotay and Rasahlu existed only to spread corruption, Sanguine existed to put a brief end to the corruption with the clarity of its twisted mockeries, its venoms. For Ember, that was a never-ending loop of foul corruption and clarity.


    None of these <Stupid people of Fearless> had known such horror. They had never felt the razor edge of those jagged tentacles sawing and carving at their soul with the tiniest movement that Sanguine made. These people had never been mutilated. They had not known what it felt like when there were hundreds of tentacles crawling and clicking from the inside of their head. They had never known such madness, such pain that made they thought they had experienced and seen everything, only to discover that Prince Fearless had already removed a large portion of the memory of their torment. If Prince Fearless had removed more than that, there would be nothing left of them, not even a personality.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was the precipitation and the catalyst of madness, and the cure. It was both venom and medicine.


    These people of dreamland, they had not suffered such torment. They had not known such a venom, the kind of venom that made their torments so much worse while being the only thing that kept their soul together. They had never tasted the futility of trying to escape such horror, such pain when Sanguine¡¯s slimy venom was hot and thicken inside their soul, coursing and serving to intensify their pain and torment. They had never felt true hopelessness trying to fight or escape a Demon Lord. They had never suffered the indignity and humiliation of being flaunted a trophy, being mocked and laughed at, for a century.


    Ember realized that even when he was living with them and among them. He lived in a different world. His world was a disoriented world of past and presence all mixed up in one gigantic mess of a shit pile. His world was a world of a different reality that separated him from everyone else whenever it wanted to be. His was a chaos world of happiness and peace covered on a broken dream, shattered illusions, a world of Rasahlu¡¯s whisper, a world where Sanguine¡¯s tentacles crawling inside his soul, a world where Yasubotay showed him his dooms and failures in vivid pictures, a world of pulsating madness and pain.


    Prince Fearless called this world ¡°Dreamland.¡± It was indeed a ¡°Dreamland,¡± a wish-fulfilling world, a kind world, a hopeful world where the real horror and hopelessness was beyond them. The worst thing could happen to these people of dreamland was void and dead, their expiration. That was what Ember called ¡°kindness¡± and ¡°peace.¡± That was a gift in and of itself. Ember would never know such a thing. He was neither a part of the living nor a subject of Death herself. He was abandoned by the Gods of Coeles. He was rejected by Death¡¯s grace.


    Even when he wished to be one of them, ¡°Stupid people of Dreamland,¡± he could not.


    Dreamland was a beautiful world, an enviable world that Ember wished that he could be a part of it. He wanted to live inside it until the torments and chaos of his past would fade away. He wanted to live inside it until he, too, would find his peace.


    But Prince Fearless called this land ¡°Dreamland.¡± He did not call it ¡°Peace land¡± or ¡°Rest land.¡± Dreamland, he called it. Sometimes, Ember wished that Isonos was wrong at everything and that Garuda was over-glorifying Prince Fearless out of his admiration. But when Ember had already experienced all three of the options that Prince Fearless has given to him, he could understand how meticulous the prince was with his design.


    There were thousands of those who could let go of their purpose, their past, their identity, everything to embrace the wishful world of dreamland to find peace. They could allow themselves to fit right in that small wish-fulfillment world that Prince Fearless has once conjured for himself. They could blur out the disorientation and chaos of the past and presence, torment and peace to find their small little happiness inside dreamland.


    These thousands have already blurred out their reasons for a small illusion of peace before them. They have resigned asking themselves a question, ¡°What if Prince Fearless lost his war?¡±


    Sometimes, Ember just could not help but wonder what was going on inside Prince Fearless¡¯ head from time to time. Back then, if only Prince Fearless did not say something so stupid and sentimental like, ¡°I can certainly speak pretty dreams and dress my words in sugary lies to influence you to live and fight for my lofty ambition like slaves. But I will not. I shall not.¡± If only Prince Fearless would come out and tell everyone that their future was at stake and that their peace was an illusion, and their fate depended on his success in war, most would have followed him. If he used their fear against them, which Ember believed that Prince Fearless could certainly succeed, using their fear of being Sanguine¡¯s puppets and toys to motivate them, the number of his General Staff would have been more than just a mere 147 men and women.


    Why Prince Fearless did not do that? Only he knew the reason.


    These thousands of people, these morons who believed that they were finally found peace in dreamland, they should be out there, fighting for their destiny and peace like their life was on the line.


    When Prince Fearless lost his war, this small bubble of happiness, peace and wish-fulfillment world would end. When Prince Fearless lost the war, this Dreamland would burst like a bubble, a broken dream. And after that, everyone would live a fate of indignity. They would be puppets, trophies, and toys at whims of Gods and Demon Lords once more. They had already given up thinking.


    Those souls who have embraced the wishful world of dreamland were not Ember¡¯s people either. He realized that he did not belong with them. They could surrender without another fight. Ember could not.


    If war was inevitable, a man should face it.


    Ember chose to participate in a seemingly unwinnable war. Not because he was a follower of Sinintee. Not because he had any further delusion about being Sinintee¡¯s Chosen One. Ember realized that if Prince Fearless lost his war and battle, the peace that he saw would vanish and he would be most likely became a toy in the hands of the like of Yasubotay again.


    ¡°Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war."


    Every now and then, Ember heard that chant inside dreamland. Even when those ¡°Stupid people of Fearless¡± were living inside a wish-fulfillment dream, born and nurtured in their small bubble of peace, they knew that their peace was an illusion. As long as Prince Fearless has not won the war, there would be no peace for a soul like Ember. A soul that belonged to nowhere but inside the depth of Prince Fearless¡¯ mind.


    On that day, Ember enlisted himself to Prince Fearless¡¯ cause.


    If you want peace, prepare for war.


    If you want peace, you have to fight for it.


    If you want peace, you have to earn it.


    One that day, Ember no longer fought a war as if he was an engineer of civilization. He no longer fought a war for Sinintee¡¯s glory or his ambition. He no longer wanted to fight a war to be remembered.


    He fought for himself.


    The members of Prince Fearless¡¯ General Staff were his kind of people. They knew his torment. They suffered the same indignity that he suffered. When Ember stayed among their ranks, he found his true home. Though they joined Prince Fearless¡¯ cause for different reasons, most of them could see a fight before them and thus they chose to fight it. With or without Prince Fearless¡¯ promise to realize their wishes, most of them would fight this war regardless. Their fate was linked with his from the very moment he has saved them from being trophies. His war was their war. His battle was their battle.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Ember often remembered of the brief time in his life when the world was still simple and small. He was born into the Parudine family as the fourth son, entitled from his first breath. He learned things much faster than his brothers and sisters. He was gifted with Sinintee¡¯s blessing and Eogaill¡¯s blessing from his birth.


    His father the Count of White Bay was a rich man. He was rich in everything but ambition and health. He often used his health and sickly figure as an excuse to stay away from any sort of conflicts and courtly matters. But he was also wise and understanding enough to see the ambition in Ember¡¯s eyes as a child. Ember always wanted more than just being a vassal of his eldest brother. He wanted to put his name into the annals of history. He wanted to be remembered the same ways Craxus was remembered by people.


    His father could see that. When his health deteriorated to the point that he could only lie on his bed, he sent Ember to the Great Temple at Lake Shore Isle with a bag contained 40 white dragon golden coins.


    40 white dragon golden coins were a sizable inheritance, not enough to buy a castle, but more than enough for a peasant to live well for some thirty years if he was sparing and careful. As long as Ember could keep these 40 gold coins a secret and kept them from being stolen, he could live off those coins for a long time.


    ¡°I can always give you more than this. But, you are ambitious. And there is nothing that kept ambition burning better than tightness and poverty. Stay ambitious, that¡¯s my best advice as a father. These 40 coins are your inheritance but also they are my investment to you and your ambition. Use them wisely, son.¡±


    That was the last time Ember saw him. His father died as soon as Ember¡¯s carriage reached Lake Shore Isle. Unlike his siblings who were there to attend and mourn their father¡¯s passing, Ember was not there. That was a fuel he needed and his father knowingly sent him to Lake Shore Isle before his passing for the same reason. Ember swore to himself in solemn that if he ever returned to White Bay and stood before his father¡¯s grave, he would be a powerful and rich man.


    There were many things to learn as a follower of Sinintee. But Ember was a fast learner. He has always been a fast learner since he was small. He learned that research, study, aptitude, and ability were separated matters when it came to climbing the ranks of the Temple. Rank and status were often determined by seniority, connection, and favors. Observing the higher-ranking priests, Ember learned that bribery was the quickest way for a person to earn favors and rise among the ranks of the priest. Gold was the favorite among the accepted briberies.


    With the right knowledge and the correct connections, favors would beget more favors and gold would breed more gold. Ember climbed the ranks quickly by being better at earning favors and establishing connections. He became the youngest person to sit among the Flame Council. He was the youngest among the candidates to be nominated to be the next Supreme Priest of the Great Temple.


    There was just one more step for him to take. A secret promise to the crown prince was enough for Ember to have the backing of the imperial family of White Winter. Adding with a few well-planned unfortunate events, the other candidates to wear the Doura either disappeared or backed out. Ember became the youngest to be the Supreme Priest of the Lake Shore Isle¡¯s Great Temple.


    Ember could remember the day he knelt before his father¡¯s grave. He told his father that his investment was not lost. The world back then was still small and simple. Since that day, Ember often dreamed of a dream where he lit the world in the brilliant flame of the Great Temple. Ember knew that his destiny would be the one who enlightened the world under the flame of Sinintee. He was the chosen one. He was chosen by Sinintee to further the Great cause. He knew that was his destiny. That was how he would be remembered, Ember knew.


    With Ember¡¯s blessing, the crown prince coronated to become the king of White Winter without any trouble. Together, they plotted a crusade on Silver Snow. The king¡¯s beloved woman was married off to a royal of Silver Snow for political tie whilst he was still a prince. He wanted to get her back. But that was not good enough of a reason to declare war.


    Ember concocted a chain of unfortunate events. When those events bore fruits, Ember held a gather for kings and lords. Those kings and lords wanted a piece of Silver Snow. Some wanted lands. Some wanted gold and ports. Some slaves. Some vendetta. That was enough. As long as those kings and lords wanted to go to war, that was enough. Ember only needed to give them a just cause to declare a crusade on Silver Snow.


    Isolating Silver Snow from its allies was easy. So easy that it was boring. Ember dealt with Silver Snow¡¯s closest allies by exchanging letters. Ember exchanged letters with them, promising them a cut of the entire cake when the crusade ended. A few convoys of gold sent as bribery sent three years ahead of time before declaring the crusade was enough to deal with the smaller kingdoms and allies of Silver Snow. Four years, Ember plotted his schemes and when he was ready, he declared the crusade.


    The world was simple and dull.


    The crusading army that Ember mobilized was fast, too fast for Silver Snow to react. Silver Snow was alone, fighting against an army of five kingdoms. That should have been an easy win. However, one hardheaded dwarf appeared with his army for no gain or reason. That dwarf turned everything upside down. The day Ember received that news, he felt small and helpless. His schemes came apart. People no longer listened to him. His plans and strategies became undone one by one. The world was crashing down on him. He has always thought that the world was too small and simple for a person like him. And the world laughed mocking him.


    Ember, he who started the war was undone by it.


    Justice.


    Ember, he who climbed to power through ¡°a chain of unfortunate events¡± breathed his last with a bunch of daggers planted into his back.


    Pure Justice.


    But even so, Ember had a firm belief that he was merely unlucky. He died with that firm belief. For that, he listened to Rasahlu¡¯s whispers, explaining why he lost. For that belief, Yasubotay showed to Ember how blinded he was. For that belief, Sanguine laughed at him. He was Ember, a follower of Sinintee who was instead chosen by Sanguine as its Champion.


    The irony. You are his Supreme Priest. Yet his Champion was someone else. The irony.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    It was a priest¡¯s most fervent wish to meet his God and gifter. Ember¡¯s God was the Great Sinintee himself. Ember has dreamed of meeting the Great God when he was alive. He still had that wish after he became Prince Fearless¡¯ subject.


    ¡°Sinintee? He¡¯s inside this dream as well. Do you want to meet him? I can arrange the meeting for you if that is what you want,¡± said Prince Fearless at the time. So casually. ¡°But I think you will be very thoroughly disappointed,¡± he added.


    But disappointed Ember was not. He was confused and conflicted. Ember wished that he could retract his wish.


    ¡°He can hear you. But unless he was willing to clean up this cell of his, he would not be able to talk. He has not cleaned his cell for over a decade now. He¡¯s a lazy bastard. So I doubt he would talk to you,¡± said a clone of Prince Fearless who was there as a jailer.


    When Ember saw his God being locked inside a stinking cesspool, Ember wished that he had not made that request. He had a legion of unanswered questions inside his head. Why would you allow a Demon Lord do that to your follower? Am I not your chosen one? Why? But none of the questions mattered when the person Ember wanted to ask those questions was deep submerged inside a pool of feces. Ember gazed at Prince Fearless with a look of a confused man, a man who wanted nothing more than cut Prince Fearless¡¯ head open to read his intention.


    ¡°Think of a different wish,¡± said Prince Fearless, ¡°If I could fulfill that wish for you, I will,¡± casual as ever.


    Ember did not think that there would be a day that he rather made a wish upon a mortal than a god. ¡°If it is possible, I want to see White Bay again through your eyes, master.¡± He just wanted to see his homeland once again, perhaps for the last and final time.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    If Ember had any thought that he was the most gifted person in the world, he had no such thought now. He was not even the most gifted among Prince Fearless¡¯ roster of staffs. Prince Fearless was indiscriminating in picking his staffs and lovers. He enlisted them regardless of their quirk and quaintness. Prince Fearless enlisted them as long as they ¡°Do not smell like me, sound like me, and look like me,¡± in his words. As long as a person was neither ¡°Demon¡± nor ¡°Worm¡± and was willing to fight, Prince Fearless would employ them. As a result, what Prince Fearless had was a mix of good and bad, chaos. But even among them, those who voluntarily swore an oath to Prince Fearless, among the quirky rank of Prince Fearless¡¯ staff, Ember was a nobody. He was no one special.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Special was what Faugus was. People often said that kobolds were pests. People also often spread tales of kobolds¡¯ savagery and stupidity. But Faugus was anything but stupid and savage. Faugus was one of the wisest people that Ember has ever met.


    Before Ember joined, during the time when Prince Fearless was stilling teaching his staffs the Titan tongue, using the Titan tongue as the common langue between the members of the General Staff, Faugus was one of those who acted as translators for the body of the staffs. Not everyone was fluent in all languages like Prince Fearless and those Arachnes, or those Nagas. People like Ember, normal people who could only speak one tongue was at a severe disadvantage. The fact that he was late to join Prince¡¯s cause did not help either.


    Prince Fearless assigned Faugus to tutor Ember in Titan until Ember was fluent with this tongue. So Ember could only communicate through writings during that time to make up for his inability to speak Titan. Faugus could read and understand any writing that he came across. He even volunteered to translate every book in the Commonwealth Archive into Titan when he had free time. That old kobold was truly special.


    If Ember was proud of himself for being a quick learner, that Garuda, Isonos, who not even his kind could like him, existed to rid Ember of such delusion. He was always ahead of the entire body of the General Staff. Then, there were people like Sasengun, Lynx, and Searek, they possessed unique skills and talents that made others drooling with envy. Ember quickly realized that he was a nobody. He was no one special among such a large assembly of talents.


    Ember knew that he was late for the cause. He arrived late for the training. He could only make it up with time and effort. He never rested even when Prince Fearless told everyone to do so. Rest was a luxury that Ember could not afford especially when Prince was most likely going to wage a winter war on multiple theatres. Adding a religious war on top of that, the craziest assignment that Prince Fearless has given to him, rest was not an option for Ember.


    What¡¯s going on inside his head? Ember could not help but inwardly ask that question from time to time.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Sasengun arrived at the villa where Pride resided today as well for the seventh day and last day as the Demon Lord¡¯s morning attendant. The thought that she had to serve that haughty Demon Lord as an attendant was repulsive to Sasengun. But she would do it. Prince Fearless gave her the command.


    ¡°Dependency is a serious sickness,¡± Prince Fearless often reminded Sasengun with a most fed-up voice. His face twisted as though he was sick of repeating his words, ¡°The fact that I am the sole object of your dependency just makes it a hundred times worse for you. I am the worst human being ever. I am not a medicine. I am a poison. Please understand that bedding me is like bedding poison and torment. Always keep that in mind.¡± Prince Fearless has repeated himself so many time that Sasengun has remembered his words by the heart. She could recite his words at any time. But that did not help. Even though Prince Fearless kept telling Sasengun that her love for him was just a mental disorder, ¡°Dependency,¡± Sasengun loved him and she could not stop loving him.


    Sasengun could not help but long for his attention. No matter how much she tried to pretend like she was fine and all, Sasengun realized that she longed for his touch, his kiss, his warmth, and his kindness. And since neither Prince Fearless nor Sasengun was good at keeping their relationship ¡°Professional,¡± Sasengun could never wrap her mind around no longer being his lover. She stopped trying. And he gave up on maintaining a ¡°Profession¡± relationship and distance between the two of them. So even when Prince Fearless always repeated himself about how toxic he was as a person and a lover, nothing changed. Sasengun could not stop longing for him.


    Hated his unreasonable commands Sasengun did. But she had never said no. Sasengun could never hate him. She obeyed his command without raising a word of complaining like a foolishly love-struck woman. She found a small budding joy in gazing at Prince Fearless¡¯ baffled look.


    ¡°You can always say no to everything. Do you know that?¡± Prince Fearless would ask this same question every time Sasengun nodded her head to one of his unreasonable commands.


    Sasengun would always find her ruby lips spread into a smile when he asked her that question.


    Wearing her special contacts, Sasengun entered the villa. The villa that Prince Fearless created for Pride had too many glossy, shiny and polished surface that they appeared like mirrors. Mirror, it was the one thing that terrified Sasengun as much as the thought of losing her prince¡¯s attention. Her special contacts roughened those reflective mirrors to Sasengun¡¯s eyes, blotting out the reflection and luster in any mirror-like object.


    Sasengun knocked thrice on the doors of the Demon Lord¡¯s personal chamber. There was no reply as Sasengun has expected. Sasengun entered the chamber. As usual, there were not that many jobs for her to do as an attendant. Sasengun put those books that Pride has read in order and cleaned up the makeup table.


    There was no dust inside dreamland unless Prince Fearless wished for it to happen. Cleaning was not a part of a maid¡¯s jobs and training inside Dreamland. Also, a person¡¯s body would not become dirty and smelly even if that said person only agreed to take a bath once a year on Prince Fearless¡¯ command. Prince Fearless has established such a world. As a result, the foreign souls, those that were not a part of Prince Fearless¡¯ imagination remained odorless inside dreamland until they started wearing perfumes recreated from Prince Fearless¡¯ memories like Sasengun.


    Sasengun had a morbid fixation with dressing herself in perfumes. She did not remember being such a person when she was alive. Sasengun was not much of a perfume wearing woman growing up. She was born into a world of floating corpses and drifting ashes. She remembered growing up stranded from one warship¡¯s cabin to another, sailing through one sea of the Southern Continent to yet another sea until her parents won the throne. A throne of salt, poison, blood, and tears. An unpleasant throne to sit upon. Besides, a queen was but a servant of her people, a slave of her crown. War forbade Sasengun to sit still on a place for too long. Sasengun was always sailing on her flagship. She grew up sailing the grand blue. Perfumes have always been a needless luxury in her life. Things like aromatic oils and perfumes had no place in war for both man and woman, conferring no strategic advantage.


    However, in dreamland, it was a different story. Sasengun learned that she could command her prince¡¯s attention by wearing a different perfume once in a while. She noticed that there was a specific perfume, faint and almost unnoticeable, that made her prince calm and quiet. There was also a kind that made him restless and nervous. Sharp and bossy it was, sticking out like a sore thumb. Sasengun discovered a secret combination of perfumes that made her prince unconsciously tear up. She has learned that she could arouse her prince into the mood with a certain variation and combination of perfumes. Knowing which perfume to dress on which occasion has been one of Sasengun¡¯s winning strategies over the sheer bulk of her competitions. She needed all the edges in the world to win Prince Fearless¡¯ attention and love. Sasengun was confident that she has learned all variation of odors, both pleasant and unpleasant, that she could create from mixing her stock of perfumes.


    Pride¡¯s trail of aroma became disturbingly sharp when Sasengun fixed the giant mattress. And Sasengun could only bite her lips vexedly. Pride left a thin and invisible trail of her body aroma inside her chamber, but that trail was sharp on her pointlessly large bed. It was a detestable aroma that cannot be mixed from Sasengun¡¯s stock. The unrefutable evidence of Pride¡¯s possession of the <Corruptor> authority that also existed in Demon Lords like Magnamor, Floki?, Lust, or Managan. Only those who possessed the <Corruptor> authority could defy the orders and rules that Prince Fearless established inside dreamland.


    From what Sasengun has learned, the <Corruptor> authority was an authority that mutated and twisted the nature of things. Through this authority, Managan could turn Niwdar¡¯s favorite creatures, the unicorns into the tricorns, dark-coated unicorns born with three horns instead of one and an insatiable hunger for the meat of any creature that was pure and untouched. Through this authority, Lust could turn the most innocent virgin into a slave of sensuality just by her appearance alone.


    Pride¡¯s unique aroma was a manifestation of her <Corruptor> authority. It was a faint aroma to most dulled noses, ethereal and classy. Beyond and ever-eluding them, those who could not understand it. But to people with a sharp nose like Sasengun, it was an unsettling aroma that stuck out and remained in her mind for a long time. It injected a disturbing pleasant feeling into a person, waffled that person inside an arousing attraction but telling them to keep a distance. It definitely left the same impression on Prince Fearless. It was a detestable smell.


    When Sasengun was done with fixing Pride¡¯s personal chamber, she walked through the marvel of the villa to meet Pride at the hanging garden. Pride¡¯s villa was needlessly large for a person to live in and needlessly furnished with overembellished adornments. Prince Fearless called it a ¡°Villa¡± but it was many time the size of the biggest palace that Sasengun has ever seen. The villa was so large of a residence for a single person to live in, a villa of Pride¡¯s guileful design, a villa that exuded an air of loneliness and a hunger for companionship.


    Requesting a needlessly huge place like this to ask for his companionship and attention. Lion? You are a cunning fox.


    Sasengun recognized that if this strategy was obvious to her, it could not escape Prince Fearless.


    Shandorei, why are you attracted to a detestable woman like this?


    It was an effective but selfish strategy that Sasengun could never use to get her prince¡¯s attention. It only worked for a person like Pride. Sasengun could not help but find herself loathed Pride more than any existing lover of Prince Fearless. Perhaps, it was because no woman inside dreamland has managed to command Prince Fearless¡¯ attention as much as Pride. Even now, when Prince Fearless was on a break from everything, he still worried that Pride would be lonely.


    And she is not even your lover.


    Sometimes, Sasengun wanted to complain, shouting and thrashing about, lashing at such unfairness.


    But unfairness was the reason Demon Lords existed, as Sasengun has learned from her mistakes and experiences. ¡°These Demon Lords must be unfair. Powerful and greater than life itself. Calamity. They must be so unfair that the victims could only view their meeting with these Demon Lords as their unfortunate. The victims could only curse their unluckiness. A meeting with a Demon Lord is like a meeting with a great cataclysm.¡± Such was URLOX¡¯s original vision when they introduced the Demon Lords into their story.


    Keep a distance from a Demon Lord.


    Sasengun has learned that tough lesson when she tried to get in between the lovemaking of Prince Fearless and Lust. It was as though Sasengun had leaped into a great fire without knowing. She caught fire. She was smothered in the intense wantonness of sexual pleasure and sensuality. Sasengun could not even tell whose hot blistering lips that she was kissing, whose full and affection-starved breasts that she was fondling, and whose fingertips that were roaming and fondling all over her body. She orgasmed so hard and so many times that it hurt. But she wanted that hurt. She could not stop hurting herself even more. Trapped inside a never-ending loop of intense orgasms, her reasons and sense of self and survival instincts were all but billowed out of her soul while she fought for her breath inside that reddened wantonness. Sasengun did not even care if she could no longer breathe inside that great flame. Inside that great flame, Sasengun was not even aware if she was making love to her prince or Lust or if she was being fucked by two succubi at the same time. She burned, twisted and contorted to the movement of the billowing fire. She was parched. Her thirst of lovemaking eroded everything, driving her insane and stupid. She was dying, if a dead soul could die again, somehow, Sasengun could feel it. But she did not even resist. She was fine dying like that, being burned inside that redness, inside that mortified indignity, naked and lustful and thirsty, a shameless whore of pleasure, a thirsty slave of sex.


    ¡°DO YOU WANT TO BE REBORN A SEX DEMON, YOU GODDAMN MORON?¡± Had Prince Fearless did not snap out of that red wantonness, slapping the fire out of her head, Sasengun would have lost everything on that day. Her name, her memory, skills, and experience. Her oath and binding to Prince Fearless. Everything. When Sasengun realized that she was that close to losing everything, she cried.


    Since never Sasengun made the same mistake of challenging the authority of a Demon Lord.


    ¡°If you are not a Greater spirit, a God or a Demon Lord you cannot challenge the authority of a Demon Lord. An authority can only be challenged by another authority.¡± That was URLOX¡¯s most inviolate rule. Demon Lords were meant to be unfair and unbeatable.


    Prince Fearless was one of the rare exceptions to that rule.


    Sasengun held the hem of her creaseless white gown and greeted Pride when she arrived at the hanging garden. As usual, Pride was reading a book at the silver tea table set beneath an exotic gladioli pavilion of many colors. A ceramic tea set, hot on the table, emanating the silver swirl fragrance of high graded tea leaf. Pride could not choose a better spot to sit down. Sasengun was gazing at a rare painting created by the smooth brush of a genius painter. Pride was the sole theme of that painting. Everything, every object, every color, every carefully laid brush existed inside that painting, they existed to capture Pride¡¯s arresting look.


    Pride donned a stunning velvet tuxedo today. Her hair well-groomed, set loose dapping over her wide shoulder, a magnetic golden cascade shimmering in the radiance of morning light. She did not look like that hapless looking woman from seven days ago, that failure who could only rely on Prince Fearless¡¯ good grace to put a dress on her at every morning.


    Deplorable, Sasengun cursed inwardly. It was the same curse that she has repeated over, and over again since she started volunteering to be Pride¡¯s morning attendant.


    There was no need for an attendant. In fact, there was no reason for Prince Fearless to waste hours dolling Pride up at every morning. She could do it herself all along. She put up a cutesy damsel-in-distress act and Prince Fearless fell for it.


    In a battle of love and affection, a woman¡¯s distress was her greatest charm. Her tears were not her weakness. A woman¡¯s greatest weakness became her greatest weapon. That was a lesson Sasengun has only learned seven days ago, explained to her by that drowned looking vampire. But, it was unthinkable that someone like Pride, a person with such an ego would resort to such a cheap tactic.


    Sasengun¡¯s self-esteem prevented herself from informing Prince Fearless of her finding. Snitching on something seemingly so insignificant and inconsequential was beneath her dignity. But Sasengun was more afraid that Prince Fearless would admit that he realized being tricked some time ago, but he still chose to doll Pride up every morning because he liked doing that. Sasengun felt like her heart would crack if her prince admitted to something like that.


    The Demon Lord, whose eyes glistened in the radiance of dawn and the cold of dusk, gave Sasengun a quick appraising look of her white gown and immediately set her sight on her book again as though she considered Sasengun not worthy of her attention.


    Sasengun did not want to give her the worst enemy the satisfaction through a display of anger. Sasengun swallowed the slight with an indifferent look, telling herself that the look of her baffled prince was worth such indignity. Her prince knew how much Sasengun hated Pride. But she would be Pride¡¯s attendant as long as she has received an order from him, even if that was only a mean joke. He may call it the suspension bridge effect, a mental disorder, a sickness, Dependency or whatever. To Sasengun, it was love. She loved him and she could not stop loving him. The more Prince Fearless wanted to deny it, the more Sasengun wanted to prove it to him.


    Sasengun stood next to Pride, quiet and humble as though she was born an attendant, dressing her anger with the thought of her prince.


    ¡°Entertaining my curiosity, maid, are you perhaps one of those creatures who enjoyed inflicting pain upon yourself? Why are you keep coming here every morning?¡± In the stillness of dawn and tepid air mixed of gladioli¡¯s fragrance and tea¡¯s aroma, Pride asked in a bored tone. A tone of a winner used against the one she has defeated. Pride still did not take her eyes off her book. It was the first time Pride spoke in the last seven days.


    Sasengun raced her mind for an appropriate answer get back at the Perfect Demon Lord. However, Sasengun felt like she would be defeated regardless of her answer. This kind of courtly mind game was not Sasengun¡¯s strength. ¡°What¡¯s about you? Do you enjoy looking shameless and stupid and unbecoming every morning to win his favor?¡± Retorted Sasengun.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. In fact, I would rather kill myself first than appear in front of an insect much less anyone looking like that,¡± answered Pride in a solemn tone. On a contrary to her answer, Pride¡¯s reply sounded anything but words of the defeat.


    Surprised, Sasengun scowled asking, ¡°Then why do¡­¡±


    ¡°Because the compensation that I got from it worth suffering such humiliation,¡± Pride wore a sly smile, ¡°You cannot imagine how cute he looked when he stared into the mirror and became lost at my look. It¡¯s a rewarding experience that I can never have enough of,¡± boasted the Demon Lord.


    Pride was special, special in the way that she has managed to unite all the maids and lovers of Prince Fearless to a single comprehensible army. The Anti-Pride army. Even a sly woman like Acre?a and a simple-minded moron like Greed had already tossed away their dignity as Demon Lords to join the cause. The longer Prince Fearless kept playing around with Pride, the lesser the attention and love everyone received. The lesser the time he spent with everyone else. Whether Prince Fearless has intentionally directed all the hatred inside dreamland at Pride or not, Pride was already the most hated woman inside dreamland now that Lust has been released to Escana.


    ¡°I cannot believe that a Demon Lord like you would resort to such a cowardly trick,¡± Sasengun bit her lips and taunted.


    ¡°Cowardly, huh?¡± Pride chuckled, ¡°Don¡¯t you already know that, maid? You either win everything or you lose everything. The concept of ¡®cowardly trick¡¯ does not exist in war or in love.¡±


    ¡°What do you even know about love?¡± Sasengun snapped, ¡°Lust said that the last time she showed you a red dream, you made love to yourself. You can only love yourself.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± smiled Pride, did not deny Sasengun¡¯s accusation. ¡°Your prince, you beautiful prince will fall in love with me and he will not be able to live without me in his life,¡± declared Pride, sipping her tea without looking at Sasengun once.


    ¡°Prideful but not stupid. Her arrogance has a foundation. Anything she declares, no matter how absurd, she can certainly do.¡± It was as Acre?a has said. Pride was arrogant. But her arrogance was built on a solid foundation. Prince Fearless was the same. If he could give a declaration, he could fulfill his declaration without fail.


    If Sasengun were not sure that this Demon Lord was her worst enemy, she was now.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Sasengun turned on the faucet and allowed the warm water to pour down her inside her shower room. Her knuckles whitened. Her white gown was still on her, drenched but Sasengun could care less about it. There was a part of her that wanted to refute Pride¡¯s claim. But she couldn¡¯t.


    Sasengun did not remember herself as a quick to cry person when she was alive. Had she been that kind of a person, Sasengun could never win the loyalty of her troops. The only time Sasengun allowed her tears to flow were when she mourned for the passing of her people, her soldiers, and her lovers. Even when Acre?a has been whispering to Sasengun¡¯s ears about using tears as a weapon, Sasengun could not forgive herself for cheapening the value of her tears. But her tears came out like a spell, bitterly, regardless of her control with every uncontrollable tiny sniff, washing Sasengun¡¯s face with the shower water. Sasengun realized that she has become weak, so much weaker than she has ever been. Rubbing off the tears in her eyes, Sasengun tried to end her crying spell by force. Then it just happened. One of her lenses came off.


    The ground slipped beneath Sasengun¡¯s feet. Her head must have hit the wall as her knees gave in, but it hurt Sasengun no more than the flashing reflection of her life.


    Reflection, they crippled Sasengun with the old and familiar haunting visions of how she failed her consort, her children, her kingdom and even herself. Reflection, they followed Sasengun everywhere, lurking, stalking after her like a creeping shadow, always waiting for their moment. Mirrors of all kinds, still water surface, a silver blade, clear eyeballs, polished wood, clean tiles, anything smooth and shiny, anything that can cast a reflection, they hurled Sasengun into a stormy ocean of hurt. When Sasengun let her guard down for a brief moment, they fell upon her and struck her with the viciousness of a blood frenzied shark. Sasengun closed her eyes but that harrowing crimson splash would not go away.


    She wailed but they would not let go, those ruddy flashing images that tore and twisted Sasengun like the vicious jaws of a hungry shark. Sasengun cried out from the pain but those merciless razor teeth only sank deeper into her soul, scrapping away her courage, her dignity, and her fragmented sanity. That splash eroded her mind. Sasengun saw her consort tied to a catapult¡¯s shot, begging to her with teary eyes. Her happiness or her queendom, a harrowing choice. Her mirrors had shown Sasengun that scene before it happened. She has tried everything to prevent such a future from occurring. But fate could not be changed by the hands of a mere mortal. Fate could not be changed by the hands of a slave.


    On Escana, there were only slaves. There was no free man or free woman. The defeats were enslaved by the victors. The poor were slaves to the rich. The weak were slaves to the powerful. Kings and queens were but slaves of the crown. And mortals were nothing but helpless slaves to their fate.


    That splash of red stain on the wall was her fault. Sasengun cried out. That wicked pair of beastly jaws let go of Sasengun for a brief moment and allowed respite to wash over her. That raging firestorm swept over her queendom. Her people burned, cursing her name. Her children on the bloodied port crying for their mother, gleaming black steel on their neck. Ten years she has fought against this fate with the valor of a thousand elven soldiers and the frenzy of a thousand vengeful Nagas. Twenty years she has succeeded. Or it seemed. She had believed that she has won against fate. She had vanquished her enemies. Sasengun had believed that Sinintee had rewarded her for her bravery. She thought that Niwdar has forgiven her and shown her mercy. She trusted that Wonten had shown her the justice that she deserved. That was Sasengun¡¯s only respite until white bubbles filled her vision.


    Kharigan waxed on the sky, red and full. Rasahlu¡¯s seraphic whispers were ringing inside Sasengun¡¯s ears like temple bells. Sanguine¡¯s delirious cackles blurred her sanity. Its jagged feelers penetrated deep within her mind, claiming her as its prized trophy. Yasubotay stood and captured the visceral horror in her children¡¯s eyes when Sasengun¡¯s hands tightened on their tender neck, drowning them in seawater as her mouth was singing praises to Sanguine¡¯s glory. Her troops stood, watching in revulsion.


    A storm brewed within her soul. On her knees, Sasengun wailed. The Wailing Queen they called her. But she was no queen. A slave she was. A slave of her crown, a slave of Sanguine, a slave of her fate. Her tears streamed out, with them her blood. Her soul crumbled into madness. Sasengun wailed and continued to wail on and on, forever lost within the storm of insanity until she heard that voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    That voice was warm as it was gentle and patient. It had weight. Word alone could not describe the weight behind that voice. That voice has always been her trusted anchor. The storm of Sasengun¡¯s raking nails, her thrashing arms could not budge that anchor. The lapping red tides and the surging white foam could come, washing Sasengun¡¯s courage over with Yasubotay¡¯s flashing reflections, Rasahlu¡¯s phantom whisper and Sanguine¡¯s puncturing feelers. But that anchor remained strong.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    That trusty anchor stayed beside her, always by her side until Sasengun could weather through the storm no matter how long or how frequent that storm would come. That anchor was stronger than the worst storm that Sasengun has experienced and it was more reliable than any blessing that Sasengun could ask from a deity. It remained the same, unchanging since the first time Sasengun has found it and even now.


    And then, whenever Sasengun could hear the waves of her own sobbing lapping with that gentle voice, she knew that she has weathered through the storm once more.


    ¡°Shandorei,¡± whispered Sasengun in her sobbing voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m here,¡± replied Prince Fearless as he gently stroke the back of her head.


    Sasengun buried her head into Prince Fearless¡¯ heated chest and filled her nose with the usual medicine. There was something warm, calming and healing in his smell, and Sasengun could not help but wanted to be enveloped in it. She could care less about her current sorry state, how she was cold, wet and half-naked, looking absolutely wretched inside her shower room.


    Had Sasengun been her old self, she would have felt ashamed for disgracing herself in front of her savior and master the way she did. But no longer. Her sense of shame has been calloused. The time that Sasengun has disgraced herself in such manner was as many as the glittering stars that appeared on the night sky of dreamland.


    ¡°What am I going to do with you Sasengun? You are my Chief of Naval Operation and you freaked out by a small puddle of water inside your shower room. You got to be kidding me,¡± sighed Prince Fearless in an admonishing voice as usual.


    Sasengun has been by his side long enough to know that Prince Fearless was only joking. While Prince Fearless could certainly joke as any normal person does, sometimes, his jokes could be very hard to follow because he spoke them with a flat face. His jokes could be very mean and brutal whenever he delivered them with a flat face. No longer would Sasengun repeatedly say, ¡°Sorry,¡± to Prince Fearless. Sasengun acted like a spoiled girl instead and rubbed her face into his chest. Was Sasengun her old self, she would become disgusted by the lack of shame in herself at the moment. She did not even know that she could act spoiled like this despite of her age and everything. Was Sasengun her old self watching this scene, she would probably dig a three steps hole and bury herself beneath that hole.


    ¡°Really? Not one, SORRY. Really? And you professed yourself to be my maid. Really. What kind of maid are you? Since when you have become so shameless, Sasengun?¡± Admonished Prince Fearless.


    Sasengun giggled some and sniffled in her tears, knowing that Prince Fearless was only joking again. ¡°Thank you, Shandorei,¡± said she as her silver eyes fell on those familiar biting marks on Prince Fearless¡¯ birthday suit. His statuesque body was marred with hundreds of fang marks and teeth marks all over, bleeding profusely. Red blood streamed out from those marks, smearing his neck, chest, thighs and even his groin in his own blood. Sasengun¡¯s eyes welled up again. Her tears rolled, this time for the prince himself. Sasengun surmised that Prince Fearless was making love to the vampire queen until he heard Sasengun¡¯s wail. ¡°That drowned vampire must be furious right now. Shandorei, you leave her hanging for me once more,¡± deducted Sasengun. Prince Fearless came to her in such a hurry that he could bother less about all the blood and wounds on his body. Sasengun could not hide her anger and sadness. Of all the women who Prince Fearless has made love to, only Acre?a drew blood with her kisses. Only Acre?a would be such a cruel and thoughtless bitch to draw blood on Prince Fearless¡¯ skin while knowing how much he hated the sight of blood.


    Sasengun turned on the faucet and let the water showered on her and Prince Fearless, washing away the blood on their body.


    ¡°Bad maid,¡± Prince Fearless sighed and clicked his tongue as if he was annoyed. He snapped his fingers, closing the wounds on his body. ¡°Not only you got in the way of my sex,but you also pour a shower on me out of nowhere. That¡¯s rude. What kind of maid would do that? Tell me.¡±


    Sasengun giggled, feeling dizzy when Prince Fearless said those words to her. Her face felt hot. She curled up a bit.


    ¡°You are going to make up for that,¡± whispered Prince Fearless in an angry voice. Prince Fearless¡¯ angry voice was threatening enough to scare the wit out of a Demon Lord. His rage was terrifying enough to beat intelligence into the head of a wrathful beast. But Sasengun knew that her prince was far from being angry. She gazed into his dark eyes and saw her reflection, her highborn silver hair disheveled and her brunette body wetted and visibly hungered for passion. His dark eyes were the only mirror that she could gaze into without seeing the ghost of Yasubotay¡¯s conjuring.


    Prince Fearless dropped his hands to Sasengun¡¯s waist and pulled her to her feet. He gave her a long, long pampering kiss inside the shower. It was a gentle kiss, a selfless kiss, an all-giving kiss that catered to Sasengun¡¯s need and contained none of his desires. It brought her joy but at the same time saddened her.


    It was a kiss that healed her but not the kiss that she truly desired.


    Sasengun pushed her prince against the wall and gave him a kiss that steeped with her passion and desire. Just like any woman who has received Prince Fearless¡¯ affection, Sasengun wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him.


    He returned her kiss, running his fingertips over her back and stout butt, overwhelmed her with joy. ¡°Bad maid,¡± he complained when Sasengun¡¯s lips parted with his. ¡°Pushing your master around. Bad maid.¡± His complaint was spoken in a sensual mutter when Sasengun ran her fingers on his erection. He never cared if he was being pushed around or being physically dominated. He was the kind of man who allowed passion to pull him around with a smile on his lips as though he was its faithful servant. His smile was a smile that spoke of his control and arrogance. His was a smile that told people that Prince Fearless was pushed because he allowed himself to be pushed. It was a smile that reminded people that he was dominated because he wanted to be dominated. Prince Fearless was the kind of man who always seemed to be in control of his world.


    Sasengun smothered her prince within her arms and her kisses. The hot shower poured down on their overlapping figure harder when Sasengun¡¯s elbow hit against the handle of the faucet by accident. But the silver downpour did not affect the enchantment between Sasengun and her prince. She kissed and made love to him as though it was her last and final moment with him. The two of them moved in perfect rhythm inside that steaming downpour.


    Sasengun had made love with three other men besides her consort, both after her two years mourning period. But neither had made Sasengun felt this way, not that she could remember their touch and face after millennia being displayed as Sanguine¡¯s prized trophy. Prince Fearless was like a person who was carved out of devilry and enchantment, half man half sorcery. His touch burned Sasengun in a flame of passion. His kisses burned her even more. But nothing burned Sasengun more than his acceptance of her. He saw her at her worst and still, he embraced her.


    The intensity of her lovemaking with Prince Fearless always terrified Sasengun, but only when it has already ended. In this dreamland where time could be stretched according to Prince Fearless¡¯ wish and reality could be warped with a snap of fingers, Sasengun could make love to him for an eternity and more.


    But even eternity would come to an end. Prince Fearless would make sure to put an end to it. It was only when the world became testy that his discipline was revealed. His smile spoke true. He was always in control of himself and his world. Sasengun could not help but admire him even more. Prince Fearless was less than half of a fighter that Sasengun was when she was still alive but he was so much stronger.


    He donned his uniform and waited for Sasengun to don hers.


    ¡°Sasengun,¡± Prince Fearless spoke to her with a commanding voice.


    Sasengun held to the hem of her dress and curtseyed. Her relationship with him was that of lovers and also that of a leader and a follower. There was time for everything, now it was time for business.


    ¡°I have never once told you to hurry up and get over your fear of reflection. And I will never say something like that. That is something a thoughtless dick like Isonos would say. That is like telling a newborn baby to go and defeat a dragon on her own. You simply cannot do what you cannot do. However, you Sasengun my dear, you just cannot do it at the moment because it is beyond you,¡± said Prince Fearless.


    Sasengun tightly sealed her lips and listened.


    ¡°There is nothing shameful about fearing Yasubotay. You are right to fear him. That¡¯s a Demon Lord, a being of terror. Only a fool would not fear him. I don¡¯t wish to sculpture a fool out of you. You, my dear, are a smart person. I want you to remain smart. Being a fool is my job. Being smart is your job. Am I clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Shandorei.¡±


    ¡°I have seen you toyed with Pride in those games. If you could toy with Pride in a war game, I am sure that you could do the same with Yasubotay. I am sure about that. You might not be stronger than him but you are smarter. Yasubotay believed that he was an accomplished strategist and tactician, didn¡¯t he? Here is my order, Sasengun.¡±


    ¡°At your command.¡±


    ¡°When I wake up and when this dream ends, you, Acre?a and Isonos will be responsible for leading an attack Sunken Isle. Beating the fact that Yasubotay was a know-nothing scrub in term of strategy and tactic into his two brains. Beat the fact that he could self-proclaim to be a genius in tactic and strategy was due to the magic and miracle that he possessed, it had nothing to do with intelligence, tactic, and strategy. Beat them to him. I have especially designed a stage for you to fight with Yasubotay to your heart content. You, Acre?a and Isonos will spearhead this operation. Beat it into his head the fact that having two brains and having a bigger brain did not make Yasubotay more intelligent than anyone else. When you are done toying with him, butcher him and make an example out of his corpse,¡± Prince Fearless gave his command, with it his intention.


    Yasubotay was the source of your fear, was he not? End him and put your nightmare behind. This is your battle. Until then, you will have my support.


    ¡°Thank you, Shandorei,¡± Sasengun replied. Her voice was a swell of mixed admiration, fear, and eagerness. Her prince spoke of the future with an unshakable confidence. It was as though Pride was an afterthought on his mind.

 V2 Chapter 30

    V2 Chapter 30


    At the end of the one week break, I organized a rather uncomfortable lecture for my General Staff in the war room. An overdue lecture about a god-forbid-topic, it was a much-belated lecture. I should have delivered this lecture a long time ago, probably on the very day when I found my General Staff.


    The war room was fully packed with the members of my General Staff. I started the lecture by explaining the difficulty of challenging an Immortal or a Greater Spirit in a direct confrontation to my staffs.


    ¡°In order to win a direct battle against a Demon Lord or any Greater Spirit, in particular, you, first, have to correctly identify the Authority and the Miracle that a Demon Lord wields. But even that was not nearly enough. Therefore, misidentify either one of the two, your winning percentage instantly becomes zero.¡±


    Playing the role of Dr. Reality in Misery¡¯s talking channel was the nerdiest thing that I have ever done in my entire life, after cosplaying as ROC¡¯s most recognizable characters. But here I was, explaining about URLOX¡¯s worst wackjob to 147 people with all the seriousness in the world. I could not believe that there would be a day when I had such a serious nerdy talk in front of this many people.


    In the ROC universe, some words bore a different meaning from their Earth¡¯s counterpart. The word ¡°Great¡± was the equivalent of ¡°War.¡± The word ¡°Civilized¡± meant ¡°Advanced, strong, and developed.¡± It did not contain the ¡°kind and empathizing¡± meaning within it. Similarly, the word ¡°Authority¡± in the ROC universe contained a different meaning especially when it was used in the spirit realms.


    ¡°In the game, Authority can be loosely understood as Attributes. For instance, it was evidenced that Sinintee wielded the Authority <Elementalist>. The wielders of this Authority were shown to possess the power to manipulate various forms of energy and elements to shape the world. Theoretically, with this Authority, Sinintee can manipulate and bend all elements in existence to his will. However, the number of elements and the extent that Sinintee could manipulate from having this <Elementalist> Authority correlated to his Ranking in <Elementalist>.¡±


    As usual, I had a hard time explaining my knowledge to my General Staff without referencing to ROC as a PC game. Had I not allowed my General Staff to experience ROC as a game prior of this lecture, they would have a hard time understand my explanation due to the amount of ROC jargon that I constantly bombarded them every now and then.


    ¡°Immortal, Mythical, Transcendent, Conqueror, Challenger,¡± explained I while drawing the ranking system on the whiteboard from the highest to the lowest ranking.


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td width="114">


    Immortal


    </td>


    <td width="312">


    Miracles produced by the user of this level can tear the fabrics of reality and physics and even pre-established miracles.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="114">


    Mythical


    </td>


    <td width="312">


    All miracles wielded by the user of this level produce tactical value while some produce strategic value.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="114">


    Transcendent


    </td>


    <td width="312">


    Wide range of control over miracles of the tactical level. The miracles will shape and manifest accordingly to the personality of the user.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="114">


    Conqueror


    </td>


    <td width="312">


    Can access to more miracles, albeit at a convenient level.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td width="114">


    Challenger


    </td>


    <td width="312">


    Limited command over the most basic miracles of an Authority, the degree when powers are considered convenient.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    There were the quiet knowing gasps leaking among the audiences due to their familiarity with the ranking system. I continued nonetheless, ¡°As all of you must have already realized it by now, these are the Competitive Matchmaking Rankings that is calculated and assigned to you based on how skilled you are at ROC. Similarly, the higher in the Ranking, the more the power and skill that an Immortal had over his Authority. So, yeah. Can anyone here tell me the Ranking of Sinintee¡¯s <Elementalist>?¡± I asked, darting my eyes around the room.


    Isonos raised his hand, volunteering before I ended my sentence. I pointed at him.


    ¡°We can expect his Ranking on <Elementalist> to be above the Transcendent rank,¡± replied Isonos.


    ¡°And why is that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°While Sinintee¡¯s stat sheet did not show up in the game just like the other patron deities and, therefore, we cannot know the full extent of his power, we can gauge it by comparing him to the Demon Lords who possessed the Authority that Sinintee has displayed. For instance, Magnamor¡¯s rank in <Elementalist> was Challenger. His capability was severely limited to set fire on things that stand in his line of sight. Xaara, on the other hand, his rank in <Elementalist> was Transcendent. Xaara was shown to have the ability to conjure a thunderstorm, meaning he could manipulate lightning and wind. He could also turn himself into a lightning bolt, making himself invulnerable to physical attacks. By drawing a connection with these two Demon Lords, we are safe to assume that Sinintee¡¯s rank on <Elementalist> is above the Transcendent Rank. Base on various stories and accounts, Sinintee has demonstrated the ability to control temperature, wind, and lightning. But we do not know if that was the limit of his Authority¡±


    I nodded my head at Isonos¡¯ explanation, satisfied. Isonos used the same method that Misery and those ROC nerds often employed to build the lore of ROC, the bridging method. URLOX built their vast universe through those 64 story campaigns and flavor texts in the character sheet of various warlords and characters. It was a world-building method that left a lot of holes and mysteries and unanswered questions about the ROC universe. The thing that everyone called ¡°The Lore of ROC¡± was the interpretation that fans built by playing a detective game, trying to shine the light on the ROC universe with all the details and information that URLOX had given. By bridging the tiny dots, connecting one person¡¯s story to another or comparing one warlord¡¯s power to another, those ROC nerds like Misery could fill up the holes and blanks in URLOX¡¯s world.


    ¡°Your conclusion is correct. It is safe to assume that Sinintee¡¯s Rank on <Elementalist> is above Transcendent,¡± I commented on Isonos¡¯ answer and added. ¡°But it¡¯s lacking in precision. Why? I can say for sure that the <Elementalist> Authority and the other Authorities that Sinintee wielded are all of Immortal Rank. How can I be so sure about it? URLOX gave this SOB the moniker <The Perfect God>. That¡¯s the first hint. Your second hint lies in that mythical story about the fall of Naharis. It was said that one of the reasons that contributed to Naharis¡¯ madness was Sinintee. Sinintee¡¯s threshold for self-improvement was greater than his father. This is the second hint. Do you see what I see?¡± I asked.


    My staffs were quiet. Though, there were a few individuals showed a widened eyes of realization while being quiet.


    ¡°Try to input yourself inside Naharis¡¯ shoes. Imagine this, you are Naharis. You are the Master of Spirits and Rulers of Escana. You possess almost every Authority that existed in this universe. Not only that, you have mastered all of your Authorities to the highest possible level. The highest Rank that you could imagine. And then, Sinintee, your son showed you that you have seen nothing yet. He showed you that the Authorities, which you shared with him, could be improved even further. You realized that you have been mistaken all along. While you have certainly mastered your Authority to the highest level possible and your Authority exceeded that of other Greater Spirits, that was not the final limit. You merely capped out on your Authority. You hit a limit, your ceiling, and never will you be able to reach that final threshold of your Authority. But Sinintee could. You realized that. Similarly, in ROC, you are considered an All-Star level player when you attained the Mythical Rank. However, there was a huge gap between a Mythical Rank player and an Immortal Rank player. Out of 60 million ROC players, 1000 managed to become pros. 150 reached Mythical Rank. But only 10 would become the Immortal Rank. Not all Mythical Rank player could cross that gap.¡±


    It was impossible for me to demonstrate the gap existed between a Mythical Rank player and an Immortal Rank player through words alone. Not even a stat sheet or a detailed scouting report could show that huge gap. No regular metric, whether it was team- win-share point or personal stats, could demonstrate that gap to common fans and the media.


    That was why FY¡¯s importance to the ROC pro-league was more than just being a Super Star pro-gamer. He was the most relevant ruler and the most reliable the metric for people to measure that gap between a Mythical Rank and an Immortal Rank. FY was recognized as the best All-Rounder in the history of the game even though a genius like Superior existed. Since FY was not here, I could not demonstrate my point to my staff. So I just continued.


    ¡°There is more evidence to support my guess but this is enough for me to draw a conclusion. But let me say this, URLOX are a fucked-up collective bunch of smart-asses. Their game is full of fucked-up ideologies and full of fucked-up events and twists. But they are, in the end, smart-asses. And smart-asses like them often fell in love with their lame wordplay and puns, thinking that they are smarter than other people because other people could not understand or laugh at their wordplay,¡± As usual, I cursed URLOX whenever the topic of ROC was involved. ¡°I¡¯m betting my own head that this SOB Sinintee maxed out all of his Authorities and he was the only Immortal who has managed to achieve such massive feat. He maxed out every Authority that he possessed. The word Perfect in his title <The Perfect God> was a wordplay. He maxed out all of his skills and attributes, and thus he was a Perfect game character. So yeah, you have it. The <Elementalist> Authority is not the only Authority at Sinintee¡¯s command that reached the Immortal Rank.¡±


    I could hear the hush of gulp and gasp among my General Staff.


    ¡°He¡¯s literally the worst person to make an enemy. Why did I make a person like that my enemy? I AM STUPID. You should know that by now. Anyone had a second thought about fighting on my side in this war are free to withdraw. After all, you should not follow someone as stupid as I am,¡± I joked while wearing a straight face. My audiences showed a mixed reaction to my joke. Some chuckled. Some sighed. Some gulped.


    That was my cue to continue the really uncomfortable part of my lecture, the real topic. Sinintee, that piece of shit was only the intro of my lecture.


    ¡°Unless Eogaill and Wonten seriously fuck up their job, their only job, we will not have to face Sinintee in a direct confrontation at any time soon. However, always expect mishaps, always assume that something like that could happen at any moment. My only advice to all of you for dealing with such a shitty scenario is as follow. Choose between GOOD LUCK FIGHTING or Surrender. I suggest Surrender.¡±


    My General Staff instantly became rowdy, looking at me as though I had lost my mind. Of course, they should. I was their leader and here I was convincing them to surrender if they ever lost a battle.


    Yup, this is why I did not mention this topic on the first day.


    I did not remember if there was any mention of greatest conquerors in Earth history, the like of Napoleon or Alexander had ever taught their men what to do when their conquests and wars went south. Alexander the Great believed that he was a son of Zeus. A megalomaniac with abilities and competency to back up his large ego. The same could be said about Napoleon. Throughout various moment of their life, both of them have demonstrated an unwillingness to admit or believe that they were susceptible to failure and defeat. And because neither of them believed that they could be defeated, none of them had taught their men what to do when they were defeated.


    I, too, had never believed that I could be defeated by the like of Sinintee or any of Demon Lord for a moment. That was my arrogance, my ego as the Prince of The Alliance. And I believed that I had the tools and ability to back up my arrogance. But at the same time, I knew that nobody was ever invincible and unbeatable. Not in ROC or in the real world or in any world.


    The strongest God could be contested.


    The worst Demon Lord could be retired.


    Even a genius like Superior could be outplayed at his own game.


    The Queen of endgames could misplay and fail just like anyone else.


    The one true King vomited himself to an empty husk in secrets when expectation and pressures crushed him.


    Nobody has ever been truly undefeated. Anyone could be killed. Anyone could be defeated even if that person was the equivalent of ultimate destruction, even if that person was Death herself or Time. People often said, ¡°Father Time can never be defeated.¡± Death championed Time to defeat me. People were wrong. Death championed the wrong person to fight me. I had made Time submitted to my will inside this Divine Dream.


    Even an infallible midnight sun¡­ even my midnight sun fell off the sky on a truly shitty day. That was the time when I realized invulnerability and immortality was nothing but illusions. Nobody has ever been truly undefeated. Nobody.


    Amidst that noisiness, I narrowed my sight on Searek. Understood my thought, Searek pummeled his massive on his table with a thunderous snap and called order on the entire body of the General Staff.


    I waited until true silence settled the entire war room. I cleaned my throat and continued speaking in an emotionless voice.


    ¡°I will repeat myself here. When worse came to worst and when you cannot see yourself winning or coming through of a situation or if you have already lost, surrender. I repeat, SURRENDER. Fighting a battle that you cannot possibly win is neither smart nor sane. Some may call it bravery. Not me. I call it stupid and insane. And that is not your job. I know that I have been repeating myself a lot, but being smart and sane are your job. If you cannot surrender to an enemy when you have already clearly lost a battle, your place is definitely not among my General Staff. I have no need for such an exemplary display of insanity and stupidity among the rank of my advisors. Being stupid and insane is my job. Do not take my job away from me.¡±


    Listening to the sound of their breathing, I did not think that my General Staff understood my intention. People like Lynx, rationalists, who have always carefully questioned my style of administration and decision making, had a look of pure confusion. People like Isonos, an insufferable delusional bunch, who have already convinced themselves that I was always right and I always had a plan for everything, they were divided between having an epiphany and one step away from being baptized.


    I knew that a leader¡¯s job was to inspire his men, not depressing them. I knew that a leader must convince his people that they could win when they were mostly going to lose, and even when they have already lost. I knew that a general must instill self-sacrifice and the unwillingness to surrender to his soldiers. I knew that. I knew what I was doing was the opposite of being a leader and a general.


    Any general who told his men to ¡°Go ahead and surrender when you lose,¡± would be a stupid general. That was a perfect recipe to encourage desertion and mutiny. Any man who told his followers to ¡°Give up when it was time to give up,¡± was not of leader material.


    Recently, I found that it was difficult to be myself, being stupid and insane for as far and long as I wanted to be while being a leader of an army. My experience of leading a mob of hitmen and a cult did not demand to be smart or sane. In fact, nobody has ever complained about me being a divorcee from logic and sanity. Leading an army while being stupid and insane was as hard as any challenge that I have ever faced.


    But I knew that a Judo practitioner would learn Ukemi first before he would learn any throwing technique. I learned that a BJJ practitioner would learn how to escape a Mount first before learning how to perform a Mount. I have learned that sometimes, the only way to win something was by losing everything first.


    Therefore, I had to fulfill my greatest responsibility in this war as the leader of my General Staff.


    Ignoring the confusion of my staffs, I challenged the definition of ¡°Being Confused¡± further by teaching them how to sell me out properly after they had surrendered and switched side.


    My General Staff showed me the reaction that I have long expected. They had no idea if they have served the right person.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    There were many logic holes in URLOX¡¯s games, both in RTDS and in ROC.


    For instance, Sinintee was supposed to reach the Immortal Rank in <Dreamweaver> just like Lust. There was no story or account or words of Sinintee demonstrating his mastery in <Dreamweaver> aside from that one time with Craxus. Sinintee and Wonten turned Craxus into a walking cheat-code with a Divine Dream. But that said nothing about how skillful Sinintee in conjuring a Divine Dream. This was one of the many plot holes in URLOX¡¯s setting.


    Since I had no idea what Sinintee was capable of, I could only use Clariciel, Lust, and Death as a standard to measure Sinintee¡¯s <Dreamweaver> since I had already experienced a Divine Dream engineered from them. Clariciel¡¯s mastery over <Dreamweaver> was not worthy of mention when comparing to Death and Lust. I did not feel completely trapped during that time when she beat the crap out of me. I felt like I could wake up and escape it if I tried. Death¡¯s black dream made a person lost his touch with reality. It felt oppressive and hopeless. Fighting against it was like fighting against the futility of life. Lust¡¯s red dream made a person actively rejected reality from all angles and aspects. It was so real, so visceral and so true that a person would embrace the things he saw in that red dream as his reality. But above all, Lust could conjure a dream within a dream. Her red dream eroded both my dreamland and Death¡¯s Divine Dream.


    So, I had a lot of expectation of Sinintee knowing his Immortal Rank in <Dreamweaver>, back then and now. Back then, when Lust still resided inside my dreamland and had my back covered, I was itching to see a battle between two <Dreamweaver> Immortal Rank. Popcorn and first seat booked, I was ready to watch that battle.


    But if there was one thing that this Escana world had in abundance, it was ¡°disappointment¡±. I should have learned my lesson a long time ago. I should have expected myself to be repeatedly disappointed. Now, when Lust has left this dreamland, I was still waiting for Sinintee to demonstrate his Miracles derived from <Dreamweaver> to break out of his cesspool prison. So far, Sinintee has shown me nothing regardless of what kind of humiliations and trash-talk that I tossed at him. It was either Sinintee could not break out of his prison or he was hiding his cards from me.


    Back then, when ROC was still a game, I could poke fun at logic holes similar to this. The Lore nerds like Misery would try to come up with their own excuses to give URLOX easy passes. Rational grownups like FY would admit that URLOX has made mistakes and left them alone. Trolls like S0rr0w, Fantasy and me, we relished the great materials provided to us. We either sent some smartass emails to URLOX pointing out all the nonsensical inconsistencies and plot-holes in their game and Lore. That, or rallying our legions of internet trolls and real-life trolls to a single banner, poking at URLOX from all directions and angles.


    Now, these plot holes and logic holes became an integral part of my reality, I could no longer laugh.


    ¡°Hey, focus on your task. Pay attention to what are you doing!¡± demanded Pride snapping her fingers in a provocative manner. She wore a peeved look, staring at me through the mirror. Eyes slanted and angry.


    ¡°O, trust me. I¡¯m focused. I¡¯m definitely focused on bursting your asses today,¡± I smirked and provoked Pride. My hands were still busy fixing Pride¡¯s newest hairstyle. I decided to challenge myself and gave Pride a completely new look, curling her hair in Victorian-style ringlets. Never had I tried styling Alice or Th¨´y D??ng with this hairstyle before, since it did not suit their personality and style. But Pride seemed to fit with this hairstyle like she was meant for it. But then, again, no matter what Pride wore, either a suit or a dress, she looked stunning.


    ¡°So what kind of mischief were you up to in the last seven days?¡± Pride inquired. Unaffected by my provocation.


    ¡°Who do you think you are talking to? Floki? and his clowns? Nobody had all the time in the world to keep clowning around like them.¡± I scoffed, pushing my provocation further.


    Pride exasperated and jabbed my stomach with her elbow. ¡°Happy?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Happy,¡± replied I after drawing a tearful sharp breath. I held my stomach, wearing a completely satisfied look.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Pervert prince,¡± Pride gave me a scornful look as if she was staring at a bag of dirt.


    ¡°I have never asked you to refuel my masochism. You did it yourself, you pervert Demon Lord,¡± I quipped.


    ¡°So?¡± Pride nudged her chin, asking while admiring her reflection. Pride gave off the impression of a woman who always ran into troubles with the capacity of her cloud drives. No capacity was ever enough with the number of selfies that she took every day.


    ¡°So? So what?¡± I scowled, acting stupid. I pretended to not understand Pride.


    ¡°What have you been doing?¡± Pride clicked her tongue and asked, visibly peeved.


    ¡°Curious?¡± asked I. I could stop myself from grinning, reveled in my new found ammunition to shoot Pride.


    Pride clicked her tongue again and spoke no more. Knowing my personality, she stopped digging deeper into her own grave.


    ¡°Actually, there was nothing too mischievous or too much to say. Lots of this. Lots of that,¡± I spoke in a reconciling manner, flashing a disarming smile. I paused for a second to admire that expecting expression on Pride¡¯s face. ¡°BUT WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU?¡±


    Upsetting your opponent before a battle was a legit tactic. It was a part of ROC and Esports. That¡¯s why every team should have a troll like me or S0rr0w playing for them.


    I was holding a farewell rock concert tour for Wrath before releasing him to the real world. A broken Demon Lord was no Demon Lord. A rock & roll singing and peace-loving Demon Lord were a Demon Lord in name alone. Setting him loose, telling him to spread rock & roll across the spirit realms and ditching any war-related business was also an effective move to show warmongers like Sinintee a big middle finger. The most destructive Demon Lord Wrath, who was supposed to be Wonten¡¯s equal in Might, Sinintee¡¯s equal in destruction and has been nothing but a mindless tool of destruction until now, chose peace and culture over war as his court of future when he discovered his consciousness and clarity.


    I wanted to listen to how Sinintee would twist words and truth and preach his ¡°War is the foundation of civilization and progress¡± nonsense when he looked at that new Wrath. That weapon of mass destruction made progress and improvement and still improving now that it has separated itself from war for good. I wanted to listen to Sinintee¡¯s preaching about his nonsense when he stared at that rock singing Wrath. I wanted to see the color of despair on Munezee¡¯s face when he stared at Wrath and could not realize him, the creature that he kept chained since the beginning, his faithful tool of terror, his trusty hound, and the most important reason to why he was feared by other Demon Lord. I wanted to taste the harrowing shock and resignation on those Demon Lords when their most powerful Demon Lord turned on them in the direst hour. If they still could make jokes and banters at that moment and still say ¡°War is a game to be enjoyed,¡± it would be their win.


    These brain-dead morons who have established a world order base on wars against a rock-singing Demon Lord, I would love to watch that kind of battle. Rock & Roll was meant to upset orders. If the order of the world was built on wars and games, if this world order was a script of URLOX, making a tool of war singing rock & roll on his free will, that, in itself and of itself, was already a win for me.


    But there was no reason for me to tell Pride any of that now. Keeping quiet here would upset her.


    Pride stopped talking with me for good. Quietly, I coordinated Pride¡¯s dress with her new hairstyle, dressing her in a royal adorned high elf¡¯s long gown. I had to pause, held my breath and admired my work. As usual, Pride was wearing her ¡°I know I am beautiful¡± look, haughty but satisfied, but I could always forgive her. Pride waited until I was done admiring. She lifted the hem of her long gown with one hand and extended the other to me. I held her hand and escorted her to our battlefield.


    ¡°Oh, your personnel increase,¡± Pride quipped as she sat down on her seat.


    Isonos and Ember were already arrived ahead of time, waiting in attention among the rank of my helpers and operators.


    ¡°I¡¯m switching my gear,¡± I gave Pride my only warning before returning to my position.


    ¡°Searek, Faugus, the two of you shall stand and observe today. Isonos, I will give you 1/3 of my army. Do whatever you want with them. Sasengun, you coordinate the battle as usual. Ember, you are the chief controller of our side for this game. I am fielding this game as one of your operators,¡± I briefed my battle plan to my staffs for the first time.


    It took a few seconds for everyone to absorb my nonsense battle plan.


    ¡°You cannot do that, Shandorei,¡± Sasengun wisely urged with all the desperation in the world.


    Faugus was holding the bald spot on his head, having an intense headache. Isonos was licking his crooked beak, grinning. Only Searek remained poised and calm. Ember¡¯s face went pale in a nauseating hurry. I literally just told him to play this game with Pride for me, knowing full well that if I lost this game, it would be over for everyone and everything.


    ¡°This is too much for me, master¡­¡± Ember flustered. He arrived at the battlefield completely unprepared for this moment. But this was what war truly was, full of twists and surprises. Even the best strategists and tacticians could not always predict the future correctly when they combined. A person had to adapt to the change of events and tides to keep himself afloat. Sometimes, a person just had to say, ¡°Fuck that,¡± and just focused on improvising and adapting to unexpected changes. Ph¨²c and FY spent years to learn that important lesson.


    Ignoring the common opinion shared between Sasengun and Ember, I stared at Ember. ¡°Whether it is too much for you or not, Can you do it, it¡¯s my job to decide. Not yours,¡± I stated firmly. ¡°The millions pounds question is, WILL YOU DO IT?¡± I asked.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Hey BITCHY DEMON LORD, are you sure you did not hack?¡± I shouted at Pride while giving order to my sieging troops.


    Pride took her eyes off her screen and gave me an infuriated smile. Pride chose the dark occultist faction for today game and, somehow, someway, she has managed to summon her in-game avatar under constant harass from Isonos and me. The chance of Pride managed to summon her in-game avatar was 1/50.


    ¡°You HAX,¡± I cursed, trying to mess around with Pride¡¯s rhythm. The two of us bickered back and forth as the game progressed. Pride was hell-bent on punishing me for my nonsensical decision of making Ember playing this game for me.


    In the multiplayer mode of ROC, Pride could be summoned in her avatar form just like any other Demon Lords. Players could actually read her character sheet. Usually, the


    page of a Demon Lord¡¯s character sheet showed the Authority wielded by that Demon Lord. And the <Skill> page displayed the Miracle that the Demon Lord could use.


    Pride¡¯s character sheet was pure crazy. Crazy in a sense that people like me could not help but wonder if URLOX were smoking some illegal substances while they were designing Pride. While there was nothing stand out from Pride character sheet, just the usual brief biography and a cryptic poem, her


    page were, however, absolutely insane. It was uniquely designed to look unlike the


    page of any character in the game. Pride¡¯s perks were not displayed in a branching tree or a vertical cascading list, they were displaying in bubbles. A person could only read Pride¡¯s Authorities but not see the effect of her Authorities unless they clicked on the bubbles.


    Pride inherited every single Authority that Naharis was known to possess. As a result, a page was not nearly enough to list all of her perks.


    Pride had the <Bestower of Life>, Niwdar¡¯s primary Authority which allowed her to heal wounds and sickness. She also possessed the <Seeker of Truth>. This was Eogaill¡¯s primary Authority. <Elementalist>. Sinintee¡¯s primary Authority. <Master of Might>. Wonten¡¯s primary Authority.


    Then, the common <Dreamweaver> that most Immortals had. <Corruptor> Another common authority that shared between Demon Lords like Lust, Yasubotay, or Rasahlu. <Master of Mischief>. Flok¨ª¡¯s trademark Authority. <Lightbringer>. <Abyss Lurker>. <Destroyer>.


    . <Shapeshifter>. <Crafter of Divinity>. <Aberrant Devourer>. The numbers of Authorities that Pride possessed went on and on. An entire page full of bubbles that constituted the Perfect Demon Lord.


    It was ridiculous that Pride possessed every Authority that was available to every Demon Lord and even more. She was a complete package. If Sinintee was proclaimed as Perfect due the fact that the Authorities under his possession maxed out at Immortal Rank, Pride was called ¡°Perfect¡± because she possessed every Authority that Naharis has once possessed. And more.


    <Superbia> existed. A unique Authority that was only available to Pride. It gave Pride her trademark miracles <The Golden Sword of Superbia>, <Raiment of Superbia>, <Sublime Tyrant>, and <Succulent Bride> while also put a shackle on Pride, preventing the rest of her Authorities from going pass the Challenger Rank.


    <Superbia> was more of a negative perk than a positive one. It was the only reason that prevented Pride from being universally recognized as the strongest and most broken Demon Lord. It was the only negative perk that Pride had, and, at the same time, the worst negative perk that any Demon Lord could have. I could say for sure that it was the greatest handicap for an Immortal. It was the worst disability for a Demon Lord to have, similarly to S0rr0w¡¯s trigger-finger sickness.


    S0rr0w¡¯s story in ROC Esports was what people called ¡°The Ultimate Underdog¡¯s Story.¡± A person suffered the same trigger-finger sickness should have never become a pro-gamer of any Esports game but those turn-based tactic games. But S0rr0w did just that. No pro-gaming team and organization would be desperate or stupid enough to have that kind of player playing for them, other than Lavatein. ROC was notoriously for being a high-APM (Action Per Minute) demanded game. People like me, Orithyia and Superior could bulldoze over other pro-gamers through the sheer force of our high APMs. Our opponents could have the right tactics and strategies and even perfect schemes. But, it was like what Iron Mike has said, ¡°Everybody''s got plans... until they get hit.¡± The three of us were one of the rare chosen few who could win a game of strategies and tactics while playing it with our brain turned off. That option, that boon was not available to S0rr0w even when he played against a casual ROC player. S0rr0w¡¯s APMs clocked at 203, his average, the lowest average APM recorded in the entire history of the game by a pro-gamer. The fact that S0rr0w managed to be a ROC pro-gamer was already a miracle. The fact that he has managed to climb over his competitions and be recognized as one of the most dominant players in the competitive scene, it was the greatest miracle in league history.


    Pride¡¯s <Superbia> was similar, a great handicap.


    A battle between Immortals was a clash of Authority and Miracle. Though Pride¡¯s Miracles were all classified as tactical when she used them against mortals, against other Immortals, her Miracles and Authorities could only be nuisance and convenience at best. The ranking system that URLOX created to demonstrate the power scale of the Authority wielded by Immortals repeated the words ¡°tactical¡± and ¡°strategic¡±. These two words were used to describe the value of an Authority when the wielder of that Authority used it against other Immortals. As such, the one possessed a higher ranking and more advantageous Authority would have an indisputable advantage.


    The fact that Pride possessed no Authority above the Challenger Rank, none that could give her a tactical edge over other Immortals put her at a severe disadvantage. Pride was like fighter armed with all sort of hot and cold weapons that allowed her to fight at close range, medium range, and long-range. However, she fought in a league where everyone else fought with tanks, destroyers, air-fighters, and armed with nukes.


    ¡°So how can someone like this command over 7 Demon Lords?¡±


    This question remained a logic hole in URLOX¡¯s setting until I lived with Pride inside that villa.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Fielding as an operator had its advantages. I understood the ever-changing flows of a Blindfold ROC game so much faster and had fewer problems to manage. Normally, the information had to go through the mouth of a helper to an operator, and then Sasengun before reaching me. And when multiple information reached me all at the same time, it was hard to manage.


    Now, the information was more direct, reaching me through the mouth of my personal helper.


    As a result, I had more freedom and time in how I resolved problems at a tactical level. The tradeoff of being an operator instead of being a player was in the amount of control power. It took around 20 seconds or more before I could tell Ember and Sasengun to switch to a different strategy. Too slow. When I was playing Blindfold ROC as a player, it took me less than a second to do that. Playing in the player position, I had more control in strategies but not tactics.


    I missed FY¡¯s presence. I was a luxury that FY should have never afforded. And he was a luxury that I did not deserve. I played ROC with FY as my strategist for so long that now I felt handicapped without him at my side. It made me realized that I had not made any progress even after I had stepped out of my comfort zone for so long. I was still better at being a tactician than a strategist.


    The sun was peeking out of the horizon. Cut from tension, Ember crumbled to the ground on four, hurling whatever the content of his stomach was for his dear life. Fully seasoned with stress and anxiety for a straight 21 days without a break in between, his entire body rattled in tiny shaking, drenched in sweat, completely softened like a block of human-size fermented tofu.


    ¡°Congratulation on your first battle, now go back to the manor and rest. Tomorrow will be the same. You will be a chief controller once again,¡± I informed Ember, shaking Ember by his pale softened shoulder.


    Ember turned his head upward and looked at me as if I was a monster of no compassion. But the monster was what Ember has fought for the last 21 days. Ember just had his first taste of a monster that I created with my hands. I could not even count how many times Pride nearly destroyed our entire team throughout the last 21 days. Ember got his asses handed to him on dozens of situation and we had to bail him out over and over again.


    Ember has just learned many important lessons through his first battle. Not many men could say that he has learned one of Sun Tzu¡¯s many philosophies with his body.


    I pulled Ember to his feet and summoned a chair for him to sit down. ¡°Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy are the noises before defeat,¡± I vocalized the philosophy for him, ¡°A general has to be both, strategic and tactical. Do well remembering that.¡±


    I was teaching Ember but I was also lecturing myself.


    Ember was very careful about planning logistics, which was always good quality. However, overstressing the importance of logistics and strategies placed a severe limitation on his options and move pool. He was playing the game too safe and often relying on logistics to overcome battles.


    Ember timidly nodded his head. I did not go deeper about the rest of the lessons, realizing that the moment was not the best opportunity for that.


    I walked to Isonos, ¡°So, how is it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Fantastic, teacher,¡± replied Isonos with pure unadulterated excitement in his voice, ¡°I¡¯m thankful for the opportunity.¡± He crossed his arms, bending his back, and thanked me.


    Isonos was a complete natural in Blindfold ROC. Playing ROC with mouse and keyboard was not his forte. He did not have the hand-eye coordination or reflex or the mechanical skills that everyone else had. In fact, his mechanical skills were poor. Goddamn poor. As the result, back then I was still dividing my General Staff into teams for them to practice playing ROC, whichever team had Isonos in their roster, that team had a 70% of losing their game.


    Taking the mouse and keyboard away, and telling Isonos that he could command troops by relaying order at them was like showing a caged bird an open sky and an open cage. No longer restricted by his slow reflex or his poor mechanical skill, Isonos proved why his name commanded so much disdain and hate in the history of Escana.


    ¡°Keep up the good work,¡± I commended Isonos for his performance, ¡°But, in the next battle, slow down a bit. You are good but remember to coordinate your attacks with your teammates. There were a lot of miss-opportunities. Go back to the manor and do whatever may suit you. Tomorrow, I expect the same performance from you.¡± I did not tell Isonos to rest, knowing that he would study the record of today game with a limited amount of time that he was given.


    Isonos nodded his head and cheerfully rolled his wheelchair away.


    I hugged Sasengun, smothering her within my tight embrace, ¡°That final situation was so close. That was so close. Too close. You bailed us out. Literally. Had you made a wrong call, we lost. That was too close. Too close,¡± I chattered quietly, burying my face into Sasengun¡¯s cascading hair for comfort.


    ¡°Then, you should not have made Ember play this game for you,¡± Sasengun admonished me, wrapping her arms around me.


    Unlike me, Sasengun, and Isonos, Ember was not built for pressure and stress, which reminded me of FY¡¯s greatest weakness. I intended to make Ember overcame this weakness, one way or another. And since there was nothing more high-stake and stressful as playing a game of Blindfold ROC with Pride inside this dreamland, there was no better training for Ember than this. It was the same rite that FY and Ph¨²c have gone through until they became the iron men that they were.


    ¡°Unfortunately, he will play this game tomorrow as well whether he likes or not. So bear with me.¡± I sighed, sharing a long and deep kiss with Sasengun. But, one was the loneliest number and thus one became two. Two quickly became three and that where I had to put a stop before it got out of my control. I told Sasengun to go back to her room and rest with much reluctance on our parts.


    I asked Searek and Faugus regarding Isonos¡¯ performance in the game. They gave me various answers, close, but not the answers that I was looking forward to hearing from them. Therefore, I gave them my advice, ¡°From today onward, the two you will observe our game. However, focus your attention on Isonos alone. Watch how he respond to a threat, how he attacks, how he defends. Be more observance.¡±


    Isonos played Blindfold ROC as if he was Searek and Faugus combined. He played with a controlled recklessness. Reckless and suicidal just like Searek, but controlled and insured like Faugus. Searek approached his battle with too much emphasis on offense and pressure while Faugus had the same mindset on defense and traps. Searek intuitively commanded his troops with a very high-risk-and-high-reward manner. Faugus took less risk and only bit when he was sure that he could chew. Isonos¡¯ approach was an ideal of both offense and defense, instinct and wisdom. Not perfect, but very ideal. It was so ideal that I had to admire.


    I bid Searek and Faugus a goodbye before heading to Pride¡¯s corner.


    ¡°I remember him,¡± Pride said. She wore her emotionless face, masking her grudge beneath, giving me her hand like a noble lady.


    ¡°Which one?¡± I asked, holding Pride¡¯s hand and lifting her from her chair.


    ¡°That cripple garuda. He nearly pushed the Nagas to extinction when they were still at the prime of their power.¡± Pride ruffled the creases on her gown and gave me the usual victory kiss.


    I flashed a thin smile, completely pretended to be satisfied with just a single kiss.


    It took a couple of games for Pride to refresh her memories about Sasengun. But it took only one game for her to remember Isonos. If Sasengun was Sanguine¡¯s most prized warlord, Isonos was Sanguine¡¯s most established warlord. Isonos¡¯ relationship with Sanguine was what Craxus was to Sinintee if Craxus did not give Sinintee his credits or praises, and did whatever he wanted while ignoring Sinintee¡¯s Divine Dream. Misery called Isonos <Ivar of the sky> before URLOX admitted modeling Isonos from the character of Ivar the Boneless.


    If only Isonos was still alive and not insane, I would trade everything to make him my general.


    But then, if Isonos was not insane, he could never be a warlord that he was. Isonos was a complete wild card. He did not move according to Rasahlu¡¯s whisper or Yasubotay¡¯s vision or Sanguine¡¯s invisible trails. Isonos would do whatever he wanted to do even when his mind was being corrupted by Rasahlu¡¯s whisper and Yasubotay¡¯s vision.


    Even now when he was working for me, Isonos was still the same. As a result, I would only tell him my vision and goal but never the paths to arrive my goal. I let Isonos do whatever he wanted as long as he got his job done.


    ¡°This guy, do you want him?¡± I asked Pride in a teasing manner, ¡°He¡¯s a rare talent, an example that can convince even the most stubborn non-believers of the Great Man Theory to change their mind.¡± The Great Man Theory suggested that history can be largely explained by the impact of great men, or heroes; highly influential and unique individuals who, due to their natural attributes, such as superior intellect, heroic courage, or divine inspiration, have a decisive historical effect. Students of history had a divided view and belief about this theory. Some were believers. Some weren¡¯t. I believed only half of the theory.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Pride tilted her head, asking.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Does it really matter if I want him or not?¡± Pride smiled, ¡°When I defeat you, dearest prince, he¡¯s mine anyway.¡±


    ¡°You have not won a single game yet. Win one first, then we will talk, dearest Demon Lord.¡±


    As usual, we talked smack, bickering back and forth. Neither of us returned to our room when we returned to the villa. I swam in the hot spring-water pool while Pride sat on the bank, reading books with only her feet dipping in the pool.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to change into a swimming suit for old time sake?¡± I asked. The last time we swam together in the hot pool, Pride was teaching me water-dancing in her bikini.


    ¡°No, thank you,¡± Pride rejected me flatly and then quickly added, ¡°I feel like I might get pregnant this time if I am not careful.¡±


    A move like this has to be illegal.


    It was unfair that a woman could give a man a clear reject while telling him what she thought of him at the same time. It¡¯s like rejecting a person while telling that person to keep trying. I laughed, swimming in backstroke while keeping my small talk with Pride going. I told Pride that I decided to lift the summoning rule nonsense that URLOX had set. I allowed the dark occultist faction to select whichever Demon Lord that they wanted to summon and removed the Only-one-Demon Lord at any time restriction.


    Pride wiggled her finger, suggesting me to swim toward her. And I did, like a complete love-struck moron.


    ¡°Are you daring me?¡± Pride closed her book and flashed an angry smile, the kind of smile that made my heart melt.


    ¡°Maybe I am. Maybe I am not,¡± I shrugged, ¡°But do not assume that you have already won with just that kind of advantage. I am used to playing against this faction. Let me remind you of that.¡±


    Pride leaned over and straddled my cheek with affection. She still wore her angry smile, ¡°Do you think I would keep playing along with you and be a practice target for you and your followers?¡±


    ¡°As I have been telling you, win one game first, then you can talk,¡± I retorted, ¡°Or perhaps, you are being afraid?¡±


    ¡°Afraid of what, you tell me.¡± Pride¡¯s voice suddenly gained an edge as she leaned closer.


    I casually stole a soft kiss from Pride. I flashed a smile. ¡°Pride, my dear, you learned this game from me. You mastered my techniques. You studied my tactics and strategies longer than anyone. You got used to dealing with my tactics and strategies. I have taught you everything that I knew about this game without holding back any trick or secret. I trained you to be my kryptonite. I suppose that you have already asked yourself, Why is he doing this? You must have already asked yourself this question when you explained the effect of <The Golden Sword of Superbia> to me.¡± I held Pride¡¯s hand and pressed it against my cheek, gazing into Pride¡¯s eyes. ¡°Be very careful,¡± I warned.


    ¡°Of what?¡± Pride asked.


    I dragged Pride into the pool, making a huge splash.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I struck a gusto pose, laughing to tears while staring at Pride¡¯s baffled look and drenched form.


    Pride was angry, gritting her teeth. Then, my laughter infected her. She gave up and exasperated, shaking her head, ¡°Did you start talking about all of that nonsense just to get me into the pool and wet?¡±


    ¡°Getting you into the pool is easy. Making you wet is easier. Give you a warning and then making you wet is hard,¡± I laughed, ¡°So are you going to change into your bikini or keep wearing that dress down here?¡± I pointed my finger at Pride¡¯s floating long hem that appeared like a fire jellyfish on the pool.


    Pride splashed my face, giving me a silent reply. I choke out the water and snapped my fingers, dressing Pride in her gold bikini.


    ¡°I think my swan waltz has become a bit rusty. My dearest lady, will you help me freshen my memory about it?¡± I extended my hand.


    Pride snickered and held my hand, leading the dance. The two of us swam and danced like a pair of swans. However, unlike that time when Pride was still teaching me the dance and etiquette of the swan waltz, neither of us whispered sweet nothing into each other¡¯ ears this time.


    ¡°Even if you kept dragging this dream for an eternity, even if you kept delaying, that person would not stand up on his own all of a sudden.¡± Pride targeted where it hurt the most, ¡°A person who has surrendered like that would never rise again. You are wasting your time waiting.¡±


    ¡°Just focus on what¡¯s in front of you,¡± I smiled, ¡°Think too far, think too deep and you might fall off a cliff right in front of you.¡±


    ¡°If you think those helpers of yours were enough to make me fall off a cliff, you are being too na?ve.¡±


    ¡°My captain has often reminded me of this. To be a champion in ROC, you have to be better than everyone else. But, ROC is an ever-evolving game. You cannot stay at the top by being better than everyone else. Everyone else will learn from you and they will catch up. You stay on the top by constantly becoming a better version of yourself.¡±


    We fired off our warnings at each other. When the dance ended, we shared a deep kiss, then returned to our room, preparing for the next game.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°No, I change my mind. Ember, you take over Sasengun¡¯s position. Sasengun, you play this game,¡± I briefed the lineup to my staffs.


    Sasengun wore an ¡°I knew it¡± look, exasperated. Isonos laughed. I pointed my finger at him. ¡°It¡¯s not funny,¡± said I like a true sadist, making an impression of Ember.


    Ember looked like a man who has spent all of his time learning a quick course in playing Blindfold ROC at the player position. Ember gave me a look as if he was cursing me inwardly.


    ¡°My friend, if you work for me, always expect the unexpected,¡± I told Ember, flashing a treacherous smile.


    I had not given up on victory just because I have given my General Staff the permission to surrender at their liberty. They were two different things. I was not a kind and forgiving person just because I instructed my General Staff to save themselves from further pain and torment when they encountered a situation that they could not win. Again, they were two different things. In BJJ, a person was taught to escape a mount and a lock first to protect themselves and their training partner from unnecessary harms. Just because a person spent time learning to escape the mount and the lock, it did not mean that a person has already given up beating his opponent.

 V2 Chapter 31

    The golden coins spun from one long finger to another, fluid and mechanical. I played with the coins. I had played with them for so long that they felt like an extension of my hands. Different coins, not the one that the old man has gifted to me. But similar, in weight and shape. I played with them, spinning them between my long fingers.


    My heart can take a beating. My mind can take this grind. I¡¯m stronger than this, I often reminded myself. A declaration. A declaration for myself. If I could make a declaration, I could make that declaration a reality. I¡¯m stronger than this. So I repeated, the same old declaration when shit happened. But I would always snicker. Inside dreamland, I snickered at my own declaration. Funny, I thought. My sharp ears told me that I have lied. I¡¯m stronger than this. It was not supposed to be a lie. And yet, my ears told me otherwise. I had no idea where should I placed my doubt, myself or my sharp ears.


    I used to think that that I was the type of person who solely lived in the moment. Meaning, I had never learned from my past failures or mapped out my future course.


    However, I doubted that now. The longer that I stayed inside this Divine Dream, the more sentimental I became. I longed for the old days. I longed for a bygone past. The longer I stayed in dreamland, the less I understood myself. I wanted to forge ahead, into that future where I have already smashed apart URLOX¡¯s ego and the arrogance of these participants of the Reign of Chaos. I knew my priority. And yet, at the same time, I found myself spent times crying on the long-gone past more than plotting for the future. I knew the most logical path that I should tread. I knew my priority.


    And yet¡­ I was unable to let them go.


    The aching lump inside my heart. The radiating tumor inside my head. The long-gone past and the thicken stream of Sanguine¡¯s venom coursing through me. I knew the most logical choice, cutting off the lump and removing the tumor. But¡­ I was unable to let them go.


    Cutting The Alliance off. Cutting my old memory off. Cutting Ph¨²c off.


    Sometimes, a person did not need to be a psychiatrist to know how to fix himself. But knowing and doing were two separated matters.


    I¡¯m bad, I told myself, the same old words. I did not miss the competition. I did not miss the fanfare. I did not miss the glimmer of the disco lights, or the old chucking chants, the rowdy herald of drunken laughter and the random orgies. I did not even miss those women who have been so infatuated with me. I¡¯m bad, I told myself, the same old words, I¡¯m a bad man.


    I missed the old days, dearly. I missed home, my home. And Sanguine¡¯s venom only reminded me just how homesick I was. So I laughed at the irony and misunderstanding.


    Searek saw that image of me willingly drank Sanguine¡¯s venom as a saintly act. Searek thought I infected myself with Sanguine¡¯s venom to gain an understanding of it in order to help the other captives. Lynx¡¯s knowledge of alchemy from experimenting on himself solidified that belief in Searek, driving him to think that I was a saint. But, no, I understood what Sanguine¡¯s venom was before I drank a mouthful of it. I knew what it was and what it would do to people and why it felt so repulsive to Death. Anyone who was smeared in that venom was barred from the black moon. I already knew its properties before I drank it.


    Faugus thought I was being fearless and caring. He was only half-correct. Isonos thought I was demonstrating just how powerless Sanguine¡¯s trademark miracle against me. He, too, was only half-correct. Pride praised me for realizing a method to make Death gave up her infatuation on me. Even Pride was only half-correct.


    Sometimes, talking less meant more. Sometimes, action spoke louder than words. Sometimes, it was better to let people convincing themselves than convincing them myself. I let my General Staff believed in whatever they wished to believe in. But drinking that venom was my arrogance. Drinking that venom in front of Searek and my General Staff was my cunning. Keep all of that a secret was my selfishness.


    I¡¯m bad, I repeated the same old words.


    Mortals, whose souls infected with Sanguine¡¯s venom, were barred from the mercy of Death¡¯s grace. I allowed Sanguine¡¯s venom to course through my soul.


    All of the Authorities under Sanguine¡¯s possession were Transcendent Rank or above, thus the miracle born from them shaped accordingly to Sanguine¡¯s personality and desires. Sanguine possessed two Mythical Ranked Authorities, <Seeker of Truth> and <Corruptor>. Sanguine¡¯s venom was a conflicting miracle born between these two Authorities.


    <Corruptor> was an Authority that many Demon Lords wielded. It was an Authority that reverted the nature of things. Below the Transcendent Rank, <Corruptor> allowed the user to twist the nature of matters to a limited extent of turning clean drinkable water into poison, reverting blessings into curses, or turning stainless weapons into weathered junks. Below the Transcendent Rank, <Corruptor> could only twist the nature of lifeless and magical targets. From Transcendent Rank, the wielder of <Corruptor> gained the ability to twist nature, form, and even soul of living targets accordingly to the personality of the wielder.


    Lust, for instance, was Mythical Rank in <Corruptor>. Due to her fervent desire of ¡°Make love not war,¡± her red dream, which was a miracle born from her <Dreamweaver> and <Corruptor>, twisted the personality, memory, form and even soul of the subjects of her red dream, turned them into succubi, creatures who lived to spread the ¡°Make love not war¡± motto.


    Acre?a, too, possessed <Corruptor>, but Transcendent Rank. She created her vampires through <Vampirism Conversion>, a unique miracle that born from her <Corruptor> Authority. Her vampires shared many of Acre?a¡¯s traits, but unlike Acre?a, they could not tolerate sunlight or extreme light sources. While Acre?a could bath under the sun, her vampires would be vaporized into mist if they do that. A result of Acre?a¡¯s extreme hatred for the sun and Acre?a¡¯s primary Authority. Acre?a was one of the two Demon Lords to possess Immortal Rank in <Abyss Lurker>, an Authority that granted her near-infinite power in absolute darkness and shadow. The darker the abyss surrounding her, the more powerful Acre?a became. As a result, Acre?a lost her connection to her primary Authority when she contacted with harsh sunlight. Her hatred for sunlight manifested in her vampire¡¯s mortal weakness for sunlight.


    Similarly. Sanguine was a self-deceiving demon. Sanguine¡¯s <Corruptor> and <Seeker of Truth> allowed it to corrupt its targets in the form of self-deceit. I have already deducted that before having a taste of Sanguine¡¯s venom. A point, which I kept arguing to no end with Misery in the regard of what was the true nature of Sanguine¡¯s venom. Plus the ¡°How and in what manner that Sanguine made a person go mad?¡± which I had no answer until I tasted the contradictory venom that born from <Corruptor> and <Seeker of Truth>.


    <Corruptor> twisted the nature of matters while <Seeker of Truth> made a matter stay true to itself. <Seeker of Truth> was a contradictory Authority to <Corruptor>, just like blessings to curses, water to fire. They should not be able to co-exist. And yet, Sanguine¡¯s identity was defined by this contradictory duality, being the wielder of <Corruptor> and <Seeker of Truth> rather than its Immortal Rank in


    .


    Sanguine, despite having the moniker the Embodiment of Madness, was very sane. Its actions and words were tenaciously coherent. The fact that Sanguine nodded to Yasubotay¡¯s suggestion back then, fully intending to use the loophole in Death¡¯s judgment to pick Phu?c as its Champion. The fact that Sanguine laughed when Yasubotay suggested championing the women I have protected as its warlord.


    Sanguine¡¯s thought process became clear to me.


    That was not the thought process of an insane person. That was the thought process of a cruel demon, cruel but sane, a demon that lived to glorify insanity without being insane.


    Meaning, Sanguine was a self-deceiving demon. Thus, one or many of its miracles would manifest in the form of self-deceit.


    Due to <Seeker of Truth>, Sanguine¡¯s venom was a substance that made its subjects stayed true to themselves.


    I realized how much I missed FY¡¯s constant nagging. My special privilege, because FY has never nagged to anyone else. I have always hated being told what-to-do and what-not-to-do by people. I loathed listening to other people¡¯s preaching. But FY¡¯s day to day nagging was different. Sometimes, I would actively do the wrong things to be nagged in the ears by FY. Before I realized it, FY¡¯s day to day nagging has become my favorite cup of coffee, my favorite wake up call, my compass to live through the chaos of the world.


    I missed Misery¡¯s nerd talk. Annoying as it may sound, but I missed his nerdy talks. They were full of enthusiasm and childlike joy. I missed my day to day prank war with Fantasy. It made the two of us alerted and doubted everything, wondering if our mouse was really an electronic mouse and not a mousetrap in disguise. He poured Trinidad Scorpion pepper extract into my morning coffee. I poured a cup-full the same substance on his groin at night when he slept. I missed Merleon¡¯s presence. His awkwardness and stoic, and honesty. I missed Alice. Terribly. I missed her kiss. Her slaps. Her anger and tears. I missed my dad. His forlorn look, weighted down by the sorrow of life. I missed her tearful face whenever he allowed himself to be absorbed by his music. I missed his music, its kindness, and pleasant cruelty.


    At the same time, all of my what-if questions were answered, thanks to the delusions that Sanguine¡¯s venom showed me.


    I asked myself a lot of useless what-if questions and I kept uselessly pondered about them.


    What if Merleon did not injure his leg?


    What if Nightmare lost that World Cup Final?


    What if FY did not discover Merleon?


    Even though pondering those questions would not solve anything. That¡¯s why they were useless in the first place. Pondering those what-if questions would not give me anything. Not gratification. Not happiness. Nothing. A waste of time, I knew. I could not help but ponder about them. I could not imagine who else could fill Merleon¡¯s shoes in The Alliance, but Sanguine¡¯s venom was there to help me, playing accordingly to my desire.


    I knew the answer, my answer in the form of delusions.


    I arrived from the other side of the mirror because I was needed. If either one of those what-if questions was true, I would not exist.


    For that, I was thankful to S0rr0w. Thanks to him, the Demon Lord of Lavatein, I existed. Thanks to S0rr0w being the worst matchup possible for Phu?c and FY, I came to be. Thanks to S0rr0w, I could never be sway by ULROX¡¯s illusions and lies in this strange world.


    In ROC, there is only one Demon Lord. The Demon Lord of Lavatein. The rest are copycats.


    A Demon Lord¡¯s truest Authority, its name is Absolute Despair. There was no other name. If a Demon Lord could not instill absolute despair into the heart of a person, that Demon Lord was a Demon Lord in name only.


    If a person fought against Nightmare sometimes had the illusion of hands choking at his neck, a battle against S0rr0w gave him the impression of being trapped inside an unbreakable spider net. Trapped, every time that person made a decision, he only entangled himself further inside the net of despair while the Demon Lord of Lavatein stared at him. Every decision, every tactic, every strategy that he employed felt like the wrong move, completely trapped and helpless.


    S0rr0w was both, a great tactician and a great strategist. And his most defining strategies and tactics worked around trapping his targets.


    Tactics were the actual means used to gain an objective, small ploys, while strategy was the overall campaign plan, involving complex operational patterns, activity, and decision-making. Therefore, it was easy to see who was a tactician and who was a strategist. The one who was good at gaining the objectives under the pressures and time limitation had the disposition of a good tactician. The one who was good at drawing up the correct objectives and had a great vision of the goal possessed the making of a good strategist.


    That was why S0rr0w¡¯s traps were terrifying. Every small ploy, every little trap, every tiny mistake that S0rr0w and his team members made were carefully arranged and aligned for a greater and more insidious purpose. Sometimes, a person got entangled in the spider net that S0rr0w weaved would result in the entire team being trapped.


    S0rr0w was both, a great tactician and a great strategist. It took a moron who lived to glorify Stupidity to beat him. Life was that weird. And still, S0rr0w believed that I was a smart man, trying to find the logic in my Stupidity, still refusing to believe that he could be repeatedly beaten by the reckless abandoning force of ill-logic.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom played along with my delusions and enhanced them, made them real, very real. I saw all of those what-if scenarios playing inside my head, running in parallel.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom was that kind of venom, a substance that allowed me to tread through my memories with vivid and truthful details. At the same time, it showed me a what-could-have-been and what-should-have-been, what I wished that was true, and how I wished to relive my life instead. My truest hidden desire. Basically, it revealed my wishful desires and wiped away the blur in my memories.


    It was a venom that enhanced my experiences and feelings. It was a truthful lie, self-deceit. It tested a person¡¯s fortitude.


    If a man could not handle the truth, he became mad. If a man could not accept his truest desire and delusions being displayed against his better conscience, he went mad. If a man could not distinguish what was fake and what was true, he lost his sanity and identity. If a man lost to the despair of his reality, he went completely insane. If a man could not withstand the nonsensical, stupid and cruel spectrum of life, he could only become insane to live with it. That was madness, on Earth and on Escana, same shit.


    A man went mad on his own, Sanguine¡¯s venom only played an indirect role in his madness, as well as being the catalyst.


    Too bad, it could not make a mad man mad, I laughed in self-mockery. Sanguine¡¯s venom had limited effects on madmen, people who were already mad in the first place, or people like me and Isonos, madmen who have completely come to term with their madness.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom became a perfect vehicle for us to relive our past or recovered a specific memory of ours.


    What doesn¡¯t kill you would only make you stronger.


    Sanguine¡¯s venom, instead of breaking us down, enhanced us, became a device for us to perceive our weaknesses, failures, mistakes, past, presence, and future. It allowed our delusions and imagination to manifest in vivid details. Neither I nor Isonos could ask for a better gift.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I had not a single idea of how I arrived at this strange world. Sanguine¡¯s venom showed me all manners of delusions and conspiracies, but none made any sense. I had no explanation as to why URLOX would choose me to be a part of the narrative in their game. The delusions that Sanguine¡¯s venom showed me only made this question more confusing than helping. I had no clue if I could remotely put an end to this war that I have already started. Before I drank the venom and now after I have already drunk it.


    I had no idea if I had gone completely insane a long time ago and imagined myself being transported into this fuckup world and everything.


    But I knew one thing for sure. URLOX messed up their world setting and balance when they introduced me into their game and universe. That was the first major fuckup that URLOX has made.


    As for the second major fuckup, URLOX must have mixed up the codes for my <Unredeemable Philanderer> and <Harem Prince> perks. Otherwise, I could not explain how exactly the effect of Pride¡¯s <Golden Sword of Superbia> on her female Demon Lords could be broken. Only an Authority could overwrite or erode another Authority.


    Instead of coding these two perks as Unique Perks, URLOX must have miscoded these two perks under Unique Authority. Meaning, they have made me the worst philandering cuckoo, the worst to ever exist in this universe. The worst that was and will be, on the celestial and deity level, like what Zeus was in Greek mythology, but worse.


    URLOX gave me, a human two Unique Authorities, me, who was supposedly a mere mortal in their world setting.


    URLOX only had one job and they messed it up. Either that or they were telling me to man-whoring all the ways to victory. Thinking about that, I wished I could make a phone call right now, calling a hit-squad to go after them, all of them. Scaring them shitless for weeks and months until I called my boys off.


    An hour before my next match with Pride began, I visited Greed. As usual, Greed greeted me in her casual cloth, a baggy dress, which sold-out on comfort rather than fashion. Greed was a stark contrast with Pride and Acre?a in term of fashion. Acre?a had the habit of overdressing, complimenting her waxen look with sexiness and erotism. Greed, on the other hand, has never given a fuck about appeal, trend or fashion. She dressed however she wanted, which often reminded me of Fantasy¡¯s atrocious fashion senses.


    ¡°Little rabbit, what¡¯s your business today?¡± Greed asked, making a suggestive obscene gesture with her chubby finger. Acre?a called me ¡°Sex fiend.¡± Greed called me ¡°Little rabbit.¡± Different words, same meaning.


    And I kept telling Greed to remove the ¡°Little¡± from her ¡°Little rabbit.¡± I had no problem with being labeled as a sex fiend by sex fiends like Acre?a and Greed. But being called, ¡°Little rabbit¡± always annoyed me. Anyone would appear as little in front of a twelve feet tall of pure unadulterated indulgence like Greed, anyone but a giant. But the only one that Greed affixed the word ¡°Little¡± was me. No man likes being called ¡°little¡±.


    Slightly annoyed by Greed¡¯s tone, I gave her a defiance scowl, ¡°Must I have a business in order to pay you a visit?¡± Still, I informed Greed to get ready. I intended to release Greed, Wrath, and Managan on the same day, making them the second batch of my released captives.


    Greed played around with one of her strayed dark strands and listened to the news in silence before telling me to prepare to receive the Gauntlets of Greed when I woke up. The Gauntlets of Greed was one of the many Divine Relics that had never graced its appearance into the game. And for good reasons. Aside from being the item that constituted Greed¡¯s immortality, Naharis¡¯ Bloodstained Gloves or also known as the Gauntlet of Greed has been mentioned through various references as an item that granted unlimited wealth to its wielder. It could not be considered as anything but cheat codes. Therefore, giving this item to an irresponsible charlatan like me was like giving nuclear launching code to the worst bunch of lunatics. If there existed an item in this universe to be used to crash the economic system of an entire kingdom, the Gauntlet of Greed was that item.


    Escana is soooooo fucked, I thought.


    I inadvertently sighed, ¡°You people just break all the challenges and contests in the world through cheats. Can¡¯t you think of anything else other than using the Authority and Miracle granted to you to solve problems? Over-reliance on Miracle and Authority made you people stupid and less creative.¡±


    ¡°Do you want them or not?¡± Greed cracked her chubby knuckles and bore her porcelain face down at me. She threatened me, even though the only way that Greed could hurt me inside this dream was calling my dick, little boy. ¡°One word,¡± gnashed Greed, loudly.


    Every Demon Lord in the ROC universe was responsible for creating a demon race. Echo created the banshees. Lust created succubi. Acre?a mothered the vampires. Similarly, Greed created the Djinns. Djinns, according to Islamic belief, were invisible spirits created by God from smokeless fire, appearing in the form of humans or animals. Djinns were are neither innately evil nor innately good. But in the URLOX¡¯s ROC universe, Djinns were demons. They were the closest type of trickster spirits to the fire elementals. They shared many traits that the fire elementals possessed, but at the same time, they could not be more different.


    Greed stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, further highlighting the sheer backbreaking weight of Greed¡¯s defining indulgence. Not even that baggy dress could hide Greed¡¯s exaggerated hoard.


    I swallowed the excess saliva built up inside my mouth in the matter of half a second, subtly and silently.


    Greed was a towering three meters of physics-defying meatiness and greatly exaggerated curves. All of her breathtaking proportions and curves took the meaning of the words ¡°Greedy,¡± and ¡°Unashamed¡± and ¡°Indulgent¡± to the beyond of the beyond.


    If people criticized Pride and Lust for being overly sexualized with their body and dress code out of their jealousy, defining what beauty was with their golden hourglass, Greed mocked the word ¡°overly sexualized¡± through the sheer force of her meaty indulgence and exaggerated curves. Greed could wear a modest and baggy dress and still earn that ¡°hyper-sexualized¡± label while standing next to a row of models in bikini.


    In an already controversial game with edgy, grime, NSW and completely uncomfortable details, Greed, somehow became the most controversial topic through her appearance alone. Boys would definitely run into a lot of problems when they were playing the occultist faction, and somehow beat the gacha and summoned Greed, while their mother was also in the room.


    Just by looking a Greed¡¯s character art without knowing any further concept or context, people would readily mob the original artist who was responsible for creating Greed with the usual labels and criticisms of self-indulgence, misportraying of a woman¡¯s body, hyper-sexualizing a woman with the predatory eyes of a man¡­ without knowing that the artist was a woman herself.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Greed messed up people¡¯s perception of beauty and aesthetic.


    In a quick hurry, I slapped that pair of crossing-arms that stuck out like a sore thumb down, preventing myself from being distracted by my own indulgence. I took a deep breath and delivered my answer as fast as possible. ¡°Egotistically, I don¡¯t want them. Emotionally, I am very conflicted. Rationally, I am really grateful.¡±


    Greed clucked her tongue, ¡°Shut up and just take my wealth,¡± curtly said while asserting her power by ruffling my head. The Gauntlets of Greed was the very item that constituted Greed¡¯s immortality. Lending them to a charlatan like me required a lot of courage, trust, and stupidity. I could not imagine Greed would lend this item to anyone else even if that was Pride.


    I slapped Greed¡¯s hand away. ¡°Stop twisting the truth. We both know that you just want to hire a professional bodyguard to protect your gauntlets for a worthlessly cheap price,¡± joked I, grinning, poking fun at Greed.


    URLOX envisioned Greed as the wealthiest but also the poorest Demon Lord. Her Gauntlets of Greed granted her unlimited wealth, an unlimited wealth of gold, precious gems, and treasures. All of which had no value to a Demon Lord or an Immortal. Greed¡¯s moniker was the Sow of Glory, acted as both a mockery and praise. All warlords that Greed has championed made a name of themselves in the history without exception. But for all the wrong reasons similar to my talent for appearing on the headlines of Esports newspaper for all the wrong reasons in the world.


    ¡°And Greed is my name, not yours, greedy rabbit,¡± Greed smirked, taking my joke surprisingly well. She played along with me, ¡°Name your price,¡± said Greed, drawing in her lower lip suggestively, winking.


    ¡°I¡¯m a rabbit, remember? What does a rabbit want?¡±


    ¡°Carrot and grass, do you think I have¡­¡± Greed answered but could not hold her it until the end. She snorted into a burst of endless laughter. ¡°Come,¡± Greed said, her voice turned husky and indulgent. Her eyes half-lidded, seductive, inviting, drawing me in with her unashamed debauched greediness.


    See this Allah? See God? See this Buddha? This is why you should send me to your hell, not here. You got the wrong address. Damn you all.


    I mentally sighed and surrendered myself to the sheer weight of my combined indulgence with Greed.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Usually, Pride would pick the faction that I had a bad affinity with or counter-pick the faction of my choice by predicting my thought. But this time, she chose the dark occultist faction as she had declared. And I have already told her that I knew how to deal with this faction very well. I could not help but admire that arrogance and courage.


    The first Demon Lord that Pride summoned was none other than herself. I had expected Pride to do just that when I lifted the gacha system that URLOX used to summon a Demon Lord. Such was Pride¡¯s ego.


    I was secretly thankful for the opportunity. After all, I have rigged our previous game, making sure that Pride would summon her own avatar when she summoned a Demon Lord.


    When Pride summoned her second Demon Lord to the field, Ember and Sasengun gave me a strange look. They looked at me as if I was a man who has stabbed them in the back.


    ¡°Always expect the unexpected,¡± I reminded them, twisting S0rr0w¡¯s famous words ¡°You cannot expect the unexpected.¡± I had already given my staffs the same warning at the beginning of the match. It appeared that I did not get my message across. I gave Sasengun and Ember a callous shrug. The two of them quickly snapped out of their initial shock and tried to compensate for the unexpected change.


    Faugus and Searek watched the battle from the sideline while the rest of my General Staff observed from a monitor. I took a glance at them. I thought that I might have spoiled my General Staff rotten.


    They were about to participate in a war against Demon Lords and Gods. And somehow, they had little trust that the rules and settings of the game would not change when the game had become a reality. I made them play ROC to gain a rough understanding of the current situation and the war to come. I did not want them to blindly trust the settings and the knowledge they gained from the game. The multiplayer mode of ROC messed up their understanding of the Demon Lords. They saw a battle with a Demon Lord in the mortal world as something normal. But there was nothing normal about that. It was the most abnormal sight. Demon Lords were beings that were born from Authority and miracles. There was no surefire strategies or tactics against them.


    My dreamland messed up my staffs¡¯ understanding regarding the power scale even further. In this place, I was the jailer and these Demon Lords were my captives. Inside this dreamland, I was the god and the most powerful being. As a result, my staffs have grown used to the most abnormal sight in Escana, the sight of a human turned the like Demon Lords into mockeries. I had no intention allowing them taking it for granted because no Immortal would ever make the same mistake of intruding my dream again, ever.


    Pride summoned her second Demon Lord to the field as quickly as she could. Demon Lords were super units, unfair and broken just like the Broken 13. Of course, why having only one when you could have two OP units on the field? I understood that irresistible urge.


    The second Demon Lord that Pride summoned was Managan. Managan, the Spawner of Blight. Her name meant Soul Water in Titan, a fitting name for a Demon Lord whose shape was a humanoid-shaped slime. Managan was what most fans of the RPG genre recognized as a slime monster. Managan appeared in her artwork as a watery menace of distilled curses that took the form of a faceless woman. According to Misery¡¯s investigation, many morbidly curious ROC fans have determined that Managan took her shape after Niwdar¡¯s original body after making many careful cross-examinations between their three sizes from various artworks.


    Despite her title, Spawner of Blight suggested otherwise, Managan could not mother any offspring. In the lore, any mortal that Managan touched would die from curses within seven days. That or accepted Managan¡¯s salvation and became one of her kin, one of the living-blight, lived only to spread her corruption to another generation. Managan¡¯s only purpose was said to turn Niwdar¡¯s creations against her. In one of URLOX¡¯s earliest artworks, Managan was shown battling with Niwdar in that wallpaper, each with their creations behind them. Niwdar had her Valkyria, unicorns, phoenixes, Titanic whales, representing the force of nature. Managan had her corrupted elementals and legions of blight monsters, the tricorns, dreadwings, manticore, krakens, representing the force of blight.


    In the game, Managan was Mythical Rank in both <Shapeshifter> and <Aberrant Devourer>, and Immortal Rank in <Corruptor>.


    <Shapeshifter> allowed Managan to change her form according to her intention according to the lore. But in the game, it granted Managan two miracles. <Greater Mimicry> was an ability that allowed Managan to turn herself into a random non-magic 5000 man army unit, ranging from infantry to cavalry and even dragoon. <Separated We Stand> split Managan into three lesser copies of herself and reformed at will. The Authority <Aberrant Devourer> allowed Managan to consume living enemy units or harvest to recover her lost HP. <Corruptor> made Managan invulnerable to physical attack and elements while allowing Managan to spread her corruption through her active skill <Touch of Blight>, a one-hit-kill skill that randomly turned any unit standing near Managan or one of her lesser copies into a pulsating heap of living tumor for sacrificial purpose or one of her blight monsters.


    ¡°Keep the number of units being converted to a minimum,¡± I shouted my warnings, ¡°Pride can sacrifice them to summon another Demon Lord.¡± The unit converted by Pride¡¯s <Golden Sword of Superbia> and Managan¡¯s <Touch of Blight> could be used to perform a sacrificial ritual to summon another Demon Lord.


    It was then that Sasengun and Ember realized that I had removed all limitations that URLOX had for the dark occultist faction. They gave me a look of doubt and horror, asking as if I had the intention of throwing this match.


    ¡°Play it safe. Focus on kiting these Demon Lords,¡± I shouted, declaring in a volume that Pride could hear, ¡°We have already won this game.¡±


    Pride heard my taunt and took her eyes off the screen for a moment, giving me a death glare. I showed her a thumb down, flashing a smile. Picking the dark occultist faction against me was an act of suicide unless the picker was S0rr0w, I kept telling Pride.


    In order for ROC to be a competitive game, URLOX had to make ROC a fair game, balance in power despite their world settings and lore. It was a conundrum for URLOX to balance their game because game-breaking elements such as Divine Relics, the Broken 13 and the Demon Lords existed. As a result, URLOX¡¯s design revolved around their ¡°Equivalent exchange¡± motto. Every game-breaking advantage had its detriment. Every crippling disadvantage had its benefit. It was a fair chance for any faction to win.


    In ROC, Demon Lords were game-breaking units. They could be summoned through a ritual that demanded lives. Lots of lives, the equivalent amount of lives (in URLOX¡¯s perspective) to be exchanged for the game-breaking Demon Lords. Therefore, life was the most important resource for the dark occultist faction to manage.


    Isonos used his garudas retinue to scout Pride¡¯s HQ. Pride¡¯s HQ was protected with one of Managan¡¯s lesser copies. She has sacrificed her own units to summon two Demon Lords on the field. She was now depleted of resources and population. I punished Pride for being greedy and extra hasty, showering her fortress with my mages¡¯ sieging spells. Isonos coordinated his attacks on Pride¡¯s granary and villages. Pride¡¯s Demon Lords could survive without food and supplies. Her occultist units and warlord could not.


    Pride summoned her wing lion demons to the field using her in-game character¡¯s skill. Using them to scout for the location of our HQ and deal with my mages. Isonos intercepted with his garudas, focusing on protecting my mages while harassing that lesser clone of Managan that was busy protecting Pride¡¯s HQ.


    If I could bleed out Pride¡¯s sustaining power, cut off her food and supply production, this battle was already mine. Sasengun quickly caught up with my plan. She avoided locking in combat situations with Pride and Managan¡¯s copies. She split the army to smaller sized units and focus on harassing Pride¡¯s Demon Lords. When Pride discovered our fortress and HQ, trying to siege it, Ember emptied the fortresses immediately. He did not bother defending the fortresses. He kept reallocating and rebuilding the HQ whenever Pride located our HQ.


    Pride had her hand full, dealing with me and Isonos besieging her fortresses in sneak attacks and Sasengun¡¯s pesky hit & run army and Ember¡¯s run-first-army. Gradually, her units were reduced to just Pride¡¯s in-game character, three Managan¡¯s clones, her warlord and the wing lion demons. That was when Pride¡¯s defeat was assured but she put up a fight until the end.


    The game ended in 17 hours.


    I exposed one of the dark occultist¡¯s greatest weaknesses on plain sight for my General Staff and Pride to see. To this faction, life was an invaluable resource. As long as they had enough lives, either from their own ranks of occultists or lives capturing from their enemies, these lives could be used as a sacrifice for the ritual. With the new rules and setting, as long as there were enough lives, this faction could keep on summoning Demon Lords to the field. However¡­


    ¡°I made this faction OP by lifting all the limits and bans on the Demon Lord¡¯s summoning ritual. So what? This faction needs to sacrifice lives to summon the Demon Lords. To them, lives are an invaluable resource. If they don¡¯t have enough of this resource, they cannot summon any Demon Lord. Strip this resource from them. Bleed out their population and sustaining power, directly or indirectly. Completely bleeding them out. When that happens, no more Demon Lord will be summoned to the world. When that happened, our victory cannot be denied. This is how you win against this faction,¡± I told Pride and my General Staff the reason why the occultist faction had the worst matchup against me.


    To win against the occultist faction, there was only one strategy. Depleting lives and preventing the occultist from gaining more lives. It was an unchanging strategy against the occultist faction, a no-brainer. I did not even need to have a strategist at my side to whisper the best strategy into my ears. That also meant I only needed to focus on winning the game through tactics. There was nothing that made a tactician like me happier. I only needed to align my tactics toward that goal.


    ¡°Only the true Demon Lord could defeat me using this faction,¡± I told Pride, knowing what effect my words would have on Pride.


    Pride challenged my claim by keep playing the next 500 matches with the same faction. With each loss, Pride improved, gaining a better understanding of this dark occultist faction. She improved to the point where it became hard for me to toy with her and had to take her seriously.


    But thanks to Pride¡¯s stubbornness, I was able to show my General Staff the most perfect strategy for a mortal to employ against Demon Lords in a war, using the data from our 500 matches as simulation.


    ¡°So our safest bet would be erasing all life forms on Escana, it¡¯s a surefire stalemate,¡± stated Isonos like a true psychopath, earning disapproval and the stares of pure disgust from all over. Isonos played the villain role to perfection. But, in a nutshell, he was correct.


    Wiping out all life forms on Escana would prevent the Demon Lords from using their Divine Dream to mess up the world. Wiping out all life forms on Escana would certainly prevent the Demon Lords from performing sacrificial rituals to gain access to Escana. If they could not come down to Escana, they could do nothing to me and I could do nothing against them. If Death refused to break the rules of ROC, acting as moronic as the Paris of Troy, it was a stalemate. The safest bet.


    ¡°You are correct. This is the safest bet,¡± I agreed with Isonos, flashing a subtle wink to approve Isonos¡¯ mastery at playing the villain role, ¡°But why should I dig myself into a stalemate when I could win? I refuse to record a stalemate against these brain-damaged fools. It¡¯s like public self-humiliation. Are you perhaps asking me to walk the walk of shame?¡±


    I have shown my staffs the perfect way to lose a war and the surefire method to achieve a stalemate. What left for me to do, was carving a path to victory.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I gave my General Staff another long break from ROC and war-related topics. Enough was enough, 500 of no-break matches of Blindfold ROC was more than enough to make an insane man insane.


    I felt exhausted, mentally, completely burnout from discussing war and strategies all the time. Life was a cesspool of stupid shits and shitty things, but it was always larger and greater than just the tastelessness of war, the monochrome of conflict and the monotone of violence. Sometimes, a man could just say, ¡°Fuck that shit,¡± and chose to indulge himself in the blissfulness of self-deceit, he could find happiness in the putrid cesspool that he called ¡°life¡±.


    The competitions and challenges in playing Blindfold ROC were fun for a while until they became tedious and exhausting. Even s machine needed to rest and cool down in order to perform. People like Isonos literally had no life. Similarly to Misery who had never felt exhausted from sitting in front of a PC screen for a straight year, Isonos never felt tired or exhausted from wars and competitions. People like them had no life. But, I was not them. I had enough.


    I spent the first day lazing. Since I could not sleep like Sloth, who could sleep inside a dream through his Authority, I lazed in my bed through an entire day, doing nothing. Then, it quickly became boring. So I watched how my staffs were spending their days.


    Sasengun was having a woman-only meeting with various lovers and admirers of mine. Considering Sasengun¡¯s daily pursuit, if she wasn¡¯t punishing herself inside the Cradle, it should be considered a healthy activity. What more, Sasengun was winning Acre?a¡¯s approval and respect, so that was a win-win in a sense. I had assigned the two of them to the same Sunken Isle Operation, adviser and admiral of my naval force.


    Lynx was working overtime with a small section of my R&D Department, helping them solve the case of the Dragon Bane hazard that I had created on Escana, which I have totally forgotten. I had only contained it but ultimately did not solve it. My bad, so very sorry, I apologized inwardly.


    Faugus was playing a game of Makra?ni chess with Ember while discussing various topics. I turned my attention on Searek. But when I noticed that Searek was inside his room, I stopped watching. He was busy killing himself as usual whenever he retreated to his room. I could not talk him out of it. Not that I knew how. It was either he beat Sanguine¡¯s venom to submission or he allowed it to beat him. I could not teach him how to beat it. There was no correct answer to how a person should accept his reality or reject his truest desires or make peace with himself. His trauma was different from mine. Even if our trauma was exactly the same, our answer to Sanguine¡¯s venom would be vastly different.


    I increased the number of training sessions I had with Searek during the break. I trained hard. By ¡°trained hard,¡± I meant I got my asses absolutely handed to me hard. If I have learned one lesson from our training sessions, ¡°Never pick a fight with an orc, ever.¡± Without a weapon inside his hands, Searek beat the crap out of me, repeatedly. He did not hold back his jaw shattering punches or killer kicks. It was against the codes of his warriorship to pull back his punches in a fight between warriors.


    ¡°Which part of me looks like a warrior?¡± I could not help but asked myself.


    Searek swatted. My spear sang ¡°I believe I can fly.¡± The quitter. It sang ¡°I believe I can fly¡± and flew out of my grasp as I watched. It left me behind, unarmed, and with an angry orc to fistfight.


    Searek¡¯s calloused fist came again, straight at my already flat broken nose. With tears in the eyes, I dodged, barely in time by investing all of my skill points into luck. I spit a mouthful of blood at Searek¡¯s face, blinding him. Once in a blue moon, I would resort to this trick among my vast arsenal of dirty tricks. Work like a charm every time when used correctly. ¡°Which part of me looks like a warrior to you?¡± I taunted loudly, escaped Searek¡¯s striking range and began circling for a rear-naked choke.


    Searek spoke no word, swinging one fist around in measuring manner while wiping the blood in his eyes with the other. I measured my chance and grabbed his swinging arm, using the momentum and took Searek to the ground. I tried to mount. Tried. ¡°Tried¡± was the word. The world spun and the ground said ¡°Fuck you¡± to my feet. Searek sent me flying through brute strength.


    ¡°Again,¡± said Searek, like a metronome every time.


    I cursed and cursed and cursed, went on cursing until my anger left me. I snapped my finger to heal myself. Searek bulled headlong, straight at me.


    Orcs are unfair. I felt like crying. Before and now.


    Combat seasoned orcs like Searek were even more unfair. An orc¡¯s wingspan was his justice, the absolute justice of the strong. Meaning there was no fairness in an orc¡¯s wingspan.


    An orc¡¯s fist was Lionel Richie singing, ¡°Hello, is it me you are looking for?¡± to my face. An orc¡¯s fist was Lionel Richie¡¯s singing if Lionel Richie could only sing ¡°Hello, is it me you are looking for?¡± to my face. That was what Searek¡¯s fist sounded like when it met my face.


    When Searek charged at me, I heard the Beatles singing, ¡°Yesterday, all my troubles seemed far away.¡± That was the sound of my divorce to reality. It was like watching an angry elephant charging straight at me. A man could not outrun an elephant. So he could only stand, freeze and hope for the best. Meaning his life was already in God¡¯s hands. Except God said, ¡°Go to hell¡± to me, then sent me to a wrong address like a blind UBER driver. I thought I heard my neck made a crisp snapping sound.


    ¡°Again,¡± said Searek. His voice confirmed to me that I did not mishear that sickening snapping sound.


    I snapped my finger and started cursing, tightened my grip on the long spear. I charged, spear rushing at Searek with reckless abandon. Sometimes, the only option for a person to avoid being charged down by an angry elephant was charging headlong at it.


    Make sense, right? I inwardly asked myself, agreeing to ill-logic with ill-logic.


    Feinting an abandoning stab, I gave Searek my best jab. Unless my eyes were playing a trick on me, Sanguine¡¯s venom showed me the familiar <1 damage> message. I channeled the fruit of my training into a flurry of jabs. It was the same story. Same old. Same old <1 damage><1 damage><1 damage><1 damage>.


    Searek leaped forward just as I was pulling back my spear for another jab. I could hear that ¡°Hello, is it me you are looking for?¡± miles before it happened.


    And it did. Lionel Richie was singing Hello and I was floored headfirst with a sickening crack reverberated throughout my body.


    ¡°Never fight an orc, ever,¡± I told myself.


    After another one hundred sets of ¡°Again,¡± Searek stopped the session.


    Searek commended on my improvement with the spear, ghostly improvement, invisible shits that I could not see with my eyes. He told me to start my training with the dagger.


    I initially gave Searek a look of ¡°Really, bro,¡± but then my mouth was already on the job. This was like telling me to play ROC with a guitar controller instead of using a mouse and keyboard. ¡°If I could not beat you with a long spear, how could I beat you with a dagger?¡± I could not help but ask while drawing a replica of Enferm¨¦.


    ¡°This part, Shandorei,¡± replied Searek, staring at me with a commanding look. Emotionlessly. His reply was completely disconnected to my question, making me thinking that Searek would make a perfect politician or President¡¯s spokesperson in real life if he could make this kind of answer consistently on a day to day basis.


    Searek repeated, ¡°This part, Shandorei,¡± loudly thumping his chest with his fist. ¡°You asked me which part of you looks like a warrior to me. This part, Shandorei. Here, you have not given up. You still have not given up on winning no matter how many times I beat you. Here, you still think of winning. A person is not a warrior because he could strike down all of his foes. A person is a warrior because he could stand up no matter how many times he was beaten.¡±


    I listened and froze in silence. Sometimes, Searek surprised the hell out of me by simply saying what he thought.


    Do you see this, Sanguine, Rasahlu, Yasubotay? This is what will kill you. Not me. Not by my hands. Karma. This is why the like of you will fall.


    Unless my calculation was way off, Searek would be the third one. The third mortal to master the use of Sanguine¡¯s venom like an instrument of war.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Pride knocked on my door and invited me to a Discuss & Review session of our past games. I gladly accepted. I pointed out her mistakes just as she pointed out mine. We discussed what we did right and what we did wrong. We became our own critics. Pride revealed her understanding of my staffs¡¯ abilities, strength and weakness through a detailed report. I immediately sounded the alarm within myself, reminding myself that I must fight Pride as a strategist and a tactician, that or a certain defeat was waiting at the end of our game. Pride had already figured out Sasengun¡¯s tendency and Isonos¡¯ habit. The advantages of unknown factors were reaching their limit. Swapping gears soon would not give me an edge.


    Knowing that, still I had a long and detailed talk with Pride about why she lost and why I won.


    Every Demon Lord appeared in the game was considered a nuke. But having more nukes did not necessarily mean better, that, was especially true in URLOX¡¯s game. Sometimes, having more nukes in this world meant less.


    Having a strategic weapon or a tactical weapon was different from having the absolute assurance of winning the war. Possessing a strategic weapon and using that weapon strategically was two different issues. Therefore, the act of giving a nuke to a brain-dead moron would not make that brain-dead moron stronger. It only made him more blinded to his arrogance and weaknesses. Giving Bloodbeard a nuke, giving Ekar a nuke, that changed nothing. They will die regardless, deceived and killed by me. Even if URLOX gave more Authorities to Death, all the Authorities in this world, I would make the black dream mine, one way or another.


    But, Pride already understood this matter and fact before I showed her how powerless the dark occultist faction was against me.


    Possessing a nuke and knowing how to use that nuke were two separated matters. Pride was the only Demon Lord who understood this fact without me spelling to her. Lust was the only one who was spoonfed this fact. Envy was given hints to make out this fact on his own. Greed and Acre?a learned it the hard way. Managan was made to remember these lessons through the brute force of repetitions and conditioning.


    I had my suspicion before but until now, I was not able to confirm my suspicion. URLOX called Pride the ¡°Golden Lioness¡± and the ¡°Foe of imperfection¡± in the poem. Not once they called Pride by her better-known moniker, the Perfect Demon Lord.


    The Golden Lioness Pride


    The Sword of Dawn


    The Bride of Twilight,


    The Foe of imperfection


    Either her or the inevitable of life


    URLOX called Pride ¡°The Foe of Imperfection.¡± It took a long time but I finally had enough evidence to draw my conclusion.


    Pride learned. She had the desire to learn and she was happy from a mortal. And she was especially good at it, similarly to Heavennet.


    Learning and practicing was the foe of imperfection. Practice makes perfect. The ability to learn was one of humanity¡¯s greatest gifts.


    I completely understood why Pride was totally comfortable with the fact that I, a mortal had managed to trap her and denied her of her Authority. While the other Demon Lords were insulted, hollered with rage and curses, Pride acted like she was in control, cool as a cucumber. While Death and the other Immortals looked at me as ¡°URLOX¡¯s Champion,¡± Pride saw me differently.


    Pride was the only Immortal who showed genuine interest in Earth, my memories and experiences living on Earth. She, despite not representing Civilization or being a goddess of Civilization, was happily discussing the constitution of civilization, like laws, judicial systems, faiths, cultures, economy, and racial values, with me while the God of Civilization himself did not bother having a proper discussion with me about that topic. She, despite not being the goddess of justice, was actively discussing with me about the nature Justice and what justice meant while the God of Justice himself had to be asked. Pride was the only Immortal who showed me a genuine interest in art, music, dance and other pursuits.


    Pride learned. And she learned actively. While other Immortals, who were being trapped inside this Divine Dream right now, were still screaming that I was merely ¡°Lucky¡± in throwing the net once, and managed to trap all related parties, both players and referee, that involved with this fuck-up game of URLOX, Pride was already asking, ¡°How did Eogaill pull this feat off?¡±


    Between Heavennet and Pride, I could not tell which one of them was more formidable. But I knew, I have already created my own monster. And I was glad that I did. Taming this monster was the final qualification to be earned before entering this war, my final tick box.


    Wrath got beaten to submission to be trained. Lust surrendered unconditionally without a fight. Envy signed a partnership contract without a challenge. Acre?a, Greed, and Managan merely presented a test of patience. The rest, disappointment, cakewalks, cupcakes, clowns. Beating them inside this dream was not an accomplishment, a test, or a challenge. Beating them inside this dream did not prove that I was superior to them in any manner, yet.


    It was a clash of arrogance.


    A mortal¡¯s arrogance was that he was the master of his choices, future, destiny, life, and death. The arrogance of a mortal was that he was a free man, free to not worship the Immortals, free to be Fearless, free to show his middle finger to an Immortal¡¯s arrogance in defiance, free to be himself, and free to keep his memory and identity true until his inevitable demise. The arrogance of a mortal was that he had no need for an Immortal to intervene with his life or death.


    The arrogance of an Immortal was that he should be worship, feared and respected by a mortal. An immortal¡¯s arrogance was that he could control the life and death of the mortals to his intention and greater purpose, similarly to the arrogance of earthling men toward insects and animals and lesser life forms. The arrogance of an Immortal was that mortals only existed for his greater purpose and pursuit, and he should lead them with his purpose, the lesser beings.


    In a clash of arrogance, only one would win. What was the better way to win a clash of arrogance as a mortal man other than targeting the most arrogant Immortal first? Winning a symbolic victory was just as important as winning the physical one.


    Fighting arrogance with arrogance was my arrogance and cunning. Creating my own monster in order to tame it was my arrogance. Falling in love with Pride while doing that was my stupidity.

 V2 Chapter 32:

    ¡°Demon Lord, face me!¡±


    An eternity has passed but Greed could never forget that nameless elven child who howled such angry words at her. She has never learned the name of that elven girl, but Greed remembered that child most vividly out of the countless mortals that she had observed.


    Greed remembered that day, always. She did not allow herself to forget it. Whenever that memory seemed to fade into the obscured part of her mind, she revisited it. Greed had recorded that unique memory and stored it inside a wooden ring that Greed has carved out from a young stem the World Tree. The ring was not an inanimate object, but it was not alive either. Neither a plant nor an animal, but something stranger, something that the Mother of Nature abhorred and rejected, a child born from the <Corruptor> Authority. The wooden ring had a will of its own, sentient, sly and avaricious just like the eight-headed dragon inscribing carved on it. Normally, it hibernated in dormant. But whenever Greed rubbing her finger on the plain wooden ring, ¡°Reveal yourself, the Master of Avarice compels you,¡± it brought Greed to the exact memory that she wished to see.


    There she stood the killing field, a mask on her face to ward off the invisible foulness in the air. The fetid stench of rot, decay, and burn had won the battle. Defiling the killing field in their befouled glory, claiming every stone and boulder, every blade of grass and green leaf remained of the once blushed timberland in their grimy air of despair.


    The sixth and seventh Valkyria had withdrawn from their grievous wounds. Their soul intact but their material form was broken and exposed. They were unable to stand against the combined might of Greed and her avaricious pets. For two days they had fought, two days they had wasted their effort and valiance, achieved nothing. Their silver spears broke. Their golden shields burned and splintered. Their sharp swords chipped. Their armor exposed. They fought hard but ultimately achieved nothing, only foolhardiness.


    And yet, that elven child stood, hollering at Greed. Her eyes blue, bright, completely festered with fury. Her short golden hair burned, stained by the smoke and mud. Her petty face smudged black, hidden by a thick mask of mud. Armed with nothing but a broken scimitar and a short elven pole-saber that was obviously too heavy for her thin arms to wield, that bony elven child hobbled toward Greed and her avarice pets, unafraid, howling in defiance, ¡°Demon Lord, face me! Don¡¯t you dare running away. COWARD.¡±


    It was as if the elven girl was drunk on Sanguine¡¯s muddy body fluid. She should have lied down, pretending to be one of the corpses, be glad that she was alive and not standing up hollering such words.


    Needless a quick dart of her eyes, that elven child should have realized her mortal weapons could never harm Greed. Even two of the Valkyria were no match for Greed.


    What could an elven child do?


    The girl trudged over elven rotting corpses. A thousand of her kin laid, fouled by decay and destruction. Elven bodies strewed to the ground in grim fashions. Some feathered by their own barbed arrows, the very arrows that they dared to launch at Greed. Some became ill blotches of rusty red on the ground or chewing toys in the toothy mouth of Greed¡¯s avarice dragons. Some, irregular elven shaped bodies clutching together on the red molten ground, darker than char. The elven child should have understood that she was lucky to be alive. Yet, the child pointed her pole-arm at Greed, a Demon Lord. ¡°FACE ME,¡± hollered the girl with her girlish voice.


    Greed could feel the stirring hunger of her scaly pets from listening to the girl¡¯s high-pitched holler. Hunger, but not for food. The scaly lizards had already had their fill, a bulging stomach full of elven flesh. They hungered for entertainment, their draconic entertainment, to juggle that child¡¯s body into the air with their blood-red jaws, toying with that little girl to a bespectacled screeching end. Dragons they were, but no longer just dragons from the moment they knelt to the dark luster of Greed¡¯s diamond greaves. They were the Avarice dragons, hydras.


    Spawns of the first dragon Interritus, the fire thief. Inheriting his massive frame, his hardened scales, his flame breath, his longevity, his greed, and sadistic nature, but not his unbending ego. The Avarice dragons, they flocked to Greed, swearing their souls to her in exchange for treasure and power. Greed changed them through the miracles granted by her <Corruptor>. Three wished she granted to them. A wish of unlimited wealth. A wish of overwhelming Might. A wish of magic and miracle. That was usual combination. Their once colorful scales darkened, crystalized and became tougher than diamond, rendering the Avarice dragons impervious to all but the wrath of divine weapons, miracles and themselves. Their spiny serpentine head multiplied according to the wealth of their power. Most Avarice dragons possessed three heads, some four and five. Only one managed to grow ten heads. Changed by Greed¡¯s power, the Avarice dragons became neither Djinns nor dragons but something in between. They lived inside Greed¡¯s many divine relics, bounded to the relics and Greed¡¯s command.


    Greed recalled her scaly pets, commanding all of them to return to their astral home, all except one. Turning her attention at another battle being fought at the smoke billowing horizon where thunderstorm and firestorm clashed, battling for dominance. Emotionlessly, Greed turned her back to that screaming child, waving her arm, signaling her avaricious pet to put a painful end to that insolent elven girl. At the corner of her eyes, Greed saw that massive three-headed lizard tottered toward that elven child with serpentine grace, unhurried, wearing a stretching sadistic grin. Three serpentine long tongues stuck out, blood red and foamy, licking three greasy and bloodstained maws. Its spiny tail flickered in dark delight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare run away, Demon Lord. FACE ME,¡± That elven girl hollered. It was funny how that girl believed that Greed would run away from her.


    Greed stopped and decided to watch on a whim, wanting to see how that delusional girl would die. Her three-headed pet leisurely played with its food, sent that elven child heavily reeling on the ground with a lenient nudge of its massive maw.


    When that girl stood up from the initial blow, the avaricious serpent darkly cackled and took her beaten frame into the air with a controlled nudge, then juggling her tiny body airborne with its three heads. It tossed the girl into the air with one of its head and then caught her just before she was about hit the ground. Then it tossed her again to repeat the bone-crushing cycle of painful bellows, again, again, again, and again, and again.


    Self-indulgence, Greed could not fault her pet. Self-indulgence was a bad habit her pets shared with her.


    As Greed watched, her scaly serpent screeched, dropping the elven girl to the ground in a cold inanimate thud. Blood sprayed as the avarice dragon violently thrashed its massive body around. An elven scimitar stuck hilt deep in one of its fiery eyes, a blood gushing wound.


    Even when her body tattered, her bones broken, her arms and legs bent strangely, that girl kept her haunting bluish glare true to Greed. ¡°Face me, Demon Lord,¡± was the tiny girl¡¯s defiant quiet last breath before she became dragon¡¯s food in a bloody spectacle. Greed could not hear her quiet gasping voice but she could read the message from the girl¡¯s broken and bloodied lips.


    That scene became a curse in Greed¡¯s mind. Like a small ember that refused to go out, it burned, lighting a strange area of Greed¡¯s mind, an area that Greed had no understanding of. She saw a radiance that no polished gem, no golden coin, no precious metal contained. She saw the ephemeral light that only existed in mortals.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    By the time Greed learned to observe with her eyes rather than just look and listened with her ears rather than just hear, the First Divine War has already concluded.


    Death acted as a mediator as a truce was being spoken between the two sides. Hollowed was her life when Greed learned that her immortality was a curse. That elven child died, she died leaving behind a powerful curse. She died cursing Greed with a question, a fascination, powerful yearning, and a self-hatred.


    Since Greed had done many demented things in her life to cope with that curse. She has seen mortals did the same things, played with their lives to feel alive. Greed issued a challenge on Wrath, a duel between two Demon Lords.


    Most Demon Lords have learned that Wrath was the mightiest Demon Lords among Demon Lords through the normal way, through Munezee¡¯s mouth or watching the fight between Wrath and Wonten on Coeles. Greed learned that lesson the hard way. No, she relearned it. She was eager to fight Munezee¡¯s hound, questioning if Munezee¡¯s hound was as strong as he had claimed. And Munezee exasperated, ¡°Have it your way,¡± agreed to the duel.


    The moment Munezee let go of the chain, Kharigan shook. The universe tumbled in a dark and violent rotation. Wrath was unleashed.


    That vicious fist crippled Greed, effortlessly shattered her ornate Titanite made shield and armor. Her magical scimitars flew, probably to end of the universe. That taurine headed beast mounted on her. A thousand raking claws savagely tore Greed¡¯s form apart in a maddened red blur. Her form mended, reshaped as billowing heatless fire, but not fast enough to defend Greed from the endless punishment to come. The pain came relentlessly. Pain was ground shattering fists. Pain was the vicious hell of hacking and slashing. Pain was those bloodied claws. That brutal punishment rained down until her form was destroyed, completely. With only her soul intact, Greed returned to that blood-stained pair of gauntlets, wounded and defeated but not broken.


    Refitted herself with a new set of armor, thicker and stronger in magic and power. Greed returned, challenging that beast again. Same old result. Greed watched helplessly as her magical swords bent like they were made of soft clay. Her arrows struck but the beast felt no pain, only hunger to give her pain. Her barrier erecting shield gave in to Wrath¡¯s maddened fury, offering no resistance. Her force reflective armor torn like a sheet of paper. Wrath fell upon her with the combined weight of rage and fury of nine realms. She could not see him, not when that dense plume of red dust was covering Kharigan whole.


    In the end, Munezee had to pull the chain to keep Wrath away from Greed. She was strewed to the ground, sneered by other Demon Lords for her rashness and stupidity. They laughed at her and left.


    Greed lied there in red dirt, sneered at the world and at her ugly self. At that moment, she, a Demon Lord of Kharigan, was wallowing in self-hatred. That elven girl died left such a powerful curse on Greed, a wish that could never be realized.


    ¡°Why did you hold back?¡± A voice reached out to Greed, crisp and beautiful. Greed turned her head. It was Pride. Her eyes, the twin orbs of dawn and dusk were directing at Greed, curious and inquisitive. ¡°Why did you hold back when you are the one issuing the challenge?¡± Pride asked, giving Greed her hand.


    ¡°I did not hold back,¡± spat Greed, slapping Pride¡¯s hand away. She wiped off the dirt on her face and stood up on her own.


    ¡°Yes, you did. You fought Wrath without your miracles and authorities.¡±


    ¡°I had my weapons and armor, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Obviously that was not enough. No armor, no shield, no weapon of this world could stand against that beast. You should have realized that after the first duel. So why didn¡¯t you use your miracles and authorities? Why hold yourself back?¡±


    ¡°WHY DOES IT MATTER TO YOU?¡± Greed finally snapped. She had enough of the chatter.


    ¡°You understood,¡± said Pride. There stood Pride, a sympathetic smile float on her lips instead of the usual arrogant smile. ¡°Heroes make it look easy, aren¡¯t they?¡± asked Pride, ¡°Overcoming the odds or winning against things that are so much bigger and greater than they are. They make it looks simple and easy. They make people want to cheer for them. They inspire you to think that maybe you, you could do that as well. Laughable, isn¡¯t it? An Immortal admired a mortal.¡±


    ¡°What do you know about me?¡± Greed hissed coldly, realizing that she was not the only one who has learned to observe.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not talking about you. I¡¯m talking about myself. I thought you would understand me,¡± Pride flashed a strange smile, a wry smile that was an ill-fit object on her face.


    ¡°I found myself very fond of a person. That person made me believe that I, too, could be like that, be greater than life and the world around me, and be more than I already am. But when I try to be like that person, I failed miserably. I was reminded once again that the world favors the strong and the powerful. I was reminded once again that, in this world, we were either born having it or not. You either have the ability to do it or you don¡¯t. You are limited and shackled by your own miracles. Laughable, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Greed listened in silence. She understood that Pride was ranting.


    ¡°I want to deny that person with all of my living experience, all miracles and authorities that I possessed, and everything that I have ever stood for. I want to mock that person for how weak, based, short-lived, ugly, how mortal he was.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    Pride smiled. She had never attempted to answer that question.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    A silver flame burst out of the Great Throne and lit the world of the Immortal in its majestic radiance. Every head, every eye, and ear, every sensory feeler existed in the spirit realms trained to that dancing silver flame, not knowing if it was an omen of an inevitable calamity or a sign of blessing. When the silver flame subsided, a prophecy was made, a declaration. The Creators promised a Prince, a prince who would bring a certain victory. Rarely that the Creators imposed their will and might on the world, rarely. But they had always been discreet about their intention and will. Not once had they boldly made their intention known in this manner.


    On that day, Pride summoned her faction, discussing the Prince in the prophecy.


    ¡°It¡¯s him or no one else,¡± Pride was adamant about her decision, unbent and unyielding and uncompromising about that decision.


    Back then, Greed thought that Pride has been swept over by the atmosphere and the prophecy, which was very unlikely of Pride¡¯s personality. Rarely would Pride be so rash about a decision. Pride was the type of Demon Lord who would wait, preparing herself for the perfect moment to strike. She thought that Pride was acting out of her character.


    At the time, nobody knew who or what that Prince was, the Prince mentioned in the prophecy. Nobody knew what he was capable of, what his personality was like, what race he belonged to, how ugly or beautiful he appeared to be, or why the Creators were sure that whoever possesses him would win the Throne.


    What can a mortal do? Greed was especially skeptical, even though she especially had a soft spot for heroism and glory. The Throne belonged to the world of the Immortals, it could only be attained by an Immortal. What can a mortal do?


    ¡°It¡¯s him or no one else,¡± Pride repeated. ¡°This is the moment,¡± said the lioness, speaking in an avaricious feverish voice. Hers was that of morbid obsession and longing.


    Back then, Greed had no idea what all of that was about.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    <Three Wishes> was Greed¡¯s iconic miracle, as iconic as the red dream to Lust. Those who approached Greed seeking three avaricious miracles would have their wishes realized, one way or another, at the cost of their freedom and rest.


    Carelessly, the Prince returned her power to Greed in full and made three wishes, knowing that the three wishes would be realized in the exchange of his soul.


    Greed did not believe that the Prince was being greedy. She thought he was being reckless, just being his usual self. She watched his memories recorded through a Divine Dream. Greed knew that he was a daredevil. Thus, she went along with him, whatever his scheme was. He could outsmart Death, cheated her, but never Greed, never her <Three Wishes> and <Curse of Avarice>. Those who sought Greed for wishes and miracles became her slaves for an eternity and beyond.


    The first wish that the Prince made was a wish of wisdom, ¡°Show me your inventory, your wealth, all of it.¡±


    There was no need for Greed to honor her end of the promise. Her <Three Wish> did not work like the way the Prince understood. His lore-knowledge was rubbish. His game was rubbish. Greed did not need to honor her side of the promise to exact her curses and binding on his soul.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    From the moment he made the first wish, he has already become a slave of hers. With every wish, the strength of her curse and corruption multiplied. Greed could already make him submit from that moment. But she wanted to see the despair, the shock, and betrayal on his face when he withheld the last and final wish to protect his soul out of self-preservation and discovered that he was still an avarice slave of hers. She wanted to see the moment when his arrogance broke.


    Greed revealed the entirety of her massive wealth to him, toying with his expectation, encouraging him to make the second wish.


    ¡°Fuck, are you for real?¡± The Prince pinched his temples, overwhelmed by the sheer totality of Greed¡¯s treasury. Many of what she considered trashes would be considered a Divine Relic on Escana by mortals. The so-called ¡°junks¡± and ¡°waiting-to-be-recycled items¡± that lying around the basement of her treasury, the results of many failed experiments, they made other Demon Lords envious. Demon Lords like Wrath fought with their overwhelming might. Demon Lords like Floki? fought with his cunning and deception. Greed fought and won with her wealth. And her wealth was unlimited.


    ¡°FUCK. You are a motherfucking unlimited resources cheat code. Come on! This is HAX,¡± cursed the Prince and complained while playing with a golden coin in his palm. Then he made the second wish.


    The second wish was, again, a wish of wisdom, ¡°Show me the Floating Continent. All of it, its current location, size, shape, blueprint, ability, strength, weaknesses.¡± He made that wish so readily, perhaps thinking of using Greed¡¯s ultimate weapon for himself. Greed revealed her anti-Immortal fortress to him in detail.


    Just as Greed was thinking that he would stop, fighting an internal battle between his greed and self-preservation, making that last wish or not.


    He kissed her, a soft and tempting kiss, whispering his final wish in a husky voice, ¡°Be mine. My Demon Lord, my lover, and companion,¡± the most avaricious wish to ever be made by a mortal.


    ¡°I¡¯m yours,¡± Greed returned his kiss, inwardly laughing at how foolish the Prince of The Alliance was. Greed gave him a long and deep kiss, disappointing at how easy it has been. He made three wishes and offered Greed his soul so readily.


    ¡°But first, you have to be mine first,¡± Greed whispered darkly. She yanked the binding, tightening the nook of her curses on his neck, making him kneel before her. Greed laughed, savoring the swell of emotion in his dark eyes, rubbing his head in a teasing manner, ¡°O, great prince, how have you fallen! You have come far, very far, only to be struck down by your arrogance and foolishness. You push your luck too far.¡± Overwhelmed by the sheer force of her bursting emotion, cackles and snickers burst out of her body. Greed laughed.


    Greed commanded the Prince to kiss her feet. And he did, obliged by the avaricious curses, and kissed her feet, groveling while maintaining his dismayed filled eyes at her. His clear, dark eyes staring at Greed from the ground, shocked and shook with anger. Greed allowed the Prince to retain his personality, his despoiled arrogance, his consciousness but nothing else. His soul was already hers to command. If she commanded him to love her, he would, like a doll. If Greed wanted to take away his personality, he would be a mindless doll of hers, no more than that.


    But what¡¯s the fun in that? The Prince was the Prince because he was himself. Taking away his arrogance, his character, his consciousness, he was no different than any other mortals. He was the Prince, the ultimate treasure.


    Greed delighted in the thought of parading the Prince of The Alliance as one of her slaves in front of other Immortals. She took pleasure in winning the ultimate prize whereas others had failed. The Prince had won against Death herself, trapped fifty reigning Demon Lords and even the three gods inside his mind. He did the impossible. He won the impossible battle. He made Wrath, the mightiest Demon Lord looked like a hapless pup. He was a monster of chaos that overturned everything upside down. He was URLOX¡¯s prophesized Champion. Yet, he lost to Greed. She won. It was not how she won. His stupidity and arrogance undid his victory. She won. Greed won. That was all it mattered to Greed at that moment.


    She won against him. That was all Greed could think of at that moment. She was overwhelmed with joy and excitement. The matter of the Throne and the prophecy did not exist inside her mind at that moment. She took pleasure in the thought of making him her eternal consort, a Djinn just like her, bound his soul to one of her Divine Relic, making him her most prized trophy for the forthcoming eternity to come.


    While making the Prince lick her toes clean like a dog, ¡°Now, who are you again?¡± Greed asked, inwardly commanding him to say, ¡°Fearless, your slave, from now and beyond, till the end of time.¡± She wanted to see the rage and shock in his arrogant eyes when he said that.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± quietly declared he with a full curve on his lips, a curve that swelled, full-on egotism and arrogance. His words were quiet and subdued and yet filled with an oppressive palpating power. ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± he repeated. The shock and anger that filled his dark eyes until this moment vanished in wispy glimmer as though a mirage, replaced with something else, something akin to mischief and disappointment.


    Witnessing a mortal broke free of her <Curse of Avarice> with her eyes, all Greed could do was gaping.


    ¡°I kept telling those S queen wannabe girls that a woman could never become an S queen over the night by wearing the most expensive bondage costumes and had the most expensive whip on her hands either. You, my sweetest fool, you possess the most expensive and complete customized bondage set in the world are no better than them. You have great tools but you don¡¯t know how to wield them. S&M is not a pay to win game. It is a play to progress game,¡± said he, rising in an unhurried manner while dusting off his knees.


    Froze, Greed blinked and blinked again. Greed was not sure what she just saw. But her <Curse of Avarice> eroded and crumbled into pieces before her eyes, purged by a miracle born between <Seeker of Truth> and <Corruptor>. Greed gaped, ¡°You swallowed Sanguine¡¯s fluid¡­¡± Her voice trailed off.


    Only a miracle could erode a miracle, that, Greed could understand easily. She has seen Sanguine stole her chess pieces in the same manner before, purging all avaricious desires that existed in Greed¡¯s chess pieces with a pure undiluted mud of madness. But she just witnessed a mortal did the same thing, using Sanguine¡¯s primary miracle to rob a piece from Greed¡¯s possession. THAT, WHAT ON ESCANA JUST HAPPENED, that, Greed could not understand.


    The Prince was not mad. He was perfectly sane and in complete control of his thought and action. He was not Sanguine in disguise either. He, a mortal has just used a Miracle possessed by Sanguine to erode a Miracle wielded by Greed. Thus, she failed to comprehend the situation.


    As he was smiling, the Prince brushed his lips with his thumb. ¡°Don¡¯t twist your face like that. You are spoiling your good look,¡± said he in a soft consoling voice, ¡°You are not the first woman tried to dominate me. You are not the first woman wanted to break the arrogance in me and made me swooned and submitted to you,¡± said he in a disarming and nonchalant manner. All while the curve on his lips slowly gained an edge, getting sharper and sharper in every second. That curve, it was not a steamy promise of passion. That curve, it was cold as steel, cold as ice, something that was built to kill, a weapon. Greed built her weapons. She knew a weapon from its design and appearance.


    ¡°Many tried, all failed, all but one. For your information, she was a tyrannical monster, an absolute monster. If she wanted, she can bend the world to her will. So, don¡¯t feel bad about failing. Greed, you are beauty. Thus, I gave you another chance. Too bad, you have squandered it, your ONNNLY CHANCE.¡±


    A disarming toothy smile flashed on his fairest face, full of childlike goodness and innocence. A pure smile, pure and untainted, so pure that it must be extremely disagreeing and toxic, so pure that it must be evil.


    Greed was not sure what happened, but her astral knees coldly betrayed her and gave in to gravity in a dull and deliberate manner. ¡°What are you?¡± She asked. Her body was cold and rigid. Not who are you? What are you? There she was, Greed, a Demon Lord who knelt before a human for reasons and emotion that she could not understand.


    Odds defying heroes existed, Greed has seen lots of them. Mortals who struggled mightily until they won against their fate, such mortals existed, Greed knew and admired them. Thusly, she understood that the human who stood before her was not one of them. Not a hero nor a struggler.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. Nice to meet you,¡± said he in his usual arrogance manner. His eyes dark with power. He said it as if it was the explanation for everything. He said it as if it was the ultimate and uncompromising truth.


    It suddenly dawned to Greed that the memory record, the Prince¡¯s memory record that Death shared to every participant of the Reign of Chaos back then was heavily altered. Greed watched him growing up in that record. She witnessed his successes and failures, his disgrace and redemption, his rise and fall. He, just like those heroes that Greed admired and envied, he made it looked easy. He made the odds looked small.


    But there was a part of the Prince that she failed to see. She could not see that part because it was completely removed from the record. Someone has wiped it, the terrifying side of the Prince, altered it in the most secretive and subtle manner so nobody would notice it. Someone has altered the memory record, erasing the uglier side of the Prince, the side that made nobody want to mess with him. Nobody realized that the record was heavily altered when watching that record.


    Who could do that? Greed thought. Slowly, an image appeared. A long burdened bundle of uncut and unkempt hair. A pair of swollen baggy eyes decorated on a world-weary face.


    Eogaill¡­Of course, there was no one else in the world who could do a better job at altering the truth than Eogaill, the Truth herself.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    It haunted Greed¡¯s mind for a very long time. That ¡°How did he do that?¡± question. Greed kept torturing herself with that question when he was the Prince, her Prince. Even when he became her ¡°Little rabbit,¡± this question still haunted her.


    Eogaill could purge the corruption born from the <Corruptor> with her swords of truth. Death could kill the source of corruption with her scythe. The two of them presented the worst matchup for Demon Lords whose primary strength and power came from the <Corruptor> Authority. Demon Lords like Greed, Envy, Lust, and Managan learned that their powers and miracles meant little against those two. There was no shame in acknowledging that since one of them was the Arbiter herself and the other one was the Truth herself.


    Admitting that her iconic miracles, the <Three Wishes> and the <Curse of Avarice> could be completely negated by Pride through the simplest application of <Seeker of Truth> was shocking to Greed. But that was nothing in comparison to how the Prince could do that.


    Watching the Prince of The Alliance just smiled his usual smile, reciting a single phrase, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± and purged her corruption with that arrogant smile of his, it was an eye-opening experience.


    ¡°You cannot corrupt an already full corrupted man. As a moron, I fight corruption with corruption,¡± he joked, still wearing that bright smile of his. ¡°There is no uncorrupted part of me left for you to corrupt,¡± he explained. However, that could not be further away from the truth. He preferred people found the answer for themselves rather than spoon-feeding the answer to them.


    Back then with her eyes wide-opened, Greed had seen a man whose soul bound to her by the <Curse of Avarice> freed himself by uttering, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡± She saw a man using a Demon Lord¡¯s miracle. And it was not just any Demon Lord¡¯s miracle, it was Sanguine¡¯s miracle.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± said he with a swell of egotism and arrogance, repeating his words to the point that Greed knew the when and where and how he would say it. He repeated that phrase so many times that Greed eventually understood it, the meaning, the what-and-why he repeated it.


    ¡°I am Fearless.¡± A reminder to himself of who he was, always, to never lose sight of himself. ¡°The Prince of The Alliance,¡± he told himself of who and what he represented. ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡± It was all he had left, the one important thing, the treasure that he would never compromise to anything or anyone. He would not relinquish it under any situation.


    That fluid was madness, an abomination born from the corruption of the truth, a symbol of Sanguine¡¯s authority, the Embodiment of Madness, in and of itself. It was chaos for what chaos represented, insanity, instability, an amalgam of truth a mirage, past and presence and future, harsh reality and wishful delusion, cruelty, and kindness.  But, in the hands of the Prince of The Alliance, madness was merely a tool to be used, no more, no less.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± said he, the Prince. He said that line in a solemn voice like a mortal praying to the Almighty Gods beseeching a miracle, but with the arrogance of a God using his Authority to bend the world to his will. He always said that with a smile, an arrogant smile. It was his south-pointing needle to wade through the murky chaos.


    It was his truth, his Miracle, his Authority. The Prince¡¯s ultimate weapon was just that simple. A self- explanatory smile.


    If Death could not destroy this smile, if time could not tarnish it, if Madness bowed down to it¡­


    For the first time in her life, Greed was glad that Pride has made the decision to veto that decision of Floki? and Munezee.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Greed was given a truly impossible mission.


    ¡°You have all the time in the world to figure it out. So, use your time wisely,¡± said he, the little rabbit who gave Greed that impossible mission. ¡°I don¡¯t care how you are going to do it, what method you used, or the price you must pay to achieve it. GET IT DONE for me,¡± said he in the most tyrannical and unreasonable manner.


    Greed complained to him once, tried, painfully aware of the impossibility that she was told to tackle.


    ¡°Funny,¡± he cackled, ¡°You have not even tried. How do you know that it is impossible? I just told you that you have all the time in the world to figure it out. FUNNY. I have never told you, have I? Back then I had my hands full, dealing with Bloodbeard, I gave myself a task to figure all of my problems, all that related to your kin¡¯s meddling and whatever your kin¡¯s game was. I had nothing, not even a single idea of how I should do it, not a cheap magical tool to do away with my problems, not even time. And here we are, I capture all of you in a single fell swoop. I BROKE THROUGH THE BLACK DREAM WITH A PAIR OF EMPTY HANDS. I possess no miracle, no authority, not even time, and, still, I could break through it.


    Are you perhaps telling me that you, Greed, a person who possesses all the magical tools, terrific weapons, unlimited wealth and even unlimited time in the world cannot come up with a solution to this problem?¡± Said he, in a mocking voice.


    ¡°Just because you could do it. It does not mean everyone else can do it.¡±


    ¡°True. But, you know what? SHUT THE FUCK UP AND JUST DO IT. JUST FUCKING DO IT UNTIL YOU CAN GET IT DONE,¡± he bellowed. Then, as Greed was staring at him, a thousand obsidian spine shot out of his body.


    Greed recognized them. The color, the shape, and the arrangement were different but they, the claws belonged to Wrath. It was that exact moment that Greed was sure that her little rabbit had already taken in Wrath¡¯s primary Authority < Slave of Ira>.


    Greed stared at her little rabbit, ¡°You are insane,¡± gaped and out of the word to say.


    The little rabbit should look like a mindless beast of complete destruction right now, like Wrath, the old Wrath. The Wrath, right now, whatever he looked like, whatever he sounded like, he was Wrath-in-name-only. He has lost what constituted him as Wrath.


    ¡°That¡¯s old news,¡± he clicked his tongue, annoyed. It was as though he hated revealing this ugly look of his to Greed. He made a painful bellow to retract the claws.


    ¡°Are you trying to become a Demon Lord?¡± Greed asked, staring at the madness in human shape standing before her.


    ¡°Please, I don¡¯t need to be a Demon Lord to beat a Demon Lord. Not worth my time. I beat Demon Lords with Demon Lords, make no mistake. This? This is what I call, Trading,¡± scoffed he, sarcastically.


    He granted Greed access to his library and even training facility. He allowed her to move around dreamland, moving from one time-flow to another and not just confined to her spacious room. He allowed Greed to observe how he operated and ran his General Staff. He allowed Greed to observe how he defeated Pride again, again, again and again.


    Greed would bet that no Demon Lord could suffer that kind of discouraging beating, 14,998 straight losses, the way Pride did, and still wished for more, especially for someone of Pride¡¯s ego. It was a miracle that Pride could keep going at the moment.


    The little rabbit was merciless. He gave Pride the ugliest pounding that Greed has ever seen, the kind of pounding that Envy would drool dreaming of, the kind of pounding that made an Immortal said, enough, and quitted. It was as if the little rabbit set his mind to break Pride¡¯s spirit, making her give up, mentally. Every time Pride seemed to figure him out, he pummeled her with a new weapon, a new tactic, a new attacking scheme, a new defensive strategy. It was as though the rabbit speeded up the time for himself to train in secret every time Pride was about to catch up to him.


    In this world, this Divine Dream, the little rabbit existed on a different time flow. Always ahead of everyone and everything. Pride adapted and improved but he was prepared.


    Pride was fighting a futile battle against the flow of time itself.


    In this world, time was the little rabbit. Time bent to his will. It bowed to his whims and need. It served him. In this world, time was his greatest weapon and armor, after his filthy crafty mind and indomitable smile.


    Time fell into the worst hands, his hands, the pair that could make the best out of it.


    Pride has to take time away from the rabbit first in order to beat him. It took a while for Greed to understand that as she watched the beat-down. But Pride has probably understood something so simple a long time ago¡­ So why?


    And then, there were Sanguine¡¯s Champions, or what used to be ancient Champions of Sanguine. What were they now, Greed was not sure. They gave Greed a bad vibe. Pride, a Demon Lord was reduced to their training doll inside this dream under the rabbit¡¯s authority.


    This rabbit just turns everything that his hands could touch into weapons.


    Greed had a habit of rooting for the underdog, as long as the dogfight was completely unrelated to her wellbeing. But for the first time in her life, she felt like rooting for a Demon Lord in a dispute between a Demon Lord and a human.


    The 15,000<sup>th</sup> match was near. Greed has expected everything but the catfight between Acre?a and Pride to happen at the dawn of the 14,999<sup>th</sup> match. Apparently, the little rabbit has returned Acre?a¡¯s power to her. And the first thing Acre?a did when her power returned was to issue a fight with Pride.


    The little rabbit, the owner of an ever warped personality he was, the instigator of the fight has booked a luxurious lounge, inviting Greed and Managan to watch the fight him. He was thrilled.


    ¡°What have you done to Acre?a to make her so mad?¡± Greed asked.


    ¡°Nothing. I have done nothing to Acre?a. I was so busy that I had no time to visit her in the last few weeks.¡±


    Greed started to understand how the situation blew up. Acre?a had a morbid fixation on her item. What was hers belonged to hers. Acre?a never share anything with anyone. Sharing her man with many other women was already the biggest blow to her ego. Now, her man was taken away from her by Pride. At least, that was what Acre?a thought.


    ¡°You stood her up on purpose,¡± Greed pointed out. The little rabbit made it appeared that Pride was the reason, thusly directing Acre?a¡¯s anger and jealousy at Pride.


    ¡°I was busy,¡± lied he, barefacedly.


    ¡°What do you mean? You control the flow of time in this world. You always had the time for everything.¡±


    ¡°I was busy...¡± He shrugged his shoulders, more interested in watching the fight between two Demon Lords than arguing with Greed. With popcorn and coke readied, he sat down and watched.


    The fight that the little rabbit instigated broke out.


    ¡°Oh...¡± uttered he, dully and quietly.


    He expected a fight. But it was a beatdown. The moment the fight broke out, Acre?a was hapless prey locked inside a cage with a lion.


    ¡°I would rather watch the fight between Mcgregory and Mayweathery than this. This is.... ugly,¡± he commented, wearing a stony look as if he had not come to terms with how the fight went.


    ¡°What did you expect?¡±


    ¡°A fight,¡± he said. Disgust twisted his face. Anger waffled his body. He stared at Greed, ¡°I was a fool... SHIT. Must I, a human, teach a Demon Lord how to use her power properly? This is like a human trying to teach a bird how to fly. This is pure nonsense. This makes no sense. This is bullshit. She had lived hundreds of thousands millennia. For god¡¯s sake, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK? How can a person suck so hard at using her own power? SHIT, I assumed every Demon Lord was a master of her power. SHIT, had I sent her out to fight with Yasubotay not knowing this, I would lose that fight. What kind of nonsense is this? She had lived hundreds of thousands millennia. How is it possible for her to not master the use of her power already? FUCK THIS SHIT. There is no point in having a tactical weapon if you don¡¯t know how to use it tactically. FUCK, how hard could it be? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK, that was close. FUCK. I could have doomed Sansengun and Isonos in their very first battle. FUCK.¡± He cursed and left in a trailblazing fury.

 V2 Chapter 33

    Chapter 33


    ¡°Keep going Ira, just a little bit more,¡± I cheered for Ira, gazing at my spiny giant beast with a pair of loving eyes like a kindhearted owner gazing at his beloved pet growing up.


    Ira, the voice resided inside Wrath¡¯s head and now inside my special designed locker, the persona of the Authority <Slave of Ira>, on contrary to his grotesque spiny appearance, his personality was cute, as cute as a kitten. Just like a kitten, Ira loved scratching the wall surrounding him whenever things did not go his way. Ira scratched the wall as if his life was depended on it, as if I had forgotten to feed him for a week. A thousand razor-sharp claws raked the dark pulsating wall with pure desperation and savagery. The living wall would reform and regrow indefinitely. Technically, from a gamer perspective, it was a situation where the healer completely ousted the damage dealer. Ira howled and screeched, sinking its long and serrated snout at the wall, ripping out huge chunk of meat its raking claws being at work. But even so, the wall healed.


    Things could not get more wrong for Ira when his cellmate was none other than the most hated and abhorred persona in this world, Dion, himself. Dion, short for Dionysus, the Greek God of Madness, Wining, Partying, Randomness, and Creativity, was the nickname I gave to the persona of Sanguine¡¯s venom that I had housed inside my soul for convenient sake. I did not enjoy the fact that I had to coexist with it while kept calling it ¡°Sanguine¡¯s venom.¡± So, Dionysus, I named it because it kept reminding me of how much I miss my old life and how frustrated I was about everything.


    Dion was like Valkyria Helper if Valkyria Helper was much shittier than it already was and had a baby with glitches and bugs and could not be turned off and constantly spying on its host¡¯s thought rather than spying on the host¡¯s voice. At one point while using Dion, I had to stop to question the shitty meaning of my life in using the Valkyria Helper over Cortana and Siri and other AI virtual assistants as my virtual assistant, then punched myself over signing that five years commercial contract with URLOX¡¯s parent company to promote the sale of Valkyria Helper. I was the face of the Valkyria Helper, the brand¡¯s exclusive model. I appeared in every Valkyria Helper¡¯s TVC to the point that people linked the image of Valkyria Helper to my face. I could not help but punch myself repeatedly over signing that shitty commercial contract for some quick cash.


    Dion¡¯s only saving grace was that it has proven to be the quickest fix to all kinds of mental corruption attacks by being a mental corruption attack, in and of itself. Gluttony¡¯s <Starving One>, Lust¡¯s red dream and Greed¡¯s <Curse of Avarice> were rendered completely ineffective in front of Dion. While I was confident that I could overcome all forms of mental corruption attacks that the Demon Lords threw at me, I had no idea how long it would take for me to overcome them. I had experienced all three colored dreams, the black dream, the golden dream, and the red dream, fighting against them in the absence of cheating abilities and balance-breaking skills. It took forever for me to even the fight and then overcome them.


    Black is Death.


    Gold is Niwdar.


    Red is Lust.


    Three women, three Queens of Beauty, three killing colored dreams, three ultimate illusions. The black dream made a man realize the futility of running away Death. The red dream made a man succumbed to his wishful desires, then died and reborn as one of Lust¡¯s succubi. The golden dream turned a man into his worst monster, in flesh, and in thought. At the end, when the man could not stand his ugliness, his monstrosity, he killed himself.


    It took me an eon to dispel them. And I would not have that kind of time when I returned to reality. The moment when I returned to reality, every second count, every second made a difference. If I was commanding a battle and was attacked by some cheating mental corrupting authorities during the most crucial moment, it could spell game over for me. I could not afford to waste my time, trapped by some cheating and game-breaking mental corruption attacks.


    Dion was an all-rejecting and all-disagreeing tool, my answer to every mental corruption attack to ever exist in this world, a malware that was crafted to destroy other malware, a vaccine to mental corrupting miracles and authorities.


    If madness could be harnessed into a tool, why not using it.


    As usual, Dion acted like a malfunctioned AI virtual assistant, running all kinds of searches and simulations, showing Ira everything. Everything that Ira wish that he could see and everything that he did not want to see, the good and the bad, the best and the worst. But because Ira saw his victory and then the images of how his victory was but a ruse for his eventual defeat, Ira could only see his defeat. As long as Ira had a doubt about his victory, Ira would show him a reality where his doubt became true. Dion feasted on Ira¡¯s thought and fear then shaped Ira¡¯s world with his delusions and beaten Ira with his own delusion, doubt, and fear.


    I did not have to lift a finger. I did not have to waste my time dealing with Ira.


    Sometimes, the strongest illusion was the illusion that the audiences created for themselves to see. And a man¡¯s worst phobia was him-scaring-himself.


    Ira was scaring himself shitless while I was cheering from sideline, watching the battle of a primal animalistic kind of madness versus a crafted and built kind madness, natural versus manmade.


    In a battle of madness, where one kind of madness was pitted against another kind of madness, the victor would always be madness, the stronger kind of madness. It was apparent that the manmade madness was winning the war. But it wasn¡¯t always like that. Dion was far from being an equal match of Ira at the beginning. They were equal until I intervened, putting my own weight on the scale disk.


    It started out with just a harmless doubt. Ira doubted that all of his clawing and raking at my soul had no effect on me due to my acting. ¡°I¡¯m not Wrath, but keep going. It¡¯s getting itchy there,¡± said I in a bright and encouraging voice, patting the spiny beast while it chewed and raked and twisted my soul with its fangs, claws, and spines.


    That was all that Dion needed to tip the scale to its favor. A Demon Lord¡¯s Authority when it reached a certain level of mastery would be shaped accordingly to personality of that Demon Lord. Sanguine was bastard who enjoyed corrupted people¡¯s thought rather than corrupting their desire, soul, and form. As a result, Dion, a miracle born from Sanguine¡¯s <Corruptor> and <Seeker of Truth> Authority, was the kind of substance that smeared reality with illusion and illusion with reality.


    Dion made that doubt a reality for Ira, drowning Ira in his worst fear, his worst doubt, his worst illusion, made him lived inside a world where his claws had no power and all of his suggestion and power was rendered ineffective before me, a world where I was his ultimate Cthulhu. Then, it played with Ira¡¯s hope in the most demonic way possible, showing the spiny beast that there was a glimmer of hope, that there was the light at the end of the tunnel. I thought that Dion had started taking its personality after mine.


    A Demon Lord¡¯s ultimate weapon, regardless of its sizes, shapes, origin, characteristics, nature, and personality, had a common name. Its name was absolute despair. If a Demon Lord¡¯s weapon and miracle could not dispatch the absolute despair to his victims, it was either that the wielder of that weapon was not a Demon Lord or the weapon was faulty.


    But I knew for sure that Dion was far from being a faulty weapon. I have seen what Sanguine did to his victims. Dion played with Ira like a fiddle. It gave Ira just enough hope for Ira to keep going, and going, and going until that hope was squashed before Ira¡¯s eyes. And then, when Ira used its fury to find another source of hope, Dion revealed to the spiny beast that the hope it had until just now was but an illusion. That glimmer of light had never existed from the beginning.


    Dion turned me into Ira¡¯s worst nightmare, his phobia, his worst enemy. I did not have to expense my effort to scheme and engineer plan to scare Ira. Ira has already scared himself to death. He built that indestructible dark, pulsating flesh wall around himself, locking himself inside that room with Dion.


    Fear was something Ira had never understood. After all, his original host was Wrath himself, the holder of two Immortal ranked Authorities <Destroyer> and <Master of Might>. Wrath could make quick work of everything and everyone. He could effortlessly smash one of the great continents of Escana apart as if it was built from tiny Lego blocks. He could punch a blazing comet into stardust, obliterating it as if a man poking a needle at a hot air balloon. With a host like that, Ira only feared one thing, Munezee¡¯s authority sealing chain.


    When Ira started begging in all honesty, admitting his mistake and betrayal to me, I let him out of his cell.


    ¡°Ira, dear. If you overstep your limit just one more time, if you betray my trust just one more time, you go back to that room, forever. Do we understand each other?¡± I asked my spiny pet while stroking his barbed body.


    Ira curled its grotesque and spiny body into a ball like a hedgehog. Its feral, wide-opened eyes spelled terror and regret. Words could not come out of its full of serrated fangs, red mouth, only the high pitched grinding sound of fangs against fangs.


    ¡°DO WE understand each other?¡± I repeated my question with a slight change in the intonation.


    The beast nodded his head readily, showing me his belly in submission.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± I said, ¡°Good boy,¡± flashing my most beautiful smile. I saw my reflection inside the beast¡¯s eyes. My eyes and lips formed the perfect crescent shape, something worse than a Demon Lord inside Ira¡¯s eyes.


    Man did not need something like a world bending miracle or a reality-warping authority to brainwash or tame a beast or another man. Man has already invented tools and strategies for that job. The stick and carrot routine, the bad cop and good cop, the conditioning routine. It was funny how these Demon Lords were quick to label mortals as their inferior and lesser. They had their arrogance. I had mine.


    Man did not need


    to make others his puppets. Man did not need to possess the two conflicting <Seeker of Truth> and <Corruptor> to stare at madness in the eyes. Man did not need to be chained to the <Slave of Ira> to lose himself to rage and fury. Man did not even need the <Abyss Lurker> to navigate through the abyss. Man did not need the <Corruptor> to corrupt things. Man did not need the <Destroyer> authority to blow the red moon out of the sky. Man did not need to possess an all-powerful chain to tame Wrath and put Ira under his control. Man did not even need to possess a miracle at his birth to erode a miracle. Man did not need the <Crafter of Divinity> to create a miracle. Man crafted and created his miracles. Man had no need for cheating miracles and balance breaking authorities to kill a God. God is dead, man killed him, said Friedrich Nietzsche.


    ¡°Show me something that you are and I am not, Demon Lords. Show me something that you can do and I cannot, Demon Lords. I am bored,¡± whispered I to Ira, thoroughly disappointed at how terrified my pet has become.


    I wished to be corrected. I wished to be showed how wrong I was about everything. But things just went the way I have expected them to be. Earth was a cesspool of disappointment and hurt but Escana was just so much worse, a cesspool full of disappointment and hurt.


    I did not wish to spell this piece of arrogance of mine to them out of my respect for their intelligence and wisdom. But it appeared to me that no matter how long I waited, other than Pride, no one else has understood my arrogance. Time was not the fix to ignorance. Curiosity is. Learning is. Immortal they were, living a timeless unexpired life, having unlimited time to learn and filling their wealth of wisdom, but still faulted to their ignorance.


    It was understandable that Iliva would never understand my arrogance no matter how much I tried to explain it to her. Thusly, I gave her a simple explanation that even she could understand. <What you can do, I can do better> was not a skill I gained from beating Heavennet. It was funny that these people, these Demon Lords, and Gods had watched my memories and still bought that explanation.


    <What you can do, I can do better> was the symbol of my arrogance. It had always been. In my entire life, I had never listened or followed people who were just about as shitty and bad as I am. There was no reason to follow or listen to people whose existence only proved that my arrogance was correct. There was no reason for man to listen to his lesser, the like of insects, worms, and demons for instance unless his stupidity told him to do so.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I took my time to recreate an old memory of mine, a green meadow of young sweeping winter reeds that stretched itself into the infinity and beyond. In Vietnam, the reed flowers bloomed at the end of autumn, signaling the end of the temperamental flood and hurricane season. The sight of pristine snowy white reed flowers blooming on green uncultivated meadows has always been a welcoming image to me. When the wild reed flowers bloomed, arrived winter, the season that I loved the most, the season where the cicadas became quiet and burrowed themselves deep into the ground. Winter was the season of championship and defeat, the season where ROC World Cup was held and concluded. And thus, the sight of blooming wild reed flowers was linked to my victory and defeat, glory and shame, and a start-over. Watching the winter reed flowers, I knew I could always rise again. Th¨´y D??ng loved the velvet roses of fog city for glamorous look. Alice loved the tiger orchids for their grace and dignity. I loved the wild winter reed flowers. Without the help of man, they weathered the worst storms, the worst floods and laughed at the coldness of winter while looking fabulous.


    Standing in the middle of the meadow, I revealed my trump card to Acre?a. In my left hand, an Immortal-slaying weapon, or what it represented, the silvery edge of Enferm¨¦ coated in Dragon Bane.


    ¡°You understand, right? In the real world, a nick from this blade would be a death sentence to all Immortal, all but Death. Enferm¨¦? would seal all of your powers, be it active or passive. You cannot even escape from your flesh vessel. Just a graze from Enferm¨¦ and you are just as helpless and powerless as any mortal. And when your miracles and authorities are sealed, there is nothing you can do to prevent Dragon Bane from spelling your inevitable destruction. If nobody helps you purging Dragon Bane¡¯s curses out of your body, that¡¯s your death.¡±


    Acre?a¡¯s cold eyes squinted as if she was questioning how would this battle related to Pride¡¯s victory against her. After all, I have evicted Acre?a out of her room by force, promising her that I would show her the reason for her defeat.


    ¡°Now, try to attack me as if you meant to kill me. Remember, if you are hit by this blade once, it¡¯s game over for you and we will restart the battle all over again. Of course, I would not use any power that I have earned from creating this dreamland on you. Because that¡¯s not the lesson. I will fight you with whatever URLOX has given to me, no more, no less.¡±


    ¡°HOW DOES THIS HAVE¡­¡± screamed Acre?a. Her gleaming eyes flared with anger.


    I already closed the distance between us with a quick teleportation. My right hand cupped her chin in an amorous manner. My lips locked, sealed her cold waxen lips. Our tongue entangled in a swift surprising exchange. My knife, cold and without emotion, burrowed deep into her exposed flank. Acre?a cried out in pain, pushing me away but her hands trapped empty air. I had already teleported out of harm way.


    ¡°What are ¡­¡±


    ¡°WHAT ARE YOU DOING?¡± I ripped the words from Acre?a¡¯s mouth. ¡°You just died to the hand of a human. A human who is not even a full-pledged fighter. I am not a FUCKING FIGHTER. I am A GAMER. WAKE THE FUCK UP. Be ashamed of yourself. RIGHT NOW, I AM YOUR FUCKING ENEMY. TREATING ME LIKE ONE. COME AND ATTACK ME FOR REAL OR I WILL KEEP STABBING YOU UNTIL YOU DECIDED TO SNAP OUT OF IT,¡± I hollered, pointing a replica of Enferm¨¦ toward Acre?a.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I often lamented how fragile and breakable a Demon Lord of Kharigan was. Take away their power, strip their miracles and authority, and there was nothing left of them, not even their personality. It was true with Sanguine and Rasahlu. It remained true with Pestilence. It was true with Gluttony. It was true with many other Demon Lords.


    This is not how Champions are made.


    Their minds broke the moment they realized how helpless and powerless they were. Suffered one defeat and they looked like they were living in an apocalypse.


    But I did not expect such a problem would befall on my personnel. Acre?a was not just my lover. She was my Admiral and the Head of my Naval Warfare Department. If it wasn¡¯t for Isonos¡¯ suggestion, I would never know how weak Acre?a was, in term of fighting prowess and fortitude.


    Acre?a refused to come out of her room regardless of my encouragement and many attempts to draw her out of her room. She could not bother to doll up, making herself look excessively stunning like our usual daily tryst. She had already resigned to the depressive dampened air of her room. I would not doubt that if I could have given her access to my experimental brandy storage, Acre?a would wear the brandy odor like a perfume. But, Acre?a would move. She would immediately jump me whenever I knocked on her door, bound me in a tight bondage created from her lamprey hair and living dress. After that, she drowned out her depression in wanton pleasures. Acre?a used me like her doctor-prescribed depressant and drowned the depression out of her brain.


    I was reduced to Acre?a¡¯s living sex toy, no more. We held each other in our arms and fleshy bondage. We kissed and fucked each other. We did not fornicate. We did not make love. We fucked. We fucked the brain out of each other¡¯s head like a pair of unintelligent animals, the kind of animal that was born and bred in captivity only to fuck and spent every breathing moment living in carnal pleasures and orgasms and nothing else.


    And, I had no problem with that, as long as it served a greater purpose.


    It almost felt like I have been trapped inside Lust¡¯s red dream once again. But there was nothing inside this dream, nor wish, nor thought, nor future, nor hope, blissful happiness, nor anything. We fucked each other, living inside a time capsule of pure nothingness. While everybody else was moving forward, we were stuck inside the blur of our depressive wantonness, trapped inside the bondage of our flesh and carnal desire.


    Having sex with a beautiful woman had never been so abhorrent and depressive, but I no longer had an idea if Acre?a fit the description of beauty in my standard anymore.


    But I was fine with that, at how ugly that I and Acre?a had become, at how miserable that the two of us looked and acted. But I was fine with that. I was fine with being her ugly, living sex doll. I was surprisingly fine with that, living that kind of life, the kind of life that made death and destruction looked beautiful, desirable and enviable.


    Acre?a and I, the two of us trapped each other inside an endless loop of intense, mindless orgasms and the smell of our sex. There were times that Acre?a had forgotten about the existence of Ira and Dion inside me, sinking her fangs into my body, but not to mark and claim my body as hers as usual. She has forgotten her self-control and lost herself to her vampiric impulses. Acre?a sucked out my soul as she did to her vampire consorts, then immediately recoiled and retched. Dion was an intolerable and abhorrent persona as ever. Then, there were times that Acre?a cried out, setting loose of her frustration and fury over how Pride had dominated her so easily. But I did not blame Acre?a.


    Pride was good. She knew how to fight only one battle to win the rest. That golden lioness knew how to win the psychological war.


    But I had hope.


    I thought it was just a phase and before long, Acre?a would be back to her feet. But before I knew it, Acre?a displayed every single symptom of the sickness that I loathed the most. I threw up, could no longer watching her listless husk or having sex with her. I threw up even when there was nothing inside my stomach, even when I was still living inside a dream. I threw up from the mirrored images that Dion showed to me. I retched at the sight a midnight sun that refused to shine at midnight.


    I loathed vampires but I could always overlook Acre?a. But I refused to admit that I had made such an ugly and disgusting woman my lover. I did not make a fuck-doll devoid of personality, beauty, and ambition my lover. I did not make love to a cardboard built with a name tag ¡°Acre?a, the Vampire Queen,¡± like that cardboard¡¯s only value was that name tag. I refused to admit that my hope has been squandered and I have lived such meaningless life, trapped inside ecstasy and wantonness for no reason.


    My patience and self-control had finally hit its long-stretched limit.


    Like any devotee and student of Sun Tzu¡¯s Science of War would do, I gave Acre?a three deadlines and one ultimatum to get her out of her room. I treated her current ugliness and deplorable form like an enemy to be weeded out.


    Acre?a unspectacularly failed to meet all four. Apparently, Acre?a must have thought that just because we had sex and did S&M on a basis, I would be kind and lenient to her failures. Oh dear, how wrong you are! I sighed internally. On the contrary, it was the opposite. It was precisely because we had sex and did S&M together on a basis, I could afford to be cruel and merciless on her failures. That was just how abhorrent she was to my eyes right now.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Since Acre?a had failed herself and my expectation four times in a row, I waged war on Acre?a¡¯s ugliness, making no further compromise on my decision making. Mankind history has always been like this. It was either compromise or war. If one side or both sides could not find a compromising point, that meant war.


    Ira came out of the darkness of my mind and cheered for me to beat the crap out of Acre?a, its usual solution and fix to every problem that it had ever encountered in life. While I agreed with Ira that violence was a quick fix to almost every major problem in the world, Not now, said I, willing to give Acre?a one more chance out of my stupidity.


    As usual, Dion acted like a complete malfunctioned AI virtual assistant, running all kind of searches and simulations, advising me on how I should deal with Acre?a without waiting for me to ask. I hated how annoying Dion was. Even Ira took a back seat to it when Dion went nutty with its searches and simulations.


    In the end, I kept my words, delivering judgment on the person who failed to comply with my ultimatum.


    Like a lion securing its kill, I grabbed Acre?a by her ankle and dragged her out of her bed by force. I considered Acre?a¡¯s kind, the kind of people who fell once and refused to stand up, as worse than a bomb-first-question-later terrorist or a fanatic cultist of the Injustice cult because I can least talk either one out of it but never Acre?a¡¯s kind. Back on Earth, I had never bothered to negotiate with their kind. Now, on Escana, I stuck to my no-negotiation policy when dealing with them.


    Acre?a screamed incoherently, cursed me and sank her fangs and claws into my body, raking and tearing while clinging to the darkness of her room as I dragged her like a lion dragging a gazelle on the savanna. Pride beat Acre?a so hard that she became a shadow of her former self after a single beating. And there was nothing much of her former self, to begin with, nothing worth mentioning or looking up to. Not cunning, not fortitude, not wisdom, not pride, nothing that I could admire other than her waxen beauty.


    Her dignity and grace as a Demon Lord were already gone from my head so I stopped treating her as one, a Demon Lord.


    I considered tossing Acre?a into an ice bath, making her cooling her head for a quick fix. But then, Acre?a was the Vampire Queen. According to the lore, she was born from a knot of Naharis¡¯ dismembered entrails. Thus her conception form, her true form was that of a thousand hagfishes knotting their tail together. To a lamprey-ish vampire living in the darkness of the abyss, an ice bath should be considered a joy ride. So I dragged Acre?a and dropped her off just one meter away from the kind of treatment house that a lesser-than-terrorist like she deserved to have.


    ¡°For your information, that bubbling and steaming liquid is not water. That¡¯s a lubricant,¡± I spoke emotionlessly, ¡°Secondly, I am a Save-the-Earth kind of guy. So, I designed this bathhouse to be solely powered by harsh sunlight and nothing else. Lastly, I am a known pervert and an exhibitionist. Therefore, I designed this bathhouse so that its content would be broadcasted uncensored to every man, woman, child, elderly person, god, goddess and Demon Lord who lived inside this dreamland of mine.¡±


    Acre?a stared at me, eyes widen in horror as if she was questioning whether my heart was part insanity and part ice.


    ¡°Right now, only I knew about this disgracing and ugly look of yours. But feel free to continue acting in the most disgraceful manner as you like because this broadcast would go viral in public. The world will watch your disgraced self and my disgraced self. You and I will live this bathhouse as a most abhorred pair of disgraced perverts. Together, we will become the most talked pair of this world, forever living in infamy. If the broadcast of the two of us bathing in this bathhouse could not go viral in this world, I had no idea what else would. But I will try to find the new method to achieve that goal. Over and over and over and over again.¡±


    Acre?a knew that I was not joking. And I could sense that knowledge from her.


    It was my ironclad policy to make people like Acre?a stand with force if they refused to stand up on their own. If time could not fix them, if consoling words and encouragement failed to reach them, if they could not motivate themselves to stand up, force was the answer. War was the answer.


    Then, there was him, I sighed internally, waving my hand to summon a clock.


    ¡°You have ten seconds to stand up and fix your dress. After that, I will show you why you lost and Pride won.¡±


    While Acre?a was still staring at me with a dazed look, I mechanically started the countdown in the most self-serving and tyrannical manner.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°COME AND ATTACK ME FOR REAL OR I WILL KEEP STABBING YOU,¡± I hollered, expelling the invisible rage out of my lungs while pointing a replica of Enferm¨¦ toward Acre?a.


    Reacting to my forceful command, Acre?a gritted her teeth and raked empty air, sending a pitch-black gale toward me. Just like her in-game avatar, Acre?a was a ranged fighter. She primarily fought with projectiles and spells.


    The black gale was fast, but my well-timed <The Magician> was many times faster. But even the instantaneous movement felt slow to an anticipated mind. I had already anticipated that attack long before it manifested. I stood behind Acre?a. Enferm¨¦ rested on her pallid neck, making a careless bite.


    ¡°You just died again. Twice.¡± The edge of Enferm¨¦ cold, my voice colder.


    Acre?a cried out in pain, taste the edge of Enferm¨¦ twice. Her claws raking backward, her living hair trailing. But I was already back to where I had previously stood.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it again. Now try not to die so quickly,¡± said I in an impassive voice. Then added a finishing touch with a smirk that dripping of sarcasm and fury, ¡°OLD HAG.¡± Lampreys were a kind of hagfishes. Going by that logic, a hagfish type of vampire was a hag. And the oldest vampire was nothing but the oldest hag.


    ¡°TO HELL WITH YOU,¡± Acre?a cursed. Infused with fury, her claws picked up speed. The dark gales came, sweeping the green meadow with screaming fury. The white reed flowers that were touched by Acre?a¡¯s dark gale died instantly, shriveled in dark yellowish color. I teleported left and right in blinding succession, avoiding the flesh-eating gales.


    Acre?a¡¯s eyes flickered, keeping track of my position. She crossed her wrists. It was the exact casting animation that her in-game avatar used before the activation of her Omni-direction attack <Night World>. I had already expected Acre?a to use her <Night World> before she crossed her wrists and entered her casting animation, adding a luxurious 0.3 second of spell casting to that, I could not help but feared Acre?a¡¯s simple-mindedness and obviousness. If I was to be hit by something so obvious while I had the means to escape it, I would have retired from being a pro-gamer.


    And I kept telling Acre?a that I was a gamer, not a fighter, I complained inwardly. I kept giving people hints to beat me but they did not get it. It was as they refused to understand me.


    I was truly shook to the core of my soul. Back then, Ekar died without knowing why he died like a toy in my hands. I knew his attack animation, both the timing and range of his attack. When he attacked wildly, using all the variations that existed outside of his in-game character used, it was already too late. He was already too tired to swing his sword. He was unlucky when he ran into me without knowing who I was.


    Acre?a had the opportunity to see my memory. She had the opportunity to learn what I knew. And yet, she learned nothing.


    Wisdom was an OP power. Knowledge was a game-breaking power on its own. If I was allowed to choose and craft my character¡¯s ability, I would rather have the knowledge of how to create a nuke and how to use a nuke correctly than having a nuke of an ability at my disposal. Meaning, I had no need for any game-breaking ability to be relevant in this game.


    Acre?a should have learned my weaknesses and strength and made her preparation since. But she didn¡¯t. I could not help but internally ask what she was watching when she watched my memory record. She was like a person watching an animal video on Discovery Channel and then described that channel as a channel that promoted animal pornography.


    Acre?a should have learned that I could see through her normal attack animation and her abilities¡¯ casting animation from watching memory. She should have learned that I knew her attack patterns and timing. Acre?a should have, but she obviously didn¡¯t.


    She had not learned a damn thing since that beat down Pride gave her.


    I took to the sky with a maximum range of <The Magician>. I teleported in multiple quick succession to keep myself out of the killing range of <Night World>. <Night World> manifested its power with Acre?a stood at its center, a booming five hundred meters globe of pure darkness that devoured all non-vampiric life forms standing on its path to recover Acre?a¡¯s lost health while granting Acre?a a short seven-second to access to a lightless world, granting Acre?a a full unlimited access to her <Abyss Lurker> Authority even in high noon.


    In the game, <Night World> was often activated defensively as an escape mechanism for Acre?a, to make Acre?a¡¯s enemies temporarily lost sight of her position. <Night World> remained stationary even when Acre?a moved. Acre?a was invisible in <Night World> and thus could not be targeted by any single targeting abilities and skills. When <Night World> was used for an offensive purpose, this ability was used to buy five seconds for Acre?a to cast her channeling abilities uninterrupted from single targeting abilities. However, I have already learned from watching the battle between Pride and Acre?a, this barrier of darkness would not fade after five seconds. It remained indefinitely as long as Acre?a willed it. It could be recast immediately once broken without a cooldown timer.


    I have discovered that the cooldown timer did not exist in this world. I have learned that some abilities did not fade away like their in-game fading time dictated. Some of these abilities remained for as long as the user willed them to be or until the mana reserve of the user hit bottom. As a result, <Night World> has become something akin to Acre?a¡¯s second ultimate in this world. From the pitch-black darkness of <Night World>, Acre?a¡¯s vampiric eyesight could see the world unobstructed but others could not see her. She could move around that globe of darkness and gain full access to the core of her power while staying invisible to her opponent¡¯s eyes.


    As I skydived and stared at the unbreakable globe of darkness from the above, an army of cold blue gleaming eyes and waxen skinned figures wrapping in dark tattered armor poured out of that lightless world, searching for me. Elder vampires they were, not to be mistaken with the lesser vampires due to their living lamprey hair, a trait that they inherited from Acre?a. Acre?a¡¯s male and female consorts, directly turned into vampires by none other than Acre?a¡¯s fangs. They were the royal and lords of their society in the lore.


    Like I have predicted, Acre?a activated <Bloodless Legion>. This ability supposedly opened a summoning rift, calling Acre?a¡¯s vampires to her. But in this world, inside dreamland, this ability allowed Acre?a to summon a replica of her army, dolls without personality like the various clones that I had spread across dreamland.


    One of the elder vampires spotted me, shouting and alerting the rest. A thousand pairs of gleaming blue eyes trained at my figure.


    I have already predicted that Acre?a¡¯s flesh corroding gales were coming before she used them. And I loathed how correct I was. The dark gales trailed a good four to five seconds as if Acre?a was playing ROC on a potato PC with a potato internet connection. Her attacks informed me Acre?a¡¯s general location, where she stood and how she moved around inside that pitch-black sphere.


    I wept tears at the terrible lag that Acre?a must have suffered. Acre?a was the Vampire Queen. She possessed inhuman strength, stamina, reflex, hand-eye coordination, and agility. I had sex with her for so long and so often that I knew how dexterous, fast and strong she was. Acre?a was someone who could trade blows with Bloodbeard, Ekar, Hyrios and the Hound of Hyrios at the same time with a pair of empty hand.


    And yet all Acre?a could do against me was whiffing empty air. Thus, I could not help but rage. She had all the superb hardware in the world, and yet, running on pure garbage software.


    IF YOU WANT TO ACT STUPID, BE GOOD AT IT, I raged internally.


    Acre?a¡¯s lag had nothing to do with the internet connection or shitty PC. Her inability to assess and predict my action was the primary result of the lag in her attack. She wasn¡¯t outgunned. She was completely outplayed and out-predicted.


    Why? Acre?a had never bother assessing my strength and weaknesses when she watched my recorded memory. She had completely squandered her chances and opportunities to gather information and learned about me. She had not gather the necessary information about me and thus she could not predict my action. But I could. I knew her in-game avatar like the back of my hands. I memorized her avatar¡¯s attacking speed and casting speed. I remembered all of her abilities¡¯ casting animation and casting speed. After all, I have played this stupid ROC game for over a decade. Adding that catfight between Acre?a and Pride to the list, it was safe to say that I could read Acre?a¡¯s thought and attacking pattern like a book.


    Information was important. People like Misery¡¯s fans kept arguing with me that the Zombie Dragon of White Winter won all of his battles and wars that he had ever fought because he was a fucking genius. I kept telling them that their answer was not an explanation.


    The Zombie Dragon won all of his battles and wars because he had already won the information gathering war before he even fought his physical wars. This is what you called an explanation.


    One of the three of the primary reasons why I declared war on Kharigan was the fact that my weaknesses and strength were exposed to every God and Demon Lord participated in the Reign of Chaos. If someone who was good at analytic was to watch that record, they should know how to make my life miserable. But they would choose not to, for their own safety unless they were insane or stupid or both. I could not think of meeting a sane and smart man who knew about my capability for mayhems and destruction and still pick a fight with me. It was incomprehensible that these so-call Immortals could label themselves with the ¡±Greater¡±, ¡°More Intelligent¡± and ¡°Wiser¡± when they tried to involve someone like me into their conflicts. People who tried to pick a fight with me were either ignorant- but that can be fixed easily, or plain stupid and insane, that, even Death and the infinity of time could not cure.


    Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires took out their bows and magic scepters, spamming their projectiles at me en masse. Black feathered arrows blotted the earth out of my vision. Flesh-eating vampiric spells formed a long dark arc, leaving a trail of insidious flesh-eating mist. I wept at how low their chance of hitting me with a single volley tactic, me, a single target figure who could cover a hundred meters faster than a blink of an eye.


    You need a fucking flak screen, or at least multiple rotating volleys to have a chance.


    ¡°MOTHERFUCKER, I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. IF YOU WANT TO HIT ME, GIVE YOURSELF A FUCKING FAT CHANCE FIRST,¡± I shouted and teleported in an evasive fashion. I then swooped down, abusing my balance-breaking teleport-swap combo on Acre?a¡¯s flightless vampires, wreaking havoc across the battlefield. One moment I was up in the air and then the next moment, I was down on the ground, standing among the rank of Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires.


    Their gleaming eyes transpired an empty blue sky whereas they should have watched their surroundings. That way, they would give themselves a chance to hit me with a lucky swipe when I swapped my position with one of them. But they stood, stupefied, not knowing the answer to my game breaking teleport-swap combo, acting as the perfect target practices for me to unleash my rage over Acre?a¡¯s incompetency. The reason these elder vampires sucked so hard at dealing with me and my ability could only be blamed on Acre?a¡¯s incompetency in information gathering and studying.


    And I had just given Acre?a the hint. Enraged, I made a rain of elder vampires.


    No more arrow took flight. No more bloodsucking and flesh-eating spell discharged. But the rain of flightless vampires plummeted on the ground in a sickening senselessness of bone-crushing and blood splashing downpour. These motherfuckers have completely squandered their good eyesight, inhumane reflex, and agility. They could not see me, they could not react, they could do nothing, simply because their eyes were laser-focused at the incorrect location and they stood in a tight formation. That was like asking me to bomb them with their own. Their incompetence and Acre?a¡¯s incompetency fueled my rage. Flesh bombs made of elder vampires whistled through the air. Vampires bombed the ground like missiles made of flesh, killing their own in blood-curling fashion.


    Inside the perfect lightless guise of <Night World>, Acre?a spammed her <Bloodless Legion>, flooding the battlefield with more elder vampires and all shape and form of other vampiric creatures that had never made a canonized appearance inside the game. I could only laugh, totally lost it while staring at the absurdity that was a vampiric Kraken crawled out of the dark globe among the rank of vampiric creatures under Acre?a¡¯s dominant.


    I inwardly thanked Acre?a for the opportunity of testing a random what-if question that just popped inside my head like a lit bulb. What if I make a Kraken go skydiving?


    How many men have asked himself this what-if question? How many men had the opportunity to test out this what-if question and saw its result?


    I suddenly felt blessed.


    I thought quickly, making all the mental calculations needed to make this experiment a reality. My mental calculation bore good results quickly. The world before my eyes warped rapidly in a quick chaotic fashion, chaotic but never senseless. A chain of well-timed teleport-swap combos in rapid succession took the 30 meters giant squid a good three hundred meters into the air.


    Since Acre?a gave me a bigger and heavier bomb to bomb the hell out of her army, I used it. That several tons bomb made of vampiric calamari crashed on top of the vampire army, squashed the little vampires in a most satisfying squashing sound to my sharp ears. Like a musical note. The most unholy kind of musical note to ever exist.


    The result of the experiment was so horrific that I had to turn the color recognition function of my brain off. Watching the world in monochrome, I teleported, avoiding a few of Acre?a¡¯s pathetic attempts to attack me with a cheap attack.


    She only needs to land one hit and she just cannot land that one hit.


    I was shocked that the vampiric Kraken lived after its first skydiving experience. Somehow. I took it to the sky one more time, a shorter distance, a short one hundred fifty meter parachute-less skydive, making it dropped on a dense gather of elder vampires. Still, it lived.


    Amazed at Kraken¡¯s spectacular vitality, I rewarded the poor tentacled creature with one more earthshaking skydiving trip. Still, it lived, but that problem could always be fixed with more parachute-less skydiving experiences. I took the creature to three more skydiving trips in psychotic rampancy while predicting Acre?a¡¯s <Soulbreaking Spire>, <Life Devouring Spectre>, <Stretching Darkness> among her normal range attacks coming my way. Not once had I forgotten about Acre?a¡¯s presence while having fun with her vampiric pet. With three massive booms, I filled the battlefield with things that resembled the shapely corpses of Acre?a¡¯s flightless vampires and their billowing decaying mist.


    Elder vampires poured out of the dark globe. But this time, finally learned a lesson, Acre?a summoned her mutated winged vampires and spread them out instead of putting in tight formation. A swarm of grotesque unintelligent vampiric creatures of unknown origin with tentacled wings flew out of the dark globe. None of these vampiric creatures looked the same. Some had feather. Others had a coat of bristled fur, while most were scaly. Some had a pair of wings. Some had three sets. Other four and five. But if these creatures had something in common, they were mounted by an elder vampire.


    I wept tears and rejoiced that finally, our battle had fully become a 3D battle. Up until this moment, I approached this battle with 3D maneuvers in mind while Acre?a was stuck in a 2D mindset, which put her at a severe disadvantage. And I, as a human was born flightless. It was ridiculous that Acre?a, a Demon Lord, the Vampire Queen fought me with a 2D mindset until now.


    I was done playing games. I had too much fun with that Kraken shaped bomb. I had already confirmed that Acre?a had stopped moving around from the direction of her latest attacks and abilities. Her latest attacks and offensive skills all came from a general location. Map awareness was an important skill for a pro-gamer to survive the rollercoaster competitive scene of ROC Esports, especially for an Ender. I often argued that map awareness was the utmost important skillset for an Ender to build, polish and maintain. It was more important than an Ender¡¯s good decision making ability and presence of mind. It was more important than raw mechanic, reflex and whatnot.


    All-rounder. Defender. Supporter. Raider. Ender.


    The player, who is assigned to the Ender position, is tasked to dispatch the opposing team¡¯s warlords without getting game-over in return. If the opposing warlords locked themselves inside a fortress, bring down that fortress. If the opposing warlords took the field, snipe them down. Most of the time, the Ender is the last surviving player when the games end. Ender is arguably the most combative position among the five positions. Therefore, an Ender is required to keep track of various units¡¯ movement across the map at all times, especially the movement of opposing team¡¯s warlords. If an Ender had a terrible map awareness skill set, he would lose sight of his objectives. He will become useless. A person cannot dispatch his enemy without knowing where his enemy is first.


    Playing Blindfolded ROC with Pride redefined my map awareness, giving a new layer to it, updating my map awareness from a 2D perspective to a 3D perspective. Sasengun often asked me why I kept training Pride to be my bane. Training Pride, I did. But I did not just train Pride and Pride alone. I trained myself. I trained my General Staff. By making my competitor stronger, I became stronger.


    And because I played a 3D version ROC with a blindfold, I had to rely on various tricks to track down various units¡¯ movements in real-time.


    The waiting-to-be-attacked trick was just one of the many tricks.


    Every shot arrow had an arc. Every launched spell and ability had its own unique range and arc. If I knew the range and the arc of the projectiles, I knew the location of the attacker.


    Abilities like <Stretching Darkness> and <Devouring Spectre> presented the biggest ¡°Fuck you¡± to the law of Physics. They refused to be bend or tie-down by gravity. They flew straight until they dissipated, without flexing, curving or arcing. Meaning, if I could work out the geometry, the intersecting angle from the many times Acre?a launched these projectiles at me, I had already pinpointed her location. Asian power was a superpower to be feared. In a life and death situation, an Asian¡¯s math was still unshakable, even when that Asian was a math hater.


    With <The Magician>, I teleported around, dropping a few of Acre?a¡¯s winged vampires from the sky with some cheap surprise back attacks, doing exactly what <The Magician> was designed for, distraction. Spells and arrows from the elder vampires trailed. One flesh-eating spell came close, grazed me, putting me to a high alert mode. I was waiting for Acre?a to use one of her bigger spells or abilities.


    <Tentacled Horrors> spewed out of <Night World>. Bundles of giant entrails soared skyward, homing straight at me in their grotesque slimy glory, followed by <Soulshattering Spire>. I teleported, but they curved, tracking me. I have been marked.


    In the game, those flesh-eating spells that Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires kept spamming and Acre?a¡¯s normal attack had a chance of inflicting the <Marked> status on their victims. Units that were inflicted with the <Marked> status would be visible even when they were hiding behind the fog of war. More importantly, <Tentacled Horrors> and <Soulshattering Spire> gained the homing status when Acre?a used them against a unit suffered the <Marked> status.


    But in this world, these abilities tracked their targets by the smell of their blood. Therefore, a small graze was enough.


    I teleported around in quick succession, then swapped my position with one of Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires standing on the ground, luring the spectral spear and those giant slimy tentacles to crash through the rank of elder vampires army. Decaying black mist erupted in a giant splash of slimy black sludge, playing the perfect role of a smokescreen for me to execute my magic trick.


    I just hated how easily everything has gone according to my plan.


    Casting <The Magician> in parallel alongside <What you can do, I can do better> granted me a ticket to enter Acre?a¡¯s <Night World>. Knowing the how and why <Soulshattering Spire> and <Tentacled Horrors> can track their marked targets given me the ability to escape them.


    While the chaos outside had still yet to settle down, I entered <Night World> as one of Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires. Vampiric senses were convenient. I could spot Acre?a from half a kilometer. I could hear her barking orders to her vampires to search for me while keeping the summoning portal opened.


    Good luck searching, I inadvertently sighed a quiet sigh.


    I had become one of the bloodless, one of Acre?a¡¯s cold walkers. There was no way that these vampires could track me down with their sense of smell. I blended in with Acre?a¡¯s vampiric creatures. Slowly and quietly, I made a long detour and approached Acre?a from her behind.


    It was honestly boring to the last second.


    Enferm¨¦¡¯s wicked point tore a hole through Acre?a¡¯s back. Acre?a cried out, arching her back in pain. <Night World> receded when Acre?a turned around, staring at me in the eyes.


    ¡°You are so much stronger than me, physically. You have an army. You have a world of magic and miracles at your command. You and your army only need to land a good solid hit, and I am fucked. Yet, you still lost to me,¡± I spoke to Acre?a with a stern impassive voice.


    Acre?a bit her lips and gave me a look of sullen dismay, a look as if she asked me why I was doing all of this, why I was treating her with such cruelty, why I did not show her any sympathy. I could read her thoughts like an open book.


    But I did, I did show you my sympathy.


    I spent such a long time licking her wound in a wanton manner while throwing everything else behind me. Acre?a refused to stand up. So I had to act.


    If kindness and gentleness only made things worse and cruelty was the obvious answer, cruelty it is.


    Undoing my transformation, I pulled Acre?a¡¯s head to mine. Our nose and forehead touched. ¡°A wise man has once said, know thy enemy, know thyself, a hundred battles thou shall not suffer a defeat. The reason you lost so one-sided to me did not prove that I was more skillful or more intelligent than you.¡±


    I tightened my hands on Acre?a¡¯s cheeks. ¡°It proved that I understood you Acre?a but you don¡¯t understand me. You know nothing about me.¡± Mercilessly, I sprayed salt on Acre?a¡¯s wound, ¡°You know nothing about me even though we have been together for so long. You know nothing about me.¡± I repeated my words, spreading the salt, making sure that it stung.


    Finally, Acre?a lost it. Her vices clamped down on my wrists with force.


    ¡°WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?¡± Acre?a howled, ¡°You said you understood me. BUT DO YOU? Do you know how much suffering I have gone through because of you? DO YOU? DO YOU KNOW HOW PAINFUL IT IS FOR ME? DO YOU?¡±


    I smirked.


    ¡°WHAT IS SO FUNNY?¡± Acre?a continued to holler.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°WHAT IS SO FUNNY? DO YOU ENJOY LAUGHING AT ME AND MOCKING ME?¡±


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± replied I, trying very hard to contain the smirk on my lips. I should have done this from the beginning, I thought.

 V2 Chapter 34

    Wars.


    They called them, Esports tournaments that had recorded no human casualty, wars. A Chinese team fighting against an American team. A European giant meets a Korean titan in a mano-a-mano. The pride of the East clashes against the power of the West. A clean-cut powerhouse against an underdog. An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. An ancient power facing an up and rising star. These divisive and partisan narratives became the blueprint for the media to plant and harvest their money-grabbing trees.


    Wars, they called them, a word that caught the imagination of hundreds of millions of people who know nothing about war. Millions NPCs died to our conflicts to be reborn and died again, reborn and died again, and the cycle repeated itself with every new game. Every year, dozens of organizations declared bankruptcy due failure and mismanagement, and sometimes series of bad lucks. Every month, dozens of new organizations formed, hungry for success and richness. Every year, hundreds of pro-gaming and semi-pro teams disbanded in heartbreaks due to the lack of strength and successes, whereas another hundred new teams made a name for themselves, stirring the landscape of the pro-league. Every year, thousands of gamers climbed the invisible ladders to fame and glory or completely fell to obscurity. It was a competitive world made for competitive minded people. You either win or lose. You either succeed or fail. You are either a hero or a villain. There was little room for the middle ground. The abruptly rise and fall, the unpredictability, the chaotic landscape of the ROC Esports, they called them wars. But as a person who lived in the middle of all of that chaos, I knew them the best. No pro-gamer had ever died playing on the stage. Games. I knew them the best. Games. And I am a pro-gamer.


    War.


    They called that, a conflict recorded only one casualty, a war. Billions of mortals died. An entire intelligent race met extinction. But only one Immortal faced destruction in that event. The First Divine War, a thunderous sounding name to describe that event, but, as best, it was just a family feud, a squabble between Gods and Demon Lords over their major inheritance, a throne. The event followed after that event, games.


    As a wise man living on Escana had once said, ¡°Gods make games, man makes a plan.¡± His words could be understood literally or figuratively.


    These Gods, Goddesses and Demon Lords. They have yet to fight a real war. They did not know war. What they called ¡°wars¡±, I called ¡°Games¡±.


    I have yet to fight a real war in my entire life. Neither these Immortals. In this regard, this makes a fair match since neither side had the experience of fighting a real war.


    Maybe, for this same reason URLOX believed that it was ¡°Fair¡± to pit these Immortals against me, I often thought, from time to time, and subsequently, I had to curse them for fixing this kind of stupid match, FUCK YOU URLOX. ARE YOU PEOPLE SERIOUS? I had no intention of living my life constantly spewing curses at people. After all, there are many things to enjoy about life, why live cursing?


    But I kept on cursing URLOX. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING?


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    I started to get bore of Niwdar¡¯s rants. I came to meet her over unfinished business. But the Goddess of Nature kept spewing out her anger and curses, on and on, and on.


    Locking in an hours-long staring contest with Niwdar, I suddenly remembered him, a late friend of mine. He was an employee and a professional gigolo working at a local night club that I opened. He was tall and handsome, just being a little too much of an asshole every now and then. I had a habit of divide my friends and acquaintances into groups, and this guy certainly belonged to the ¡®asshole group.¡¯ He had once told me that the eyes of a woman are the windows to her soul, ¡°Gaze into her eyes, you see her world. You see her thought. You see her soul laid bare,¡± said he, confidently, without a hint of doubt in his voice.


    Back then, when he said that line, he was at the center of his universe, full of charisma, strong, magnetic and absolutely confident in himself. He fully believed that he could figure out a woman¡¯s thoughts by looking into her eyes.


    Yet, when he breathed his last in that white hospital ward, the person who held his hand, shed tears for him was me. The people who saw his departure to the afterlife were me, his cousin, the doctors, and three nurses. I attended his funeral with FY. FY sighed dejectedly and called it a male-only funeral. I jokingly called it ¡°a full sausage fest funeral.¡± Most of those who attended that funeral and heard that joke were my employees. The straight-laced type twisted their face in a grimace like FY. The asshole type, my kind of asshole, they snickered some and sniffled some, then sobbing for real. It was just a bunch of assholes crying for one of theirs, nothing else to see at that funeral. Back then, when I made that joke, I reminded myself that my own funeral would look exactly like that.


    No woman grieved his departure. Not his lover nor his patrons. Not his old flames nor his new flames. Not even his female colleagues. He thought that he understood them. He thought that he was connected to them just as they were connected to him, physically and emotionally. Apparently and evidently, he had been mistaken.


    As I gazed into Niwdar¡¯s eyes, I suddenly remembered that person, how he usually lived and how his warmth expired inside my clutching hands.


    My mind is as sentimental as ever, I complained internally, trying to refocus on my talk with Niwdar.


    Niwdar¡¯s eyes, they were ¡°strange.¡± Each was engraved with a silver double helix ring surrounding a thin pastel seed on a dark forbidding canvas. The eyes of the Goddess of Nature and patron of the Essence Temple, they were certainly ¡°strange¡± in a human aesthetic and strangely rejecting. But, gazing into Niwdar¡¯s forbidding eyes, I saw many things at once.


    In those cold eyes, I saw rejection, loath and contempt. I saw my hideous projection, a demon.


    I don¡¯t belong here. Not in Escana, I thought, reading Niwdar¡¯s thought as an open book.


    And I agree, I thought.


    Words marred with plain rejection and deep-rooted hatred kept spilling out of Niwdar¡¯s veiled lips like a broken dam in the flood season. It went on and on for the last few hours, and still going strong. It felt like if Niwdar could flood my world with curses, she would. I had to internally salute her for that. The last time I was here with Wonten, she was a lot less wordy.


    ¡°Accepting your sickening existence means that everything that I have gone through, my sufferings, my nightmare, my curses, my woe, my misery, they exist solely for the sake of your measly entertainment,¡± spoke Niwdar. Niwdar spoke with the dignity of a Goddess. She did not hiss or snarl. Her voice was soft and elegant like the sound of an autumn raindrop landing on a young lotus leaf, a hidden treasure of nature, the kind of music that most people weren¡¯t blessed to understand. But Niwdar spoke in a deliberate, cold and quiet voice. Her barbed tone was cold enough that I could feel my breath whitened. Hers was quiet and still enough that it felt like the death spell of all things.


    Cladded in her usual gaudy scale laminated armor that removed all trace of feminity from her figure, Niwdar daggered her repelling glare at me as if she saw a mortal enemy.


    ¡°You dictate and twist our fate for your entertainment. You thought my life is just a game? You thought our life are games?¡± Asked Niwdar. Thosedouble helix rings shone bright and cold, telling me that if it wasn¡¯t for her promise to Wonten, Niwdar would have stopped at nothing to destroy my life. And that was something I could not afford. This was the second time I spoke with Niwdar, face to face. However, this time, I met Niwdar without Wonten standing at my side, trying to offer postwar peace terms to her. To Niwdar¡¯s understanding, the war has not even started, and here I was already talking about the peace term as if I have already won. To her understanding, I made a better clown than Floki?.


    The battle had not even started and here I am, talking about peace term. I inwardly lamented at how stupid I could possibly be in Niwdar¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°You thought everything is just game? Do you think you can come to our world and treat everything as yours? This is not your world. We are not just your game characters to you and URLOX.¡± The Goddess of Nature made her will and intention understood. ¡°I resent you, your kind, and everything you represent and stood for.¡±


    Yeah, you don¡¯t have to say that. I could clearly see, I thought.


    I felt no fear or remorse when I dunked Sinintee, the God of Destruction and Civilization into a smelly and dirty cesspool. I showed him exactly how I had understood and adopted his ¡°Might make right¡± doctrine. The weak got pushed around and the strong dictated the world. Inside this dream, Sinintee was weaker than me. So I got to kick his assess just as much I liked.


    I felt next to nothing when I turned Wrath, the Thousand Claws Demon Lord into a musical instrument as I tried to find a way to converse with him. I felt empty when I bashed logic into Wonten, the very God of Justice himself, asking him what justice and whose justice he represented. When I beat Munezee¡¯s dog in front of his face, I felt nothing. I knew I had won the most meaningless battle.


    But facing Niwdar and her ire made my stomach cold with caution.


    I knew what true madness looked like and sounded like when I stood in its presence. My kind, I knew them the best. They smelled like me. They looked like me and they sounded like me. Talking to her twice, Niwdar was definitely my kind. I would not have been so wary of Niwdar if she was just simply ¡°batshit insane.¡± Even back on Earth, I had always suspected that Niwdar had the ability to make that insanity felt across the realms.


    In that one-shot episode on Misery¡¯s channel where Misery devoted his effort to shine the light on Niwdar and her history, I did not appear in my usual role as Dr. Reality nor did I participate in writing the script. But I had watched that episode.


    Niwdar, the Patron Goddess of the Essence Temple, was known for holding and exacting grudges in the ugliest and most gruesome fashions despite being commonly revered as the merciful Goddess of Beauty and Nature. Most mortals living on Escana were told about Niwdar¡¯s sob-story, the tragedy where she was defiled by her father, and they were taught to stay on Niwdar¡¯s good side since their adolescence days. And most mortals living on Escana had never heard the story where Niwdar traded her appearance with Death¡¯s.


    In the lore, around the end of the first Divine War, Niwdar made a deal with Death to save the 11<sup>th</sup> Valkyria from Managan¡¯s soul corrupting maledictions. Her restoring and regenerating miracles could not undo the work of Managan¡¯s corruptions on her daughter, only hastened the process. From that deal, Death killed the spreading blight in the 11<sup>th</sup> Valkyria and claimed her prize, a part of Niwdar¡¯s soul, the appearance of her astral body.


    We, gamers and consumers knew that story from reading the lore. The people of Escana weren¡¯t told of it. It¡¯s almost bizarre how such stories, the kind of stories that should be told, weren¡¯t, and the kind that wasn¡¯t meant to be told was.


    Who is the stupid motherfucker spreading these stories?


    The media, on Earth or on Escana, is always full of shit, fake news and click baits. It often tells people what they want to listen to but not what they should have listened.


    To a smart-and-totally-not-insane people like Misery, the story where Niwdar readily traded parts of her soul to save her daughter was a heartwarming story about a mother¡¯s love, a mother¡¯s self-sacrifice and the length she would go in the name of love.


    To a stupid and totally insane asshole like me, I saw love, calculation, and insanity masterfully woven into a story of self-sacrifice and altruism. But I was not so sure.


    The first time I was able to confirm one of my biggest suspicions surrounding Niwdar¡¯s true power was around the time I met Death.


    Before I touched Death with my own fingers, I had touched her miracle-scattering moths and Authority-ending flowers. I took the opportunity to reexamine my own knowledge and felt them, the white flowers and the black moths. They were parts of Death, born from Death and her miracles, but they also possess their own life and will, even when they were bounded to the scope of a Divine Dream. Both of them, the flower and the moth, were unmistakably alive, a notable characteristic of the <Bestower of Life> Authority that Niwdar possessed. When I touched Death, tasted her lips and turned her body pink with a flame of ardor, I knew my suspicion was real. Death¡¯s appearance, her current character skin, Niwdar¡¯s original figure was the work of the <Bestower of Life> Authority.


    I was a calculative person by nature. My mind was that of a demon, dark and full of twists and full of unnecessary things. When my mind started racing, it was a one-way ticket straight to the abyss. The only time in my life that I was not being calculative and devious was when I chose to be stupid or when I became dead drunk. Or when I was at home. No exception.


    If only Death could fathom just how much vital information that she has already accidentally leaked to me through our short exchange, she would be absolutely flabbergasted.


    If Death had gained some of Niwdar¡¯s miracles from that trade, theoretically, the reverse could also be true. Niwdar could gain some of Death¡¯s unique miracles in the same manner Wrath and I had made our trade. From that trade, these two women gained the duality of being the bringer of destruction as well as being the giver of life.


    Life. Death. Birth. Destruction. Rebirth. Technically, Niwdar and Death, these two women carried the entire weight of Nirvana with them. Each of them was a cycle of birth, destruction, and rebirth. The slight differences between the two women hidden in their original alignment toward life and death. One leaned toward life. The other leaned toward death. Since the moment I had made that discovery, I kept silence, conducting various investigations in secret.


    Lynx and his alchemy club had confirmed with me that the secret crafting ritual to create Dragon Bane required the invocation of three Divine insignia, Naharis¡¯ a thousand demon and a thousand angel symbol, Niwdar¡¯s double helix ring over the seed of life and the hugging skull of Death.


    My little trade with Wrath confirmed the duality of destruction and rebirth in Niwdar. Wrath gained an important part of my soul while I received Ira.


    I have not seen Niwdar using her miracles or authorities gained from the trade. Not once that the lore had mentioned that Niwdar could use Death¡¯s authority. I knew the golden dream, a dream that turned a man into hideous monster, making them rather committing suicide than stay alive. It did not sound like an ability gained from Death¡¯s authority. But it was probably related. My understanding of the golden dream was poor. Thus, I could not afford to fight Niwdar when I have not understood her power.


    Niwdar kept pouring her unending hatred for URLOX over my head.


    Did I enjoy reading the part of the lore where Niwdar was raped by her own father? No, I did not. Did I engineer such a scenario? No, I certainly did not.


    But URLOX did.


    So is it unjust for Niwdar to blame me for URLOX¡¯s shit? Yes, it is.


    Regardless of my inner thought and conflicts, I matched my eye level with Niwdar, unflinching, unapologetic and unashamed.


    To every party involved with the Reign of Chaos, I am URLOX¡¯s chosen. I am URLOX¡¯s Champion even though I kept repeating myself, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡± Why else I kept repeating myself? It¡¯s because these brain-dead morons could not get it and insane people like Niwdar refused to get it.


    If you are going to blame someone, blame URLOX, yourself, your family and especially your fucking sister, I cursed inwardly.


    I could refute Niwdar that it was wrong and unjust of her to direct her wrath and hatred for URLOX toward me. I could use logic to win the battle of words against Niwdar. But if rage and fury could be resolved through logic, mankind¡¯s history would have less war, and I would have never been Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.


    I could mock Niwdar about being a hypocrite herself, treating mortal¡¯s lives as sacrificial pieces to further a game of chaos. I could mock Niwdar about the double standard of treating me as if I was just a part of the Game. I could even twist the nature of truth with my silver tongue and mocked Niwdar for everything that she wasn¡¯t.


    I did not even want to be here. I did not even want to get involved in the conflict. I could tell Niwdar that I was just another victim of URLOX. But complaining to Niwdar was the wrong way to conduct a peace talk.


    If Niwdar is on my side, I win, but Escana is doomed. If Niwdar is my enemy, at the end of the day, only the two of us would live, refusing to kill each other and grieving over our mistakes.


    Foreseeing such result, I needed to establish a neither-enemy-nor-ally with Niwdar to manipulate the flow and the result of this war.


    So I revealed a nonchalant smirk. Niwdar was not the only batshit insane person inside this dreamland. She was calculative, but so was I. I made an internal sigh.


    I hated how my worst predictions often came as true as I have imagined.


    The survival of Escana, its fate and future rested in the hands of the least qualified people. Insane. Stupid. Broken. My kind of people. I resigned the situation and the fate of the world to my god given talent, making a woman angry.


    ¡°Then kill me. Make me want to kill myself,¡± I cut in, stopping Niwdar¡¯s unending flood of curses. I offered Niwdar my solution, returning her authorities and power to her in a snap of fingers, ¡°If I die, Escana would stop being defiled by my presence. You don¡¯t have to see a total war. Or a world of total chaos. If I die, it¡¯s the end of your captivity. If I die, you don¡¯t have to face with the nightmare and mockery. So do it. Just do it. Why let a single promise stopping you?¡± I goaded Niwdar in a most nonchalant voice.


    ¡°Do you think I would not dare?¡± She asked.


    Are you serious asking me this question, I nearly vocalized my thought aloud due to the sheer ridiculousness of the question.


    Yes, she certainly did, Dion replied. I nearly laughed out loud, never have expected that a Goddess would make that kind of weak threat. Goddess only lives to command. Goddess doesn¡¯t make threat, let alone weak threat. It was funny that a Goddess like Niwdar would hesitate killing me over to a verbal promise with Wonten. For someone who was so consumed by and madness and hatred, her threat sounded weak, her words lacked resolution. I have seen a Goddess. I have grown up with a Goddess. A Goddess¡¯ words had never sounded so uncertain.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s the wrong question for you to ask. The correct question is, CAN YOU?¡± I spoke in a provoking tone. I kept goading Niwdar toward that choice, slowly poking my stick at the sleeping monster. I observed and listened to her body language and commended my attacks accordingly.


    ¡°What make you think I have not had everything planned? Just because I am drunk and acting foolish all the time, it did not mean I was not thinking. I got drunk because I don¡¯t want to think. I tossed away my sanity and lucidity because things suck and I am always correct. That is the biggest weakness of this Divine Dream. You people can read my dream, my memories, my past but not my thought, my actual thought. Are you doubting my words? See what happened to Bloodbeard? See what happened to his worms?¡± I sowed the seeds of doubt into Niwdar¡¯s mind. ¡°Death made the same mistake of underestimating me. So here I am, the master of the black dream. Here I am, your jailor and all of you are my captives.¡±


    If Lucifer was the devil that the Old Testament had described him, he was my lesser in the art of devilry.


    ¡°Had you even observed carefully how I act around that foolish spider girl? I meant to walk away with her orb from the beginning. No string attach. My weaknesses, my foolishness, my playfulness were a fa?ade. See the result?¡± For every seed of doubt that I had planted into Niwdar¡¯s mind, I showed her the pieces of evidence supporting my words to nourish the seeds. Regardless of the nature of pieces of evidence I presented to Niwdar, twisting my words a little, and they would support my claim.


    Hideously, I laughed, telling Niwdar that I have planned the flow of events so that Clariciel would lost her voice to Death among many wretched and awful things that I have intended to do to her in the future. Clariciel was first on the list. Hilda would come next. I told Niwdar how I have planned to make Hilda suffered. Why would I do that? Entertainment. Then one by one, the rest of Niwdar¡¯s daughter would fall through blackmail and extortion.


    As I was talking, the twin helix rings stared spinning. The pastel seeds radiated as I saw my wretched reflection slowly distorted.


    My vision was soon enraptured, entrapped and restrained inside a golden casket. I saw the golden dream for what it was. The wretchedness of my own life and being, I was made to feel it, see it, and experience it vividly. When I broke a demon, I saw me breaking something entirely different. When I squashed a worm, I squashed something else. That demon was a son of a grieving father and a sorrowful mother. The next demon was a wife of a good husband. That worm was a husband of a wife, a father of a daughter. Those worms, they made mistakes. Those worms, they were misguided. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone were misguided. When I destroyed one¡¯s life, that of a worm or a demon, I deprived the happiness of a hundred people. And the golden casket showed I was a monster for squashing them.


    But guilt-tripping had never worked against me once. Not me. Never me. If guilt-tripping had an effect on me, I would have never hunted demon in the name of injustice.


    As if it could sense that ineffectuality, the golden casket quietly changed its approach.


    When I penetrated a woman, I tore her life apart with my filthy dick. ¡°Manwhore¡±, they called me, ¡°Manslut¡±. I smiled, did not disagree with their cursing. I was selfish, trying to feel alive, addicted to risk and mishaps. Trying to make Ph¨²c wake the fuck up because everything I did was extremely repulsive to him. Why I did that? Because I could not care less if the world burn itself to the ground. Not my problem. Never my problem if the world burn itself to the ground.


    I was made to see it over and over again. How I had hurt them. How I had hurt Alice. How I had failed FY and my brothers. Repeatedly, I saw how I can only live by hurting others. I was uncompromising.


    The golden casket turned back the clock again and again, giving me chances to redeem myself. But even with another chance or many another chances, I made the same choice, much to the casket¡¯s pulsating frustration. If you had no intention of hurting them, change yourself, make another choice, I could feel the imperceptible will and the frustration of the casket.


    I did not want to live and act like an edge lord. But shit remained shit. Someone had to clean the shit. I saw a demon needed to be hunt down. I hunted. I saw a bunch of worms squirming in the slothfulness of justice. I squashed.


    Unyielding. Unchanged. Uncompromised. How I had failed, I lamented. Sorry. Don¡¯t weep for me. Don¡¯t cry for me. Find another man. Find another purpose. Move on.


    My family, I hurt them again and again. Over and over and over again. My tears tasted like hypocrisy and lies. I wept for their pain and suffering but in fact I was crying for myself. Tears are designed to relieve pain and suffering. Thus, when I cried, I was actively relieving my own pain.


    Funny how I hated myself, my own weakness for wishing to use Dion to smash this casket as quickly as possible.


    Stop, just stop doing those kind of shits and take a good care of yourself, FY said, repeatedly, almost as if he was pleading me.


    Yeah, I know. I¡¯m sorry.


    Stop fooling around. You are going to get stabbed one day, Alice said, slapping me, making me understood her words by force as she cried.


    I know. I¡¯m sorry.


    Quit drinking like that, you are going to kill yourself, advised Merleon, bailing me out after I was being locked up for floating on the Yarra river, clinging to a boat made of empty wine bottles while being absolutely wasted.


    I know.


    Just put them behind you and try to move on. There are more in life than just pain, admonished Fantasy as he brought me to those comedy shows.


    I know. Am trying.


    Why would you do that? This is not you, screamed Misery with tears in his eyes.


    This is me.


    It¡¯s hurt but life goes on, son. Life goes on, said my dad. Life goes on, said him in a forlorn voice weighted down by the sorrow of life.


    I know, dad. I know.


    My fingers, they existed to poke my eyes and eardrums out of their holes. My teeth, they existed to tear my fingers out of my hands. I wanted to destroy the world but I wanted to destroy myself first and foremost. My dick, I wondered why I even reconnected it. I loathed myself. Pain was strangely bearable and slowly disappeared. I saw myself a demon in that golden reflection. A world-defiling demon, in form and in thought.


    Inside that ring woven coffin, I lamented and cursed. How I had made a mess of everything. How I could only live by doing everything incorrectly and stupidly. How I wish that I was something else, something or someone that was not Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. Inside that tight space, I saw myself a demonic carrion of rotting fleshes and pulsating boils, an amalgam of mutilation, and decaying foulness and wretchedness. My punishment and atonement.


    Hilarious, I laughed, staring at my hideous reflection, that grotesque carrion of decaying flesh. I realized how urgently Niwdar wanted me dead. At least, she could have combined me with various animal body parts, adding slimy tentacles and crazier shits. A carrion she turned me into. Regarding whether I had the intent to save myself or not, I would be dead in this golden casket.


    Hilarious.


    It was an unfair matchup for Niwdar. It was unfair for Niwdar because I was fully prepared and fully armed for this test. My mind was ready. My weapons loaded. Unlike that time when I took on the black dream with nothing but my conviction over my own stupidity, unlike that time I saw through the red dream, this time I had Dion and Ira to smash apart this nightmare in the case I failed.


    But it seemed that I had no need for them.


    No matter how much I hated myself or how much I had tried to twist the words, I am still Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. That remained unchanged and uncorrupted on Earth, now, on Escana, it remained unchanged.


    My past. My dreams. My thought. My soul. My illusion and reality. My memories. My self-hatred. My regret. My fury. My sins. They are all mine. My family, they are mine. They are not yours to view, touch, alter and then make comments about. They are not empty boxes for you to fill in your idea and opinions. BITCH.


    Niwdar had just picked the wrong fight. Niwdar tried to project and impose her personal reality on top of mine. She tried to turn me into a creature she believed that I was. She wanted me dead as fast as possible.


    I could distinguish illusion from reality. I could distinguish my reality from other¡¯s reality.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± muttered I, my own truth and illusion, putting the end to that self-tormented dream without having to call either Ira or Dion for help.


    The perfectly knitted golden casket vaporized before my eyes, revealing a surprised looking Niwdar. ¡°You¡­¡± muttered Niwdar. Her double helix ringed eyes knitted tight, clouded and unreadable.


    What are you? I could almost hear her thought. I had just smashed a miracle apart without using a miracle.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I challenged, feigning surprise and nonchalance as if I have not seen anything noteworthy. ¡°I have seen worse. I have been through worse. You know, you can be much crueler,¡± I smiled, growing ever bolder after passing the first test. Miracles shaped after its user¡¯s personality. I have seen enough of the golden dream to understand Niwdar¡¯s nature. I understood why I saw my own hideous reflection when I gazed into her eyes. I understood why I have been so wary about her before. But now, that wariness has lessened and I felt only pity for Niwdar.


    I started to remember a minute, trivial detail in the lore regarding how Niwdar¡¯s priestesses would refuse to grant miracles on women who were known to participate in harlotry. I had never thought much about that rule or the reason behind it.


    This woman was so disgusted with herself that she allowed Death to strip away a part of her soul and appearance.


    ¡°Try it again. This is your final chance. If you want to kill me, make it count, woman,¡± offered I, speaking in a most nonchalant voice. A smile full of arrogance blossomed on my lips.


    Niwdar¡¯s face was mostly hidden beneath her veil. And yet, I could read the surging anger beneath the veil.


    The silver helix strands started spinning again, unraveled themselves into threads as they changed colors, coming into contact with pastel seeds. Miracles spew forth from Niwdar¡¯s hand, layers upon layers of golden threads. She weaved them into another golden casket, my golden casket.


    CLACK. The mallet of justice fell hoarsely, once and for all.


    ¡°Finally,¡± some random court attendee, whose face I could remember, whispered softly. Next to him, a woman, whose face I could not bother to learn, sniffed in her tears, the tears of exalt and relief.


    The prolonged and deliberating months and months of empty meaning trial and retrials, and more retrials, and even more retrials had finally come to an end. Justice has finally been delivered. They cheered. Of course, they would. After all, the pursuit of justice was very costly and depleting, like war. Costly and depleting in time, physical strength, mentally strength, personal fortitude, creative thinking and above all and most importantly, wealth and human connections.


    But justice had been served, finally, after the draining months.


    Other chattered and complained. Many smiled, quietly congratulated and briefly sighed a sigh of relief for those brainless worms got the life sentence but not without parole and the little demon was sent to an obscure asylum.


    They smiled. They exhaled a sigh of relief.


    We didn¡¯t. We did not even have to look at each other¡¯s face to know the expression we wore. On that day, the three of us wore masks on our face, the kind of masks that we had created, honed, and crafted. Hopelessness that did not scream hopelessness. Pain that did not howl pain. And fury that did not spell fury. Our mask was perfectly crafted and perfectly honed, unreadable.


    Reliving that day yet again, I could not cry. So, I laughed a noiseless laugh at the irony and apathy. It was not Justice¡¯s parents who was killed. Our parents were butchered. Had the demon and the worms killed Justice¡¯s parent, I wondered if things would be different. My thought darkened. I thought about butchering the love ones and family members of those defenders of justice and those chiefs of justice, then observed how justice would react. Back then, I loathed and was disgusted at how dark and vindictive my mind was.


    The three of us stood, staring at the whole scene as if we had an out of body experience. It was like a self-manufactured d¨¦j¨¤ vu, a self-fulfilling prophecy. We had predicted how and in what manner that mallet of justice would fall from the first retrial. We had predicted the failure of justice before final trial ended. Neither of us was a prophet but our predictions were eerily correct. And we loathed just how hopelessly correct our predictions were.


    Our hands held tightly, from the beginning and even now. But her once tyrannical, strong, and ardent hands, now felt hopelessly cold, soft and without power, completely exhausted of human warmth.


    His uncalloused palms, once soft and accommodating, now felt feverish, searing, scorching as if he had become a sun. His warmth, his radiating heat, his seething fever, he devoted them entirely to her or her lack thereof.


    Mine were controlled but inanimate, astral, neither cold nor hot, neither strong nor weak, perfectly in controlled.


    We were quiet, dead quiet, eerily and uncharacteristically quiet as all sounds and noises existed inside the courtroom turned into white noises. Inside that eerie cocoon of quietness, we could feel the thought and turmoil inside each other¡¯s heart.


    ¡°See you again. Soon,¡± the demon whispered very quietly while being escorted out of the courtroom. His defiling breath was almost inaudible among the harsh snapping sounds of camera¡¯s shutters and the meaningless chattering of the people who attended the court.


    Justice, I laughed. I had never understood this word, Justice, not once. Back then when Wonten was still inside my head, I asked him, the mighty Protector of Justice himself, What is Justice, tell me, please. I need to know. If there is someone who know what justice is, the shape of Justice, the smell of Justice, the sound of Justice, it would be Wonten. But Wonten could not answer. So, I beat him up, using his own hammer.


    Justice, I heard my dry laughter, full of irony and sarcasm, from back then and now, overlapped and echoed in a symphony of chaos.


    The three of us could care less about the consoling money, the stash of bank notes we received.


    Their attorneys kept knocking our door, pestering, again and again, wishing to strike a deal. It came to the point that Thu?y D??ng would open the door to meet them with a meat cleaver in her hand. I stood next to her, a fruit knife in my left hand, a butcher knife in my right hand. The stopped knocking the door.


    What else do you want? They looked at us, the forebear of that demon, they looked at us, asking. The dead are already dead, please let the living be at peace, the woman inputted her thought into her swollen red eyes, begging for forgiveness and sympathy. But we were the victims. Our parents were the victims. The man stared at us in indignant as if asking, Is that not enough? You want more money? HOW MUCH? NAME YOUR PRICE. His body language always appeared as if he was ready to take out his pen and his checkbook to protect his family image and his business. His body language screamed rage and annoyance as though he had no idea why we were wearing our emotionless mask staring right at him in silence.


    I had never forgotten that look on their face. That demon, their pampered son killed our parents to see the twist of torment and the anguish on Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s face. And they thought stacks of banknotes or a lifetime of fortune could solve everything. And they thought we should forgive them and their son.


    Back then when I stared at them through Ph¨²c¡¯s eyes, I saw only rage and pain. Phu?c¡¯s rage. Thu?y D??ng¡¯s pain. Now, I saw hints. Hints that I should have understood back then. Had I understood those hints, things would have been different.


    A fortune could not make up for the loss of our parents. A fortune or two or three or even more we would trade if they could bring our parents back. But humans died. When humans were killed, they died. When they died, they never return. Even a child understood that logic.


    Thu?y D??ng was so enraged that her mask almost fractured into tears. Phu?c was so incensed that his hands started to shake. Thusly, I had to make a swap, taking over his spot.


    ¡°Let me handle this,¡± whispered I, telling Ph¨²c and Thu?y D??ng to delegate the matter to my hands. Their fury was red hot. Mine was cold and white. I was more suitable for the task. So I took over, dealing with the aftermath in the way only I could.


    Funny, how justice believed that it was fair that the lives of good people like our parents could be equal to a stack of banknotes. Funny, how justice dictated that our tax money should be distributed to lock up the slayers of our parents, those brainless worms in their prisons, Giving them a chance of redemption.


    FUNNY, how our parents had to die, pay the price. FUNNY, how they thought our parents¡¯ lives were worth a stack of banknotes.


    Blank-faced and unashamed, I received the checks, asked for more and mechanically did whatever I considered necessary. Selling things. The old house, the one that we had grown up with our parents had to go. Once it was a shelter, a solace, a home. Now, it only brought us pain. The old house had to go. I told Ph¨²c to let me do it, setting up things. Consulting with a private military contractor and making a connection, just in case. Moving out of the country just to be extra safe. Purchasing things. I bought a new apartment in a new land, one that was big enough for the three of us to live inside, and small enough that we would never feel lonely or disconnected. I wished I had said goodbye to Alice back then, face to face, instead of using a phone.


    But Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s condition was the top priority.


    Only the three of us knew its demonic promise from the final trial. The world, as usual, remains obvious and is fully convinced in its arrogance.


    Her dark and distraught but keen eyes staring, she can read the demon¡¯s lips as though reading a book. And our ears were sharp enough to not miss a single sound escaped from his sickening mouth.


    ¡°See you again. Soon,¡± the demon declared.


    That sentence haunted my mind the most out of every single malediction that I had heard.


    As for Th¨´y D??ng, she was not herself. Weeks and months of screaming and pursuing justice, seeing how justice failed, and then blaming herself for everything that has happened had turned her into but a husk, a sun no more, just a shadow of herself.


    ¡°I did that for you. To liberate you.¡± The demon had repeatedly said such an acrid lie from one trial to the next. That motherfucking psychiatrist used that acrid lie to support the argument on his side, again, again and again. A caricature of insanity at best. Fake insanity. Malevolent curses. Venomous words. A sinister lie that was meant to be repeated and heard over and over until people bought it.


    My ears could filter the demonic intention beneath those lies. Th¨´y D??ng, she knew they were lies. Her eyes could reveal the lies. But she chose to blame herself over time.


    Had she been herself, she would have never listened to that wicked suggestion. Dad and mom were not being murdered by her hands. An insane, cruel and tyrannical bitch she once was, but never wormlike or a demonic. A bunch of brainless worms did that. A demon engineered that tragedy for its sinister amusement. Even though logically, it was not her fault. She blamed herself. She was always calculative and logical. But people just can never reason with their emotions through logic and reasoning. People cannot do math and number with their emotions. Even a genius programmer cannot debug the glitches and bugs existed inside her heart. Words had power. Words could lift a person up or throw that person down. They could become maledictions or blessing. ¡°I did that for you. To liberate you.¡± This time, it was malediction. She should have realized it. She was smarter than that. She was stronger than that. She should have the strength to break that malediction apart, unaided.


    I watched as Th¨´y D??ng became an empty husk of herself, a vessel of despair and sorrow. Inside my arms, she was like a newborn fawn learning to stand for the first time, crying and quivering helplessly. I squeezed Th¨´y D??ng inside my arms, smothering her, kissing her teary lips, questioning if the person I made love to was an imposter.


    Not even in my wildest and craziest imagination that she could look like that. I knew Th¨´y D??ng. She was a tyrannical bitch. She was insane and unreasonable. Th¨´y D??ng was not made of iron and steel. She was soft and delicate when it counted. She was made of spice, sugar, acid and something else that the world would never know. Th¨´y D??ng was far stronger than the combination of the two us, impossibly and unreasonably strong, so strong that Ph¨²c and I could only keel over to show our respect. She was smart. As smart as FY had ever been. She took our joke as a challenge. ¡°I don¡¯t have to play ROC to beat you at ROC.¡± My pride and arrogance aside, my masochistic nature had always secretly wished that she was there to learn the look on our face when that shitty AI, what was just a bunch of codes that she had written at the beginning, flattened us, one by one on that stage as everyone watching.


    Not even in my craziest imagination that Th¨´y D??ng would transform into this kind of creature, a shadow of herself, only live her days in tears and despair. Th¨´y D??ng was crying every day, full of pain, full of despair. Be away from our woven arms for a short few minutes, she would break down in despair. If she woke up without seeing us next to her, haunting cries would escape her.


    She was born strong. Strong in the mind, strong in the body, strong in the heart. She had known no weakness until the day our parents were murdered.


    Watching her despair and sorrow, there were moments when my heart could take it no longer, Phu?c had to come out, taking my spot, be the man of steel that he was. When she was not crying, Th¨´y D??ng would babble something, something that our sharp ears could barely catch. But we knew that Th¨´y D??ng was cursing herself, repeating the demon¡¯s malediction.


    I wished I had slapped her. Slapped the curses and maledictions out of her, slapping sense into her head and slapping the nonsense out her mind, the same way I did to Erinys. I wished I had been more forceful, more heartless, more violent and a lot crazier back then.


    Back then, I only knew how to watch Phu?c smothered Thu?y D??ng inside his arms, squeezing her quivering body as if he could squeeze out the despair and sorrow inside her. ¡°It hurts,¡± complained she, but never opposed or pushed him away. She always embraced him right back, burying her teary face inside his chest, sobbing to exhaustion and slumber until the nightmares took her. That¡¯s when I swapped my spot with Phu?c without fail. I had to come out. Otherwise, there would be two people sobbing on that bed.


    Just one of us being malfunctioned and damaged was already enough. Two, I was not so sure. Back then, either Phu?c or I, if either one of us broke, the other would break as well.


    It was the time for the two of us to be strong, stronger than we have ever been, together. We knew that, instinctively, with our mind and heart in unison. We had to be strong, for Th¨´y D??ng, for the two of us and for everyone else. We had to be.


    Ph¨²c, he only focused on keeping her alive, well and good. A midnight sun or not, strong or weak, miserable or not, he had devoted to living the rest of his life for her. Phu?c loved her, longer than I have ever loved her, perhaps, more than I have ever loved her. His thought and his heart, his life, and even his future, they existed solely for her. He could feel the assimilating weakness and fear that seeped right into her heart. The two of us, Phu?c and I, were her last remaining family, the only family that still counted. Phu?c recognized that invisible fear before I did. Weaknesses of the heart and the mind are the hotbeds of fear and the darkness that comes with fear. It was just one thing after another, complication after complication and then complication. Against that crashing tides of complications, those pills, those therapeutic incense candles, and those therapy sessions solved shits.


    The fear of being left behind, the fear of being alone, the fear of abandonment, Phu?c recognized the grip of that invisible vice before Th¨´y D??ng displayed the various symptoms and asked us those stupid questions. If we would choose Alice over her at the time. If we got tired of her shit.If we hated her all along. If we detested this current miserable sight of her. How long until we would move out. Stupid question. Phu?c would repeatedly reassure her through action and words. He and I, Phu?c and me, we lived only to comfort her. Everything else in the world came second to her will and her need. We brought her with us everywhere we went to, even to our games and our matches. Her seat, front row, always in middle of every arena, always at the center of all the seats.


    She knew that she was being dependent on us, physically, sexually, and emotionally. We were her morphine and heroin. She knew. But she lacked the strength to break out of it.


    It was until Thu?y D??ng was conceived with our child that she managed to baby-step from that quagmire of fear, pain, and sorrow. The logical part of her mind screamed at Thu?y D??ng to be strong for our child. And she followed the will of that scream with baby footsteps, tottering out of her sorrow mire. Our girl was the reason behind her newfound courage and her returning strength. Thu?y D??ng did not do that for herself. She did all of that for our girl.


    Our sun would rise again one day, the two of us knew. And we could even feel it.


    I was too na?ve¡­


    I should have acted. I alone among the three of us who could still maintain a cold and calculated head at the time. My eyes muddied by my own tears and emotional and all. But still, my thought was sickeningly cold. My eyes closed back then, a hundred paths stretched. How to kill that demon without being caught. How to finish the job that justice should have done. Now, a million paths opened when I searched. But it mattered not. Not even God could change history.


    You killed them. Your indecisiveness killed them, the casket seemed to whisper when it made me relive that day. When I heard that phantom condemnation, I pictured Niwdar must have blamed herself when Naharis violated her. She must have thought that she should have tended her father and nipped the manifestation of his madness before it budded. I could picture that even now when Niwdar had learned about me and URLOX¡¯s machination, she still believed that it was her fault. She possessed the miracles to heal and restore him, but she did not.


    The tighter the constriction of the casket over me, the more I understood Niwdar¡¯s psyche. Miracles like this, Lust¡¯s red dream, Sanguine¡¯s venom, Yasubotay¡¯s projection, Rasahlu¡¯s whisper, they went both ways like sex and honey trapping. Niwdar saw my past and the demon that I was. I understood the incurable and insufferable fool that Niwdar was.


    I should have been the one to act. The demon had declared its intention with such confidence. I should have acted. I should have never trusted the iron bars when the iron bars were powered by the weight of the bank notes like the same way that the entire judicial system was powered and kept alive by the weight of the banknotes. I should have orchestrated its ending back then. Sensing an opening, the golden casket tightened, singing the foul cicada¡¯s mating song.


    Then came the day my midnight sun sank into the darkness of the afterworld, forever. That morning, she stayed behind. Morning sickness, plus my crowds were always too rowdy, loud and wild. Bad for our girl. She smiled at us with her usual commanding smile, sending us to our battlefield with a blessing of a Goddess.


    S0rr0w was strong. But that blessing was stronger.


    That was the last time she smiled for us. I no longer had any delusion about justice and hope, only darkness. The day my other half quitted living all together, disconnected himself from me, I no longer had any dream nor delusion about a family of just the three of us, and our child, only a storm of unbridled rage and a fragmented world of repressed fury, only an oath of vengeance.


    I should have killed it.


    The casket made me relived that day over and over and over again as if it did not know that I had already done that to myself. Reliving that day and hoping for an unlikely miracle, deceiving myself over a lie that I would never buy. Neither Niwdar nor the golden casket understood that an already broken man could not be broken once more. An already insane man could not be made insane once again. The casket probed my heart, wrenched out my tears, pounded me in the guts and tried to do a thorough job, a finer job, a better job, breaking me into finer pieces and making me even more hopeless.


    I clearly felt her arrogance, Niwdar¡¯s arrogance, through the golden casket. Miracles and authority reflected a part of the nature of their owners. The black dream was a casket of despair and futility. The red dream was a casket full of sweet nothing. And the golden dream was a casket of self-torment. Niwdar believed that she could break me better than I could break myself.


    And I thought that joke is Flok¨ª¡¯s specialty. Hilarious.


    The joke was so bad, so cold and dry that I had no idea whether I should give Niwdar a laugh of pity or not, just to encourage her and tell her, ¡°Keep trying. Believe in yourself. You can do it next time.¡±


    The memory of that red summer evening was like a metronome for me, a special metronome among many metronomes. Always present, always ticking alongside the accursed symphony of summer. Even when I was swimming in the sea of despair, I could still hear its ticking.


    The casket constricted. I could almost feel Niwdar¡¯s phantom hands patting my head gently as if to say, it¡¯s fine to die. It¡¯s okay to embrace death. Death is not scary. But I also felt her repulsion and nausea when she touched me.


    I played along with Niwdar¡¯s joke, allowing her to keep stroking my head.


    Death was easy, the easy way out, as easy as pulling the internet cable in a losing game. Closing my eyes, a trillion paths lead me to a painless death. Giving up was plain simple, I just had to close my eyes and surrendered myself to the hands of the Almighty Ones. And they would have sent me straight to hell, the destination where I wanted to be, either that or Gods and Buddha needed to have their eyes checked. But there was a major problem with those choices.


    The problem is, they solve nothing. Killing myself I would kill Ph¨²c as well. Giving up and killing myself would resolve none of my problems and I had billions. Neither death nor asking God for salvation took away the guilt and the regret of knowing that I should have listened to my instinct over rationality and mortality and logic.


    Back then, on Earth, when I believed that Death was the end, the real end of all things, I had hope. Now that I had discovered that Death was a real disappointment, I no longer had any hope or expectation about letting Death dictated my fate.


    Should have never trust the mallet of justice. Should have never trust the entire judicial system when the entire judicial system survives on banknotes. The servants of justice, defender of justice, the enforcer of justice, the agents of justice, the chief of justice, they had mouths to feed and survive on the weight of the banknotes. When banknotes and the highest bidder held the power to command the best agents of justice, the best barrister and law firms in the nation to find holes in the judicial system, when the banknotes could tamper pieces of evidence and forensic reports, when the banknotes could turn a load of bullshit into a psychology test, the mallet of justice was already bought. The scale of justice would tilt over to the side that has more weight. And banknotes have much weight.


    The scale of justice and the mallet of justice, in the end, were tools, crafted to serve humans. And humans are fucked up by nature, after the worms and the demons.


    I relived those days. Loudly, the cicadas sang their summer song. I laughed a hollow laugh, a dry and tearless laugh.


    ¡°We are very sorry,¡± the enforcers of justice said when they made me watched that sickening clip.


    The demon laughed insanely as he filmed the whole things. He celebrated his escape, gun blazing. Four brainless worms laughing, accomplices, drunk on their brainlessness as they cheered for the carnage. Knife carving, the demon¡¯s laughter echoed inside my head alongside the chirping cicadas¡¯ song. A red afternoon. A sanguine summer.


    Quietly, I watched without blinking once. How she tried to save our unborn child and how she failed. She begged for our girl. She died begging. I watched as she, my midnight sun sank to the afterworld begging. When the clip ended, only darkness remained. Phu?c still disconnected, said nothing, still.


    ¡°Find me. You are smart. You know how to find me,¡± the demon told me at the end of the clip.


    The cicadas were singing in the background. My body forced me to laugh since the damn tears could not come out. My carefully honed acting skill failed me in the direst moment. So I forced a burst of lamed laughter to come out of my mouth.


    And, ¡°We are very sorry,¡± they said whereas they should have kept their mouth zipped.


    ¡°We are very sorry,¡± I mimicked their voice and tone with a bright smile, then boomed, be as loud as I could possibly be. ¡°WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?¡± I interrogated them, being the one-man band of good cop and bad cop. The light flickered and the opaque glass of water on the interrogating table cracked as I shouted. ¡°WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?¡± Since that glass has already cracked, I allowed the primal fury leaking out of my voice to break it, adding the pitch and vibration on top of that. And it broke, once and for all, completely. The water spilled everywhere.


    FUCKING HILARIOUS.


    ¡°We are very sorry,¡± they said, quiet and subdued like a bunch of men with their balls recently chopped.


    But what does that even mean? What does, ¡°We are very sorry,¡± even mean? I could not understand their reply back then. I still could not understand their reply now.


    My fists rapped against the table, ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear your sorry. I want justice,¡± I hissed coldly, ¡°I want to bring that demon to justice. LET JUSTICE BE DONE THROUGH THE HEAVEN FALL.¡± I lied barefacedly, wearing the red mask of seething anger.


    There is no pointing blaming the incompetence of the mallet, or its laziness, or its uglier and hidden nature. There was no point blaming the hand of fate. Shit happens every day, one way or another. Blaming luck and the hands of fate are pointless.


    It¡¯s stupid for FY to blame himself. It¡¯s not his fault. I would play that Final series again if I must, one way or another. If God gave me another chance, I would play that final and set a trap to kill that worm at the same time. But if God could watch his only Son died for the greater cause, he could watch other people suffered for the cause.


    There was no point in blaming myself that I should have acted back then. Blaming myself would not give me an edge in making that demon paid. Blaming myself would not get Phu?c to stand up. Blaming myself would not solve my problems and neither vengeance. Killing myself solve nothing.


    I am no rose, Phu?c is.


    Demon? Do you think you are the worst?


    I will show you something far worse and far uglier.


    If I cannot do that, I am not Fearless, I swore.


    I saw my younger self swearing that oath in an endless loop, again and again. The golden casket tightened again, convincing me that I had lost my way. It showed me something strange, a choppy PG version of the event following right after the moment I made that oath. The casket forced me to see that choppy PG version sequences over and over. No longer had it presented me a choice to choose my own path, remaking my past or repeating the wrongs of life. No longer had the casket allowed me to make a choice of my own. Why? I could not understand the intention and design of Niwdar in stripping my freedom so late into the game. Besides, why make it PG? I could not understand the intention, so I obediently watched the altered truth, reliving my life in an altered past. The demon ran into an unforeseen accident while escaping justice. An accident at the sea, on international waters. With the demon, many died. And I failed my quest of vengeance. The PG version that golden casket showed me contained a tiny fragment of hope at the end. Hope depended on how it was used, could be a deadly poison. So I waited in anticipation for Niwdar to spring the devious trap. Eventually, the ringed casket told me I have given in to the demon¡¯s malediction and became a demon myself in Ph¨²c¡¯s voice and Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s voice.


    What? I was flabbergasted.


    It was a massive failure. All that buildups for a massive disappointing ending? I was baffled for a moment and then choked on my own spit, realizing that I have gotten my guard up over nothing. Enraged, I showed Niwdar and her casket my three middle fingers, the left one, the right one and the original one. One middle finger could express my fury and disappointment, so I had to show her three. I felt the waves of repulse spread. Niwdar nearly threw up when she caught me whipping out my dick.


    I did not give in and become a demon. I chose, BITCHASS, I corrected Niwdar.


    I lost? I asked, concentrated and focused my imagination on an image. I tried to replicate that miracle Lust had taught me, the conjuration of a dream on top of a dream. Creating a dream within a dream. Using one dream to erase another dream. Layered dreams. I projected the truth upon the golden casket, the unedited and unaltered version that Niwdar should have shown me instead.


    Does this look like a winner to you? I challenged the golden casket and its mistress. My finger directed at the broken demon or what became of it. A demon no more. The demon was caught, completely unprepared. This is the reality, bitch.


    As I was being moved to a solitary cell, FY, The Alliance, Alice, and my devoted followers stirred up the media, thinking that I was still being wrongfully locked up inside the prison under false charge. It was the third week that I was being kept in the prison over the assault charge.


    I refused to meet them, or talk to them out of my character and refused to hire an attorney, knowing what would happen next.


    Neither staying silence nor self-isolation was a known virtue of mine or Ph¨²c. The two of us were loud, always. Because I was acting out of character, because of my silence and rejection of meeting them, they believed that I was forced and set up to shoulder the blame. I made them believed that I was being framed by the enforcers of justice. I made them believed that I was being forced to admit a crime that I did not commit.


    I knew what they would do. Alice used her mini talk show to the maximum effect. Merleon, Fantasy, and Misery would do whatever they could. FY would be FY. But my prediction had not gone all according to my imagination. I did not know the length they would walk for me. I underestimated the scale of that shitstorm.


    FY hated dealing with politics and his own root to the extreme. Hated his roots as much as he might, FY hated turning his back on his brothers more than anything. Ever the loyal friend and brother that he was, FY brought out the big gun. He returned home, using his clan¡¯s connection to whip up a storm. The entire Feng clan was a clan made up of clever, wise, influential and well-spoken scholars and politicians. For something that had once been so trivial and private, my case, they whipped the case into an international problem.


    I stayed in that prison to create a smokescreen for my associates to act. I meant to be the misdirection. And they were meant to pull off the magic trick. I was anticipated for an L size smokescreen. FY brought and XXXL size. Too big of a smokescreen that I had to adapt accordingly.


    The chief enforcer of justice asked me to receive the phone call, talking to FY, my attorney, and some random TV person. I refused with bright smile, making no sound. He then asked me to walk out of the cell, free of charge. ¡°No, thanks. I started liking this place. The food is good. Nice neighbors. I am feeling perfectly at home,¡± replied I, smiling. Funny, and I had just burst a man¡¯s balls, his subordinate¡¯s balls, and was rightfully charged and jailed with an assault felony. He tried to have his men dragging me out of my cell by force. I told him to be extra careful of leaving police violent evidence on my body because I would resist with every ounce of strength inside my body. I told him that as soon as I went out to meet that mob I would strip my clothes, showing them the evidence immediately.


    The inmates on the neighboring cells cheered and laughed, telling the man that they would testify against him, adding heat to the situation. Of course, they would. That was what bribery and promises were for. I bribed them to act as my coordinators, communicators, earpieces, and mouthpieces. That was what my tongue was for, communication. I rub your back. You rub mine. I help you. You help me. Tell your brother that this how society works, even in prisons. I mocked Niwdar, commenting on the scene.


    I was prepared to spend a year sitting in that jail when I burst that man¡¯s nuts. Cheap price to call forth a perfect smokescreen to execute a misdirection.


    ¡°What the fuck do you want?¡± The man screamed at me, banging his rough hand at the bars.


    My neighbors laughed themselves to tears, hollering.


    It was funny that justice would keel over to the public¡¯s opinion. I popped that man¡¯s balls magnificently as dozens of inmates were cheering and whistling with thunderous applause. And justice was okay with that, me popping the balls of an enforcer of justice. They had the evidence. And I was rightfully convicted with an assault felony. And they would let me go. Life is a dark comedy.


    I searched for a smokescreen. I got my smokescreen, bigger and better than what I had anticipated.


    The media had their topic. As usual, I was their cash cow, their drama queen, their drama prince. The public was just as dependent to drama as much as my slavery was to alcohol. Drunk on the drama created by the media, the public was furious, acting like packs of hungry sharks and starving hyenas.


    ¡°Release Fearless,¡± they chanted. ¡°Release Fearless.¡± I could hear their enraged chants while being locked inside my solitary cell. ¡°Release Fearless.¡± Fantasy¡¯s desperation enhanced with loudspeakers echoed the walls. Merleon¡¯s shout was loud. The two of them were taking turns, working with the loudspeaker and organizing that mob of angry fans and SJWs. The way that mob was organized and the timing was impeccable to the point that it was terrifying.


    And people said Fantasy was just a clown. And people said Merleon was just a big, lumpy and quiet guy. That clown was just as intelligent as FY. Even when he was laughing and clowning around, he was thinking. And the quiet guy was easily the smartest person in the team. He was always quiet, which mean he was always listening and learning, and that made him the smartest in the team. And people said Misery was just a stupid edgelord. The guy who chose to stay in the shadow and not reveal his cunning misdeeds? An edgelord he is, but never stupid.


    Stupid is me. Logic wise, I should just talk and explain the situation to my family. I should just be a good boy, acting like everyone else, every normal man would do. Walk out of the prison, call off my contractors and associates, and leave the matter to the servants of justice, even if justice would fail again.


    Great distraction. Thanks to that smokescreen, the entire world believed that I was still being locked up inside that prison, helpless, crushed and defeated. Thanks to them, the demon was not even prepared for what comes next.


    I hated how I used them, their good nature to further my vengeance. But my fury was cold, white and uncompromising. I used them, my brothers, my family like an asshole that I was.


    I eventually reached an agreement with them, the enforcers of justice. I signed a statement and made a video record of that statement, making the incompetence of justice appeared to be a ruse, making the public believed that my lockup was a ruse to lure out the demon, saving their dignity. I made the statement about how the two of us, justice and me, were buddy-buddy in secret and that warrant and the interrogations and imprisonment had never existed. I made sure to kiss justice¡¯s ass, adding a lie that my silence was especially important for the investigation.


    In return, they would pretend that I had never crushed a man¡¯s balls, erasing the evidence as I watched. They would pretend that we had never had any conflict or misunderstanding. They would only release the statement when the time was due.


    They wanted a lie of a statement to save their dignity, to pretend their incompetence and mistake had never existed. They wanted a lie. So I cooperated and showed them a lie. My kind of lie.


    While the world still believed that I was being mistreated and locked inside the prison, when the media was being their usual self, milking the money and viewers out of what happened to my family, what happened to Thu?y D??ng, when the public was furious, I was already outside the bars.


    I contacted my associates the PMC that I had consulted before to keep a close tap on his capital and connection, the capital of the demon¡¯s old man. I would not fall for false leads and trickeries. There was no reason to believe the word of a demon. There was no reason to believe the lead and hint given to me by a demon. The demon wanted entertainment from watching how false hope evaporated into true despair. My ears could filter out the lies. A lying demon made a lying sound.


    The demon wanted entertainment. I showed it the cost of its entertainment, a waking nightmare, the weight of my fury and madness.


    I chased after my leads before justice could alarm the demon of my current status due to their incompetence. I had the leads. A leisure 300 feet ship and one final undisclosed farewell party before that demon assumed a different identity, wearing a new synthetic face and synthetic fingerprints.


    On TV, its mother cried the same old crocodile tears to exhaustion, acting crazy, acting as she had never known that her son was a demon wearing human skin. She was good at making people sympathized with her. Its father had disowned it to save his family¡¯s name, helping the enforcer of justice with whatever he could in public. A genius public stunt, smart business decision making as ever. I followed the reality TV as I tracked the demon¡¯s whereabouts, watching how justice¡¯s incompetency kept unfolding.


    I had the initiative and surprise factor. I had the lead and the demon did not know that I was already coming after it. I had my people. I had three professional strike teams working for me. I found where it was, the demon and that capital boat. Since back then, I had already predicted the ending of this hunting trip.


    The stealth drones spotted the demon on the top deck of that 300 feet leisure boat. The commander of the strike teams asked my opinion out of their respect and concern.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask my permission. Do what you must. Do it your way. You guys are the professionals, not me,¡± I replied. I had no experience in war and combat. But they had. I hired them. I saw their work. I saw their progress. I trusted them.


    The commander proposed his plan, waiting for nightfall to commence an amphibious assault on that boat. I told him that I could wait for a thousand years. A few more hours made no difference.


    Rarely heaven would be on my side. But that time, the gods on heaven, regardless of which mythology they came from, lent me their help, aiding the already winning side. It was as if heaven told me, ¡°Since you are about to win this battle, crush it completely.¡± Communication was halfway off due to the thunder and statics. The strike teams shut all forms of communication and signals on that ship down. None thought that the communication on that ship was being jammed by the drones. The timing of that tropical storm was a blessing.


    The will of Heaven, the Earth, the people. I could not ask for more.


    In the midst of the moonless night and screaming tropical storm, the strike teams boarded that yacht, a 300 feet of pleasure and distraction.


    None knew what was coming. None were prepared for my fury and madness.


    The light on that yacht went off for a while, five minutes or so. Then on, only to be off again. Only the light in the bar and the casino on the top deck, and the luxury suite on the third decks remained stable, drawing in the guests. Then, the light went on, flickered, on and off, off and on. I played with my coins, observing as that tropical storm became stronger. The rain fell harder. The sea was as white as my fury. The thunderclap got noisier every minute passed. That anchored yacht, alone in the midst of the storm, was the only thing that became less noisy. Twice, the quiet and subdued noises of gunfire could be heard among the thunderous clapping of lightning bolts. But only my ears could capture the silenced sounds through the feed.


    Then came the confirmation on the coms. The lighting on that ship became normal again. The mission was a success. A cold, quiet and anticlimactic success.


    I boarded that 300 feet yacht, accompanied by three bodyguards. Corpses littered the decks. None of them was prepared to face my wrath and insanity. Worms, worms not, involved people, uninvolved innocent bystander, captain, sailor, VIP, VVIP, VIP not, all dead. Pampered sons of whom, beloved daughters of whom, great husbands of whom, treasured wives of whom, CEO of what company, chairman of what enterprise, good people, bad people. Knives and bullets make no distinction between their identities or background.


    Knives and bullets only discriminate moles and allies.


    I seared my eyes with the scene of carnage and breathed in the stench, my sin, and my ticket to hell. Like a true hypocrite, I internally apologized to the souls of the departed. I only needed to capture one demon. But these people had to die. Their death furthered my vendetta. That old man, that crafty genius businessman had to answer to justice for what happened on this 300 feet leisure ship. He aided the demon¡¯s escape twice. First, it was that asylum breakout which led to Thu?y D??ng¡¯s death. Second, it was this leisure ship. I made him paid the extra fees. But, I doubted he could pay the fees this time when the bereaved family of these VIPs and VVIPs came straight at him like a school of empty-belly sharks, no longer on his side like before. No longer his allies, no longer would they aid him like they once did during those exhausting trials and retrials. I made him paid.


    The same hush money he gave us back then, I used that to contract these strike teams, tearing his future and family apart in a hush operation.


    ¡°You exceed my imagination,¡± the demon smiled when it saw me arriving with my escorts. That unapologetic smile was the click that flipped the switch.


    I was fluent in the language of violence thanks to my years living with Th¨´y D??ng. Violence was punctual, lawful, crafty, and sometimes, very kind. Violence was a tool, existed to serve a greater purpose. But for once, violence overcame me, completely. I lost my command over this language and even the human speaking language. I was a fragmented instrument assembled to execute its greater will.


    I had simulated this faceoff inside my head over a thousand times. But never like this, messy and out of control. That cacophony of rage erupted just as sudden as a lightning bolt. My fury white, but no longer cold. White and hot as raging a white dwarf. The dark primal howl escaped my throat sounded like something that leaked out of a portal connected to the depth of the abyss. That hyper demonic laughter mixed up with that abyssal howl inside my head in a crescendo as the world seared in violence.


    Neither Ph¨²c nor I had ever punched a person in our life up to that point. But I was already pummeling demon before I knew what I was doing. I punched the smile and the laughter out of demon¡¯s mouth. I barely felt the moment when fist repeatedly connected with the bridge of the demon¡¯s nose and sickening breaking sounds that came along the process. I did not know if those noises came from my shattered knuckle or the demon¡¯s flattened nose bones. I felt nothing while punching its face. But it mattered not, I kept pommeling. The more I pommeled the demon¡¯s wretched rain stained face, the more I felt that scratching emptiness inside my heart. I howled and pommeled. I pommeled and howled. I knew nothing else.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Inside that falling night rain, I had realized that Th¨´y D??ng was already gone. It was not that difficult to tell. It did not take a genius to realize.


    Ain¡¯t no sunshine when she¡¯s gone. Only darkness every day. My disagreeable midnight sun sank, forever. Ain¡¯t no sunshine when she¡¯s gone, just like Bill Withers sang. I had always known. I had already realized. I had no need to listen to someone else¡¯s rambling telling me that she was already gone from my life. I knew. I had already known from that time. I know.


    My memory of Th¨´y D??ng flooded my mind. I remembered the taste of her tears. I remembered the flavor of her lips. I remembered the warmth of her hug. I remembered Th¨´y D??ng when she was strong and blinding like a sun. I remembered the look on Th¨´y D??ng¡¯s face when she was weakened and helpless. I remembered the look on her face when I told her that I have decided a name for our girl.


    ¡°Ba?t H??i¡±. Unrepentant. Without regret. No regret.


    Thu?y D??ng did not like that name, not one bit. ¡°Ba?t H??i¡± is a really strange name by any stretch of naming standard.


    Phu?c agreed. He said that ¡°Ba?t H??i¡± made a perfect condition for our child to be bullied at school later on, even better than a name like Fuck Da Bitch. And I had to agree with him. ¡°Ba?ch Ba?t H??i¡± is a problematic name that spells nothing but disagreement and unseen troubles.


    ¡°Definitely not,¡± Thu?y D??ng said, adamantly, ¡°Not on my watch. Not when I am the mother. Definitely not.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not disagreeing with you on that point,¡± I weakly laughed, raising my hands to surrender. Thu?y D??ng chuckled. Phu?c laughed. Good time.


    The bill fell out of my favor. So, I could never get it across, what I meant to say, what I meant to show her.


    I had pictured that later on there would be days that those stupid questions would appear on Thu?y D??ng¡¯s mind again. Fears went away with comforts and reassurance. But the seeds of doubt remained, hidden, invisible.


    I often imagined that Thu?y D??ng would ask me and Phu?c those stupid questions once again on a random day or a bad day. She would remember how bad she looked, how terrible she had been. She would remember those days. And those questions that had haunted her back then would return to haunt her. She would question. If we would choose Alice over her at the time. If we hated her all along. If we detested this current miserable sight of her. If we are only by her side because we pity her, not love. How long until we would move out. Stupid questions.


    When that happened, I would call our girl over, hugged her, asking a cheeky question, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Ba?t H??i,¡± she would answer.


    I would then turn at Thu?y D??ng, wearing my perfectly cheeky smile, ¡°That¡¯s the answer. My answer.¡± An absolutely stupid answer to a bunch of stupid questions.


    Ba?t H??i. No regret. I have no regret being with you. I have no regret loving you. I have no regret living with you. No matter what. No matter how tyrannical and bitchy you are. How ugly and weak you may be. No matter how ugly and unromantic our meeting was. No matter the high and low. No matter how our child and this family came to be. No matter what.


    ¡°I had no regret back then. I have no regret now. I will have no regret in the future. And I will have no regret at the end of the day.¡± With Ba?t H??i in my arms, I would tell her my answer.


    Thu?y D??ng had a photographic memory. So I was fine with her picking a different name. After all, ¡°Ba?t H??i,¡± is a really weird name by any stretch of imagination. So I would change the scenario accordingly, asking a different cheeky question, ¡°Do you remember the name I intended to name our girl?¡±


    Showered inside that cold salty rain, I howled at the injustice. Fighting injustice with injustice, win or lose, only the injustice remained. Fighting injustice with injustice, the victor is the bigger injustice. I howled at the injustice.


    Phu?c and I skipped the celebration party. We returned home early, a champion once again, proud and stupidly happy, knowing that she would be there, waiting for us with an arrogant smile on her lips. Just that thought alone would a stupidly bright smile to our lips.


    But there, darkness and despair greeted us instead. A cruel trail of blood. A cold body and the accursed symphony of mating cicadas.


    I knew since. I had always known.


    A once wholesome dream, a tiny happiness, a warm home, a gentle and self-contained illusion of what may one day be and what could have been, they came crashing down the same way that glass of water on the interrogation table. They were already fragmented before. Now, they came crashing down in the pouring salty rain.


    I cried. I cried for the first time since the day our parents were murdered. I howled for our adoptive parents. Our parents. For mom and dad. Not once I had cried for them. Not once Phu?c had cried for them. We did not cry, fearing that Thu?y D??ng would catch us crying. We did not cry, fearing that we would never stop crying once we started. But Phu?c was not here, nor Thu?y D??ng. I cried.


    I cried. I cried for Th¨´y D??ng. She was only just standing up on her own feet. I cried. I cried for Ba?t H??i, our unborn child. Thu?y D??ng had a myriad of well-meaning names in her mind that she intended to gift to our child. Phu?c had a world of gentle sounding names in the back of his mind, praying for a gentle and kind future to our girl. The two of them had been talking about the perfect combinations and agreed on three dozens, but never narrowed down to one name in specific. So our girl was ¡°Ba?t H??i,¡± because I had named her so. A terrible name to give to a girl. A name that spells disagreement and problems. I cried.


    I cried. I cried for a broken dream, a broken happiness, a broken illusion, a broken future. I cried. I cried Ph¨²c¡¯s share because he remained disconnected and refused to cry. I cried for myself.


    I cried.


    My associates and employees had to remove me from that demon. That yacht floated on the ocean for the next few days to create false evidence before we sunk it to the ocean floor according to the plan. The demon¡¯s life was preserved by packages of my own blood while the yacht was afloat. O plus, mine. A plus, its. Knowing that I could make the demon bled just as much as my blood could keep it alive. I was not afraid not hurting it a little bit more than necessary during that time. As long as I kept pumping my own blood into its body, it would not die.


    My knuckles started to discolor, numbed. The right one smelled terrible, especially from that gaping small hole where the yellow slime kept oozing out. Later, I had a doctor surgically removed a broken molar belonged to the demon somehow managed to lodge inside my right knuckle. My left fist broke, had to be tapped in gauze. I told myself that never would I punch something or someone again. There are tools for that.


    The weeks, months, years and half a decade followed, cloudy white synthetic blood kept the demon alive. Its life was monitored and connected to machines. Its organ readily replaced with refined and delicate machinery. A team of underground doctors kept checking its status every fifteen minutes. The consoling money, the same one that its rich dad had given the three of us back then, now powered that underground facility, keeping the broken demon alive and locked up from society.


    Even though they were referrals from my associates, I had made sure that my employees were qualified people. I screened my own personnel.


    The entire process must be delicate, professional and systematic, I told myself repeatedly after I had consulted the experts and professionals of the field, torture experts. The demon had to know why it was being punished, beaten and broken.


    The mallet of justice dictated that the demon should live back then. I purchased it through a shady process. I wanted that mallet of justice saw through its decision back then. Otherwise, my goal would not be reached.


    A healthy mind can only be sustained over a long time with a healthy body. In order to break the mind, the body has to be broken down first. That was the greater purpose, the philosophy of tortures, interrogation, and imprisonment. In order to break the mind, breaking the body first.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked.


    I felt the gag reflex that almost overcame Niwdar¡¯s soul when I asked the demon that question.


    The demon shot Thu?y D??ng four times. With the same gun, I repaid it the exact amount. Off with the big toes and the two thumbs. Nothing else. The demon laughed. It could still laugh at the time. And I allowed it to laugh while it still could.


    After that, with the same wooden mallet that had once passed the judgment to save its life, I hammered four hundred sterilized ceramic nails across the demon¡¯s arms and legs slowly over the time, before the doctors amputated the blackened limbs one by one due to spreading necrosis.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I would always ask the same question before I hammered a nail. The demon has to know why it was being punished, tortured and beaten, I constantly reminded myself. Otherwise, I might hammer the brain out of its sickening skull in a blind fit of fury.


    Every time I asked the demon this same question, I conditioned the demon to feel the weight of my wrath. ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± Every time I asked the demon this same question. I conditioned myself to be patient and purposeful with my fury and vengeance.


    As I conditioned the demon, I conditioned myself. I conditioned the demon to be half-broken in its mind whereas everything else would be completely broken. I conditioned myself to be absolutely ruthless and cold in my fury.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked that meaningless question again and again. I always gagged its mouth first, preventing it from biting its tongue. I asked that question, not caring about the answer I would receive. That¡¯s why that question was meaningless.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I could give less than a damn about the answer to this question because it was meaningless to answer this question. As meaningless as vengeance. As meaningless as using injustice to flatten injustice. As meaningless as burning down my villa down. As meaningless as crying over a broken dream.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡±


    Around the 35<sup>th</sup> nail, the mallet broke in two. I laughed at how weak the object was, the mallet of justice. I sent the broken object to a carpenter, reconnecting it, reinforcing it with a metal frame and adding more weight to the mallet. It was not the appearance that counted. It was the core, the spirit, the manifestation. ¡°What the hell is it?¡± I asked my associate. I sent that object away, a mallet, it returned to me a sledgehammer. Regardless, the 36<sup>th</sup> nail entered the demon¡¯s femur with little to no effort.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡±


    The demon cut Thu?y D??ng a total combine of twenty-six cuts. Back then when I watched that clip, I counted. I systematically repaid the favor with 2600 cuts over the years with the very same knife. Moving that knife and that gun out of the evidence warehouse was as cheap as swapping that mallet with another mallet.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡±


    I delivered the first 26<sup>th </sup>cut. After that, I left the job to the able hands of the professionals. I found no joy or satisfaction or gratification to deliver the rest.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked the demon before making every cut. The doctors would ask the same question before making the cut. Words had magical power. Words when repeated, over and over again, had incredible power. When words are filled with curses and maledictions, repetition makes the curses stronger.


    It killed my unborn child as Thu?y D??ng begged. I put its groin on an anvil thrice because there was only one set of balls and one shaft.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I always asked the same question. But my voice had become so much colder than before.


    Thrice, the hammer of injustice fell with surgical precision and the demon frothed each time. Its eyes rolling white, the doctors described and even filmed the process, thinking that I would find joy in watching. I was not. What I saw were emptiness, meaninglessness, and futility.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked that meaningless question again.


    The demon had a tongue but it could not say one word of sorry. ¡°I don¡¯t need to hear the sorry from your mouth because that sorry means nothing. Sorry had no value. But you will live wishing you had said that. By the way, do you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked.


    I have that tongue surgically removed by a professional. Methodologically and systematically, I broke the demon¡¯s body, heart, and mind without joy or gratification. My fury cold, my vengeance empty. I achieved nothing. That unreasonable sun would never rise at midnight, ever. The dead could not walk among the living. In my heart, I knew that very well.


    But still, vengeance must be exacted when it is due. I found no joy in torturing the demon but I kept the torture going. Vengeance is meaningless, so I bashed meaninglessness with itself.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡±


    The day came when the curses sank in and the demon was sorry for its decision. Already completely broken in everything but the mind. I pretended not to notice, still.


    ¡°DO you know why I do this to you?¡± I asked the same question, still wearing the shirt We don¡¯t forget. We don¡¯t forgive since the first trial.


    The tears of remorse and sorry would solve nothing. No coherent word could come out of that mouth. No limb to write a sorry letter. Want to do something but cannot. Want to die but cannot. Want to express the remorse but cannot. Want to be forgiven but cannot. Helpless and broken. Equally helpless and broken as I once was on that sanguine summer evening. I returned that helplessness a thousand folds.


    ¡°Do you know why I do this to you?¡±


    Still, the question haunted it, forever and evermore.


    Does this look like a winner to you? I asked the golden casket, pointing my finger at the broken demon.


    The demon¡¯s arrogance destroyed, its body torn, its heart shattered, its will to live demolished, its mind half tattered. The demon wished to meet death but death comes too slow. The very fortune that its parents had once deposited in our bank account, consoling cash, comfort cash, hush money. The same fortune now was distributed to serve its intended purpose. Hushing. Comforting. Consoling. I had wanted no comfort or consolation from it since the first day I received it.


    The demon destroyed my family. I showed it how its family was torn apart. I did not believe that the demon would care if its family would be smashed apart while it was being locked up. But I showed the demon what happened to its crafty old man and old woman. Things were just as dark as that summer evening. That day I returned home, I saw only darkness and despair. As a result, I replicated that darkness and despair, making the demon live in it.


    ¡°My tortures and cruelty could only go so far,¡± I whispered to the demon in the manner that a father would whisper to his crying son, telling the son to be brave. ¡°The day would come when God would say, enough is enough. The day would come when God would say that you have suffered enough and he would rescue you from my fury,¡± I whispered warmly. ¡°If that is God¡¯s will, so be it. I¡¯m only a mortal man. I would listen to his greater will. The day would come when you could finally die, and be released from these unreasonable and unjust torments. The day would come when you are finally released from the earthly pain, released from these machines and fakes organs. The day would come when either God or the Devil himself would take you away and free you from the shackle of your mortally form. I promise you that day would definitely come. But fear not. Even in hell, you would see me. Because I would follow you to hell. Even in hell, you would see me still. Even in hell, you would answer to me. Even in hell, I will make you suffer. Even in hell, I will give you pain. Even in hell, I¡¯m your tormentor,¡± I told the demon as it howled incoherently, thrashing on the bed. The water of despair rolling. Too late. Too late.


    After that, I recorded and allowed my curse to play from dawn to dust. Curses are insidious things that only becomes stronger with every repetition. I fought curses with curses.


    Even in death, the demon would see me still, in hell. There is no hope for it. Only despair. Only suffer. Only darkness. And I made sure to drill that fact into its half-broken mind.


    I felt the dead silence in Niwdar¡¯s appalled heart as she watched how I tormented that demon.


    Open your eyes. Does this look like a winner to you? I turned and asked Niwdar through the golden casket once again, pressing my attack while my opponent is still weak.


    The tightly woven casket, Niwdar¡¯s miracle, instead of answering my question, showed me something that I had already known. Thu?y D??ng was killed. And Phu?c had given up on living. It told me that because of my inaction back then, still trying to convince me on its nonsense, that things became like that, a dark joke. I wept at how Niwdar¡¯s miracle had failed to convince me to off myself through ill-logic and nonsense, and now it tried to convince me to kill myself through logic.


    Woman, you have never had a proper debate in your entire life, have you? I laughed. ¡°The smartest people in the world would tell you that you can never win a debate against a stupid motherfucker.¡±


    When I captured the demon, I already won a physical victory. When Phu?c decides to quit his bullshit and stand up, I would win a most symbolic victory. And when I go hell and reunite with Thu?y D??ng there, I would win everything, the physical, symbolic and the ideological aspect of this battle. All doers and practitioners of injustice go to hell. Creatures of the darkness all go to hell. See? Ideological victory.


    Result wise, what had that demon destroyed? Nothing. Legacy wise, what did it win? Nothing. In what manner and aspect that you dare to declare that the demon had won? Nothing, I tell you


    Logically, I won. Illogically, I still won.


    I loathed being myself. I abhorred the demons I broke and I was disgust with the worms I had squashed. But I was their worse, the worst.


    But even so, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± announced I, the demon that I chose to be, back then and even now. With my hands, I grabbed and tore the casket apart. Coming out of the casket, I saw the reflection of my death glare from the Niwdar¡¯s wide-opened eyes, the reflection of a manmade demon.


    ¡°Since you are done speaking. My turn. As I have always said. Demons are cruel. I am crueler. The cruelest. Worms are nasty. I am a lot worse. The worst. Those are not boasts, they are the truth. I got foolishly drunk all the time because I want to be stupid, forgetful and thoughtless. The more brain cells I could kill, the better. Why? Nothing good has ever come out of this brain. The only time this brain does not work its malice and insanity is when I knock it out with strong boozes.¡± I laughed dryly, perfectly aware how lame and insane my laughter was.


    ¡°Do allow me to point out and correct your mistakes. You have made many mistakes.


    You said that I have given in to the demon¡¯s malediction and become a demon myself. But that¡¯s wrong.


    I have always been fully capable of becoming a demon myself whenever and wherever I want to be from the moment I came to be. It¡¯s a matter of choice, whether I actively want to make that choice or not. And I chose to become a demon myself. Make no mistake about it. Did you think that my cruelty and vindictiveness only manifest themselves as the byproduct and consequence of that demon¡¯s madness? No, woman, no. It¡¯s already here, this darkness, this rage, this insanity, has already existed inside my heart from the beginning. Before I even exist and come to be.


    This darkness, this rage, this madness, they were already here from the beginning. It¡¯s just a matter of choice that I want to realize them or not. It¡¯s just a matter of choice that I want to see the manifestation and the result of my cruelty and vindictiveness or not. The demon unknowingly ran to its worst. The demon just happened to open seal on the Pandora box. That Pandora box made a choice to open itself.


    Make no mistake, woman. When I said that I am the worst demon and the worst worm, I meant it literally and figuratively. You and your kind believe that I am completely helpless without a Miracle and Authority. But I don¡¯t need an Authority with the name like <Corruptor> to corrupt things. I don¡¯t need an Authority with a name like <Destroyer> to destroy things. What you call ¡°Authority¡± and ¡°Miracle¡±, I call ¡°Cheat¡±. Only noobs and scrubs require ¡°Cheat¡± to play through the game. I don¡¯t need Cheat to destroy this entire world alongside every existing spirit realm. I don¡¯t need Cheat to pervert and corrupt the world in my color. Feel free to test my claim. Give it a try. Just make sure your pocket can afford the cost.


    Next, if you come at me with the arrogance of a Goddess, put more weight and substance to that arrogance. When I smashed it, I barely feel it, that arrogance of yours.¡± I smirked, then raised a finger.


    ¡°But those mistakes are forgivable. Small mistakes. I am willing to overlook. Now, let¡¯s move on to the big mistake that you have made. The one I shall not overlook.


    You made me saw them crying, hurting and begging me to change, thinking the images would hurt me. You believe that my memories of them hurt me. You believe that when I saw FY begging me to change my mind when Alice pleading me to be a changed man when they cried, I felt hurt. How presumptuous.


    You made me see my family crying and pleading again and again to hurt me. You used my memory of them as tools to hurt me. You projected your thought and opinion into them, altering them, twisting them to hurt me. You have made the same mistake as the rest of your kind. My family does not hurt me. The memory of my family does not hurt me. I hurt myself, realizing my action hurt them. Make no mistake about that. I hurt myself. My family had never hurt me. MAKE NO MISTAKE ABOUT THAT.


    The people in my memory, my family, SO INSIGNIFICANT according to your belief that you have been using them merely as tools to hurt me. My family and the memory of them, what you people have disrespecting all along, believing that it was your right to see them and use them however you want, they are the only force in the world that can keep me in the line. They are the only force in the world that can pull me back from exacting my madness and rage at the injustice of the world full force. And all of you considered them insignificant.


    You come into my head. Look, take, copy and project your filthy images and illusions onto them. What you consider insignificant, I consider a treasure. They mean the world to me, and you people come into my head, do whatever you want with them as if you owned them as if they belonged to you. You saw nothing wrong in your action. You believe that you have done nothing wrong when you used my family as a tool to hurt me. This is the biggest mistake. They are the only thing that held me back from wiping all of you from your existence. They are the only force in the world that can stop me from baring my fangs and claws at you. They meant to protect you just as much as they meant to protect me from myself. And you considered them insignificant tools, using them to hurt me, to further your games, to enact your chaos, to bolster your ego.


    This space, my head, my thought, my dream, my memory, are sacred. They do not belong to you. I should have punished your daughter back then. But she had her use as a messenger. I have given my warning once through your daughter. Yet, still, you come, despoiling this sacred place with your presence. You have the freedom to make a choice, to come inside my head or not.


    STILL, YOU CHOSE TO COME. DESPITE MY WARNING. STILL, YOU CHOSE TO COME. DESPITE MY WARNING.


    This is your crime. All of you. This is your crime. This is why I declared war. If you refuse to acknowledge your mistakes, if you refuse to see your wrong and unjustness, I will make you. By force,¡± I declared.


    Niwdar found me repulsive. And I was fine with that because I could not stand her presence either. Even when we were talking face to face with a good twenty meters in between the two of us, I started to feel sick. So did her. Niwdar felt nauseous, talking to me. And I would not blame her.


    I took a deep breath, regaining my calm. I adopted a new tone, a carefree one. ¡°Woman, you were supposed to convince me to off myself, not telling me to go on living and keep being my asshole-self. WHAT THE HELL? You had seriously disappointed me,¡± I told Niwdar my most honest thought. ¡°I gave you two chances and you messed up twice. I even informed you that it was your final chance. Still, you squandered. I honestly feel nothing but pure disappointment right now. But I will thank you. You have just reminded me why I am Fearless. Thank you,¡± I bowed to Niwdar, showing her my utmost respect.


    Niwdar stared at me with her still emotionally clouded eyes. It was as if she has forgotten that we were still in the middle of a peace talk. While I have already understood her, I became a mystery to her. I had just smashed her greatest illusion apart without using a miracle. Apparently, she must have thought that my gesture of respect was a form of sarcasm. It mattered not.


    I fixed my voice again, stern and cold this time. ¡°Let me remind you, woman. You ran out of your chances. There will be no third time. The next time you or one of your daughters touch me or one of my people or interfere with the process of my plan, I will make you regret that decision for the rest of your immortal life. Trust me when I say that I will make you regret your decision. Because I will not bare my madness at you directly. What I will destroy, what I will attack is your daughters, all twelve of them. I will search for them and I will find them wherever you may hide them. I will break them apart. Mind. Body. Heart. And I will make you watch how they suffer and be broken. That I promise. That I swear.¡±


    Like a demon, I gave Niwdar my promise of equal destruction. ¡°But feel free to dare my fury, feel free to try my madness. Feel free to challenge my vindictiveness. Feel free to test my promise when perfect opportunities would present themselves to you. You are always welcomed. Especially you, woman. I have always wanted to see how useful your miracles and authority could be, both those that you had from the beginning and those that you had gained from the deal with Death,¡± I nonchalantly added, flashing a fair well-mannered smile.


    I had just smashed Niwdar¡¯s greatest illusion apart without using a miracle. And I reminded her, to make sure that Niwdar understood her predicament and the absurdity of reality. I then tapped my forehead twice. Ira manifested its dark protruding antenna accordingly. The <Horns of Ira>. <The Horns of Grudge>. The Embodiment of Grudge. The number two reason why Wrath was so feared and regarded as the dog of Munezee. Ran from Wrath, many of his targets could. But never hide or escape from him due to the existence of this pointy object. Nobody could hide from Wrath due to this object.


    Niwdar gave me a look of menace and aghast. I maintained my casual smile, unbent and unbroken and uncompromised.


    You are free to do things my way or do it your way. I told her. But, if I can promise something, I can always deliver. I reminded her. It is just a matter of whether I want to honor my promise or not.


    Niwdar and her kind, they had their nuclear weapons, their Miracles, and Authority. But I am the nuclear weapon. Peace was made like that, through fear or respect, or fear and respect. Peace is achieved when the total destruction of one side is accomplished, or both sides and either side make compromises due to the fear of more harm.


    Gods and Demon Lords had their kind of politics. I had mine. FY always tried his best to stay away from politics, but he could never run away from it or hide from it. Even in the world of pro-gamers and Esports, politics existed in all forms and shapes. A short post-game interview is politics. Proposals and speeches, too, are politics. Convincing the shareholders to release the share, buying those shares then selling them to FY, slowly pushing him to the chairman position, too are the extension of politics. War, in humankind¡¯s history, is just an extension of politics. War is politics. Peace is politics.


    So is threat, blackmail, and extortion, just an extension of politics. And politic, in the end, is just a mean to an end.


    If what I had shown Niwdar was not enough to make her fall in the line and be cooperative, the <Horns of Ira> popping out of my head would.


    ¡°As I promised, I will return her voice back to Clariciel. But if you ever see a perfect opportunity to do it yourself or intend to test my claim, feel free to try. Just make sure that you can end me once and for all. Otherwise, I will come. I will ruin your life. I will make you suffer. I will make you live wishing you could die. If you cross me, make sure I die. Otherwise, I will make you live with the consequence of your decision, forever,¡± I swore solemnly, wearing a mismatched childlike smile, full of innocence and goodness in contrast with my words.


    I paused a good three seconds for my malice to sink in Niwdar¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Do me another favor. Think before you do something stupid. THINK WITH YOUR HEAD. The world needs only one stupid asshole.¡± I gave Niwdar my final warning, unflinching, unapologetic and unashamed of being myself.


    It did not matter what these brain-dead morons do, how they fight, what kind of scheme they could concoct with their brainless skulls. The result remained the same, unchanged. Win or lose, the war would end in the manner I had desired it to end.


    Get it done. I heard her final words still, loud and clear, back then and even now. Hurdles exist for men to jump over them. Herculean feats exist for men to triumph over them. Exams are meant to be completed and passed. Businesses are meant to be concluded.


    ¡°I bid you farewell for now. Until we meet again,¡± said I to Niwdar.


    My greatest unfinished business on Earth, I would complete it on Escana.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Anyone who possesses a working brain could tell why engaging a Demon Lord in a one on one battle as a mortal is stupidity in its purest form and art.


    That¡¯s precisely why I have prepared myself to fight a Demon Lord in a solo duel.


    Searek and Sasengun, my combat instructors and confidants could not understand the logic of my answer, confronting my decision again and again.


    ¡°Of course, you would not understand the logic of my answer. Because there is none. This is ill-logic in its purest form.¡± My answer remained unchanged, standing against the test of time much to their frustration.


    Even in the likelihood that the human could miraculously win the engagement, inflicting a mortal blow to the flesh vessel of the Demon Lord, that Demon Lord could just return to Kharigan with his intact spirit and return with another flesh vessel unharmed, unhurt and whole. A battle between a mortal and a Demon Lord is a battle between a character having one life and a Boss character having infinite lives. Logically, it is not a battle designed for a mortal to win.


    As if he could sense my thought throughout our sparring lessons, Searek, ever the wise confidant that he was, repeatedly advised me against picking a one on one fight against a Demon Lord. People often labeled an orc or a kobold as ¡°stupid.¡± Unfortunately, many staff and officers of mine had often made that mistake even though people like Faugus and Searek had repeatedly proven their worth.


    ¡°Stupid¡± is the label to be attached with my name, not Searek, Faugus or their races.


    Even though I possess the abilities and the highest chance among any mortal to actually kill a Demon Lord, a one on one fight against a Demon Lord is something I should avoid at all costs. One solid hit lands and I am as good as gone. Besides, I was not a fighter, not back then, nor now, nor will I ever be. That was something I have completely understood through my sparring lessons with Searek.


    However, just because I should avoid a battle against a Demon Lord, it did not mean I would. Engaging in a one on one battle against a Demon Lord as a mortal is stupidity in its purest form, thus, as a believer and follower of Stupidity, it¡¯s the inevitability I must embrace, my inevitability.


    Ill-advisedly, I tossed aside my other plans, leaving most of the ongoing matters to Sasengun¡¯s able hands, trusting her abilities and decision making.


    I made it a goal of mine to fix Acre?a¡¯s attitude, be it by force or by wit or by manipulation. We mostly communicated through hysterical screaming, fierce unrelenting arguments, threats, coercion and pure domestic violence that went both ways and a lot of angry sexes. It appeared toxic. It sounded toxic and it felt incredibly toxic. But toxic communication still felt a lot better than a purely surface kind of communication and zero communication. I preferred Acre?a screaming out what troubling-her-mind right in front of my face rather than keeping her mouth shut. I preferred Acre?a to lash out and exact her anger through violence rather than keeping it inside her heart. I preferred making Acre?a bawled her eyes out than watching her staying quiet and depressed.


    It was funny how little the two of us knew each other. Even though we had embraced and fornicated like lovers for decades, this was the first time we truly understood each other. It was as if we had only lived and known each other inside a small utopian bubble until the moment I incited that catfight. I was no longer just a disagreeable person who only disagreed for disagreement¡¯s sake. I was no longer a prince-perfect in Acre?a¡¯s eyes, a target of pure ardor and canal fervor. ¡°Just an abusive, cheating, insane and manipulative bastard,¡± yelled Acre?a.


    I snorted, laughing loudly on the spot. It was funny just how long it took Acre?a to figure out the truth. If I wasn¡¯t already insane, I could never hope to overcome the black dream. If I wasn¡¯t already a manipulative bastard, I could never be an idol of a cult. If I wasn¡¯t already abusive, I could never fight injustice with injustice and fight demon by becoming a demon myself.


    As I had told her, Acre?a knew nothing about me even though she should have already from watching my memory.


    Acre?a screamed about how much she hated me now and how much she regrets falling in love with me and how much she wanted to puke from the thought of being in my presence. Yet, Acre?a still jumped and had sex with me every now and then. Just pure angry and abusive and toxic sexes, the kind of sexes that were made to expel one¡¯s anger and repressed feelings rather than the ones were made for carnal pleasures. It was the manifestation of our addiction toward each other.


    I was perfectly fine with that result and cost. A cheap bargain comparing to the value I got back in return. Making Acre?a a realized the kind of insane, abusive and manipulative demon that I was is just as effective a method. I made Acre?a understood how powerless she was through force and words, and demonstrations, being as abusive and toxic as I could be whenever Acre?a let her weaknesses shown.


    I taught Acre?a that there was a time for her to be free and be herself and lash out her anger. After that, study time. After that, exam time. Inside this place, there is enough time for everything.


    Our sparring became Acre?a¡¯s exams as much as they were mine. It only became harder for the two of us. But I did not restart the session immediately when I won. I made Acre?a understood that failing her exam is unacceptable. I taught her the cost of defeat.


    ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡±


    Repeatedly, Enferm¨¦ tasted her flesh, systematically. It kissed Acre?a¡¯s guts with its cruel pointy end. It nibbled her neck with its razor silvery edge. It bit her beating heart with a sharp twist. It tore her body in a psychotic slashing rampage. It slowly ravished her body with a systematic staby-staby hell. Enferm¨¦ knew no mercy.


    ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± I would ask that question every time.


    I taught Acre?a that Enferm¨¦ was an object of fear, failing her exam and defeat was to be feared. I beat that information into her consciousness through the pathway of phobia.


    In the book ¡°The Prince,¡± the META of winning the leadership war across ages, the author Machiavelli argued that ¡°It is better for a leader to be feared than loved if he cannot be both." While I did not agree with everything Machiavelli had written in ¡°The Prince,¡± I concurred with this point of his, that a leader should be feared than loved if he cannot be both. It was by this principle that I could stand at the center of a cult¡¯s worship. It was for this same principle that Bloodbeard employed someone like Ekar in that revolting and stomach-churning manner. It was by the virtue of following this principle that I had effortlessly won over Bloodbeard¡¯ worms. They feared me more than they did Bloodbeard and Ekar.


    Feared me, feared Enferm¨¦, Acre?a must. I just repeated what I have been doing my entire life.


    ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡±


    I conditioned Acre?a to use her head if she did not want to taste the cold razor edge or the cruel pointy end of Enferm¨¦. That was her life whether Acre?a liked it or not unless she could beat me or free herself from this endless dream. Study or Enferm¨¦. Every dreamland¡¯s day and hour, studying or Enferm¨¦. Many things to learn. ROC as a PC game. ROC as the reality. Attack animations and skill casting animations. Numbers. History. Outside the box thinking. Strategies and Tactics. Many things to learn. But I made sure Acre?a learned and remembered her lessons, that or Enferm¨¦. Carrot and stick.


    I rather have Acre?a cursed me than watching her die a meaningless and stupid death, unprepared. She was already a part of my faction, connected to me. So, Acre?a was on the list of harm, a named combatant. With her current laughable abilities, Acre?a would be struck down, perhaps even much earlier than a moron would.


    I did not give Acre?a an infinite time to learn. I showed her a clock. Every time the clock expired, it was exam time. I introduced Acre?a to a monster that was commonly known as ¡°deadline¡±. Since Acre?a lacked the awareness and motivation for self-studying like Pride did, I drilled the lessons into Acre?a¡¯s head through her crippling fear of Enferm¨¦ and the ¡°deadline ¡°monster.


    The exams became increasingly difficult for the two of us. It was increasingly difficult for Acre?a because I always showed her something new in every new test, forcing her to adapt to new and unexpected developments. It became increasingly difficult for me because one by one, my cards were revealed. But that was just like ROC on Earth. No team could remain dominant with one trick forever. People would figure their tricks and recipes. And they would copy, replicate and develop the counter. If a team makes no improvement over the years, they would be obsolete and out of the league in no time. It was something I had become used to.


    ¡°I am just a fucking human, not a fucking God or a fucking Demon Lord. Just a fucking human. And you already had a hard time fighting against. Just a fucking human. Don¡¯t even hope to defeat other Immortals when you cannot defeat a human. Sending you out there to fight would be my greatest mistake. You are going to get your forces wiped.¡± I talked trash all the time during our sparring.


    Fighting one on one battles with Acre?a, I was often reminded again that, ability-wise, Acre?a was easily my worst matchup. <A strange choice> required an ally target or a target that I recognized as an allied unit. Both of my main abilities, <What you can do, I can do better> and <The Magician>, required visual confirmation for them to work their magic. However, Acre?a¡¯s strong desires to monopoly things gave birth to many territorial controlling miracles. And most of these miracles blotted out the light, in one form or another. <Night World> for instance, preventing me from teleporting to area around Acre?a for a cheap sneak attack as well as barring me from copying her appearance and abilities.


    If Acre?a played her cards right, if she knew how to use her abilities correctly, I should not have a chance. Ability wise, Acre?a was my worst matchup.


    If Acre?a was ever the stronger one between the two of us, I had never revealed it to her. I stood with my feet squared against my shoulders at the beginning of every exam. I made it appeared that I had always been the stronger one. The Alliance¡¯s uniform tightly donned. No armor. As usual, Enferm¨¦ resided inside my left hand. Two bandoliers holding various alchemical concoction hung to my undershirt in a tight cross. The left bandolier contained potions. The right one kept various utility concoctions and an assorted of useful alchemical poisons. Two pouches full of Dragon Bane slathered crystal spikes and metal nails fastened to my belt. I wore my trademark arrogant smile and waited for Acre?a to activate her <Night World>.


    I had always allowed Acre?a to activate <Night World> uninterrupted at the beginning of our sparring, adhering to my one handicap ironclad code. Seethed by my crescent smirk, Acre?a gritted her serrated white fangs, her living lamprey hair made angry gurgling sounds. I waved the sealing blade in my left hand, forcibly erasing the rage and frustration on Acre?a¡¯s face and repainting her expression with vigilance.


    The fear of pain and deadline had proven to be the most effective motivation for Acre?a to learn and improve herself actively.


    Wearing one of her notable premium skins, <Ruler of the Bloodless>, Acre?a faced me head-on, enveloping herself in the revealing blue luminescent of her battle raiment. On Acre?a¡¯s waxy left hand held her signature transforming weapon Sirafay. In its current form, Sirafay was a two-meters of bident made of a tight braid of two metallic hagfishes indulged in their mating ritual. However, under Acre?a¡¯s command and power, Sirafay could turn itself into various shapes. Acre?a crossed her pallid wrists. She had learned many painful lessons to use her one and only given handicap for <Night World>.


    No longer would my dear vampire girl squander her only handicap for a cheap surprise attack. Acre?a learned that even though she was inhumanly fast, her attack and ability casting animations had been ingrained into my consciousness through years of learning and playing ROC as a pro. With a quick teleport, I could cut her before her abilities or normal attacks could catch my shadow. Anticipating my teleport sneaking attack had not improved Acre?a¡¯s winning chance either, simply because Dion and I had always prepared the countermeasure for her counterattacks before I teleported.


    In its world eroding glory, <Night World> manifested, an unforgiving globe of darkness that devoured all forms of life on its path, all but vampiric life forms.


    As usual, I teleported in many quick succession, staying out of the area of effect of <Night World>. Hiding inside the impenetrable darkness of <Night World>, Acre?a¡¯s action and the position were hidden to me, an advantage that Acre?a had been taught to press.


    Her attacks, spells, and abilities did not come rushing at me in a reckless abandon like before. I had taught Acre?a that I can trace her position through my observation over her projectiles and spell missiles.


    However, there was little that I could do to hurt Acre?a now that <Night World> was up. Unlike Pride, I had no ability to directly destroy or erase <Night World>. If I could not see her, I cannot hurt her since I possessed zero AOE damage-dealing ability. If you weren¡¯t pressed for time, use it wisely and effectively. That was FY¡¯s favorite words. Thus, it was the most correct move for Acre?a to take time and carefully lay down her cards, mapping out her attacks first while staying inside that strange darkness.


    The foreboding silence and the lack of hostile attacks were like the perfect calm before a storm.


    Keeping a safe distance from Acre?a¡¯s <Night World>, I squatted down on the ground and hid my body in the tall winter reeds, pressing my ear against the ground for information. By the virtue of acting as Acre?a¡¯s examiner for 66 exams, I had learned that if I could not use my eyes for gathering information, I could always employ my sharp ears as an alternate method.


    Small tremors and footsteps lapped without rhythm informed me that Acre?a had already activated her <Bloodless Legion>. Thousands of elder vampires and various vampiric creatures were slowly flooding the inside of <Night Word>. That was one-kilometer square packed of elder vampires. I continued to train my ears, carefully capturing the various noises and sounds to gain the necessary information.


    Among Acre?a¡¯s summoned vampiric creatures, those chimeric vampires of unknown origin also presented. The sound of their flapping wings carried to my ears by the sweeping winds. In the darkness of <Night World>, freed steels whimpered, rejoicing their freedom very graciously and quietly. But when a thousand blades gave praise to freedom in harmony, no matter how quiet they were, such bone-chilling symphony could be heard miles away by ears that were as sharp as mine.


    The dark foreboding words were spoken, the elder vampires softly uttered the title of their matriarch, beseeching her vampiric miracles. Their weapons draw. Their arrows nocked. Their spells readied. The elder vampires had finished their preparation. However, Acre?a was still busy stacking her spells and miracles in a delayed fashion, layers upon layers. Quietly, she crafted numerous volleys of flesh-eating spells and befouled miracles to be released upon a perfect moment. Acre?a had learned the difficulty of hitting a human who can teleport like me. The usual tactic of single volley, fire upon sight and sniping had no chance of catching my shadow. Thus, Acre?a had learned to design an endless barrage of vampiric miracles to hit me from twelve matches ago.


    Acre?a came at me with an army of vampires and an entire arsenal of a Demon Lord. I wished that I could say that it was an overkill. But history was not on her side, neither number nor math, Acre?a had understood that from her past 66 repeated failures. The cruel edge of Enferm¨¦ still fresh on her mind, Acre?a treated me as if I was a personification of an army of Gods and Demon Lords, preparing her endless barrages of spells accordingly.


    As I listened and analyzed the battlefield from the sound, an ominous wind blew, filling my nose with a familiar musky stench.


    Winds?


    I darted my eyes around and noticed an ominous change in the atmosphere. A stack of giant swirling red clouds was quietly forming on the clear blue sky. FUCK, I inadvertently cursed and started spamming my teleportation ability. Paying too much attention toward what¡¯s inside the darkness of <Night World>, I lost track of what was happening on the outside.


    This would be the first time Acre?a used her <Rain of Damnation>, a double edge sword of a miracle, a weather control ability and one of her situational abilities. Lightning cracked at the distant horizon. From the red thunder clouds poured a foul mire of trauma.


    I heard the mating calls of the accursed cicadas sounding at the back of my head. I gagged and retched a mouth full of dry putrid air because there was nothing inside my stomach.


    Down poured the <Rain of Damnation>, buffs and debuffs coexisted in one weather bending miracle. A cold musky blanket of gore showered my body as <The Magician> could not get me out of the area of effect in time.


    Acre?a was determined to catch me with this weather bending miracle of hers. She conjured not just one or two <Rain of Damnation>. Acre?a must have spammed this ability over a hundred times or so, and only activated the effect of these <Rain of Damnation> upon the moment of notice.


    FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.


    I cursed. Every FUCK was as loud as the cicada¡¯s cries, meant to beat them out of my head. But, FUCK. The cicadas sang their fucking song, banging their fouled notes against the corners of my head. If the hallucination and curses that came with the damning red rain could torment me more than the infestation lodged inside my mind, I would not know. They were one and the same in the red shower.


    FUCK. A world bending vampiric miracle manifested. Gore eroded the world in its fouled excessive decadent.


    FUCK. That cold sticky mire, dark red, thick and slimy as juices freshly squeezed from ripened berries, oozed out from the heaven, showering me in a maddened red.


    FUCK. Sanguine stained bones poured down from the crimson sky.


    FUCK. Femurs, rib cages, spines, skulls, all manner of bones pummeled and bruised my lanky makeshift umbrella-arms, clattered on the wild meadow, dully, hollowly and heavily.


    If I had my eyes closed, <The Magician> is sealed. Opened my eyes, I lost. Closed my eyes, I lost. No amount of FUCK was ever enough.


    Globs of meat, big, small, all manner of sizes and shape, grey brain, half-eaten white brain, white eyeballs, grey snakelike entrails, filthy filled entrails, organs of all manner of natures and colors, plummeted in heavy and sickening splatters. Cold slimy lifeless entrails fell from the sky and entangled my arms and neck. The damning rain stretched toward the horizon. Even <The Magician> could not dig a way out of this red falling mire. There was no escape.


    FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.


    In that cacophony of chaos, I commanded Ira to deploy its antenna. I should have done that earlier. Under my command, Ira sprouted its dark spiral horn out of my forehead. Ira expelled mana out of my body in waves through the spiny object and read the Miracles and Authority in the air through the returning undulations. Dion screamed the numbers, the hours, the timers and the angles of the incoming projectiles in a manner that only a person like me could understand.


    Black arrows and flesh-eating mists unleashed. Opportunistic volleys of delayed <Soulshattering Spire> crashed through the wet blanket of red. An unworldly living bowel of <Tentacled Horrors> screeched, coming for living flesh. But the projectiles were coming. Against my better judgment or lack thereof, my eyes wide opened, flickered, darting all around, unblinking in the red falling deluge.


    My neck craned back and forth, repeatedly in breakneck speed to coordinate my chains of teleportation.


    Affected by Acre?a¡¯s dense deluge, my ears and eyes were almost useless in reading the projectiles. Ira did most of the heavy lifting, sensing the vampiric projectiles through its antenna. Dion shouted at me, telling me to keep my eyes peeled and my ears trained because Ira¡¯s reading was far from being enough.


    FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.


    My ears still trained, working tirelessly to figure out the rhythm of chaos, giving no chance for Acre?a¡¯s cheap attacks to spell true. White thunders struck near and far, high altitude, low altitude, randomly. <Devouring Spectre> came, pounded the globs clotted ground, exploded in great splatters of red. Something bit me, shoulder and thigh, not nearly as painful as Ira¡¯s claws and spines. I kept teleporting, eyes and ears training on the endless barrages to come.


    Myriads of well-timed <Stretching Darkness> carved the musky air, whistled as I evaded them. Barrages of giant <Tentacled Horrors> blotted out the sky and erupted in deafening splatters. They exploded in the goriest of fashion upon impacts. Because the <Tentacled Horrors> were considered as living beings, I could turn myself into them, and I did just that once, exploiting that oversight of Acre?a to get to her. Since, Acre?a made sure to dispose of her <Tentacled Horrors> to deny me of the option of pretending to be one of them through <What you can do, I can do better>. She used the <Tentacled Horrors> as time fuse shells, filling their inside with sacks of flesh-corroding mist before pumping them out.


    From various information that Ira and I had collected, Dion worked with us in tandem, keeping track of the incoming projectiles fresh with its deafening screams. I handled the execution.


    Then, there was a strange whizzing noise echoed, disturbingly loud, affecting Dion¡¯s reading, Ira¡¯s reading, and mine. That noise kept followed me wherever I went. The three of us worked fast to locate that strange whizzing noise. A small gaping hole on my left cheek, I did not even realize it. That was where the whizzing noise came from. I plugged the hole with my hankie. The blood in my mouth, mine or not, I stopped thinking at that point from the sheer horridness.


    I was fully aware that the <Rain of Damnation> would render Acre?a¡¯s senses of smell and sight useless due to the absurd amount of blood and gore presented. She should have a hard time tracking me as much as I had a hard time reading her projectiles without Ira¡¯s horn. But her barrages followed me. They were on point, with precision even when I have already teleported at least five kilometers away from my original position.


    How? I kept asking the same question, racing my thought for the answer.


    Then, Ira started to notice me what they, those unintelligent vampiric creatures and elder vampires, were doing.


    They did not come charging at me, crowding and overwhelming me with numbers in their usual suicidal fashion. Bathing in the red gory rain, they chased after me, but also kept a distance and only attacked me on occasions. They spread out their number like a fishnet, low on the ground and high on the sky, followed closely after me. Through the antenna on my head, Ira detected that they released a trail of decaying spells into the sky as they moved, using those spells as the smoke signal.


    Ah, I muttered, realizing what these vampires were doing.


    Acre?a tracked my general position through this spread out network of observation units. Dion¡¯s answer arrived at the same time as mine. We both had our answers to break out of this current dilemma.


    I kept teleported toward these observation units while reading and avoiding the bombardment. Against this kind of unrelenting barrage, random evasive maneuvers would spell an eventual demise. Zigzagged through the damned rain, I teleported high and low, left and right, read the incoming numerous projectiles and evaded with cold mechanical discipline, putting my trust in the numbers and updates.


    Over fifteen elder vampires quickly fell to their splattering doom by my swapping attack. Twenty unintelligent chimeric vampires grounded, Enferm¨¦ carved through their exposed neck and spine. I dismantled Acre?a¡¯s network as she watched. Volleys upon volleys upon dense blankets of vampiric horrors shelled relentlessly, picking up in pace and speed but falling in accuracy. Acre?a was getting desperate. But Ira¡¯s reading and Dion¡¯s screams were on point and my execution was as mechanical as mechanical could be.


    I was expecting it. Acre?a¡¯s ultimate.


    Amidst the red deluge, my eyes spotted a bluish glimmer. Ira¡¯s horns projected a great tide of mana. Acre?a¡¯s ultimate ability <Vampiric Cataclysm>, finally came, sneaky and subtle, mixing in with the shelling projectiles and the pelting accursed rain. A great host of hagfishes and vampiric creatures in blue spectral body phased through the dense blanket of projectiles and the falling red deluge, swimming straight at me.


    I made sure that I had enough mana for <Heart of Champion>.


    Stained, dirtied, and defiled by Acre?a¡¯s <Rain of Damnation> but the emblem of five hands sewed on my left chest was not a lie. It was not just about glamor and fanfare. It was never just laughter, victory, glory and fun. It has never been just sunshine and rainbow. This tiny emblem meant nothing to world at large. It meant nothing to Escana or Kharigan. But, to us, The Alliance, to me this insignia meant the world. Thirteen years of donning The Alliance¡¯s uniform was not a big fat lie. The skills and abilities that I gained from years of donning this uniform were no lie.


    <Heart of Champion> manifested and fitted inside my hand, bright and shining as my memory of The Alliance. The familiar flag of black and gold fluttered against the invisible headwinds, offering a short ten seconds of true solace. Dion ran a countdown inside my head. Before the warm solace of the flag, the fouled host of darkness and vampiric horrors parted.


    Myriads of <Soulshattering spire> shattered like they were made of glass. Dark corroding mist evaporated. The grotesque swarms of living entrails divorced. Arrows bounced. The red damning rainfall expelled. <Vampiric Cataclysm> harmlessly parted in two ghostly currents, then turned around for more futile assaults, each time weaker and smaller.


    Holding the flag of five hands, I was overcome with a swell of gratitude and pride and nostalgia.


    Normally, we would never care about which one of us got to be the flag bearer. However, whenever one of us had shit thrown at him, that person held the flag. The rest of the team would have his back.


    That time when I dislocated my thumb. That I time when I returned, being publicly known as the reason for the squad¡¯s one-year hiatus. The time when Fantasy got that death threat. The time when Misery chewed anti-depression to play the games or that time when he was blamed for our losses. The times when Merleon needed to make his statement but could not. The time when even someone like FY fucked up. I inadvertently chuckled. Looking back, I was the flag bearer most of the time.


    Flag-holder goes first, the rest follows, pushing him forward if needed. Just a tiny solace. Just silly tradition, a silly gesture. Just a silly memory. Just a silly tiny brotherhood.


    But there is no one behind me now.


    Even though the flag felt real inside my palm, it was just a replica. An illusionist would never get caught by his own illusion. And I have ended The Alliance. I mechanically ran my hand on the potion bandolier, rummaging for a healing potion and mana potion. The smooth texture vial contained the healing potion. The rough and prickly textured vial kept a mana potion. I popped and drained a vial of quick-acting healing potion and mana potion, pulling out an arrow stuck inside my left heel. Dion howled, screaming pain. I cursed it, telling the insane venom that I should be the one howling pain, not it. Dion barked right back, telling me that the one howling pain was me. I stopped arguing with it over the matter, saving for later.


    Against the remaining mana of Acre?a¡¯s mana reserve, ten seconds of solace was hopelessly short. But that was all I needed to map out my escape and cut Acre?a¡¯s off my tail. Dark projectiles and insidious spells bombarded the bright solace radiating from the flag of five hands like moths to a flame. Vampiric projectiles and insidious missiles directed at this tiny solace of mine. Planting the flag of The Alliance against the ground in defiance, using this shining solace as a diversion, I quietly disappeared into the darkness of the failing gory deluge.


    I could not believe how low I could be until this moment. Even when I was already a good two kilometer away from the flag, Acre?a focused her firepower at that tiny solace. Barrages after barrages, volley after volley of vampiric horrors. Even when the flag disintegrated into light particles, the barrages were endless.


    Just a silly illusion of an olden past. Funny how it still saved me.


    I teleported until the red clouds and the damned rain was behind me. Slowly, with the coldness of fatigue, they sank in. The acrid stench of death, the foul slimy liquid that coated my body, the hallucination, the curses, the cicadas, and their accursed symphony.


    I retched so much that my own stomach and entrails felt like they would come out of my mouth. My blood, not my blood, my liquid, mine, not mine, I had no fucking idea. Knowing that none of it was real but I retched. I puked only empty air and curses. I unbounded and tossed away that disgusting knot of slimy entrails still wrapping around my neck and shoulders. The cicadas sang. My body shook like a wet dog, drenching the unspoiled part of the reed meadow with fouled dripping redness and gluey falling flesh. The accursed summer song rang. I cursed, vomiting a mouthful of blood in a teary wet blaze. A bone fragment rolled out with that mouthful of red.


    Dion, the ever faulty equipment that it was, failed and failed hard in the direst hour. It just made everything worse for me, feasting on my imagination, and painted my consciousness in gore color, making the world an infestation of gore.


    MOTHERFUCKER, I SHARE MY ROOM WITH YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD FIX MENTAL ATTACK, NOT WORSEN IT.


    Instead of quieting my thought, Dion filled my head with the sound enhanced version of the summer song. I cursed angrily, commanding Ira to sink its teeth into my body me or impale me with its sharp spines. Ira curled its body into a ball, shaking, crying, and thinking that I was testing its loyalty again.


    FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.


    That accursed cacophony of summer did not just ring inside my head. It came out of my own mouth. If I could curse that atrocious song away, I would have already.


    They are coming. Stand, I told myself, willing the accursed chirpings of cicadas away from my ear canals. The golden coins came out of my pocket, then one by one slipped away from my sticky, red slurping fingers.


    My hand, wet and gooey, tightened on the brain matter clotted blade. Enferm¨¦ cold with fury, carving the ground to make do with its hunger for vampire¡¯s flesh. I puked just as much as I cursed, promising Enferm¨¦ that it shall have what it desired.


    The sound of approaching footsteps and beating wings became more noticeable, just not loud enough to drown out the accursed orchestra.


    They are coming. Stand, I told myself, screaming at my rebellious body and four limbs that it was not the fucking time for democracy and revolution. It¡¯s still a monarchy. I am the monarch, their monarch. If I go down, you all go down with me, screamed I. But it was no time for debate.


    My red stained fist jammed my nose canal in a tyrannical fury. When words failed, violence. When logic failed to convince, ill-logic violence. Why violence? Because violence solved everything. I am the Prince of The Alliance. My fist beat the summer song out of my traitorous teeth, and then beat words in and out of my rebelling body, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.¡±


    I heard the sound of winter wind brewing. I crushed the rebellion. I crushed the revolution. Violence, again, proved a quick and reliable fix to every problem in the world. Tiny problems, normal problems, big problems, celestial type of problems, every problem in the world but Ph¨²c¡¯s and mine.


    With their loud marching footsteps, came Acre?a¡¯s vampire elders, her scouting party, fletching their vampiric spells and arrows. The chimeric vampires swooped down from the sky with their riders.


    I hissed. Ira howled. Dion gnarled. We could not be more desynchronized. Our chemistry is just as shitty as always. I wept at the dysfunction of my current roster comparing the old one. It was a major step down from Phu?c, Thu?y D??ng, FY, Misery, Fantasy, and Merleon. But for once, a human and an angry beast and an insane venom, the three of us were on the same page.


    ¡°ACRE?AAAAAAAAAAAAA, YOU ARE DEAD.¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    From the noises, Acre?a knew that her vanguard has clashed against him. Inside the lightless protective shell of the most recently conjured <Night World> the vampire queen trained her sharp eyes, reading the various signals. Red and blue mana columns billowed alongside the eruption of the dark decaying mist, signaling a complete massacre of the scouting party. Acre?a was not surprised over that kind of development. She had become used to the sight.


    ¡°ACRE?AAAAAAAAAAAAA, YOU ARE DEAD.¡±


    A human¡¯s proclamation had never been so loud, angry and so foreboding. His hollering proclamation made Wrath¡¯s angriest roar sounded like a whimper of beaten pup. His was even louder than the time when Xaara and his entire faction stood together, united in a deafening parade of cracking thunders, piercing screams, whipping gales and raging firestorms. What Acre?a heard was the personification of fury. The winds wept tears to his penetrating fury, rejoiced that they weren¡¯t the target of his ire.


    Acre?a was.


    Acre?a gulped. It¡¯s already a cold puddle down there, for a while now. The vampire queen believed that she might have peed some and orgasmed some. Made no difference, Acre?a wept internally over her lack of shame these days. Her breasts full, hardened and heavy of quaking fear. Her throat parched, thirsty for warm blood. Her body felt the urgent need to preserve her lineage, more than ever whenever she was near him. Her pride and shame have been completely perverted and broken. Acre?a has already been disgraced through and through.


    The vampire queen vividly felt how wide and opened her skin pores had become. Her living hair recoiled and shriveled, tingling, croaking in dry air. Had her host of elder vampires not a bunch of lifeless dolls without survival instincts, they would have advanced with more prudent, especially after they had witnessed how he survived that many barrages of vampiric miracles.


    This time, Acre?a had expended nearly her entire mana reserve, every small spell and every big miracle under her command. The number of miracles that Acre?a had dispended was enough to wipe a third of the population in the continent of man. Still he lived. HOW? Though her mana recovered fast. Just not fast enough to release another <Vampiric Cataclysm> in tandem with a barrage of vampiric miracles. The amount of mana that Acre?a had left in the tank, only Acre?a and, that SOB knew, Acre?a cursed. That madman always counted and kept track of the numbers and variety of projectiles and spells Acre?a released, thus worked out the general amount of mana she had left in her tank.


    ¡°HOW?¡± Acre?a had once asked when he explained how he knew her mana reserve had emptied in the third exam.


    ¡°Presence of the mind,¡± he explained with a casual shrug every single time, then elaborated about the math and logic behind that Presence of the mind, none of which Acre?a could understand. He counted and kept track, Acre?a only understood that.


    Her tricks and arsenals fell short of claiming him. <Rain of Damnation> should have blocked his visibility and hearing. Showered an army with <Rain of Damnation> and they would falter, scattering like ants from the hallucinations. Adding barrages of vampiric miracles on top of that, he should have fallen, Acre?a cursed, knowing that she had just hit the final nail of her own coffin. She had braved the pain and the fear, purposefully failing her last three exams to create a real chance of passing this exam, but now it was over.


    Sirafay, or a replica of it, cold and afraid inside Acre?a¡¯s hand. For a mere replica of the real thing, the weapon¡¯s cowardly nature felt more authentic than the real one, a renowned trait of Lust¡¯s red dream that he had managed to recreate.


    A tiny graze made from the Dragon Bane coated sealing blade is a promise of death. So is a graze created by Sirafay, being an avaricious weapon bore Greed¡¯s marking, forged from a pair of Acre?a¡¯s fangs, star metal, and tempered Titanite. But, just like Acre?a, this replica of Sirafay had learned the terror that the sealing blade commanded when that son of bitch held it. In the last exam, Acre?a sacrificed Sirafay to buy herself an extra three minutes. Sirafay was chopped into pieces during that exam. Not all Divine Relics were made equal. Enferm¨¦ just happened to be the top weapon.


    The sentient weapon shuddered and shivered as if to say that Acre?a had already failed yet another exam. Acre?a choked the life out of her weapon, ¡°No, I had n¡­¡± Her words of assertion died away.


    ¡°ACRE?AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡±


    Decaying mist, the life-liquid of any bloodless being evaporated when contacted with sunlight, billowed and darkened the sky of the battlefield. Over a hundred of Acre?a¡¯s vampires must have died to create such a massive volume.


    Like a hurricane, arrived fury in its avatar form. A human. A madman. He appeared fury for what fury was worth. Acre?a had tasted his fury once. His fury was cold and deliberate, vindictive, calculating. Never like this, scalding, brash, loud and hollering. Feigned fury, Acre?a hoped that she was right.


    Acre?a was not sure if he sounded human or appeared human or acted like a human. His usual well-dressed dashing figure now seasoned in gore. Coated in grit and grime, he came howling like a madman.


    Acre?a immediately spotted that object.


    The Horns of Ira, once curve, twin and shining with ivory luster on Wrath¡¯s taurine head, now straight, spiral, lone and ebony dark crowned on his head. The shape was different, but Acre?a instantly recognized the Horn of Ira through its distinctive emission of mana waves. Back then, when it crowned on Wrath¡¯s head, the mana waves it sent out were brash and scalding, now they were cold and thin, almost imperceptible.


    That¡¯s cheating, Acre?a shivered, realizing that the object had fallen into the worst hand.


    Upon her silent signal, dark arrows and vampiric spells whistled toward that hollering and running madman. But a young elder vampire male took that madman¡¯s place and showered in that violent rain of feathers instead.


    ¡°IS THAT ALL YOU GOTTTTT?¡± That madman stood in the middle of the loose rank, howling.


    A host of Acre?a¡¯s elder vampires came rushing. Steels swinging. Arrows flying. Spells singing. But another elder vampire fell victim in the place of that madman, swapped by a perfectly executed <The Magician.>


    It was a familiar scene, something that Acre?a had already expected, a usual sight. No big surprise.


    ¡°ROC operates on a 30 frames per second system. <The Magician> finishes its intended animation within four frames. Four frames, that¡¯s your window of opportunity to land a hit on me,¡± he had repeatedly explained the weakness of his skill to Acre?a, drilling it to her head.


    In close-quarter, Acre?a¡¯s superior reflex and agility could catch him with that four frames, as long as Acre?a could correctly predict the intended travel location before he even used <The Magician>. But in those four frames, he could be everywhere in a radius of 100 meters. Acre?a could only hope that she lands her hit. That or spray her vampiric miracles in an endless barrage and pray that one of them might land.


    That is definitely not a human, Acre?a felt her stomach frozen. Sirafay seemed to agree.


    ¡°I AM RIGHT HERE MOTHERFUCKERS. YOU BLIND OR WHAT? USE YOUR FUCKING EYES IF YOU HAVE A PAIR.¡±


    Another female elder vampire, a favorite concubine of Acre?a died hideously, impaled by the blades of her own kind.


    ¡°I AM RIGHT HERE MOTHERFUCKERS. STOP KILLING ONE OF YOUR OWN.¡±


    The circle of despair repeated itself in a demoralizing fashion. The hunter played with his own food. And the food, well, they remained food. That madman teleported and slapped the back of the head of an elder vampire with his hand. But when that elder vampire flashed her blade backward, another elder vampire was there, taking the blow, head flying in a gush of black decaying mist, reminding Acre?a of how she had failed the fifth exam. Beheaded by her own puppets.


    The madman¡¯s body movement was slow comparing the inhumane agility of Acre?a¡¯s vampires, but his instantaneous movement skill was blindingly fast.


    ¡°WHAT? I HEARD YOUR QUEEN TALKED A LOT OF SHIT. VAMPIRES ARE SO MUCH STRONGER THAN HUMAN. WHAT? PROVE IT. DEFEND THE HONOR OF YOUR QUEEN. DEFEND THE HONOR OF YOUR RACE.¡± The madman howled and grabbed a sword lying on the ground, tossing it to the advancing host of vampires with all of his meager strength. In front of vampiric sharp reflex, the twirling object missed by the wide margin, until the madman teleported and swapped his position with an elder vampire, adding a new victim to his list. ¡°DODGE THIS BITCHASS,¡± he howled, stomping his feet on the head of his newest victim.


    The madman zipped through the air, collecting a bow and an arrow as he moved. With his meager strength, he half-drew the bow and shot the arrow at the open sky. He immediately abused his teleport-swap combo in a blinding succession. Another female elder vampire gurgled decaying mist. ¡°I SAID STOP HITTING YOURSELF.¡± That wicked arrow tore through her fair neck.


    ¡°VAMPIRE FAST? HUMAN SLOW? VAMPIRE STROONK. HUMAN WEAK. BITCHASSES, YOU PROVE IT. AND STOP KILLING YOURSELF.¡± With a sword in his hand, the madman teleported, lopping the neck of another elder vampire of Acre?a with a back attack, then executed another perfectly timed swap as arrows and spells came right at him.


    ¡°HELLO VAMPIRE SUPREMACISTS, MEET A HUMAN SUPREMACIST. PROVE YOUR SUPREMACY, VAMPIRES,¡± he howled, zipping around, lopping five more heads. One of Acre?a¡¯s female elder vampires nearly got him, predicting correctly that she was the next victim. She turned around, blade swinging but the execution of that madman¡¯s teleporting skill was faster. He was already at her back again. Twin blades in hands, one long one short struck in a reverse. Dark decaying mist erupted into the air.


    ¡°ACRE?A, COME OUT. SAVE YOUR VAMPIRES,¡± howled the madman, grabbing a magic cane on the ground only to knee the object into halve as Acre?a¡¯s vampires chased after him.


    ¡°ACRE?A, COME OUT. COME OUT. HERE¡¯S YOUR PRINCE CHARMING.¡±


    If Acre?a had learned a lesson from her repeated losses, ¡°Do not talk back,¡± because she would reveal her position when she talks back.


    The madman howled as he juggled four swords in his hands alongside his wicked blade. ¡°I FIND THE MYTHS OF VAMPIRIC STRENGTH ARE HIGHLY EXAGGERATED. CAN SOMEONE PROVE ME WRONG?¡± Laughing insanely, he flung each blade in one random direction. Five twirling blades flew aimlessly and harmlessly until that madman abused his skill, providing five unfortunate targets for those whistling steels.


    ¡°STOP KILLING ONE OF YOURS FOR FUCK SAKE. I BEG YOU.¡±


    ¡°STOP KILLING YOUR OWN BROTHERS AND SISTERS. I BEG YOU. WHAT HAVE THEY DONE WRONG? WHAT¡¯S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?¡±


    Bored, the madman collected magic canes, spears, and swords and fixed them to the ground as he zipped around the killing field. He mocked Acre?a¡¯s vampires and dropped them on top of those weapons pointing at the sky.


    ¡°IS VAMPIRE A RACE FULL OF MORONS? WHY ARE YOU IMPALING YOURSELF?¡±


    The taunter repeatedly shouted his taunts, full of open and bravado, appeared and disappeared, zipping across the killing field. The taunted ones reacted to the taunts and one of them would be swapped and butchered hideously by one of his/her own ranks. But, had they slowed down, acting with prudence. It was a squall of falling vampire elders.


    ¡°WHY ARE YOU SKYDIVING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE?¡±


    ¡°WHERE IS YOUR PARACHUTE? SAFETY FIRST, BITCHASS. SAFETY FIRST.¡±


    ¡°STOP KILLING YOURSELF. I SAID.¡±


    ¡°STOP SKYDIVING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE.¡±


    ¡°ACRE?A, TELL YOUR VAMPIRES TO STOP SKYDIVING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE. WHAT¡¯S WRONG WITH THEM?¡±


    ¡°WHERE IS YOUR FUCKING PARACHUTE?¡±


    ¡°WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR PARACHUTE?¡±


    ¡°STOP KILLING YOURSELF.¡±


    The madman screamed so much that Acre?a¡¯s eardrums hurt. He danced through the air, disappeared here and appeared there, flying high and running low. His arms always widespread as he dared Acre?a¡¯s vampires to attack him. He kicked one¡¯s nuts and slap one¡¯s head for the fun of it before executing a perfect timing swap to get out of harm''s way.


    Attacking him, winged chimeric vampires grounded and the flightless vampires skydived. Attacked him, they would be killed. Stop attacking him, they died regardless. It would have been a cycle of despair for those soulless puppets, had they possessed a mind.


    Now that Acre?a had grown used to watching the scene, she wasn¡¯t nearly as demoralized as before. She rejoiced the fact that she wasn¡¯t the target of the humiliation this time. The last time when Acre?a was the primary subject of the humiliation, she was repeatedly tossed around the air, flailing helplessly in an endless loop of teleport-swap-teleport until she lost all sense of direction. She could not distinguish up from down, left from right, and the sky from the ground. Even when she had sprouted tentacle wings to fly, she could not fly. The world rotated, tumbled and warped in dizzying chaos and Acre?a felt like she was constantly punched in her gut until he ended Acre?a.


    That skill <The Magician> has definitely fallen to the wrong hand. It should have been a skill to relocate and escape. NOT LIKE THIS, Acre?a complained.


    Unlike Acre?a, he could zip around the air in a mindless fashion without feeling dizzy.


    From the latest conjured <Night World>, Acre?a sent waves of her elder vampires out there to be killed and they died hideously as she had expected, but not meaninglessly. Sirafay probed Acre?a¡¯s mind to keep summoning and sending out more vampiric creatures to appease that madman¡¯s fury.


    Acre?a refused to listen to her weapon. Rule number one, do not give away your location without a counterplan. Do not give me your location without a plan. It was a rule that Acre?a had been made to remember through various painful experiences, repeatedly.


    Wrath could mark his targets through the Horns of Ira in the same manner that Acre?a could mark her targets by smelling their blood.


    ¡°Wrath will look for you. Wrath will find you and he will tear you apart without fail.¡± Every Demon Lord must have at least heard that boast repeated to them through the words of mouth once. Once released from Munezee¡¯s chain, Wrath would find his targets and destroy them without fail.


    The Horns of Ira could immediately pick up her location the moment Acre?a used her miracles. It was because of those horns that Wrath would always find the target of his ire. That pair of horns remembered the mana signal emitting from a miracle and the identity of the owner of that miracle. Ran from Wrath, his prey could. But never hide from him, as long as they are Immortals, miracles and authorities depended. Running to the end of the universe would not save them from Wrath¡¯s grudge. It was by the combination of Wrath¡¯s overwhelming might and ability to track down his target that he was so feared.


    The same pair of horns that made Wrath so terrifying is now sporting on that SOB¡¯s head, no longer a pair, just a lonesome horn. The vampire queen tried to recall the various information she had learned about the Horn of Ira from the lessons and her own experience.


    The moment Acre?a used her miracle, her location would be compromised. And the moment when her location was compromised, ¡°It¡¯s punishment time¡±, the madman would announce.


    Acre?a suspected that the madman had used the Horn of Ira defensively, reading the mana emission from her miracles and avoiding them. This is unreal, Acre?a ran from reality. Her battle plan had been completely unraveled by the appearance of this horn.


    Panic, Acre?a thought of saving herself first. Inside the darkness of <Night Word>, the vampire queen swapped clothes with one of her soulless vampire elders. A safety measure. That decaying blue glow emitting out of her armor was a dead giveaway. Acre?a could only hope to use that a body double as a bait. Sirafay turned into a shield in Acre?a¡¯s hand as Acre?a mingled with the rank of her defenders standing in a circle around her body double.


    Unlike her vanguard and scouting unit, Acre?a fitted her defenders with large shields. She had learned that these large shields could prolong their lives for few more seconds and sometimes even minutes.


    As though he was done toying with her vampires, that madman dropped a probing squall of falling vampires into <Night World> with his swap-teleport combo executed on top of the dark dome. Acre?a made sure her defenders killed every vampire that tumbled right back into <Night World>, eliminating the chance that the madman would steal their identity as they fell into <Night World>.


    ¡°THAT¡¯S COLD. COME ON. YOU ARE KILLING YOUR PEOPLE AND YOUR LOVERS. YOU SHOULD HELP THEM,¡± The madman laughed. Acre?a knew that madman was probing the numbers and position of Acre?a¡¯s defenders from the sounds, numbers, math, and physics, the kinds of wizardry that Acre?a could never understand no matter how much he drilled into her head.


    More elder vampires and chimeric vampire creatures crashed into <Night World>, flailing helplessly as they plummeted. The thousands of vampire elders that Acre?a kept inside the lightless dome made a quick work of those falling vampires.


    ¡°BITCH. THAT¡¯S COLD. YOU CANNOT JUST EXECUTE YOUR LOVERS LIKE THAT. THEY ARE YOUR LOVERS. YOUR SUBJECTS. YOUR PUSSIES AND DICKS. WHAT HAVE THEY DONE WRONG? NOTHING. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KILL THEM?¡± Even while he was taunting, he was dodging arrows and spells coming at him left and right, strictly maintaining a 60 meters distance from <Night World>. That was enough distance for him to react to any surprise spell or projectile coming at him. He kept dropping more vampires back into <Night World>.


    Acre?a made sure those reentering vampires were executed on the spot, in midair or on the cold ground. Twice Acre?a had fallen for his devilry and was stabbed in her back. No more. The first time, she was not even aware of his method. The second time, she learned that he was mad enough to free-fall, broke his two legs while acting as her vampire elder to locate her position. Since, Acre?a had mentally marked any vampire she ordered to go out of the perimeter of <Night World> as sacrifices to dull the madman¡¯s fury. They were meant to waste his mana.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. If you are not coming out. I¡¯m coming in,¡± he declared mockingly, zipping around the perimeter of <Night World>.


    Another rain of free-falling vampires reentered <Night World>, but Acre?a¡¯s defending vampire elders made quick work of them. Suddenly, flame erupted from many dying vampire bodies. The madman recycled his oldest trick, attached his incendiary concoction to her vampires as they were free falling. The golden and blue alchemical flame pervaded various defensive positions of <Night World>, but for a brief moment, a vampire¡¯s true darkness would return without fail as Acre?a will it.


    Came the much dreaded familiar silence show. That madman¡¯s presence had completely vanished. Acre?a could no longer feel those probing mana waves from the Horn of Ira or hear that madman¡¯s hollering voice. Acre?a and her army had lost track of his presence. She was not even sure if he had already entered <Night World> through unknown mean. It has always been this crippling silence show that Acre?a feared the most. More than often, this was how Acre?a met her ending.


    Acre?a was desperate to mingle in with her defenders, trying to be one with her soulless puppets, and quietly commanding her body-double to stand out as much as possible.


    The vampire queen focused and infused mana into her eyes and ears, to increase her sensitivity and expand her range. Her living hair on edge, moving and sensing. Her sharp ears captured the sound of the weeping winds, her own ragged breathing, and pleading fear. Her keen vampiric eyes could see through the lightless world, constantly flickering. Acre?a had learned from her experience to trust her back to no soulless puppet of hers when fighting against that madman.


    The end is nigh. Sirafay had given up on hope. Acre?a decided to ignore it. But its fear clearly infected her. Her juices inadvertently leaked out, completely spoiling the new leather.


    Had Acre?a not seen that Horn of Ira growing out of his head, she would employ her miracles to search for his location as her experiences dictated. But this time, carelessly using her miracles, Acre?a would pay a heavy price this time.


    Acre?a¡¯s pointy, sharp ears picked up the subtle whistles from the sky. The vampire queen, faster than the rest of her defenders, duck low and raised Sirafay, now in its great shield form to repel the rain of poisoned projectiles. Sharp nails and spikes, wicked projectiles coated with Dragon Bane, freefalling from high altitude, pommeled against Sirafay. The four elder vampires standing next to Acre?a were not so lucky. Against Sirafay, the metallic projectiles clank and bounced off whereas the crystal ones exploded into smaller and finer shards, lodging into the nearest vampire bodies standing around Acre?a, killing them in the process through the curses imbued inside the Dragon Bane coated shards.


    Only the wicked mind of that madman could come up with something like this. Every thin shard erupted from the original crystal projectiles was a death spell for Acre?a¡¯s vampires, since they could not purge curses out of their bodies the same way Acre?a could through her <Corruptor> Authority. The metal projectiles freefalling from high altitude, 2000 meters and above, easily killed unguarded vampires upon impact. If the impact failed to take their life, a graze from the wicked projectiles would do the job. The Dragon Bane would spell death. And death was claiming hundreds of Acre?a¡¯s defenders.


    Wizardry. Acre?a dreaded the accuracy of the wicked rain. Its impact zone was so accurate that it was unreal, barely missed the position of her body double by fifteen meters or so. He called it the result of geometrical knowledge and logic, Acre?a called that stuff ¡°wizardry and devilry¡±. As Acre?a was repelling the rain of projectiles with Sirafay, she noticed that incendiary bombs were mixed within the wicked rain, popped here and there like bonfires within <Night World>. Acre?a willed the vampiric darkness to return, killing the light sources as fast as possible to prevent that madman¡¯s from having his entry points.


    A sudden gurgling sound compelled Acre?a to turn her head alongside the many still surviving defenders of hers. Acre?a watched as her body double fell to her knees, clutching her pale waxy throat as the decaying mire gushed out from there in volume. Standing next to her fallen figure, a male elder vampire stood with the wicked silver blade in his hand, wearing a look of knowing and bafflement.


    He¡¯s here, Sirafay shouted needlessly. Acre?a whipped her hand in a furious dark blur, sending corroding gales toward that male elder vampire.


    The madman scrambled, evading the gales in panic, trying to mix in with the ranks of Acre?a¡¯s defenders. But Acre?a kept her projectiles coming in an endless barrage, keeping him in place. One mistake cost him everything. The role of the hunter and the prey reversed. As vampiric miracle spewed forth from her hands, the vampire queen screamed at her defenders to join the effort of ending her torment once and for all.


    Only in the pit of madness that a person would consider undoing his transformation, becoming human again in <Night World>. Acre?a stared at that madness in the eyes for a brief moment as several vampiric projectiles phased through his disappearing shadow. The vampire queen turned her head in the direction of that madman¡¯s latest line of sight, searching for him. She spotted him, just the blur of his body appearing and disappearing from one fading glow around the incendiary bomb to the next.


    Madness, Acre?a thought and exploded into action, giving chase. Sirafay turned into a harpoon in her right hand. The smell of his blood, ever familiar to Acre?a¡¯s nose, filled her world. <Night World> claimed him, his skin, his flesh, his hair. He howled in pain as <Night World> devoured his body like a strong acid. But the persistent madman prolonged his suffering, chucking potions as he moved from one glow of incendiary to the next.


    Madness, Acre?a sent homing projectiles in bulks, indiscriminating of the life of her defenders standing on the path. More alchemical incendiaries exploded almost randomly. But the vampire queen noticed a disconnected blazing path in <Night World>. She immediately realized the madman¡¯s intention, conjured another <Night World> on top of the old one, preventing the madman from escaping her lightless domain.


    Inside <Night World>, his teleporting skill was severely limited. Her homing projectiles tracked the invisible trail of his blood, following him as he zipped from one fading light source to the next. Inside <Night World> he could only travel from and to the bright glow of incendiary. Acre?a had him trapped for the first time. All of a sudden, Acre?a¡¯s pointy ears registered the sound of her homing vampiric missiles impacted. <Soulshattering Spire> smashed astral body. <Tentacled Horror> twisted body and bone. Her dark corroding gales munched on the fleshes of their victims. But the smell of blood, his blood had vanished. The vampire queen¡¯s instinct screamed at her that the madman had recycled his oldest trick, switching his position and identity with one of her defenders.


    Acre?a swept her sharp eyes around. Could not distinguish her vampires from the madman. This cannot be it, isn¡¯t it? Acre?a asked herself, holding her breath. She had always imagined this moment, picturing it, thinking about it, dreading about it, but keeping it a secret for so long. This cannot be it, isn¡¯t it? She thought and allowed a loud piercing screech to escape her throat. It was a signal, the signal. Her defenders turned at each other, running their pointy magic cane through their partner¡¯s heart. Thousands of Acre?a¡¯s defenders committed mass suicide in that manner.


    This cannot be it, isn¡¯t it? Acre?a asked. Her vampiric eyes swept the lightless mass suicide site rapidly. Dark decaying liquid spew out of falling vampiric bodies. Only one of Acre?a¡¯s defenders stood, soullessly stared down at his pairing partner limping on the ground and gurgling dark decaying liquid.


    Got him, the vampire queen clenched her fist in a rush of emotion but did not put down her guard.


    Acre?a knew that one standing was one of her own, a real vampire. And his partner, the one limping on the ground with a look of betrayed and surprise was that madman in disguise. But the paranoia inside her head compelled Acre?a to send forth a whipping dark gale, sending the head of that male vampire elder flying. Falling to his trickeries and devilries for countless times had taught Acre?a to doubt everything and everyone.


    Only when Acre?a saw a rain of decaying liquid erupted from that last standing vampire body and its thudding plummet, she felt safe. Slowly, Acre?a approached that madman in a female vampire elder disguise, sprawling on dark decaying liquid spewed out of his ruptured heart just like thousands of Acre?a¡¯s defenders.


    ¡°I got you,¡± muttered the vampire queen, still keeping a distance from that sprawling body. Sirafay impaled that female twitching body, twice, liver and left kidney, just to be safe. More dark decaying mire spurted forth from the gashing wounds. Acre?a used her weapon to poke, searching for the silver blade, the evidence that supported her claim.


    Though she could not find that wicked blade, Acre?a was sure that she had gotten him just by the look on his face. Her summoned vampires in these sparring sessions, soulless, all of them. Their expression lacking, inanimate, unexpressive, like dolls. Their eyes communicated no thought, no emotion, but his was different. ¡°I got you good this time,¡± Acre?a declared, poking at his twitching body once more with Sirafay to be extra sure. ¡°End the exam. I have passed. I got you good this time. Admit it and end this exam. I have passed your exam,¡± she spoke with pleading voice. Her paranoia from her repeated losses and repeated mistakes still overwhelmed Acre?a. She knew that she had won, but her paranoia convinced her otherwise.


    Neither Acre?a nor her weapon was convinced with their victory. Sirafay probed Acre?a, pleading her to do away with his head in one quick slash, just to be one hundred percent sure.


    Just as then, that pair of blaze blue eyes started moving away from Acre?a¡¯s figure, looking pass her, staring at something or someone behind her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to fall for that cheap trick,¡± muttered the vampire queen.


    That disguised hand slowly moved, pointing to Acre?a¡¯s back.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to fall for that cheap trick,¡± repeated Acre?a, steeling her mind. She lifted Sirafay, which had turned into an executioner sword, into the air.


    Strength suddenly left that hand. Blaze blue eyes turned murky. But the exam still progressed. A heatwave pervaded her neck. Her vampiric instinct compelled Acre?a to turn around. Sirafay led the path in a reverse swing. Vampiric miracles shot out in a blind, consuming the explosion of alchemical incendiary, shielding Acre?a from the light and the flame. In that brief moment when time seemed to freeze inside her head, Acre?a knew that she had been tricked. But it was already too late. She felt that stinging sharpness dug into her ankle. Acre?a cried out in pain as she stumbled on her knees.


    ¡°You should not have wasted time asking and just brought that blade down.¡±


    Acre?a heard his voice echoing inside her head. <Night World> receded in front of her eyes. The exam was over. She had failed yet again.


    ¡°I will admit that was a good attempt. That suicide command. I should have expected you to come up with that kind of nasty command considering your nasty temperament. You got me. You got me good.¡±


    Acre?a clutched her head, deep in despair at the pain to come, deep in despair at her failure. She tried. She employed everything. Still, they were short at claiming him.


    ¡°Shit, I¡¯m out of potions and bombs. You really got me this time.¡±


    Acre?a had failed yet again. Her mind raced, thinking of the mistakes and blunders that lead to this failure before that ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± question would arrive. Nothing good came with that question. Only pain. Only punishment. Her mind raced ahead, unburdened of the unfolding situation and the casual exchange and banter coming out of his mouth. ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± Acre?a rushed her mind to come up with the answer before that dreadful question arrived. ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± She must come up with the answer to that question while he was still talking some nonsense.


    It¡¯s lacking, Acre?a had thought of this line before taking the exam under the assumption that she would lose. But she did not want to believe that she would fail yet again so she did not think much about it. It¡¯s lacking, it was a good line to buy more time for Acre?a to think the answer for that dreadful ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± question.


    What¡¯s lacking? He would ask. More barrages. More miracles. More vampires. More armies. She would reply accordingly, all nonsense to buy more time for her to continue thinking. She had used up everything, strength, number, miracles, and mana. She had hit the limit of her strength. She had reached her limit as a Demon Lord. Still, she had failed. What else? He would definitely ask. What else? Acre?a racked her brain.


    ¡°That body double tactic was good. Here I was thinking what you were thinking donning such a standing out armor at the start of the match. Oy, Acre?a, are you listening?¡±


    More body doubles. Yes, more body doubles. Received a miraculous suggestion from the white noises inside her head, Acre?a got her answer to the ¡°What else?¡± question. A world of them, and keep them spread out among the Defenders, Vanguard and Scouting units. But he would probe Acre?a with that ¡°What else?¡± again, and Acre?a knew it since she sprouted nonsense to distract him from the real question. What else?


    What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?


    ¡°I would consider it a pass¡­. OY, snap out of it, you listening? Acre?a? You need help?¡±


    Help? Yes, more help. More Demon Lords. Acre?a thought that was a good reply. Then she shook her head. Two? Three?  The entire faction? Acre?a thought of submitting to Pride again, to be stabbed that sword once again. After that, she would call the entire faction to help her passing these exams. Despair at that dark future, Acre?a felt her nails sinking into her temples. A dozen more Demon Lords would still not be enough. Let alone eight. She imagined that Greed would outfit all of them in the best set of armor and weapon and Divine Relics. NOT ENOUGH. Acre?a still had no answer to that ¡°Do you know why you have lost?¡± question. So she had to keep buying time. What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?


    ¡°Oy, Acre?a. Snap out of it, bitch. Or I will give you a slap.¡±


    More slaps? No, no no. What would that do? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Grit your teeth. I¡¯m slapping you, Crazy.¡±


    More crazy bitches? Echo? Niwdar? No, no no no. How would that even help? What else? What else? What else? What else? What else?


    All of a sudden, Acre?a felt her vision flared up. ¡°What?¡± She asked, snapping out of reflex.


    ¡°WHAT means what? You crazy bitch. You passed. Snap the fuck out of it.¡±


    ¡°Stop fucking with me. If you want to stab, stab. I don¡¯t have the fucking answer. If you want to punish, punish. I don¡¯t have the answer. Stop fucking with me. If you want to stab, STAB.¡± Acre?a pounded her fist at her chest, ¡°STAB MEEE.¡± Her vision immediately flared up again.


    ¡°You passed. Bitch. Must I slap you again?¡±


    Acre?a stared hard at him. Slowly would the realization sink into her head, very slowly. When Acre?a has finally understood, she held her face within her hands, howling. Her tears kept pouring out.

 V2 Chapter 35

    It was as Faugus had wisely said, ¡°Sometimes, having too much of good things makes your life less happy.¡±


    I was having too much time in my life that things became suck. When time moved according to my will, many things in my life lost the fun elements that they had once brought me.


    Back then when I was still on Earth, most televised games started at 8.30 AM sharp. There is a written rule states that every team member of any team must be presented inside their team waiting room 1 hour and a half earlier than the beginning of their televised matches. That would mean it is my job as a pro-gamer to be inside my team waiting room at 7.00 AM for the makeup team to work their magic, making me look presentable and stylish on the grand stage.


    Nobody had as many difficulties following this rule as much as I did.


    Good boys and good men, smart boys and smart men always knew better. They would go to bed early to wake up early for the important matches. They would arrive at the stage in their peak conditions, giving their opponents no advantage.


    Bad boys and dumb guys like me would try to escape the monitoring eyes of our team¡¯s manager and FY to pursue the guilty excitement of nightlife when it was especially forbidden. It was exciting to concoct an escape plan to disappear from my hotel room when I was being carefully monitored. I have repeated such stupidity so many times that FY and the team manager had become used to it. They had anticipated that I would escape and kept a close monitoring on me. It was exciting when I enacted my escape plan and succeeded.


    But it was more exciting when my plans bust and I had to make a run for it. It was exciting and fun when I was down there on a random bar. Whether I would sit alone and sip something light by myself until someone would approach me, or dance the disco stage with my dates or do something else with my craziest fans up to four and five and sometimes six in the morning, knowing that 7.00 is the deadline. The urgency of trying to rush back to the hotel or arrive at the arena just in the nick of time was exciting and fun. The guilty feeling I received from embracing such stupidity was just as pleasurably exciting as being scold and nagged by FY and the team manager in the morning. But that was not the best part. The best part was that I never had the time to recover from my head-splitting hangover while playing the matches. The best part was that despite the fact that I was not in my peak condition, feeling sick and nauseating as I play through the game, I could still talk trash and then back up my trash talk. But the best dish was watching the record of the opposing team came out of their game booth to shake hands with my team while I had to make a run to the backstage toilet to throw up. The real fun was watching the record of how they were absolutely demoralized from the lost, knowing that they were beaten by someone who was playing the game with a sick hangover.


    Such excitement and fun were lost to me inside dreamland. I could not get drunk and the world rotated according to my will and gravity. And time was no longer a matter of urgent concern.


    I boarded one self-contained time flow to the next, from the slowest to the fastest. For me, time has become a faithful vehicle. The flow of time inside dreamland was no longer a number in my perception like it was to others.


    According to Pride¡¯s perception, it was just three days break since the last time I played a game with her. But to Greed¡¯s awareness, it has been three grueling months since I last gave her my ultimatum on her herculean project. To Acre?a, it was seven lengthy, torturous and traumatic months of studying and taking exam, after one hopeless year of wasting away her life in the gripping shadow of sex and depression. To Pestilence, it was an uncomfortable blur between spending his life in the shackle of Isonos¡¯ disciplinary chamber or the torment of my cleansing sauna or of the purpose of Searek¡¯s combat preschool. Managan was mystery. I could not fathom a guess if Managan could even understand the concept of time and its passage. Managan, the Great Blob, the Slime Princess, the Bringer of Blight, the Slime Demon Lord, regardless of what Managan was called, everyone knew that Managan was Niwdar¡¯s number one nemesis just like what Wrath was to Wonten. It was doubtful if Managan could understand her many titles and designates. She only reacted to her true name, nothing else. Her mind was not that of Wrath, the mind of a feral beast before he traded Ira to me. Her mind was not like that of Gluttony, an ever growing colony of thoughts and identities existed for one purpose. Her mind was neither humanlike similarly to the major makeup of Pride¡¯s faction. Nor hers was half-plantlike similar to that of Svya, the Lighteater Forest. ¡°Managan is Managan,¡± said the Slime Demon Lord herself. Just like Sloth, time was a matter of no concern to Managan unless Pride¡¯s sword made it became so.


    To Sasengun, my current Chief of Staff until I had someone more suitable for the job, it was neither three arduous days of acting like a lady in waiting for Pride nor a week''s worth of preparation for the next game nor an abominable month of beating herself inside the Cradle. Her perception of time was warped mostly due to the fact that she had to juggle with her various duties and activities. After Sasengun was Isonos, Faugus, and Searek. Moving from one time flow to another at a constant pace had messed up their perception of time.


    When the flow of time moved according to a person¡¯s thought, the sense of urgency inside that person¡¯s head no longer existed. He had enough time to do everything. He had enough time to solve every problem. He had enough time in the world to slave his soul to every form of decadence and debauchery existed in life to the fullest for the fun of it. And then he would search for his inner strength to free himself from the invisible shackle and collar that he put on his neck to see if he was as strong as he has always believed.


    But even time could not fix everything, I lamented.


    As soon as I was done playing babysitting with Acre?a, I checked Greed¡¯s progress on the task I had given to her. I summoned Greed to my office, checking on her progress, but not before I showed Greed just how much Acre?a had changed over the past few months.


    While I had no need to employ an intimidation tactic to make Greed work hard for the project, I showed my Djinn Demon Lord that things only went from ugly to uglier when my hands are forced.


    ¡°You are an insane rabbit,¡± sighed Greed, telling me something that I have already known.


    Greed came clean and showed me everything she had. Over fifty lengthy proposals. I sat down on my office chair, reading and listening to all of her proposals. For each and every proposal, I would ask questions and give counterarguments accordingly, being the ever-demanding and hard-to-sell customer as I could possibly be. Playing with the coins in one hand, I shot down the proposal that Greed had presented to me one by one with harsh comments and criticisms. There was no reason for me to buy into any of the proposals when Greed, the seller of those proposals did not even believe in the reliability of her products or go the length to defend them. Greed gave me a total of fifty answers, all of which she believed had no chance of success.


    ¡°Get back to work,¡± said I, in a stern cold voice, as soon as I was done rejecting all fifty proposals. While it would be a direct insult to the human intellect to even call what Greed currently had as ¡°progress,¡± I was delight by the sight of Greed tormenting herself in the Common Wealth library, digging for references and ideas with the help of Lynx and my entire R&D Department.


    Greed was having a tough time to come up with an answer to my most ridiculous demand. But then, the probability that a Demon Lord like her would actually side with me over her kinsmen. The last time I checked, the odds were still not on my side.


    ¡°Upon my order, lockdown Escana. Without my permission. No one goes in. No one comes out,¡± I commanded, demanding Greed to make that command a reality. I would not tell her at which phase of the scheme or what time I would enact the lockdown. ¡°I don¡¯t care who. Be it Sinintee himself or Munezee or even the combined force of the nine spirit realms. Upon my signal, no one and nothing goes in or come out of Escana.¡± The ¡®No one goes in and no one comes out¡¯ constituted of every Immortal but Death, I clarified my order to Greed as soon as I gave her that command.


    It was the most impossible and herculean duty that I could have given to an individual. It was as ridiculous as it sounded. I demanded Greed to defend Escana from all external threats, whatever those threats were and whomever the miracles were attached to. Miracles from which God, Authorities from which Demon Lord, armies from which Spirit Lord, make no difference. ¡°I want the entire planet locked,¡± said I in a manner that it was impossible for misinterpretation. Like I had expected, the first word that came out of Greed¡¯s thick, ripened lips was ¡°Impossible,¡± reacting to my unreasonable demand out of reflex.


    Since the first moment we slept with each other, I always had a problem with this self-inflicted curse kind of reflex that Greed had. For a person, an immortal being who possessed all the time in the world, all the fancy toys, wealth and neat power in this world, a person who was called a ¡°The Wish Making Demon Lord,¡± Greed had the reflex of labeling things as ¡°impossible.¡± Whether it was inside the game or in the reality, Greed was a walking ¡®Max gold, max resources, max technology¡¯ cheat code, yet she had always been quick to discount things as ¡°impossible.¡±


    I understand that impossible things are impossible. It¡¯s impossible to win a chessboard when all you have is king piece on your side. It¡¯s an impossible to get one when the math is the multiplication between two zero numbers. It¡¯s the impossible that I would stab myself with a Dragon Bane coated Enferm¨¦ and still alive after that. The likelihood of Xaara would survive his first battle with me or win, it is in itself and of itself an impossible. The chance that someone or something that might avert the promise of doom I gave to Kharigan at this moment is an impossible. Impossible things are impossible. I know that.


    But I did not demand Greed to sit down, trying to get a one through the multiplication, subtraction or addition between the zero numbers. What I asked of her was not the impossible in itself and of itself. Thusly, I had problems with Greed¡¯s attitude over how quickly she discounted things as impossible when she had not even expended her options and efforts.


    Triggered I was. But I did not bother to correct that self-inflicted curse word ¡®impossible¡¯ immediately. I chose to reframe the topic instead, wearing a faint smile. ¡°Your kinsmen call you, my sweetheart, the Sow of Glory. The Sow of Glory, that is the title they gave you, out of envy. That¡¯s basically calling you an attention hogger. You hog the attention, the praises, the cheer, the worship in the manner that none of them could. Most human, elves, orcs, high elves, and even dragons would sing your name in praises, asking for three avaricious wishes, if it was not for the fear of your curses and the divine retribution from their patron deities. If it wasn¡¯t for the fact that you are a Demon Lord, you would be the most revered Immortal. From what I have heard from Envy and Pride, the total number of mortals sang your name in glorified songs exceeds the total combination of the praises that they gave to the rest of your kinsmen. You are like the guilty pleasure that nobody wants to admit that they had. And that¡¯s impressive considering you have someone like Lust or Wrath as your competitions. Your symbol is also the most invoked symbol among the Fifty. I mean why would people invoke Munezee¡¯s symbol or Wrath¡¯s symbol or anyone else when they could invoke yours? Your symbol grants three wishes. Others¡¯ symbol, only one. And everyone knows that three is better than one. Mortals called you the Wish Making Demon Lord. You are the most praised individual among your kinsmen. Your name is the most celebrated among your kinsmen. Your symbol is the most revered and invoked.¡±


    From Greed¡¯s expression, I knew that my long sidetracked story got her undivided attention.


    ¡°Sweetheart, you often tell me that you admire heroes. You often whisper your admiration over their stories. You admire the way people showered these heroes with praises and worship. You admire the way they answer people¡¯s wishes and expectations. People invoke your name for their purpose, be it wealth, be it strength, be it vengeance. One way or another, their wishes would be realized. So, why aren¡¯t you happy? Why aren¡¯t you satisfied? You could do things that no hero could. Your weapons and armors are fancier. You have more followers and worshippers than your kinsmen or any hero. Do you want more followers and more worshippers? Or perhaps, do you want to be hailed as a Goddess the same way Niwdar and Eogaill was? Would that make you happy, sweetheart?¡± I asked, extending my arms as if I was asking Greed to hug me.


    Greed¡¯s expression, when she bent her giant frame over to hug me, was a mix of confusion and curiosity. I grinned widely and wrapped my arms her neck, feeling her warmth and softness. I kissed her deep cleavage, collar bone, and neck and amorously sought my path up to her ripened lips. I shared a deep and long, long kiss with Greed. ¡°If you desire, I could crash the biggest temple belong to each of the four Gods and rebuild them as yours. I will destroy their statues and rebuild them in your image. If you want, I could build a proper faith around you as soon as I wake up. If that makes you happy, I will convert their disciples to your faith. If that brings you fulfillment, I will legitimate you as a patron Goddess on Escana.¡±


    ¡°You are insane,¡± the Djinn Demon Lord blurted as if she had instinctively understood that I could do just that.


    I smiled. I would not offer that promise to anyone else. I had offered that promise knowing that Greed would refuse. ¡°Insane I am, but I can do that. I am probably the only one in this world who can make those promises true. If you are so much desire the attention, the followers and the legitimacy, just say the word, I will make it the reality,¡± I affirmed my promises with strength, ¡°Let me tell you an experience of mine. I had a much easier time creating a faith than smashing it. I had created a faith so resilient that not even I could destroy, and destroying things is my known forte. If having more followers than the like of Sinintee brings you happiness, if being worshipped by mortals not as a Demon Lord but as a Goddess bring you fulfillment, if watching your temples being built in open acknowledgment bring you joy, say the word, I will see it done. If I can give you my words, I can make them a reality. So sweetheart, tell me what do you want? What makes you happy?¡±


    As I made the offer, I pictured in my mind that Greed would become the prime target of attacks, drawing all the aggro from all directions and become the biggest objective in the war to come if she would say the words.


    Greed stared at me in disbelief and let a small chuckle escape her lips. ¡°People come to me to see their wishes fulfilled. You and Pride are the only two in the world come to me seeking to realize my wish,¡± Greed mused.


    I was half-delighted and half-relieved by her answer. A closet megalomaniac like Envy or egocentric like Pestilence would have said yes to that crazy offer without understanding the end result of that path. They would unknowingly become my bullet magnet and scapegoat.


    ¡°You have told me many times in your love talk. You admire the songs of heroes. You want to bath in the same praise and glory that heroes do. That¡¯s why you have voluntarily submitted yourself to Pride¡¯s sword. That¡¯s why you fought for her legitimacy for the Throne. So why don¡¯t you look happier? You bath in more glory than most of your kinsmen and most heroes could ever hope for. Hundreds of millions praised Sinintee¡¯s name as they fought and killed each other for the Sword of War Song, the Blizzard Spear, the Crown of Fire, and the Chariot of Tempest. They are the most sought objects in the world according to most beliefs. But in reality, more mortals had died searching for the Master Ring and the Demon Face Armor while knowing that these objects belonged to you. Many who wielded either of these objects, they had praised you in open without feeling guilty or fear of divine retribution, and became famous. Some even become the heroes of the people while you are their heroes. You should have so much joy inside your heart that you could not help but smile all the time. So, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    Greed could not answer my question, staying quiet. So I sealed her lips again and slowly changed the question.


    ¡°What is this glory that you seek? Is it the acknowledgment of the mortals of Escana? Is this Glory the praises, the cheer, the attention, the worship? Are such things the Glory that you had in mind?¡± I asked, smiling faintly as I held Greed inside my arms.


    ¡°I thought so,¡± replied Greed in a disenchanted whisper.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try to become a hero?¡± I suggested.


    ¡°Me? A Demon Lord? A hero?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I confirmed with assurance. ¡°Look. You possess everything that a hero wishes to possess. Fame, power, followers, worshippers, wealth. Weapons and armor and magical items that make even an Immortal envious. You bathed in praises when people invoked your symbol. But none of that brings you happiness. So let¡¯s retrace our step. You admire stories of heroes. Perhaps what you admire about those stories are the heroes and their heroic deeds, not the glory that come after their accomplishing the heroic deed. Perhaps you admired those heroes for their character, their inspiring choices in the direst hour, and the heroic deeds that they accomplished. Perhaps what you admire is not those shiny weapons and armors, the swagger, the praises, the cheer, the attention, the fame, and the glory, what you have already had and what these heroes had fought to gain. See my point? You admire stories about heroes. Perhaps, what you have always wanted all along is being one of them. A hero. You admire those stories, wishing that you could have been one of them. A hero.¡±


    I waited for Greed to refute my argument. But she just stood and stared at me as if she had known the answer all along but chose not to.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try to become a hero?¡± I repeated my question, but this time, I spoke it like a command.


    ¡°I am a Demon Lord,¡± answered Greed, almost defensively and reflexively, rejecting that path. Her voice sobered up, no longer drunk in the invisible mist of ardor and physical attraction.


    I smiled, remembering the face of a person who had repeatedly pushed Phu?c to his ending limit and beyond. Thanks to him, I existed. ¡°I know a Demon Lord who is considered a hero to millions¡­¡±


    ¡°I am not talking about a game or a human posing as a Demon Lord,¡± Greed cut in.


    I smiled, continuing my sentence nonetheless, ¡°He is worshipped and admired as a hero by millions. The Demon Lord of Lavatein. You call him a poser of a Demon Lord. But he is the only person who I consider a true Demon Lord. He is the only one who possesses the true makeup of a Demon Lord. It is just a matter of perspective and belief.¡± I kept on talking while putting a finger on Greed¡¯s lips to silence her. ¡°Let me tell you. The fastest I can destroy Kharigan is three days. But if it was him, under the same circumstance, he could blow up both Kharigan and Coeles in day one.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, baby,¡± I inadvertently scoffed, ¡°I AM. The only one. Who knows. None of you had ever fought against him. None of you know the terror that he wields as I do. I AM. The only one. Who knows,¡± I minced my sentences so Greed could hear my reply word by word. Each word was spoken with certainty. Each word spelled like a promise. ¡°It just a matter of will, whether he wanted to do it or not and whether he would commit to the act or not. If he was in my place and position, he would pick his poison and wipe out half of your number first as a warning, then he would blow up Kharigan and let you know that he could have blown up Kharigan in day one to make his warnings felt. Trust my words. If there is a contest to see who can destroy Kharigan, Escana, and Coeles in the shortest amount of time, place all of your coin on the Demon Lord of Lavatein,¡± added I when Greed¡¯s expression was locked in disbelief after listening to my affirmation. If everything was still just a game, and everything, including life and death was just a part of a game, I had no doubt that S0rr0w would have won that planet-destroying race. ¡°He is both a hero and a Demon Lord. So why can¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, right? I am a Demon Lord.¡±


    ¡°And I have just told you that it is just a matter of perspective. Besides, I consider you a Demon Lord in name and appearance only. Back to the topic, sweetheart, why don¡¯t you try to become a hero? Why can¡¯t you? What stop you? What is stopping you?¡±


    Greed tried to escape my arms, showing her clear rejection.


    ¡°Listen,¡± I calmly told the female Djinn, tightening my arms. ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer these questions if you don¡¯t like them. But listen to me. There are many kinds of heroes in the world. Some heroes wear cape. Some wear glasses. Some wield a magic lance to slay a dragon. Some use brain to kill a dragon. Some defend the weak with bow and arrows. Some wield a mouse and a keyboard to show hope to the weak and the handicapped. Some trade his sanity to save a dying nation. Some declare war on a system with just a pair of handguns and a metal suit. These heroes come with different forms, different weapons, different armors, different skill-set, and different agendas¡­¡±


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°¡­They achieve different things to become heroes. Some of them succeeded in the end. Some of them failed but were still considered heroes. As long as you are considered a hero to somebody, you are a hero. I don¡¯t know why you, my sweetheart, believe that a person cannot be both a Demon Lord and a hero at the same time. I don¡¯t know who told you such a lie. Let me tell you this, anyone can be a hero.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie.¡±


    I flashed a wry smile while observing Greed¡¯s rejecting expression. ¡°It¡¯s not easy to be a hero. It¡¯s not easy to overcome the odds and win. That¡¯s why heroes are so celebrated, envied and admired. I will say that again. Anyone can be a hero, but it¡¯s not easy to be one. It¡¯s never easy to be a hero. Anyone who told you that it is easy to be a hero is a liar. Don¡¯t believe those people.¡±


    S0rr0w repeatedly said in the postgame interviews that he had an easy time defeating Ph¨²c and FY. Ph¨²c knew those were lies. I knew that those were lies. S0rr0w had said that he had an easy time destroying Nightmare¡¯s godhood and invincibility. Nightmare knew that was a lie. But S0rr0w made those lies convincing.


    ¡°Why I can say that with certainty? I am more qualified to talk about who are heroes and who are not than most. I know them personally. Heroes, I know them, the best caliber of heroes among heroes. It¡¯s not easy to be them. They all made hard choices. And they would suffer the result of their choice. They struggled and struggled and struggled, and struggled. It¡¯s not easy to be a hero, I tell you. The best caliber of heroes is those who become heroes because they must, and not because they can.¡±


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± Greed¡¯s voice grew increasingly defensive and rejecting.


    I seized Greed¡¯s chin and sealed her lips with a fierce kiss. I would not stop until Greed was out of breath. ¡°Silence, I am still talking,¡± said I with a smile, putting my finger on her lips. ¡°Dragonslayers are universally considered as the best caliber of heroes on Escana. The act of slaying a dragon on Escana is considered a most heroic feat. Why? Dragons are strong. They burn things they don¡¯t like for the fun of it and devour whoever and whatever they want. They hunt when they want to hunt and demand tributes when they are bored of the hunt. Basically, they are being dicks to everyone, just like me. Everyone hates dragons but not anyone can kill a dragon. Someone like you, my sweetheart can definitely kill a dragon with relative ease. Someone possesses all the toys and power as you can certainly kill a dragon with relative ease. But let¡¯s say if a mortal picks a fight with that dragon without having any blessing, brain, power or fancy weapon because he must. Whether it was to avenge his people and family. Whether he felt the need to right the wrong. Whether he believed that he must correct the injustice or not. Even in failure, even if he failed to kill that dragon, he is a hero. But if he succeeded, he is the greatest caliber of hero. That¡¯s what I meant.¡±


    There was a time when Superior still had not made his debut and I have not come out yet, Orithyia and Ph¨²c were the only two people in the world who could win a complex game of tactics and strategies through sheer intuitions and high APM. They were the most illogical beings who existed in the league after Nightmare, a guy who recorded 100% win rate in over 7000 matches with the Garuda pick. The three of them were as ill-logical as the mythical fire breathing dragons. Then there was FY, who at the time, employed Ph¨²c like a giant with a brain and his most trusted club. The fact that a Supporter like S0rr0w could lead Lavatein to defeat them, despite his handicap, made the best Cinderella story in league history. In the league, S0rr0w was the definitive hero to everyone who had problems with their mechanical skills.


    People would always go on, and on, almost endlessly, saying that it was the passion, the ROC IQ, the will to not give up, and blah-blah-blah that lead to victory. But they would show the real struggle, the stress, the failure and the winding path that lead to that victory in short montages. They always kept that part where S0rr0w struggled even to earn his spot in Lavatein mightily short and contained. They summed up thousands of hours of studying the game through watching replay and making analysis to mere minutes in an-hour-long clips.


    I and Nightmare understood S0rr0w¡¯s struggle more than most of his ongoing and off going teammates could. But nobody understood S0rr0w¡¯s struggle as much as he does. And that was something S0rr0w would never reveal to the world.


    ¡°The best caliber of heroes are those who slay their dragon because they must. The best caliber of heroes is those who wade through the mud and got burn to kill their dragon. Not those phonies who only need to flick their finger to kill their dragon. If a dragon could flick unto their death, those are not dragons. That¡¯s why until now, you have been so dissatisfied. You conquer your dragon without effort. You are considered hero and praised as hero by your followers without any being truly tested. You did not feel like your praises and worships were earned. Thusly, you are convinced that you cannot be a hero.¡± I smiled. ¡°Sometimes, the dragon that you must fell is not a physical one, one that had scales and breathed fire. It¡¯s this one.¡± I held Greed¡¯s hand and guided it to her fleshy abundant chest, ¡°Sometimes, this dragon is the toughest dragon to conquer in the world.¡± I made Greed felt her beating heart. ¡°Now back to the true topic, I command you to conquer this dragon and to defend Escana. Defend Escana, making sure that nobody and nothing can enter Escana without my permission, making sure that the rats that snuck in could not come out. Conquer this dragon, and you are a hero of the greatest caliber. Even if the world would not acknowledge or celebrate your deed, I would. Why? Because I command you. You must succeed this task at all costs. I need you to succeed in this task. It¡¯s alright if you don¡¯t want to be a hero to the mortals of this world, be mine, my hero.¡±


    Back then, I thought that I have made myself clear. I gave Greed the time to think while I would repeatedly talk her into accepting that task. I knew that it was just a matter of time until Greed would keel over and accept. I had always known. Not because my words were convincing, but because that was her most hidden wish. She wanted it as much I had tried to convince her. Greed eventually accepted, but after just forty-eight hours of diving into the task, she came to me, lodging her complaint even she have not even exhausted her effort or option or wealth. I told her that I have already removed Wrath and brought Wonten to my side, the two biggest threats to the success of her task. Still, she complained. I told her that she could go to the library searching for references and ideas. I told Greed that she could even ask my staff for help. Still, she bitched, trying to negotiate her way out of the command. I stared eye-rolling-white at Greed, a wish-granter who doesn¡¯t know how to grant her own wish and refuse to work for her own wish despite having everything lined up and ready for her. I was so mad at the time that even Ira came out of its prison.


    Now looking at the sight of Greed¡¯s struggle to find the solution for the dilemma, I was pleased. I returned to my office, embellishing a half-drawn scheme of mine for Greed to make the best out of her anti-Immortals floating fortress, the Floating Continent in her first sortie. I already had a plan before I gave Greed that task. I just wanted her to work for her answer and wish


    Greed¡¯s wish was the kind that I could never grant. The kind of wish that tested my current credit and prepaid system.


    For someone as broke as I was, having no wealth, no land and no title, I had nothing else to offer my staff for their service other than the credit that I would realize their wishes. I had said that I would grant my staffs¡¯ wishes in exchange for their service. They would give me their service first and I would realize their wishes. There was no business model that could rival this scam system in terms of being scummy. I had people slaved themselves, toiling their mind and rest for my cause until I could pay them. Dion confirmed it to me that my business model was definitely a scam. It appeared to be a scam. It sounded like a scam. It felt like a scam.


    It is definitely a scam, the biggest scam in the world, agreed Dion.


    The manner in which I keep my General Staff had to be the most flawed and scammy business model that I had ever seen. It was a system that run on my creditability, wishes granting ability and make-believe ability. In term of credit, I was already buried beneath crushing mountains of debt. In term of future prospect and business, I had already forecasted that these invisible debt mountains would only multiply themselves.


    Fuck. I hated how my r¨¦sum¨¦ kept updating itself with nothing good or at least presentable that I can proudly show to people.


    Acre?a said she wanted my ¡°most earnest love and my devotion.¡± That wish I had granted to her. I made that wish felt. I could grant Searek¡¯s wish, helping him to see his fatherland or what left of it. And even the wishes that follow after that if Searek would ask. I could grant Lynx¡¯s wish, undoing the curses, the marks of destruction and hazard that he had created. I could realize Ember¡¯s wish and brought him to his old man¡¯s grave, probably the wishes that might come after that. I could probably grant Faugus¡¯ wish, probably. Creating a land, a nation and a future for the kobolds to live as peaceful and fulfilled as my stupid people of dreamland. I could probably do that. Those wishes, I could grant.


    And then there were those like Greed¡¯s. To be a hero in a story? Greed¡¯s wish. I could help Greed realizing her wish but not grant that wish to her. I could help Greed to further that wish, leaking hints to her through Lynx and my R&D without letting her know.


    However, Greed is the only one who can grant that wish to herself.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    As I was half-talking to myself and half-taking to Dion, I heard three knocks on the door. Knowing that it was Isonos from the pause between the knocks, I told him to come in. Isonos started opening the door and rolled his wheelchair right in.


    ¡°You have summoned,¡± greeted Isonos as ever gracious and respectful in my presence. His greeting came straight out of an old Garuda¡¯s story about two friends and a promise.


    ¡°Your summon. Regardless of the time. Regardless of the distance. Regardless of the favor of the gods. I would always answer.¡± A Garuda once made that promise to her best friend and tribal chieftain before she set out on a legendary trip to search for the fabled lost Continent. As the chieftain became old, ailing to his age and his reign became weakened, a usurper appeared and tore his tribe apart. The dethroned and ailing chieftain alongside his children would fly, escaping the pursuers from one place to another, desperately calling many of his former allies to come helping him to reclaim his place. Many promised to come to his side but few actually did. At the dawn of the crucial battle against the usurper, when the mark of Wonten has been evoked and it was already clear who would win and who would lose from the number between two sides. That old friend, who the chieftain had thought that he would have never met again, who he had believed was still on the trip to search for the lost Continent, who he had not even summoned, appeared out of nowhere. ¡°You have summoned,¡± said she, her only explanation before she would bring him justice in that battle through her feats of valiance.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    The ¡°You have summoned,¡± that Isonos has always greeted me whenever I called him, was his most earnest profession to my cause. His feeling, his gratitude, his thought, Isonos always laid bare in my presence, and they were heavy. I could never repay him enough for that.


    Isonos often reminded me of my royal circle of ROC superstars. FY, Superior, Nightmare, S0rr0w, Orithyia, and me. Each of us was an ultimate luxury on any team roster. What we can win are not just the games, the matches the titles, and the championships. We can win the heart of the audiences as well as the respect of our opponents in the ways that others could not. If we chose to jump off our flagship, playing on a relatively unknown and grassroots team, that team will immediately gain millions of fans, a bunch of sponsors, and more importantly media attention. ROC superstar and star caliber players would flock to that team which led to even more fans and media attention. From a business perspective, we were the ultimate cash cows of our bubbled world. Whichever team that had us in their roster would be at the center of the spotlight in the world of ROC Esports. And more importantly, whichever team that had us playing for them would immediately gain a foothold in the glory and the history of ROC Esports. Whichever team that had us in their roster would still be remembered even when their flag no long exist. Similarly, Isonos¡¯ value transcended the spectrum of war, strategies and tactics.


    There is no amount of wealth, power or fame that I could use to pay Isonos in exchange for his service. A talent like Isonos, a kingdom is a filthy cheap price to pay for his service. Dion internally reminded me just how much a scum that I was and how scummy my current business model was. Zip it, I replied.


    Isonos had always kept his respectful mannerism in my presence. While I have always wished that Isonos could be more casual around me, I accepted his profession in the same respectful manner. Even though the two of us had known each other over a human lifespan inside this Divine Dream, rarely would Isonos break out of his refined manner and gratitude to treat me as if he treated his peers. I have heard and seen how Isonos was acting more casual around Lynx and Faugus. But whenever Isonos was around me or Sasengun, his superiors in rank, he was always respectful and well-mannered. I exchanged a few lines of casual talk with Isonos with poise, talking about how I was still waiting for him to complete his 13<sup>th</sup> war manual with much hype and anticipation. Isonos carefully crafted his words and inquired me about the progress of my training with Acre?a through an almost irrelevant mention. I commented that Acre?a would be serviceable as a combatant and a commander of an army. ¡°But Sasengun and you would probably have to do all the heavy lifting in the incoming operation,¡± I added. The two of us laughed out loud over my terrible joke. A terrible sense of what a joke is, was something that the two of us had in common.


    I stood up and grabbed the half-drawn scheme that I have been working with, delivering the document to Isonos. ¡°Read it and let me know your opinion,¡± said I, before returning to my chair.


    Considering how much a technological savvy that Isonos had become, it was almost strange that Isonos was more comfortable reading hardcopy and handwritten document over the softcopy. Isonos was the kind person who would hop on any gadget trend the moment they came out. During the time I was still having a hard time trying to bridge the gap between the technology level of Earth and the technology level of Escana to my staffs, Isonos and a dozen of beardy dwarves consisting of my entire R&D were the only few who can just absorb the new technology as natural.


    I played around with an invisible replica of Enferm¨¦ inside my hands to quiet Dion¡¯s rambling as Isonos flipped the papers. Isonos was just as much a quick reader as he was a quick learner. His deformed taloned hands flipped the paper with fluid dexterity. Only when I started noticing his habit of using just the tip of his talons to flip the page, I understood why Isonos often avoided reading document on touchscreen devices. Around the twentieth page, Isonos, with the expression as if he was having an epiphany, took out the small notebook that he had always kept in his chest pocket, writing furiously as he continued reading the document.


    When I saw Isonos drew a circle on his notebook, I quietly passed him the protractor and an elven abacus lying on my table. Isonos graciously received the protractor with two hands, started working on the geometry and physic involved in the document. For someone whom basic math and physics was mostly self-taught until I taught him, Isonos¡¯ foundation was solid. Guys like Ember and Lynx were taught in the subject at the Temples and college by scholars, but Isonos taught himself as he waged war through texts. It was by the virtue of being ferocious reader and pursuer of knowledge that Isonos managed to overcome his handicaps.


    There were a handful of Garudas working inside my General Staff. But Isonos was the only one who can teach me how to read the weather and the sky, and fighting the 3D battle to claim the sky. However, it was not because Isonos was a better teacher than the other eight or because he was more likeminded to me than the others.


    What conventional is to the Garuda, is unconventional to a wingless human like me. The Garudas are born with wings that can read the winds and the changing of the weather. They can predict a storm or a rain is coming with their wings. Their wings can read the winds before the winds would begin to blow. With their eyes closed, these Garuda can read the weather better than any weatherman. Even with their eyes closed, the Garudas can accurately read the change in altitude because they possess a special constitution that made them sensitive to atmospheric change. They could also feel the invisible magnetic field covering Escana. They could climb to the height that birds, wyverns and dragons would never be able to reach. The Garudas¡¯ special constitution made them be at most ease when they were flying on the sky. They were born to fly and conquer the sky. They are the gods and goddesses of the sky.


    The Garuda considered themselves as the children of Wonten. More than their appearance suggested, beneath their fair plumy coat, their grace body was much leaner. Their muscles were compact and strong, but unrealistically light. Unlike the orcs whose physics would immediately spell out their indomitable strength, the deceptive physics of a Garuda would not give away his strength until he demonstrated it.


    The Garuda society was a very tribal and martial art base society. The Garuda would send their children to train in the dressing and donning of Wonten¡¯s miracles and honed their martial arts at a very young age at the Temple of Faceless God. The Garudas have a unique metabolism that allowed them to absorb sunlight through their wings when they matured. The adults are only required to consume food around five to seven a week and live off the energy they absorbed the sun. So food was more of a concern for the younglings than the adults. There is almost no distinction between a male and a female Garuda when it came to who should do what. Both sexes are expected to responsibly dedicate their life to their house, clan and tribe. Both sexes are expected to take arm and go to war when called.


    The lesser Garuda soldiers, those who were born less fortunate without the blessing of Wonten, would go to war dressed in light armor and two quiver full of short javelins. The common Garuda soldiers, those who were born with Wonten¡¯s blessing, they would fight under various roles depending the calling of their respective tribes. The elite warriors of the Garudas, the infamous death dancer would don light armors, a shiny steel helmet, a small magic wand or a foldable magic cane, and finally their unique twin blades that could be mounted to their strong wings. All of these elite death dancers are the best of both world, magic casters and martial artists. Before the battle, they would further enhance their physical strength with <Blood of Wonten>, infusing every fiber of their body with in Wonten¡¯s godlike strength. After that, they would clad <Marrow the Protector> upon their wings. The Garuda¡¯s strong and large wings were unique in the world of Escana for being able to accept the blessing of <Marrow of the Protector>, which normally could only be coated on inanimate objects and weapons. The combination of this spell alongside <Blood of Wonten> made their wings and feathers become as strong as iron. In the case of the death dancers, their wings rivaled steel in term of toughness. Their wing mount blades existed to provide additional armor and cutting power for their strong wings.


    The Garuda¡¯s death dancers fought ground battle with a Twin Wing tactic. Usually, one hundred Garudas would be assigned to one Wing. If one wing engaged their foes, the other wing stayed fresh and kept a lookout, waiting for their turn. After the first wing had done buffing themselves with magic and mounting their wing blades, these Garudas could dance in and out of a melee engagement with the best of the blade masters of the high elves and the best of the Naga¡¯s infantry.


    As soon as the first wing were done praising for Wonten, the death dancers would dive from sky, crashing into their foes spinning with their wings folded around their body like an umbrella of steel. There, these Garudas would perform their infamous dance of death. Their wings were their swords and shield merged as one. Each feather tempered by the <Marrow of the Protector> was iron solid, strong enough to repel arrows and launched javelins. Each wing enhanced by the <Blood of Wonten> and mounted with the wing blade was potent enough to bend swords and slice through the bones of a light armored body. The Garuda¡¯s wings covered most parts of their body but their helmeted head, armored knees and legs. Just like that, the Garudas pirouetted their way into a melee, slicing and dicing their enemies like hot knives through butter with their deadly umbrella. Their battle technique was not a mindless spin in one direction like an inanimate top. Theirs was worthy to be called a dance. There were the rhythmic crouches and the sway in their masterful footsteps, the fluid in their hips and chest movement like that of a boxer. ¡°Death to the enemies,¡± the death dancers would sing as they pirouetted into the ranks of their foes, slicing and dicing. The Garudas did not have to spin much to generate strength. The power of their spells had already handled that part. When those umbrella of death started spinning, those poking out swords and spears would be diverted, snapped and bent. One full pirouette and shields would be flung off and various body parts would divorce. Only when the power of the spells started fading, the Garudas would soar to the sky for the second Wing to come down, trading their spots with the first Wing while they would rest and wait for their turn.


    The efficiency of their fighting method aside, the way the Garudas gracefully danced in and out of the battlefield, pirouetting with their umbrella of death was a truly captivating sight. I had seen this fighting method on earth through CGI and hand-drawing animations. But, I was truly captivated the beauty when I saw the dance being performed by real Garuda warriors. Theirs was a true dance of death in every form and meaning, combining graceful footsteps and body movements with their godlike strength to deadly effect. And when there were a hundred of these death dancers moving and pirouetting in harmony, it was a chillingly captivating scene. I had to pause my brain to realize what I was staring at was a scene of carnage.


    I mastered the Garuda¡¯s dance of death with over two toiling decades of strict discipline and practice. From the beginning to the end, from the dive to the soar, I could dance better than my dance teachers, with the kind of grace and fluid that they could have never imagined until I showed it to them. But my dance teachers would often lament the tradeoff lethality of my dance. They often joked and called my version, ¡°The Dance of Life¡± due the fact that even after twenty years of mastering the dance, I was unable to hurt them once. It was more artful, the eye pleasing kind of art, than the stuff suited for combat and killing. Regardless of my dance teachers¡¯ hurtful comments, I could dance well enough to be their dance partner for hours without dying.


    After that, I spent three grueling decades to learn the Garuda¡¯s anti air combat, the art of sky combat from my dance teachers. I often asked, ¡°How?¡± in a repeated fashion. It did not help when I used my skill to turn into a Garuda. My dance teachers often gave me the look of ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you get it?¡± or ¡°This is impossible¡± when I asked them about the basic of the battles of the sky. Through the <What you can do, I can do better> I have learned to fly like a Garuda, performing the most complex aerial feats just as well as the most athletic Garuda inside dreamland could. I could fly well enough to participate in a Garuda sky dance and courting ritual.


    I could fly well enough to fight off Acre?a¡¯s chimeric vampires and their riders as a human, or better, a Garuda. With my human body, I could only fight Acre?a¡¯s vampire through <The Magician>, my bag of tricks and surprise-backstab. But with Garuda¡¯s body, I could ground these chimeric vampires in a frontal mano-a-mano without employing any trickeries. It was as easy as taking a lollipop from a child¡¯s hands.


    But even when I was wearing a Garuda¡¯s body, I have realized that at the heart and the mind, I am still a flightless human. I could brave through the strong turbulent winds with intuition and improvisation. But I could not forecast and predict turbulence. I could fly through a thunderstorm, but I needed a lot of luck on my side to survive that kind of flight. I could perform aerial feats and dance on the sky when the sky is clear and freed of bad conditions. I could even star in a Garuda sky porn movie if there was willing a producer and an audience for this niche genre. But in the end, they were just showmanship and sport, things that can hardly translate into real battle. That was my limit.


    In a way, the Garudas were very similar to the orcs of Escana. They both considered themselves the children of Wonten. They both had a warrior-coded and honor bounded society. And the way they fought and developed their tactics was mostly base on their intuitions and sense of honor.


    Even when I was a Garuda, living among a group of Garuda, I thought like a human. That was a bridge that I could not cross. I could not learn the things that I have truly wanted to learn from these Garudas. The basic foundation of the Garuda¡¯s approach to warfare. The aerial dogfight from their point of view. How a Garuda would perceive a battle. The constitution of Nightmare¡¯s godhood and invincibility, and the way to replicate that in this realty patched ROC world.


    With the exception of his ability to intuitively grasp the magnetic field covering the world, Isonos was pretty much a human like me. Isonos¡¯ glass bone sickness robbed him the ability to read the winds and weather like other Garudas. His heart was on the wrong side of the chest, preventing him from reading atmospheric pressure in the same manner that a normal Garuda could. In this regard, Isonos was like the most perfect translator that helped me to bridge the gap of conventional knowledge between a flightless human and a Garuda.


    ¡°There are tricks and tools for that,¡± said Isonos. And I had to give him a most brotherly hug in that exact moment. Whereas Isonos called me a Garuda in a man¡¯s body, I called Isonos a human in a Garuda¡¯s body. Whether it is on Earth or Escana, human are creatures that heavily rely on their tools and problem-solving ability to conquer the world.


    I would not say that I have wasted over 50 years learning nothing from my dance teachers, because I didn¡¯t¡¯. I have learned their culture, their code of honor and their dance. I learned to fight like a Garuda would.


    But Isonos taught me how to kill as a Garuda to the best effect. Meaning, I learned the way of fighting to win and not the way of fighting to satisfy the codes of honor. The Garudas¡¯ dance of death was about the worst method the Garudas could employ to win a ground battle. If an elite Garuda had to train at least three years in that kind of dance to kill something or someone, they had wasted those three years.


    ¡°Teacher, that was exactly what I have repeatedly told them. Grab a bag of stones, fly high and scatter the stones,¡± commented Isonos. Our answer was identical. ¡°Why exposing yourself to harm? Why swoop down fighting a ground battle when you can stay on the sky and out of harm? Drop something heavy on them, those flightless things,¡± agreed I, giving Isonos a high five in that moment, ¡°This kind of battle technique should only be employed to defend strategic points and not as a first priority offensive mean.¡±


    When a Garuda could climb the sky to beyond the so called ¡°cloud ocean level,¡± gravity should be his deadliest weapon and height is his greatest shield. A rock at the size of a tennis ball freefalling from that height would be as strong as a cannon ball. Even if a person was protected by a set of Titanite armor would die when that kind of projectile knock on his helmet.


    Isonos showed me one of his many inventions, one of the greatest inventions that Escana had ever gained and lost, a barometer and anemometer in one body. I could only stare at the device and laugh myself to tears.


    ¡°It works.¡± Those were the only words that I could mutter as I laughed, hopping on my feet and crying tears of joy. ¡°It works.¡± My vocabulary was reduced to just two words.


    To a Garuda, this device is the very definition of useless. But to me and to Isonos, this device is a game changer. That device that Isonos showed me was a very primitive device in term of design, material and workmanship. It was just as crude as it was big and cumbersome. But it just worked. A single device opened up many doors and paths. Among those many windows, doors and paths, I could picture myself employing the witches to win their most unfavorable matchups with the help of this device alone.


    The winds are invisible to human¡¯s naked eyes. ¡°Give them color. Make them visible,¡± said Isonos, offering the simplest of a solution to a problem that I had dreaded for months and years while wearing a Garuda¡¯s body.


    ¡°I¡¯m so fucking dumb,¡± I cursed myself when I heard that advice. As I was trying my hardest to understand the art of reading weather with my Garuda wings, I forgot something so importance. Human don¡¯t have to submit themselves to the will of the world like beasts. Human are creatures that would bend the world to their will if things would not go their way.


    ¡°You can also spread a communication network using the


    . Let the other Garudas read the weather for you,¡± said Isonos in an amused chuckle. And I punched myself over how stupid and blind I was. It was just simple problem solving skill that anyone can do. That was the foundation of Blindfold ROC.


    ¡°Do you have any special trick to win a random aerial battle?¡±


    ¡°Special tricks? There is none of worthy to mention. You already know the tricks, teacher. You just have to limit all of your fight on battlefields that you scouted. Pick a fight that you are sure that you would win.¡±


    I was blindsided by that reply and left agape.


    War is a field of science. The basic foundation of war and combat remains the same whether a person like me would move from to Escana. My point of view, my race, my reality and the rules of the world can always change. But the basic foundation of war remains the same. Just like math would never change even if I come to another world. One plus one is still two, on Earth or on Escana or on Kharigan. The rules and laws of war can change. The era, the age, the technology, the power, tactics and strategies employ to win wars can change. But war never changes. And its basic foundation remain the same.


    If a scientist wanted his experiments bear consistent and correct result, he needed to conduct them in a controlled environment. Do not leave things to chance and uncertainty. Control everything, the heaven, the earth, the people. I understood Isonos¡¯ words in two meanings.


    I learned to read the weather and conquer the sky from a true master. Isonos called me his teacher. But to Isonos and my General Staff, my relationship with them was just as much as a teacher and a student. I taught them what I knew and I learned from them. Sasengun taught me to read the water, nagivagtion, seafaring and the art of combat on the sea. Faugus taught me how to survive on the most hostile conditions, to write and read in every known writing on Escana. Searek taught me to face wars and combat like a true orc would. Lynx and Ember showed me two of the most terrifying methods of fighting a war. These are just a tiny fraction of the human resource that the like of Sanguine and its two stooges had squandered and mocked.


    Regardless of their story and time, how they live and how they died, these are heroes and champions of their time and era. And yet, Sanguine turned them into displaying trophies. And yet Yasubotay and Rasahlu mocked them. And yet, Death rejected them. And yet, Wonten and Niwdar, the symbol of justice and mercy had gave up on saving. And yet, these Immortals considered them as their lesser.


    I would gladly trade a continent, an arm and a leg for the service of just one of these individuals. And that would not be enough. There is no definitive amount of wealth, no fix promise of power and fame that is ever enough to buy the service of these individuals. Their service is priceless.


    I had made up my mind on the second lesson that I would deliver to these immortal beings. The human resource is not meant to be underestimated. That would be the title of the lesson.


    Dion tried to argue with me about the name, thinking that it had better ideas. I argued with it inside my mind.


    ¡°This will work, teacher,¡± said Isonos, snapping off my internal argument with Dion.


    ¡°Really?¡± I asked coyly, ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that. The plan is full of holes.¡±


    Bullshit, Dion cursed internally. And I told it to zip its mouth and be quiet.


    ¡°You sure love to jest, teacher,¡± chuckled Isonos. His beak clicking nosily as he tried to stifle his almost ceaseless snicker. He then showed me a page of his notebook, showing a list of all the most ridiculous objects in this universe that I had gained thus far. It was an incomplete list because I have not told Isonos everything. His pencil stopped on an item, <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia>, Sloth¡¯s sleeping bag and the core product of his abilities to warp reality.


    <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia>, a sleeping bag is, in fact, the best defensive object of miracle existed in this universe.


    Back when I was on Earth, playing the role of Dr. Reality, for a whole 15 minutes I angrily ranted and bitched about the design of this object in a 27 minute episode on Misery¡¯s channel. Without pause to catch my breath, for a whole straight 15 minutes, I ranted like a ball of anger. That was the most fun episode on Misery¡¯s channel. Looking back at the clip, I talked so much, so fast and so loud that my face became redden gradually over time due the lack of oxygen. Viewers could actually see how my face change color during that 15 minutes.


    <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia>, a sleeping bag is, in fact, the best defensive object of miracle existed in this universe.


    Objects like my Enferm¨¦ or Acre?a¡¯s Sirafay, weapons and armors and items that were created through physical means and then imbued with miracles, were labeled Divine Relics. Then, objects that born from a miracle like Wonten¡¯s hammer or Pride¡¯s Sword of Superbia or Death¡¯s reaping scythe, they were considered the Divine Raiment of an Immortal. They are the Miracle and Authority that manifest in the form of solid objects. Anyone who is defeated by Pride¡¯s Sword of Superbia would submit himself to her ego and pride. Anything and anyone who meet the hammer of Wonten would be changed by his strength and intent. Anything that touch the edge of Death¡¯s reaping scythe would cease to be. Similarly, anything and anyone who come to contact with <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> would either stop to a slumber or slumber to a stop, be it astral bodies, vectors, world bending miracles, or reality warping authorities. <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> was as a big a middle finger to the law of conservation of energy as my <The Magician>. All form of energy or force of impact just disappears.


    If the Hammer of Wonten and the Claws of Wrath are the definitive unstoppable forces in this universe, Sloth¡¯s <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> is the undisputed unmovable object. The only thing aside from Death¡¯s scythe that could stop both the <Might Hammer> and the <Sundering Claws> in their track of destruction, the two unstoppable forces in the universe, is <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> a sleeping bag.


    If the constitution of Sloth¡¯s immortality was a giant solid pillow, <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> was the constitution Sloth¡¯s Authority and power. The Slumbering Demon Lord was Sloth¡¯s one and only title, reflecting everything that is needed to be said about Sloth. Slumbering. His daily activity through the eons that he had lived. His social media page status when Wonten brought war to Kharigan, hoping to alleviate the war damage on Escana and Coeles during the First Divine War, and still Sloth kept that social status of his true throughout the length of entire First Divine War. Sloth stayed inside his sleeping bag and remained in a blissful slumber as everything else was going on around him.


    Sloth was the least understood and mentioned Demon Lord in the lore of ROC. And for a good slumberous reason. His appearance was a disturbing 30 giant meters pupa composed of greasily brain matter. Sloth¡¯s most notable and heralded feat consisted of him sleeping inside his sleeping bag while Wonten and Wrath were battling furiously on top of Kharigan without being able to put a dent or a scratch on the surface of the bag. The only two being in the world who could manage to wake Sloth up for the briefest moments were said to be Munezee and Pride. In fact, Pride had hitherto chosen champions for Sloth while he remained asleep and allowed these champions to act on their own accord.


    Even though it was known as the core object of Sloth¡¯s power, <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> was mentioned in the lore of ROC only three times under three different callings. The slumbering pouch, mentioned by Munezee. The barrier surrounding Kharigan, described by Wonten. And bastion of falsehood, said Eogaill. These three instances were the only times that Sloth¡¯s sleeping bag was being mentioned in the lore. Outside of that, in an interview, when asked about the size of the <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia>, one of URLOX¡¯s representatives replied that the sleeping bag ¡°Is small enough to fit Sloth¡¯s body and is big enough to wrap up the world in a slothful slumber.¡±


    Despite being the reason why Kharigan could still remain intact after being hammered by Wonten and clawed by Wrath, those were the only four times that <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> was mentioned. It was harder to dig up any information related to Sloth in the lore than finding the information about Eogaill. And Eogaill¡¯s popularity with the fans was only due to the fact that she had made a meme out of her name by acting like shut-in inside her library and being the clumsiest goddess.


    ¡°The unmovable object that can stop Wonten and Wrath is not a shield, an armor, a wall, a barrier, or a fortress. A sleeping bag? Come on. A sleeping bag? COME ON. A SLEEPING BAG? COME ON. YOU GOT TO BE SHITTING ME.¡± I ranted as angrily as I could. That idea was so hilarious and bonkers that I could only act angry and rant my lungs off. Otherwise, I would have broken out of character and laughed so much that my eyes would roll out of their socket. Misery was expecting to be serious. But there was no way that I could be serious while talking about this sleeping bag of Sloth. My mind could never keep up with URLOX¡¯s design choice and their nonsense. Back then and now.


    Dion, being the ever faulty piece of equipment that it was, refreshed my mind over the memory of making that one episode without being told. And I had to cut Dion¡¯s nonsense short to focus on Isonos.


    ¡°Teacher, you have said that your first objective in this war is the total destruction of Kharigan. In order to meet that objective, you have first to remove all the defensive measures that protect Kharigan from various external threats. You have removed Kharigan¡¯s greatest protector, its reigning Demon Lords by trapping their astral body inside this place. So, what¡¯s left is just the disarmament of the <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> and whatever miracles and objects covering up its entrance. It is just my wild speculation. You have set Lust, Envy, Magnamor and Wonten free in the first batch. Magnamor¡¯s eyes can point out the hidden entrance of the <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> to Wonten. Envy can turn his appearance into other Demon Lords. Envy would act as your insider, sneaking Wonten into Kharigan without anyone knowing. And Wonten would wait for your signal to destroy the red moon from the inside.¡±


    I was amazed at the ending result of Isonos¡¯ combining his ROC game knowledge and speculation together. Just like everyone else, I only told Isonos what they needed to know, and nothing else. I have only told my staffs that I had released Lust, Envy, Magnamor and Wonten. And I had told them that my first move in this war is ¡°Destroying Kharigan.¡± Nothing else.


    It was terrifying how correct and insightful Isonos was in the matter. But if there is a single mistake in Isonos¡¯ speculation, it would be about the signal part. I had no intention of giving out any signal to Wonten. I gave Wonten two separated countdowns. I instructed Wonten, ¡°When either the countdowns end, hit Kharigan as hard as you could possibly hit an object. Grind it into moon dust.¡± Whether I could or would give my signal, or not, it did not matter. Even if my subsequent plans backfired on me, Kharigan, the symbol of the Demon Lords would disappear from the sky. That would be the signal for Lust to get my scheme going into motion. And if there is no signal of confirmation from my side after that, Lust would move straight to my backup plan. Even if I was already dead in an accidence and Kharigan was already gone, the war continues until my design ends it.


    From the moment I set those four free, there is no going back. There is no stopping for either one of them or me.


    ¡°You would kill one Demon Lord as soon as you destroy Kharigan. Lust¡¯s Champion in this age is the leader of the cultist. I suspect that you would suggest a Demon Lord like Xaara or Echo or Firebrand to summon themselves into Escana to avenge the destruction Kharigan. If you can isolate one of these three in a one on one situation. It¡¯s first blood!¡±


    ¡°How is that related to everything? How is that related to this topic? How is that related this sleeping bag?¡± I chuckled amusedly while shaking my head, giving no hint of agreeing or disagreeing to Isonos¡¯ wild speculation. It was amusing that the only person who actually believes that I would definitely win against a Demon Lord in a one on one situation is Isonos. And Isonos was not a fighting machine, born to fight and kill like Searek. Isonos was not a discipline warrior who had devoted himself in the art of screeching steel like Sasengun and kind. He was not even remotely resembling his own kind for the honor bound fighter that the Garudas were. And still Isonos was convinced that if a Demon met me in a one on one situation, it would be first blood.


    This is absolutely hilarious.


    Isonos immediately realized the hidden barbs I packed inside my chuckle from the years he has spent living with me. He immediately realized that I had discovered his misdeed some time ago and was exposing it right now.


    I had either given my staffs a dot or a coordinate. I divided them in pair or groups or Department. I told them to focus on those dots that they were given alone. Sasengun¡¯s dot was the Sunken Isle. Faugus¡¯ coordinate was the salt desert located between the Empire of White Winter and the Kingdom of Karodonat. Lynx¡¯s coordinate was linked to Greed. Everyone had received their own dot or coordinate or both as their ultimate objective. I had made my intention clear that everyone should focus on their objective and do not stray from that. What Isonos was doing, right now, was straying from my instruction. Isonos could not be strayed further from my instruction than he could possibly be. He was marking those coordinates and circling the dots. Isonos was connecting the visible and invisible dots.


    That was the last thing I wanted Isonos to do.


    The one wing Garuda feigned a cough, but continued speaking in defiance nonetheless.


    ¡°You will kill one of them as brutally as possible to warn the rest of your arrival. Teacher, you will announce your intention of participating in the Game as one of the participant. Through the destruction of Kharigan, you will show them that you are just as destructive as they are. That would be your biggest bluff,¡± Isonos speculated, ¡°I believe that you intend to confuse them, making them hesitate and stay stationary for your next move. I believe that most of them would be shocked. They would not act rash and wait until you make your move.¡±


    Every projectile in the world has a trajectory when launched. Most projectiles would follow the rule of physic, forming a parabola arc. Some projectile follows their own world-bending trajectory just like Acre?a¡¯s <Soulshattering Spire>, flying straight until they cease to be or when they land on the target. Plans and schemes are also like that, projectiles that fly toward their intended goal. Schemers are shooters. Their foresight must be keen. They must know the nature of their projectile. They must see how their schemes, their projectiles failed to hit the target first to understand them. Then they must learn from their failures to make their next shot count. A schemer¡¯s judgment must be sharp. He must know when to shoot and when-not-to-shoot. Otherwise his projectiles would never have a remote chance to hit the intended goal. A schemer¡¯s shooting skill must be solid. A schemer¡¯s bow, his cohort must be as good as his shooting skill is. Otherwise, his projectile would definitely stray the goal. A schemer must be patient and discipline, as patient and discipline as he is needed to be. Or else he would squander his best chance to shoot down his target. A schemer must stay in the shadow, lest his targets know not where he is or when he would shoot them. Or else his targets would run away from him. A schemer¡¯s projectile must be as lethal as he is. Otherwise, his targets would live and vanish from him.


    The more meticulous the schemer, the more surefire his projectile would be, and the more faithful the trajectory of the projectile would be. Thusly, if a person like Isonos or Atuc understood what kind of projectile that a schemer would use, where the schemer stands and what his intended goal is, they can work out the trajectory of the projectile. Isonos can easily work out the path, the velocity and travel time of the traveling projectile. It is just pure logic, effort and reasoning. These visible and invisible factors have their common tangents, and are proportional to each other.


    Back then, Atuc immediately discovered my end game with a little probing and questioning around the camp. The moment she saw the trajectory of my projectile, Atuc came straight at me, telling me to lay off her target.


    I did not make Isonos the Manager of Mirror Hall over nothing. It is this terrifying power of foresight and clear insight of his that could match with Yasubotay¡¯s deception and false insanity. It is this power that kept Rasahlu and Sanguine inside the pit of insanity after I have driven them into that pit. It take a schemer to understand a schemer.


    Coming clean, Isonos turned to the next page on his notebook. It contained the geometrical data of the Sunken Isle. He flipped the page, it was about the notes about the Orklund Operation, Searek¡¯s dot. He flipped the pages again, the secret operation I have tasked Faugus to complete. ¡°Forgive me, teacher, but I have overheard that you have intended to give your Witch Liberation Operation to Faugus. Adding my own operation, the Sunken Isle Operation, the Witch Liberation Operation, the White Winter Operation, that¡¯s a total of four operations happen at the same time as far as I could see. When I saw this, I was sure that you must have instructed Envy and Sloth to scoot off with the <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> when Kharigan is destroyed. You want to show them how hasty and desperate you are to claim your pieces. Many would realize that your slaying of the first Demon Lord is a bluff to keep them away from Escana for as long as possible for you to expand your sphere of dominance. They would immediately realize that you are a part of their Game.¡±


    I listened to Isonos detailing me the trajectory of my scheme. I internally read his lines before the words escaping him. ¡°A smartass like Yasubotay would immediately go straight to Sunken Isle to defend his Champion and foothold on Escana. Many other Demon Lords would do the same¡­ ¡°


    Isonos read the invisible path like as if it was drawn with a highlighter. And I read his words as though I was reading an open book.


    ¡°...Go straight to their respective Champion to warn them about you and protecting them from you. That would be when you wrap <The Eternal Chrysalis of Acedia> around Escana, diving their force and number in one move. The cautious one would be kept outside of Escana. The rash one would be trapped inside Escana. Teacher, you intended to divide them to conquer them.¡±


    Sitting on my own office chair, I clapped my hands to congratulate Isonos and interrupt him at the same time. I smiled and clapped my hands, deliberately antagonizing Isonos as much as possible.


    ¡°Answer me, smart guy. Why would I, the maker of this plan, turn it into fragments of itself and distribute these fragment to each of you, my trusted personnel? Why didn¡¯t I just give you the whole fucking plan? Why didn¡¯t I just serve all of you the entire fucking cake?¡± I hissed coldly. Dion gleefully presented a list of punishment inside my head like a shopping catalogue, telling me to pick one for Isonos.


    I¡¯m sorry, bro, I internally apologized to FY. Never had I felt FY¡¯s pain as much as I do now. ¡°Stop being so stupid. You are much smarter than this,¡± he always tells me. I stared at Isonos and wanted nothing but to pound those words, the same words that FY had repeatedly told me, into his head.


    ¡°Demon Lords like Glutton¡­¡±


    ¡°YOU KNOW THE FUCKING ANSWER. SO WHY MUST YOU JEOPARDISE MY DESIGN? WHY WOULD A SMART GUY LIKE YOU DO SOMETHING SO FUCKING STUPID?¡± I cleaved my table in halves with Enferm¨¦, screaming at Isonos.

 V2 Chapter 36

    Before I went to sleep and had a meeting with Death herself, I had over a million problems to solve. Now, there are just three problems.


    ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± ¡°What can I do?¡± ¡°Who is Pride?¡±


    Three simple questions to summarize and address three massive problems. Whereas the latter two questions remained elusive, the first question, I could only assume the answer as usual, as everything else that is connected to Eogaill.


    I used to assume that Eogaill was in a dire need of chess pieces. But if Eogaill needed chess pieces to further her design, she could just teach and train people to do her bidding. Anyone can do that, training and teaching people. Instead of waiting for a person like me to appear, it¡¯s better for Eogaill to create her own chess pieces. Eogaill should be the best person to understand what she wanted the most. And thus, she could design and create the best chess pieces that live to serve her wills without errors. Instead of waiting for something to happen, it¡¯s always better to take the matter to your hands and make what you want become true. Eogaill could and should have done that. Death, Clariciel, and Wonten were being manipulated by Eogaill without knowing. If Eogaill could do that, she must already had spread her chess pieces across the realms. The question ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± was the knot that tie up every problem and confusion that I had with Eogaill and her character.


    ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± I often assumed that was because I could conquer a Divine Dream and used a Divine Dream as a weapon of my own. A Divine Dream would reveal a person¡¯s memory to an Immortal. In a gamer¡¯s language, it¡¯s a ¡°Cheat.¡± A Divine Dream is so filthily broken of an ability that it is not fair to pit a mortal being of Escana in a war against an Immortal or Immortals. Firstly, no mortal of Escana could access to the Internet to read and do research of what a Divine Dream and how to counter it. And even if they had the knowledge, most lacked the necessary power to conquer it. No matter how smart that person is, his plan would be revealed to the Immortals the moment he goes to sleep. But if I could break through the black dream without any prior training and used misdirection to bypass the memories reconstructing power of Divine Dream, Eogaill could just train her chess pieces to be subtle and stupid in the face of a Divine Dream.


    ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± I often assumed that it was because my presence commanded the attention of every Immortal who was related the Reign of Chaos. URLOX put me on the spotlight with a stupid prophecy. But Eogaill could probably do the same, putting her agent on the spotlight with her Authority as the Goddess of Truth and Wisdom. She could have invented a nonsensical prophecy to further her intention. Those brain-dead morons would have squabbled over a chess piece of Eogaill¡¯s making.


    ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± By the time I found the best answer for this question, I had already found myself repeating Eogaill¡¯s method and strategies. I tried to turn Pride into an independent warlord in the same manner that Eogaill had once forced me into that role. I had already smashed my own plan into pieces and ran the pieces in parallel. My pieces did not need to know of my intention, only what they could do. The trajectory of my pieces must have as few intersections as possible. It was best if they could travel in parallel without knowing the other existed. By the time I could answer the ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± question, I had already followed Eogaill¡¯s footpath unknowingly.


    ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± Cheaters like Thrall, the makeup of his faction and those skin-changers existed to undo people¡¯s planning by being the cheat codes themselves. But the worst offense has to be the unreasonably broken piece of crap that is Gluttony. And I was the best weapon to handle them. ¡°Why did Eogaill specifically choose me?¡± I am the anti-cheat device.


    Gluttony and his abilities were just a few among the many aspects that many players considered to be too cancerous to be included in the game. S0rr0w was the first to spearhead the movement to remove Gluttony out of the game alongside the other Demon Lords. Among the community, S0rr0w is like a leading expert when it comes down to the art of using game exploits to win the game. He knew so much about those exploits that it was filthy. So when a person like S0rr0w told people that the Demon Lords must be removed from the game, URLOX should have listened.


    When the dark occultist faction was first added to the multiplayer mode, S0rr0w immediately filed a slight strong-worded 50,000 words letter to URLOX regarding various balance issues with this faction. He stated that the introduction of the Demon Lords into the game would create a vast chasm in the power level between various units and factions. S0rr0w argued that these Demon Lords would only take away many important tactical and strategic factors of the game rather than changing them.


    URLOX ignored S0rr0w¡¯s letter, probably because how wordy and strong-worded it was. And thus, S0rr0w with a determined mind, made an online petition directly to PIPE, URLOX¡¯s parent company to completely remove the dark occultist from the game before the Qualifiers for the World Cup started. Gluttony was the number one enemy on S0rr0w¡¯s petition, in fact, being S0rr0w¡¯s spearhead for the flame war. Had URLOX and PIPE known better at the time, they would have never just given a nerf to the occultist faction to make do with the online flame and refused to address the real issues.


    As the new patch was being released, the flame war that S0rr0w started suddenly turned against him.


    ¡°It¡¯s your job to play the game. Quit bitching and just play it.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t like the game now, quit playing it.¡±


    He who started the flame got burned by it. Similar flaming comments flew straight at S0rr0w¡¯s public account. Thousands of these flaming comments were later discovered to come from various burner accounts associated with URLOX¡¯s parent company through a completely unrelated chain of scandals which started with my leaked sex tapes.


    S0rr0w remained uncharacteristically silent, accepting the attacks in silence, which was utterly strange. Normally, he would have been obnoxiously loud and brash. As the result, most fans suspected that he must have been received some sort of warnings from the league officials. S0rr0w denied and kept his mouth zipped.


    Things went relatively well for URLOX throughout the World Cup Qualifying Tournaments, but mostly because the dark occultist faction was being severely underused. Most team banned the dark occultist faction out of their fear over the issues that S0rr0w had addressed. Most stayed away from this faction due to its luck dependent nature and its various complex requirement and, above all, its long learning curve. Most players could not grasp the subtle yet very important timing of when-to-summon a Demon Lord and when-not-to-summon a Demon Lord. Most players at the time did not know the best methods to farm and harvest the human resources needed to summon a Demon Lord. Misread this timing and the human resource factor, and the match would immediately swing out of their favor. The dark occultist faction was the least understood faction at the time, and considered a high risk and low reward pick, so teams stayed away from it. There were hiccups here and there with the dark occultist faction, but nothing too serious as S0rr0w had stated in his letter and petition.


    When the Qualifiers for the World Cup were announced, the dark occultist faction has already faded out of people mind as a legit threat. If anything, this faction was considered a joke at a professional scene. This faction achieved an abysmal win rate of 27% at the pro-scene and most of these wins were close matches. In public matches, this faction could win matches in a landslide manner, but not once it had shown such potential at a pro-scene. So, this faction was considered a joke faction. It was like a calm before a storm, S0rr0w¡¯s fear was absolutely unfound and his petition was quietly overlooked, until the World Cup began.


    PIPE¡¯s and URLOX¡¯s worst nightmare truly began on the first day of the World Cup that year. Teams spammed the dark occultist faction without any resemblance of creativity to advance through the first round of the World Cup. Most notably, powerhouses like AE, GOM, IYF, The Alliance and Lavatein were found guilty of this crime. These teams ran an almost identical setup to empower the dark occultist faction. It was either the three Supporters- one Defender- Occultist setup. Or the setup of two Supporters- one Raider- one All-Rounder- Occultist. It was the same setup, strategy and tactic that kept being rinsed and repeated over and over again with very little variations. The summoned Demon Lords were randomized and varied from each match, but the beginning phase of every game and ending result was literally the same. To the world, it was a developed META that appeared almost out of nowhere and over a night.


    Great minds think alike. If a person could win millions dollars at a one hundred percent win rate with method A, why would that person use method B or C?


    FY, Nightmare, Orithyia and Superior moved away from their staple strategies and tactics, spamming the dark occultist faction whenever they were allowed to. The first day of the World Cup ended with the dark occultist faction achieved a 100% win rate.


    Fans laughed and hailed the rise of the new META while they still could. Almost half of the teams who were qualified for the World Cup kept repeating the same strategy and tactic throughout the Bracket Round, abusing the hell out of the dark occultist faction. Most highlight reels of that year World Cup were so stupid and bonkers that viewers could only laugh themselves to tears instead of gasping or awing like usual. Outside of the highlight reels, the games and the matches were just as ugly as they could possibly be. It was like watching a game football where every football players were allowed to score with their hands and were allowed to punch the opposing team players in their face throughout the match. A joke faction suddenly turned the entire game and entire World Cup series into a giant caricature of their former selves.


    It was already too late to patch the game at this point. Thus, URLOX and PIPE and the League could only watch as the monster kept rearing its head at them.


    S0rr0w made a name for himself for being a Demon-Lord-Hater turned A Demon-Lord-Spammer. He was the man, the myth and the legend behind the meme, ¡°You either quit playing the game as a Demon Lord Hater or keep playing long enough to see yourself become a Demon Lord.¡± That was the year when S0rr0w gained his infamous moniker. S0rr0w trolled his way to the opening round of Quarterfinals, which was the last time the occultist faction was allowed to be picked. In that opening round, IYF thought they had developed a perfect counter strategy to the Occultist pick. S0rr0w showed his creativity to the world by abusing every game exploit related to the occultist faction on the big screen in a rude, unapologetic manner. The fans sitting on arena booed, the Demon Lord of Lavatein did not care. S0rr0w summoned a Demon Lord, and allowed that Demon Lord be killed as soon as he was done with his exploit demonstration, then summoned yet another Demon Lord. Rinse and repeat. After the third Demon Lord was summoned, IYF called a quit to begin a new round, realizing that it was already impossible for them to win that round.


    Nightmare, Ph¨²c, FY, Orithyia and S0rr0w, the masterminds behind the script of that giant ugly joke, had to call a four teams meeting to put a definite end to their joke before the start of the Semifinals. ¡°No more occultist pick from there.¡± AE, GOM, TA and Lavatein, the four remaining finalists of that year World Cup, all participated in that behind the scene meeting. The four team captains agreed to the non-written pact and their teams with them. Even when there were millions of dollar at stake, everyone had enough of turning the game that they loved playing into a lame joke of its former self. At the beginning the World Cup, those four felt the need to make a statement, and they have already succeeded making theirs statement felt in the most spectacular fashion. So they moved on from it.


    Since, for every match that the Occultist faction was neither banned nor picked, the fans at the arena would stand up in ovation. Everyone was sick of watching the same strategy and tactic being repeated.


    That year ROC World Cup forever lived in infamy as the most META abused World Cup. That was also the only year where the dark occultist faction was considered a META.


    Since, Gluttony was one of those game characters that always appeared on the ROC annual chopping block, being nerfed repeatedly with every new released patch. Similar to Acre?a, Gluttony possesses a passive ability, <Digestion> that allows him to recover his HP with every kill, making him one of the toughest to kill unit inside the game. He could effortlessly melt through any fortresses and defensive structure through his trademark <The Existential Devourer> ability. Originally, Gluttony had the game breaking <Existential Absorption> ability to remove the fog of war to spy on his opponent, base on the units affected by <Devour> and <The Existential Devourer>. This <Existential Absorption> was later removed. But the real reason why Gluttony was considered as cancerous was his ability to turn himself invisible. Despite already being one of the most devastating Demon Lord in term of offensive power, Gluttony could turn himself invisible through <Auto-cannibal> for 40 seconds by sacrificing 15% of his maximum HP. It was this ability that made Gluttony so feared. If Gluttony was summoned on one side and the other side possess no unit or structure that have True Sight ability, it was a recipe for an instant game over. URLOX had to rework this ability through countless patches until they said ¡°Fuck this shit¡± and removed it from the multiplayer mode as S0rr0w had told them from the beginning.


    URLOX made it obvious just how much they loved this character of theirs. And it was understandable since Gluttony was URLOX¡¯s best shot at attempting to create a being of cosmic horror.


    In the lore, Gluttony was often considered as the natural enemy of Eogaill and Sinintee. Any scheme Eogaill concocted, Gluttony turned Eogaill¡¯s scheme against her. Any form of tactic that Sinintee came up with, Gluttony could turn it around.


    Being a Mythical Rank in <Corruptor>, and Immortal Rank in two Authorities <Aberrant Devourer> and <Seeker of Truth> aside from having his own unique Authority, Gluttony presented a nightmare matchup for any strategist and tactician.


    Gluttony, the Outer World Gourmet,


    His hunger can never be sated.


    Gluttony, the Existential Devourer,


    His meals, they become him, his hunger.


    His meals, only Gluttony could remembers.


    The two Authorities <Aberrant Devourer> and <The Will of Gula> granted Gluttony the ability to eat almost everything and everyone. The combination of <Seeker of Truth> and <Corruptor> allowed Gluttony to corrupt the existential history of his devoured victims. His meals became a part of Gluttony. Their intelligence, their dream and ambition, their history, their abilities, and even their memory belonged to Gluttony from the moment they were devoured.


    Whereas Sanguine used the combination of <Corruptor> and <Seeker of Truth> to dapper with a person¡¯s internal truth, Gluttony used the same combination to change both the internal truth and the external truth around a person. Unlike the case of Sanguine¡¯s victims, Gluttony¡¯s victims had remained beyond my abilities, irrecoverable. Their name and history were removed from the world.


    Gluttony was a unified colony of soul and thought. His visage was a grim, taut cluster of flesh with a colossal deformed mouth at the center guarding by two pairs of giant dark mandibles. From that emaciated heap of flesh, a pair of hulking insect¡¯s wings spotted with hundreds of stomach churning giant wiggling stalks. Each of the giant stalk composed of millions of smaller stalks attached with mouths and mandibles.


    Gluttony had always been very quiet inside his prison. He mumbled to himself on occasions, but always at ease with his surrounding regardless of the amount of tortures and pain that I and Isonos had subjected him to. The only time when Gluttony became noisy is when he detects my presence in the vicinity.


    ¡°Save me,¡± ¡°Niwdar, save us,¡± ¡°It hurts,¡± ¡°Someone,¡± ¡°It¡¯s eating me,¡± ¡°Someone, please,¡± ¡°Dad?¡± ¡°Help,¡± ¡°Wonten,¡± ¡°Help,¡± ¡°Mom, where are you? I¡¯m scared.¡±


    Gluttony only acted like this to Isonos just once. But whenever Gluttony detected me, he played out this dark orchestra. Those mouths attached to those giant and smaller mouth stalks cried out, begging in a cacophony of voices. Grown men¡¯s voices, numbed by muddy despair, crying for Divine intervention. Women¡¯s voices, drown in slimy fear, sobbing. Children¡¯s voices, confused and afraid, pleading and calling out to their parents. Their voices were no work of mimicries. Theirs were real, as real as the wails of Sanguine¡¯s victims, but coherent and sane. My sharp ears had confirmed the truth from those voices. A lying person made lying sounds. Their voices were true but filled with malice intentions like the light on top of an angler fish, fouled lures to draw in unsuspecting preys.


    My ears were sharp and my mind knew better but my heart was confused every single time Gluttony played his orchestra.


    Gluttony¡¯s victims and meals, their entire existence was erased from the world and people¡¯s memories. Their erasure would trouble no mind and sadden no one, for nobody could even remember them. Not even their patron gods. Gluttony¡¯s victims and meals, nobody would grieve and mourn their absence, not even their lover, their beloved family and loyal friends. Gluttony¡¯s victims and meals, their absence would not be missed for they were treated to be nonexistent by the world from the moment they become his meal.


    The victims¡¯ personal effects remained behind. The personal effects of victims of Gluttony would remain lying around inside their house. These personal effects would remain as the proof that these meals of Gluttony had once been a separated entity from Gluttony. Husbands, whose wife were devoured by Gluttony, would notice of those strange dresses inside their wardrobe. They would notice a stranger¡¯s aroma waffling around their house and bed. They would look at their children, born of their blood, and would notice the bizarre absence of a wife in their memory.


    These personal effects would remain to challenge the devoured truth, until the mind of the people would conveniently choose to forget to protect themselves, creating an alternate truth for each of themselves or be erased and avoided. The world would fill in the blanks left behind by the erased truth with convenient and acceptable lies. People would choose to avoid the questions and embraced the lies.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Most would be protected these convenient lies, continuing to live their lives as normal. Few, those who had truly lost everything, would become despondent as they would slowly be consumed alive by the <Starving One> curse. They would be united with their lost ones, that was their only salvation.


    Fewer would bash their head against the shaky wall of lies built to hide the erased truth. Only the biggest boneheads of the world could do that. Those who felt the ringing alarms inside their head. Those who understood the looming shudder and the menacing coldness resting on their neck, telling them to turn back. Those who knew the kind intention behind the convenient lies of the world. Those heard their survival instincts screaming at them, yet chose to listen to the whimper of their heart. Those who insistently kept probing into the erased truth would be inflicted with the curse <Starving One>, which slowing turning their existence into nourishments for the Existential Devourer. They would fade away from the reality, slowly and painlessly and unnoticeably. But for a brief moment before the world would forget them, these cursed boneheaded beings would be rewarded for their insistence in the face of the erased truth. To those boneheaded morons who had repeatedly bashed their head against the shaky lies of the world, they would be united with their loved one inside the colony of thoughts and souls, becoming one with Gluttony. Just for a brief moment before they would fully become once with Gluttony, they would feel such priceless reward as they were meant to feel, until Gluttony¡¯s salvation consumed them whole. From then, they were no longer them. From then, there is only Gluttony.


    And as if such combination of abilities was not broken enough, URLOX just have to give Gluttony the ability to devour himself, erasing his existence from the truth of the world until he choked and spit himself out. While Gluttony devoured himself, the world forgot him entirely. It was the same broken skill that granted Gluttony invisibility in the game, the same skill that URLOX had refused to remove from the multiplayer mode.


    A part of the reason why Craxus was so done with everything at the end of RTDS could be tribute to Gluttony and the Plate of Famine. Craxus had no idea what he had lost to the Plate and how important that something is. He felt at loss but he could not identify the nature or the graveness of that loss.


    Sometimes, I stared at the absurdities like Gluttony and asked myself, ¡°How am I going to convince the world that I am stronger and more terrifying than these?¡± Blowing up a moon and committing mass genocide seemed oddly inadequate in the face of absurd beings like Gluttony and Floki? and Munezee. In the end, beating Demon Lords with Demon Lords is still the best method.


    Faugus had repeatedly told me that it was best that I would give up on these victims. ¡°You have to learn to let them go, Shandorei. Not every wrong in the world can be righted. Not every injustice could be corrected.¡± It was one advice that Faugus had kept repeating.


    ¡°I know,¡± replied I with the same answer to Faugus¡¯ repeated advice as always.


    A person could try spending his entire life doing math with two zero numbers. Subtraction, addition, multiplication, no matter how many times he repeats the math, how long he struggles, how smart he is, he could never get anything else other than a big zero for his result.


    I have stubbornly tried every workaround that I was aware and every trick that I could employ to undo Gluttony¡¯s work. I played along with Gluttony¡¯s game, giving him a tiny memory of mine in exchange for one of his victim, and got my asses handed to me. Dion saved the match by erasing <Starving One>, even the score between me and Gluttony. None of my attempt worked so far. Gluttony¡¯s victims, they became him and they were him, a part of the colony of souls and thoughts. That I have accepted as Niwdar had accepted. That I have resigned as Wonten had surrendered. Not every problem in the world had a solution. And not every impossible in the world could be proven otherwise.


    Unless a person is frickin stupid. From my experience, that is the only possibility to get the result of one while playing with a bunch of zero numbers. It was just a matter of price, whether or not I could afford such stupidity.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°WHY WOULD A SMART GUY LIKE YOU DO SOMETHING SO FUCKING STUPID?¡± My enraged voice echoed from four directions.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be you, teacher,¡± replied Isonos, respectfully as ever.


    Despite the content of Isonos¡¯ answer did not match with my question, I knew what he meant. I immediately understood how much of my scheme that Isonos had learned and predicted.


    Let me be the bait and the hook. Let me lead your vanguard. Let me take the risks. It doesn¡¯t have to be you, teacher.


    I was reminded again just how lucky I was that someone like Isonos was actually on my side and not the opposite. But as grateful as I was, for a brief moment, I thought about assigning an executioner to observe Isonos in shadow. I loathed myself for that.


    Isonos is easily the last person I wanted to have as an enemy. Meaning if Isonos were to become Gluttony¡¯s meal, he would turn Gluttony into my worst enemy and everyone¡¯s worst enemy. Neither I nor my staffs would be aware that Isonos knew my plan or the fact that Isonos existed. An enemy who knows your plan and exist outside of your radar, that, that is the worst kind of enemy for a person with a plan.


    The moment I understood Eogaill¡¯s design of using me to deal with Gluttony, I believed that she must have prepared an executioner to observe and erase me in the exact moment when Gluttony is about turn me into his meal.


    Cut the loose end. Lest the world know not of her involvement, lest the Gluttony be stronger, lest the world be consumed by the worst chaos.


    That was the most logical choice to make, if I was in Eogaill¡¯s position. There is no room for failure at this point. My plan and hers would continue nonetheless regarding whether I am alive or dead.


    But Isonos was not just a chess piece.


    ¡°Your opinions and thoughts are being appreciated,¡± I said before affirmed my intention emotionlessly, ¡°However, I have no intention of changing my plan and design. I had given each and every single one of you a sphere. And most importantly, the freedom to do whatever you want and whatever you feel like in that sphere. So stay inside that sphere. Otherwise, there shall be no freedom for you.¡±


    ¡°I only want¡­¡±


    ¡°I am still talking. All of my plans are running in parallel. I am the only loose end of my plan and I know how to tie it. You, on the other hands, are incapable of tying up the loose ends. Therefore, wipe away the unnecessary parts from your memory, and don¡¯t make me do it myself.¡±


    ¡°But teacher, if you¡­¡±


    ¡°Are you, Isonos, the Commander in Chief?¡± I cut the argument between me and Isonos short with one cold, emotionless question. Friends we are, teacher and student we are, but I am his leader. I reminded Isonos of that.


    When the despairing silence had completely sunk into Isonos, weighting the one wing Garuda down in its forlornness, I continued speaking. ¡°As soon as you are done with the Sunken Isle Operation. You will immediately be assigned to this Operation.¡± I tapped my finger on the stack of key answers for Greed¡¯s homework. ¡°So get ready for it now. You could work however you want and with whoever you need. But do not give your answer to Greed.¡±


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When I felt a foreign probing touches all over my mental barricade, I waited, anticipating for correct passwords to be typed in. <FUCK YOU URLOX> was the correct password. When I confirmed that the passwords were correct, I invited my guesses into dreamland. It was Lust¡¯s succubi.


    I entertained the succubi in many ways but mostly just showed them the absurdity of dreamland where the stupid people live. After a while, I let my clones and stupid people to take care of the guesses and prepared to say goodbye to many old faces.


    As the clock ticking, I found myself more hesitated and unsure of my decision to install my war machine on Escana. The question ¡°What can I do?¡± often popped up inside my head like alarms, then the question ¡°What would FY have done?¡± would be raised. It was like one pop-up windows after another.


    I often repeatedly asked myself ¡°What would FY have done?¡± whenever I stood at a certain number of crossroads of my life.


    I imagined that FY would spend a lot of effort to lead Bloodbeard to a better path, a bright and hopeful future where even someone as insignificant and messed up like Bloodbeard could become a changed man, and through that example, FY would inspire Wonten to do what is right. FY, being the humble man that he was, often told me that I have always over-glorified him. But that is what FY would have done. ¡°Doing the right things for the right reasons with the right methods.¡± It sounded extremely easy when FY said it, but it was often the longest, the most difficult and the most treacherous path for a person to walk. To talk and then navigate through the end of such path, only a true noble soul like FY could.


    ¡°Doing the right things for the right reasons with the right methods.¡± It doesn¡¯t mean that FY is na?ve and ignorant of the evil malice of the world. FY knew, and he had always refused to fight malice with malice, even when he could identify that path as a shortcut. He would refuse to walk down that kind of shortcut. Despite knowing better, FY would try to try to talk to these brain-dead morons and establish an understanding with them out of his good conscience. He could predict his chance and his failure as I could. If I could predict his failure, he could. And he would probably fail, if not certainly. Only then, when he truly ran out of option, when all forms of hope is truly lost, FY would make a radical decision.


    Just like me, FY would have definitely been able to identify Wonten as an important and doable goal in order for him to gain the leverage in achieving peace. FY had a way with his words to convince people but Wonten had something better, his mighty hammer. FY would have understood that he must have Wonten¡¯s hammer on his side to negotiate for peace. If a man possesses no power, his words and ideals, no matter how noble and righteous they are, have no weight or leverage in a negotiation table. The other side of the table would not lend him their ears simply because they could toss FY around as much as they like. Why must they listen to him when they can just kick him around? Why pay for the food when you can just take it for free? Why pay gold to your slaves when they are your slaves? Why would a butcher listen to a swine¡¯s plea for life instead of just giving it a quick death? There is no reason for them to listen to FY¡¯s words. On the other side of the negotiation table are Gods and Demon Lords, and FY is just a mortal among billions of mortals. They would just keep doing things that they have been doing for eons. There is no reason for them to listen to FY¡¯s words, unless FY¡¯s words are backed up by something as convincing as Wonten¡¯s hammer. After that, FY would probably create a tripartite situation through his first peace talk, then slowly become a mediator for the other two opposing factions, relentlessly putting an end to the Game of Chaos through one peace talk after another.


    If anyone could do that, it would be FY. That, I had no doubt.


    To achieve that goal, FY does not need to go through a small checkbox like ¡°giving Bloodbeard a chance to be a better man¡±. But FY would do just that, simply because that is the right thing to do. Even if the things that FY does are all masterfully calculated, their intentions and goals are noble and righteous.


    ¡°Doing the right things for the right reasons with the right methods,¡± FY have always adhered to his words. Just like me, he could back up his words through his action. That is the truest qualification of a king, the ability to lead his people to walk down the right path. A person is most fortunate to have someone like that as his leader, friend and brother. A person is most fortunate to be able to follow and support such a person. Whenever I compared my methods and myself to FY, I often lamented how unfortunate my followers were. They could have a leader like FY, but all they got was someone like me.


    Predict FY¡¯s thought, I can. Think like FY, I can. Talk like FY, I can. Act like FY, I can. Pretend to be FY, I can.


    Be FY, I could not.


    ¡°What can I do?¡±


    FY would fight chaos by becoming the force and the icon of order. Me, I can only fight chaos by being the personification of chaos. FY could win the war through peace talks. Me, I can only win the war by fighting a war. FY could probably end this madness of a Game by being an avatar of goodness. Me, I can only fold and bash this madness of a Game against itself until it has enough.


    ¡°What can I do?¡± The hardest things to do are often the right things. I can only do all the wrong things in the world.


    ¡°What can I do?¡± It was a strange question.


    ¡°What can you do?¡± If someone else were to ask me this question, I could answer it effortlessly while wearing my most arrogant look.


    ¡°What can you do?¡± When Dion asked me this question, my answer exceeded its ability to simulate the future. But when I asked myself this ¡°What can I do?¡± question, it felt like I was trying to force a weighty faulty door to open itself.


    Put a smile on my lips and be a trailblazer. That, I can do. I can only be myself.


    When I was done reassuring myself, I summoned Faugus and my Divine Dream Warfare Department (DDWD) to my office.


    The DDWD is the core of my war machine. It is responsible for countering against the threats of the Divine Dream from the enemies and employing the uses of the Divine Dream from my side to the fullest potential. Lust had educated and trained the entirety of this Divine Dream Warfare Department in the usages and characteristics of a Divine Dream and the <Dreamweaver> Authority, including the unique miracle


    that only the succubi could conjure. I formed this Department from the most suitable people among the old champions of Sanguine, the most strong-minded, discipline and long lived people. Lust and her succubi would act as the important hardware of the Divine Dream Warfare Department while these ancient champions of Sanguine would be the software.


    The Divine Dream Warfare Department consisted of four divisions. The First Division is the Baku, a Division that focuses on creating more people who can become a true host of their own dream and trap an unsuspecting Immortal¡¯s astral body inside their head. Through the Baku, I could turn a Demon Lord¡¯s chosen champion into his worst nightmare, his jailer. The Second Division is the Morpheus, a Division that is responsible for converting people to my cause in real life through the usage of the Divine Dream and


    . Morpheus would convert people of power and authority in the real world into my people through the brainwashing power of the Divine Dream and


    . The Third Division is the Warren, a Division that is directly responsible for coordinating intelligence and action between various dream hosts and chess pieces through a Divine Dream. The Warren would connect and share information between the four divisions, acting as the heart and blood vessels of the DDWD. The Fourth Division, Ba¨ª Z¨¦, is responsible for gathering and analyzing intelligence through the Divine Dream and policing the other three departments as the brain of the DDWD. This Division also acts as the first line of defense if my network of dream demons and dream hosts is being compromised.


    Since I had informed these staffs that the meeting would be non-business related and they should come in private, most came to my office alone. But some came in pair or their usual small group. I welcomed them in separated time slots. I asked them of how they have been doing inside my dreamland. We chatted at length about almost every topic but mostly just reminisced of the time and experience we shared inside dreamland. We reminisced of the time when I have not even created the General Staff. We reminisced of the time when I was still heisting souls from Sanguine¡¯s trophy house. We spoke of the time when most of them could not even live or rest as functional people, still at the mercy of their trauma.


    99% of the DDWD were old torches of mine, those who had graduated from the need of relying on me as their emotional morphine, people who had been free from their slavery to their morphine. We chatted some, hugged some and kissed some, but stayed away from anything too sexual, knowing just how easily a person can relapse to an old addiction. Most of them had relapsed at least thrice. I was their morphine and their addictions. They had learned just how easy a small glowing ember could stoke up an inferno, especially when that inferno was something they craved and needed. Through our kisses, they felt my hunger to kiss them and held them inside my arms for much longer, and their own surging craving, but they exercised their self-control.


    When the chitchat was over, they said their pieces. I said mine. We exchanged a glass of wine, reaffirmed our promises to each other and said our personal farewell at the end.


    Faugus was the last to knock on the door of my office. I opened the door and welcomed him in. ¡°Have you done preparing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Shandorei, I¡¯m ready,¡± replied the old kobold in earnest and ambushed me with his joke, ¡°When you are.¡±


    My spit came out of my mouth. I was completely caught by surprise. So was Dion. I had never expected Faugus to make this kind of joke or even a joke. Faugus had been acting as a confidant of mine for so long, but this was the first time I heard him speaking a joke. I inadvertently chuckled. ¡°I have made you waited, haven¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°All the better, Shandorei, I have more time to prepare.¡±


    ¡°Well, time is the only resource that I could waste infinitely.¡±


    ¡°And I have always told you, Shandorei, there is nothing wrong with that. If time is something you have earned with your hands, you could spend it as much as you need. As long as you know what you are doing with it.¡±


    ¡°Do I look like a man who know what he is doing?¡±


    Faugus leaned forward and had a good look of my face. ¡°No, you don¡¯t, Shandorei. You look as clueless as ever,¡± Faugus delivered his second joke of the day with a deadpanned face.


    Any day is a good day when someone who is so stingy on both humor and banter like Faugus would keep delivering one funny joke after another. But it was the deadpanned face that Faugus wore while he delivered his joke that sold it.


    I could not hold it together and laughed uncontrollably. Dion¡¯s laughter echoed inside my head. The tears came out of my eyes were real. The pain in my stomach felt so real. It felt like I was laughing in both reality and in dreamland. It had been so long since the last time that I was able to laugh so much.


    As I tried to gasp for air, ¡°Do I really look that clueless?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, Shandorei, you do appear clueless,¡± Faugus affirmed.


    ¡°It sounds absolutely beautiful that Kharigan, the home of the Demon Lords, would be destroyed because a clueless looking guy say that it should be destroyed.¡±


    Faugus, despite being one of the two people on Escana who had managed to fool those three insane stooges while he was alive, was the easiest person to talk to. Faugus listened and cared about people¡¯s opinion more than his own opinion. It was easier talking to Faugus than Searek. Searek was unaccustomed to sharing things like emotion fragility and tears. It was easier confiding things to Faugus than Sasengun since there were many things that can only be shared among bros. It¡¯s easier to confide military problems and business with Isonos but it¡¯s easier to confide everything else with Faugus. Faugus possessed the most down to earth character among the people that I have met while having the wisdom to match, so I could always confided him about everything.


    The two of us were like an old couple reminiscing their past. We talked about the first time we met each other and the pandemonium Faugus had while we were being accompanied by two Demon Lords. I joked making fun of Faugus, reminding him of the time when he was still playing a fool inside dreamland and believing that I was just another insidious trickery conjured to satisfy Sanguine¡¯s sadism. He talked about the time I got my eyes clawed out of their socket during the time when I first separated Sasengun from the Sanguine¡¯s trophy house.


    ¡°Of course, I would do the same. Between a buffy orc, a scary looking kobold, a gross piece of flesh like Magnamor, a Demon Lord like Lust and an obvious guy like me, it¡¯s only natural for her to attack me.¡±


    ¡°Her Highness Lust nearly erased Sasengun for that.¡±


    ¡°Well, I did not know that she could be that violent from her ¡®make love not war¡¯ motto.¡±


    Faugus and I kept talking in what appeared to be a short eternity. It was a length that long enough to be called an eternity, but felt too short because we felt like we could keep talking forever. What''s comes will come, what will be, shall be. We both knew that. I quickly gulped down a mouthful of dreamland vodka on ice to feel the phantom blister inside my throat. Faugus slowly drained his simmering Oolong tea. One was drinking dreamland vodka and the other was drinking tea. We were such an odd couple.


    ¡°They know my specialty,¡± said I after a lengthy and unconformable silence.


    ¡°They do,¡± replied Faugus.


    ¡°Whether I would come to contact with these women or not, these brain-dead smartasses would come for them. These brain-dead morons would lose nothing if they failed but they would feel a sense of secure when they succeed. So they will come. They will send their assassins and armies.¡±


    ¡°That, they would.¡±


    ¡°The bold smartasses would come after me. But the sneaky one would direct their hidden blades at you.¡±


    ¡°Unquestionably.¡±


    ¡°Until I could settle things and finish making my statement, I could only provide you with very limited support.¡±


    ¡°Shandorei, I will protect them and watch over their growth until you arrive.¡±


    ¡°I know you would. Just focus on staying alive and stay away from doing anything too risky.¡±


    ¡°That should be my words. Shandorei, please, don¡¯t get caught up by the moment and focus on what ahead. Your enemies are strong and many. Don¡¯t be careless even for a moment. I would not be by your side. So you have to think more before you act, you are playing with your own life¡­ And stop making Sasengun sad¡­ and¡­¡± Faugus gave me his advices and a long list of what to do and what not to do.


    Keep my dick inside my pants, beware of Pride, rely more on Sasengun, practice more discipline with Searek, abuse the cheats as much as I need, stop giving my enemies warnings and handicaps before killing them. Only when Faugus touched on the topic of my dependency to alcohol, ¡°I would probably get drunk in the real world,¡± replied I, half serious half humorous.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Please. Just don¡¯t,¡± begged Faugus, completely serious.


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s once in a while?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Please. Don¡¯t. Out of the dream and you would be just a puny human as any other human. You are not invincible out there in the real world.¡±


    ¡°I will try my best keep a limit on it.¡±


    ¡°Please do.¡±


    Just like that, my talk with Faugus came to an end.

 V2 Chapter 37

    What can a group of 100 souls, who were once prisoners and puppets of Madness, rejected by Mistress Death, feared and abhorred in the history of Escana, could even do? What can the 500 succubi accompanying those souls do?


    If someone was to ask me those two funny questions, I could only flash a wry smile, ¡°You address these questions to the wrong person.¡±


    And if that person would ask, ¡°Who is the correct person to ask these questions?¡±


    I would wait for the night to come. I would point my finger up at the night sky, where the black moon hangs, where the red moon has already disappeared forever, and where the Sun, the Great Throne of Naharis had sunk.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The people in attendance were more than just my General Staff. There were also my stupid people of dreamland and Lust¡¯s succubi. Back then, when I formed my General Staff, I asked them to lend me their strength and their rest, we stood at this square. Now, when I am about sending them to the real world, we stood on the same square. But this time, my DDWD stood out in four small rectangles separated from the rest of the General Staffs.


    ¡°Here we stand, my dearest.¡±


    Sensing the nostalgia in the air, I addressed my DDWD, my war machine, repeating to them the very words that I had kept telling them every day. Why I must address to them one last time over something that they had already known. Why I must send them out early. Why I had chosen and trained them differently from the rest of the General Staff. Why their roles, tasks and missions are the hardest.


    People, regardless of their races, are complex beings that need purposes in order to live, to fight and to die for. People long to know their purpose in the grand scheme of life. People need to understand their role and purpose in the murky chaos of the world. But people can often forget their purpose in the cruel passage of time and the relentless beating of life. Therefore, I simply spelled and repeated my purpose to my staffers, similar to how the high elves of Escana often speak and address themselves in third person. The high elves treasure their names as if they treasure their own life. They speak their name in third person in order to never forget their name. Thus, they could live for the length of three millennia and still remember their name. Similarly, in order to win against the toxic timelessness of my own conjured Divine Dream, I repeated myself like a true idiot.


    Whether it is on Earth or Escana, words gain power when they are repeated over and over again with purpose.


    Of course, none of the staffer of my DDWD is dull enough that I have to keep drilling my words into their head. After all, they are among my most expensive capital. They are the luxury items of the world. Each of them is on the same level as those First rank strategist and tactician characters living on Escana at the moment, if not better. Despite undergoing their specialized training to fight on Divine Dream front by Lust and me, the staffers of the DDWD were well-rounded enough to operate as an independent warlord on Escana with the right setup, similarly to the other members of the General Staff.


    In RTDS, Craxus, the Dragon Slayer became a master of arms within a single Divine Dream, blessed and trained in the eon of time by both Wonten and Sinintee. While I could not bless my DDWD with miracles and train them to be superhuman like Wonten and Sinintee, I can share my knowledge with them and give them an unlimited amount of time to train themselves.


    My staffers, they were trained and educated with me by the best of our own specialists on various fields.


    Together, we learned to speak, read and write various languages to a near native level. We studied naval warfare from Sasengun and other sea masters. We learned to read the sky from Isonos. We learned the dark art of briberies, crusade and black ops from Ember and various spy masters from our own ranks. We knew how to make a land cursed and blight for centuries to come from Lynx and his alchemy clubs. We studied and exchanged the knowledge of culture and warfare among our ranks.


    These staffers of mine, they were the most well-rounded and sagacious people to ever appear on the ground of Escana. Tell them to be diplomats, they shall. Challenge them to raise and train an army within a limited time, they shall. Tell them to be traders and create a sustainable economy to fund my war, they shall.


    Despite being specialized in the Divine Dream warfare, the staffers of my DDWD had the comprehensive knowledge of the game, its participants and its pieces from various perspectives. They understand the game from the viewpoint of a player and a warlord. That is a massive advantage. These people were treading on the barrier between the First Rank Characters and the Rank of the Broken 14. What they lack is a living body for them to move around and execute my vision. But that is an easy problem to fix and bypass, and depend on the perspective, their lack of a living body, in itself, is an advantage. In term of value, these people are more expensive than a Divine Relic.


    Similar to how Craxus gained a ridiculous bonus of 100 Might points from his <Level 5 God¡¯s Strength> and <Level 5 God¡¯s Speed> at the end of that Divine Dream in RTDS, I had my General Staffs and DDWD.


    The DDWD would be my most reliable source to gather and share information with my staffers and General Staff. I cannot win battles and continue winning battles without knowing my opponents¡¯ action, thought, and whereabouts. Information is vital to win wars and battles.


    In the same spirit, most enemies of the White Winter Empire had learned that Lanxer, the Zombie Dragon of White Winter, was a beast in espionage, counter-espionage and black ops warfare. Well-defended fortresses opened their gates to his army with little to no fight. The head of enemy generals would mount on a pike and parade before the battles even began. People were afraid of fighting against White Winter because Lanxer, the Master of War of White Winter, was capable of producing and reproducing such feats at will. But what they should have been afraid, instead, was his ability to anticipate every tactic and strategy that his enemies employed against White Winter. The nationalists of Neversummer had tried to mount a slave and serf rebellion in Neversummer in an effort to reclaim their kingdom, but the flame of that rebellion was doused as soon as it sparked. That is the most terrifying aspect about Lanxer in the lore of ROC. He always seems to know everything that is needed to be known. And he will use such knowledge to a ruthless efficiency.


    Lanxer had his network of spies, the Men of No Banner, fatbirds, and his legendary bird beacons. I had my DDWD.


    When I was done with repeating my every day word, I moved on to the next part of the speech.


    ¡°Lortenite, who lived during the time when the Children of Naharis chose to settle their quarrel over a Throne by using the lives of the mortals of Escana to settle their conflicts, when the first round of Reign of Chaos started, she is not here with us today. She is already on Escana with Lust, acting as my spearhead and arrowhead. I wish I could have her to be the first speaker. Lortenite would be the better person to tell all of you of just how dark those days were.¡±


    Lortenite was a titan magic caster who was named as Yasubotay¡¯s first Champion. The cause of her death was suicide. She killed herself when she understood Yasubotay¡¯s nature, making sure that Yasubotay would not be seated on the Throne. What makes her story so incredible was the timing. It happened in the era when the titans were siding with the Demon Lords. That did not end well. Lortenite was the first mortal to enter Sanguine¡¯s bowel, kept and held as a trophy of madness.


    ¡°Those were the darkest days of Escana, so dark that this Reign of Chaos seemed to be a radiant ray of hope. It was a time when the lives that had been sacrificed to the Game were called ¡°Champions.¡± These Champions were pitted against each other in battle royale, fighting without armies. They were not just the Champions of the Immortals. They were also the Champions of the people. They died so that Escana could live. They participated in the Reign of Chaos so that the other mortals of Escana were spared from the chaos. It was a time when the losses of 55 people appeared to be a good deal to those who claimed to be the protectors and guardian of Escana. Logically and mathematically, it was back then and it is, still today, a good deal because it is better to lose 55 people than to see the total eradication of every race and every creature living on Escana. But these Champions died so that these children of Naharis could elect a person among them to sit on the Great Throne and put an end to the battle, the chaos, the madness and the destruction on Escana. They participated and died with conviction, pride and dignity. They participated in the Reign of Chaos believing that chaos would end with their sacrifices.¡±


    I spoke coldly. How Lortenite had died without blaming anyone, believing that her death would contribute to the end of chaos. Sacrifice a few to save the lives of many. How the world had cruelly and coldly sacrificed the lives of various people so that it could survive. Logically and mathematically, I am with Lortenite on that noble belief. But emotionally, I am not. If I had to choose between Lortenite and the world, I will rather see the world burn. If the world cannot allow a person like Lortenite to live without sacrificing her to its madness, I would set that world on fire myself.


    The Reign of Chaos, ROC, on Earth, it was just a game. A stupid game with a stupid premise and a stupid setting, a game that I have played, a mean for me to earn money, a bridge that connected me to my brothers and friends, the rope that tighten me to The Alliance. But here, in this world, it is an amalgam of evil. It is evil. It is the breeding ground of demons and worms. It is something that I cannot tolerate.


    ¡°Since the first round of the Reign of Chaos started and ended, Escana had grown so much older. Millions upon millions upon millions years have passed, still the Reign of Chaos continued. And its rules and laws have changed significantly. The lives that are sacrificed to a single round of this Game is no longer just 55 lives, it is hundreds of thousands. This Game shows no sign of ending. It only gets worse. It only escalates.¡±


    I remembered my short debate with Sinintee, before I dunked him into that cesspool, and a murderous rage washed over me. Every time I remembered that debate, fury filled my body.


    ¡°Why? I asked Sinintee, your Great God. Why would you let this game continue? Why would you allow this game to evolve and escalate to this size and format?¡± I hissed the words more than I have intended.


    ¡°Life has spread to every known and discovered corners of Escana. From the desolated and barren Starfell Isle of the frigid northern world to the pit of the Devilhole of the southern hemisphere. People from various intelligent races had traversed across the seas and lands of the Escana to claim their place in the world of mortals. So argued Sinintee, the Reign of Chaos is good. He argued that this is the result of the Reign of Chaos. He argued that it is because the Reign of Chaos continues in loops and rounds that life and various civilizations on Escana could sustain and develop until this very day. He argued that the intelligent races of Escana could on survive thus far because the Games had minimized the damage to Escana. He argued that it is only thanks to the Reign of Chaos that the mortals of Escana could live in the forgetful ignorance of just how terrifying the Demon Lords of Kharigan could be. ¡®These mortals think they know, but they don¡¯t.¡¯ Said Sinintee and I quote. So, the Reign of Chaos is good, according to your Great God. The Reign of Chaos must continue forever and ever for the greater good of Escana, he said. This, all of you know, since you have watched the record of my debate with Sinintee.¡± My voice became heated in a quick hurry.


    That was the most foolish conclusion that I have ever heard in my entire life and I have heard a lot retarded conclusions from my own mouth. And Sinintee was aware of his own bullshit. It was just stupidly garbage. It was like Sinintee was trying to tell me that he is my equal or greater in being an absolute mentally challenge retard of the world. That or he believed that he could change my mind with something so stupid and garbage.


    The content of that debate between me and Sinintee rushed back into my head as I delivered my speech.


    ¡°How about you don¡¯t settle your fucking conflicts on Escana?¡± I asked him. ¡°Life would sustain and spread across the world. Civilizations would develop regardless. How about you stop playing this fucking game and slay those Demon Lords and put an end to this game? Life and civilization would blossom so much more in the absence of your game. That, I am sure.¡±


    Sinintee argued that even if the Reign of Chaos did not happen, wars and chaos would manifest on Escana just like they had manifested on Earth. Therefore, it is better for him and his kind to regulate and control the wars and chaos. Sinintee argued with me that the moment the Reign of Chaos ended, the Demon Lords of Kharigan would use Escana as an outlet of their twisted evil.


    ¡°Even if wars happen in the absence of ROC, people fought wars to end wars, because war is just a mean to an end. That is how war perceived by leaders of nations, kings and queens. When their end is achieved, war ends. To the common men, they draw their swords and fought war to protect their family, their home, their people and their country. They take up weapons and kill people to protect their nation. They fight wars for their home. When war ends, they return home. Warmongers, those who found romance and reap benefit in war, exist in every corner and era of the world. But the people, who loath war and desire to put an end to war and conflict, are more.


    War will not end even when those warmongers die, but war will slow down, and peace lovers will see war to an end. War will end because there are more peace lovers than warmongers. War will end because that is the will of the common men. They don¡¯t want their home, their family, their people and their country to be damaged and destroyed by war.¡±


    I argued with Sinintee base on my little knowledge and experience about war. But I poured my heart out to have a real talk. The employers of that PMC I hired from time to time, most of them longed to be peaceful with themselves and the society, but cannot. Most of them worked for that company because they can no longer return to their peaceful world. When they were trapped in wars, the world moved on without them. When they were freed from war, the world alienated them and they had no idea where they belonged. Many of them held a gun because they simply want to die with a gun inside their hands. And even the warmongers among them knew that there is no romance in war, only gambles, and those who set their feet on the battlefields are gamblers who gambled with their lives. The employees, executives and the employers of that company knew that they can gamble for so long. The top brass of that company realized that they could only run the company for so long. It¡¯s the money, the rich, the capital that they want. Not war.


    I stared Sinintee and shouted.


    ¡°War will end because the lives and the goal of people are finite. When lives and the cost of human capital run low, war ends. When goals are reached, war ends. When the cost of war outweighs the defined goals, war ends. But your games are different. They happen because you want them to happen. These wars, these rounds of ROC that you have played, they happen because you will them to happen. And you people don¡¯t die, so this endless war will never end until you end it. I ask you, why don¡¯t you just destroy these Demon Lords? Why don¡¯t you show any intention or plan to kill these Demon Lords? Eogaill suggested this game to divide these Demon Lords and destroy their unity. The Reign of Chaos was created for that end. Now that unity is already fractured, why don¡¯t you try to destroy it? You said that these Demon Lords are evil. Why don¡¯t you have a plan to assault and destroy these evil that you spoke? Why are you playing games with them when the goal of the game is already in your sight?¡± It was a short debate because that debate was meaningless. A debate is only meaningful when the people on the pros and cons were willing to acknowledge the other¡¯s point of view.


    I played games. Sinintee played wars. I am a human and he is God. We don¡¯t see eye to eye with each other. The more I remembered about my short debate with Sinintee, the more I felt like my speech would fill with curses. I took a deep breath before readdressed my staffers again.


    ¡°The will of Civilization is not our side, my dearest. He will definitely work against us. Neither will Nature be on our side. She will not be with us, fighting on our side, but be glad that she will not be our enemy. She will sit out of this war.¡±


    It is good to know that I don¡¯t have to fight with Niwdar. It is a relief that I don¡¯t have to fight the twelve Valkyria. It is a huge relief that I don¡¯t have to fight with every tree, animal, fish, insect and micro-orgasm of Nature living on Escana.


    ¡°Wonten said nothing to every question that I posed. So I sat by his side, telling him stories. I told him the story of the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods and the Empress of Chong¡¯kiona. How the two of them met. What they have fought for. How they have fought and died. And what was their fate after their departure from Escana. I told Wonten the story of the person that Escana had remembered as the Wailing Queen. How she had lived. How she had exchanged her sanity for information and prophecies to combat her enemies. How she had fought to save her people. How Escana and Fortuna has rewarded her. I told Wonten the story of a kobold who was too wise and too kind of his own good. The old kobold married no wife and sired no child, fearing that they would suffer. The old kobold made no friend, fearing that they would be named sacrifices for his success. He slaved himself, his health, his soul for his people in life and in death. I told Wonten the story of an orc who had slaved his soul for a mean to save his dying nation. I told Wonten the story of a Naga who did everything to bring her people out of the swirl of chaos. I told Wonten the story of a faun jumped off a cliff because he was prophesized to be the harbinger of destruction to his people. I told Wonten the lesser known history of Escana, the stories of the defeated, the broken, the hurt, the demented, the cursed and the sacrificed.¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°I told Wonten the stories of men and women fought wars believing the just causes, the greater good of the people and the world, and not trying to make benefits or becoming famous through the land or winning crown and throne. These people were a thousand times more righteous and honest and noble than the like of Bloodbeard had ever been. They did not try to take advantage of the chaos to become the lords and nobles. I told Wonten of how these people had struggled through the chaos and how they had met their end, and how the afterlife has rewarded them for their deeds and intentions.


    I told him your stories even before you had given me the permission to share it with him. Why?


    The thing is, had I told Wonten, ¡®Over 200,000 souls had suffered to the evil of Sanguine and his stooges,¡¯ that means nothing. Number like that means nothing. So I sat by his side and told him over 200,000 tragedy stories penned by the will of madness. I told him how over 200,000 lives that had been undone by the maddened injustice of the world.


    Even to this day, I have no idea if my talk with Wonten is considered a talk. It is so one sided. I had done nothing but talk. And he just sat there. I asked Wonten if their fate was the will of justice. I asked Wonten if such madness was the intention of justice. I asked the reason why a person who should be beacon of justice would play this malign game for so long. He did not answer.


    But when I told Wonten that I am going to put an end to this so called Great Game, this Reign of Chaos, he agreed to be on our side, for now. Wonten is with us. Justice is with us, for now. The Truth is also with us. She is the one who set me up for this war.


    So, half of the holy spirits of Coeles are with us.


    But they don¡¯t matter to me, my dearest. I don¡¯t care about either of them. Whether they are on my side or not, I don¡¯t care. Their abilities don¡¯t matter. The miracles that they can conjure don¡¯t matter. Their godhood doesn¡¯t matter. Their life doesn¡¯t matter. If they die, I will play them the world smallest violin.


    You matter more to me than the two of them combine. Your existence and lives matter. You have showed me something that neither of them had showed me. Real strength. Real heart. That¡¯s more valuable than everything else.


    It¡¯s common belief that there is nothing in this world can hit harder than Wonten¡¯s mighty hammer or Wrath¡¯s claws.


    I say that such belief is needed to be changed. Wonten hits hard. Life hits harder. Wrath hits hard. Life hits so much harder.


    My dearest, all of you have known what it felt like to be beaten down by life when life hit you as if it was out to destroy you. There is absolutely nothing you can do. It is hopeless. It does not matter if you possessed the strength of Wonten, the healing power of Niwdar, the wisdom of Eogaill, and the gifts of Sinintee. It does not matter because when life hit you at full force, you just break into pieces. Look no further than Wonten, Niwdar and Sinintee. What they have become!


    When life hit you hard, you become less of yourself. Hurt, broken, destroyed, scarred, crippled. When life hit you as though it is out to destroy you, there is little that you can do to defend against it.


    But here we stand, my dearest. Life hit us hard, but here we stand.


    It is not easy to stand up after being beat down by life, but here we stand.


    My dearest, brothers and sisters who standing here today, you are not just the victims of the madness that are the Sanguine, Rasahlu and Yasubotay of the world. You are victims of the negligence of duty of the holy spirits of Coeles, those who claimed to be the Gods and Goddesses of Escana. You are victims of the injustice. You are the victims of war. You are the victims of the Reign of Chaos and this so called game for the Great Throne.


    My dearest, many of you have been tortured and mocked in indignity for your self-sacrificed to save your people. Many of you have been punished, collared and enslaved to the cruel sadism of madness. But punished for what crime? Fight for your nation? Protecting your people? Defending your family? Saving your loved one?


    If those are crime, this world is mad. This game is mad. And those, who played and allowed this game to continue, are mad.


    So here we stand, my dearest, to end this madness together. Once and for all.


    How? You asked? Our enemies are the God and the Demon Lords of the world.


    My dearest, we have learned that bitter taste when our happiness, dream, hope, pride and joy turn into ash before our eyes to choke us. We knew that feeling when our beating heart just broke. We have drunk that mud of despair when we could only stare and could do nothing to undo everything. We have bowed. We have cowered. We have kneeled. We have flattened ourselves on the muddy ground.


    But here we stand. Life hit us hard. But here we stand.


    It does not matter how long it takes for us to stand up. It does not matter what method we have used to stand up. It does not matter how many times we have slipped and hit ourselves hard trying to stand up. It does not matter which and whose hands we have relied and held to stand up. It does matter if we look like shit when we can finally stand on our feet.


    When life beat us, we stand, refusing to stay down. That¡¯s what matter. Here we stand, my dearest, that¡¯s what matters.


    Our enemies are immortal beings. They possess the power to warp reality to their will. They possess the strength to destroy the world. They possess the cruelty to destroy people¡¯s dream, happiness and dignity. Their power is vastly stronger than us.


    But let me ask you, my dearest. Can they hit us harder than life had beaten us?


    No, I tell you, NO. NO. HELL NO. They cannot. But even if they can, I want you to look at them in the face and say, Here we stand.


    We would show them something that they, their kin, their brothers and sisters had not been able to do. We are not like Wonten who had been hit the injustice of world once and then refuse to stand up. We will not be like Niwdar to be hit by tragedy once and refuse to stand up. We would show them our bravery and resilience. We would stand up on our feet and we would declare, Here we stand.


    Ask them, can they? Can they stand when life hit them hard? Because that is their future. I am going to hit them. And I will hit them hard, as hard as life would beat them with the intention to destroy them.


    If Sinintee stand in my way, I will let him know the cost of that decision. If he comes at me with the force of war, I will show him war. If he intended to play games, I will show him why I am a pro-gamer. It¡¯s going to be costly for him.


    And these Demon Lords.


    Kharigan is their home and origin. I am going to blow it to star dust. Can they call themselves lords again when they have no territory or demon to lord over? Can they call themselves the rulers of Kharigan when Kharigan no longer exist? So what are they? Lord of nobody and hobos, I tell you, a bunch of hobos and self-proclaimed lords.


    Their arrogance is that they can and are allowed to treat our lives as parts of their game. Their arrogance, I will reverse it. They will discover that they are the parts of the game and we are the players.


    They took pride in being born from Naharis and, thus, are legitimate to sit on the Great Throne. I will not permit that kind of fragile pride in my presence. That legitimacy shall be destroyed. I promise you.


    Their grip of power is large and vast in the realm of spirits and Escana. I am going to destroy it. The day would come when no spirit shall acknowledge their power. The day would come when Escana would look down on them.


    The stories of their horrors and powers, I will erase them completely. Why? Because history will be on my side.


    Their game. The Reign of Chaos. I will end it, every aspect of it. I am going to put a definite end to it. I will end it in the way that no one can repeat it again, ever.


    Why?


    Because I can, so I will.


    Because I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.


    Because I am the best Ender. Because I am the Ender of Enders.


    Because this, this piece of manure, this so called Great Game, has lasted for too long. Because this game has long infested Escana with nothing but tragedies and destruction. Because this injustice has long been overdue. Because this madness has lasted long enough.


    So here we stand. To say ENOUGH.


    So here we stand. To declare the end to this injustice. This godforsaken madness. This sick chaos.¡± I trained my sight to the Baku Division. ¡°Baku, what is your motto?¡±


    ¡°SHOW THEM NIGHTMARE,¡± Meireen, the leader of Baku and other the sisters of the Baku roared.


    ¡°That is your job. Teach them that Escana know only one true god, his name is Nightmare. If they want to come to Escana, playing Gods and Demon Lords, they shall face Nightmare. You are Baku, the creators of Nightmares, so show them Nightmare. Trap them, torture them, and beat them with Nightmares until my executioners come to reap their soul.¡±


    The soul of an Immortal was vastly different from the soul of a mortal. The soul of a mortal would drift toward Mistress Death¡¯s hall the moment its flesh body is destroyed. But soul of an immortal would return to the object that defines its immortality by acting as an anchor and vessel for its soul. This object would be a pair of gauntlets for Greed, a red throne of bloodied tiles and crimson stones for Magnamor. Every Demon Lord was crafted and given a different object to define and constitute their immortality. The soul of a mortal, when destroyed, would reform itself inside the hall of Mistress Death. The soul of an Immortal, when destroyed, would simply reform itself inside the object that define and constitute its immortality.


    Having this crucial knowledge is a difference between having the ability to kill a Demon Lord or not.


    Other than the surefire combination of Dragon Bane and the Sealing Blade, there are more methods to kill an immortal being than the world has believed. But these methods have one thing in common, their first step, which was to destroy those objects of immortality.


    If everything worked according to my plan, the moment Wonten hit Kharigan with his hammer, nothing on that red moon could remain other than Sloth¡¯s giant sleeping bag. Those thrones, those statues, those objects that constitute the immortality of the Demon Lords would be destroyed, saved for those on my side plus Munezee, Flok¨ª and Gluttony, the three who hidden the objects of their immortality or has already devoured it. In the case of these three, only the combination of Dragon Bane and the Sealing blade works aside from Death herself.


    After that first step, it was a puzzle of how to destroy the astral body of a Demon Lord.


    For instance, Acr?a¡¯s <Soulshattering Spire> could deal critical damage to an Immortal¡¯s astral body when launched in barrage. If the physical vessel and the object that constitute an Immortal¡¯s immortality was destroyed, when the astral body was destroyed, a soul untainted by Sanguine¡¯s venom would find itself drag to the hall of Death. And nobody walk out of that hall once entered.


    Similarly to Acr?a¡¯s <Soulshattering Spire>, Managan possessed an unparalleled ability in destroying and corrupting astral bodies that not even Niwdar could undo. Greed, too, had created various toys to achieve similar effect, toys that are devoted to destroy the astral body. Envy could turn himself into either Managan or Acr?a. Pride could destroy souls, but only to a limited extent. Those were five Demon Lords who I could employ as executioners on my side. It was strange that nobody had realized just how bizarre that was, the makeup of Pride¡¯s faction. Pride¡¯s faction was unique in the manner that their members were not suited for the game. The composition of Pride¡¯s faction was suited for the event when the game unraveled and war happened. It was as if Pride had already anticipated this moment, the moment when a person like me would appear to destroy the game. There is Lust who can dominate the world with her red dream and host of dream demons. There is Managan who is the bane of Nature and destroyer of astral bodies. Similar to Sinintee, Greed could provide a nigh limitless weapons, armors, Divine Relics, and resources for war. Pestilence is a beast in destroying physical body and flesh vessels. Acr?a is excellent on various fronts as long as the sun is out. There is Sloth who can negate the strength of Wonten and Wrath. There is Envy and Pride who are the jacks of all trades. This faction, I had no idea how it was allowed to exist until now. This is a faction created for war. And Pride, the creator and leader of this faction, she knew something that no other Demon Lord knew.


    The Baku was created to turn the named Champion of a Demon Lord into his prison and jailer until my executioners would arrive. The task of eliminating these Demon Lord would be given to Lortenite, the leader of my executioner units.


    I narrowed my sight on the Morpheus Division. ¡°Morpheus. What is your motto?¡±


    ¡°OUR DREAMS, OURS.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. They have abused their ability to create a Divine Dream to turn people into their chess pieces, puppets and avatars to further chaos. They made prophecies. They twisted ideologies and personalities. They had the monopoly to this technology long enough. In this day and age, show them what we can do when we possess the same technology. Show them what we, mortals can do when our dreams are ours.¡±


    To combat the risk of a Divine Dream, merely staying awake was a short fix to a long term problem, meaning it was not a fix. You only need to close your eyes once, that¡¯s game over. You wake up a changed person. Normal people need to sleep to function. Telling them to ¡°Stay awake¡± for indefinitely is telling them to do the impossible. I cannot just keep telling my followers to stay awake forever. Therefore, I needed to create people who don¡¯t fear being harmed and affected by a Divine Dream. I can only and work with such people, trusting my life and my plan to them. The Morpheus¡¯s main responsibility was doing just that, creating people who can say, ¡°My dreams are mines.¡±


    Sun Tzu said, know your enemy, know yourself, a hundred battles you shall not lose. This is the basic of war. You need to know your enemy¡¯s strategy and tactic to defeat him. Thus, you need to install spies inside the rank of your enemy to learn what he is thinking. Whereas the normal men must train and buy their spies, these Gods and Demon Lords simply use their <Dreamweaver> ability. Gods and Demon Lords only need to use their Divine Dream to learn what a mortal is thinking. And they have become overreliance on this ability of theirs because it is the universal answer to every major and small problem that they had. They don¡¯t use their brain enough. They don¡¯t use their creativity enough. Their use of Divine Dream is primitive and lack luster. This is a weakness that the Morpheus was taught to exploit.


    I turned my eyes on the Warren. ¡°WARREN.¡±


    ¡°INCOGNITO and FLUID,¡±


    ¡°You are to stay the limbo of time, dream, reality and avarice items. Our enemies can know that you exist. But they must not know your identity, call sign, password, movement and means of transport. Your topmost priority is to stay in incognito but, you must keep information network up and going at all time. Everyone is counting on you to share the intelligence.¡±


    The Warren would traffic and gather intelligence between the members of DDWD through various means. Be it by trusting the intelligence to their succubi or writing letters in the real world, using dream journals, transferring messages through the delivery of an avarice item¡­ the imagination is the limit.


    I then looked at the Ba¨ª Z¨¦.


    ¡°WE PREDICT.¡±


    ¡°Show these Gods and Demon Lords that mortals can predict the future as well. Show them that we are capable of making prophecies. Show them that their ability to make prophecies is laughable. I am counting on your forecasts.¡±


    When I first heard about the price of a single providence that Sanguine and his stooges charged their Champions, I was mad. The first prophecy is free. The ones that came after that are not. Sasengun was asked to let her love die so she can have a vision about the whereabouts of her enemy¡¯s armada. Searek was asked to drink one drop of Sanguine¡¯s venom for a whisper and a vision. These three stooges had no intention of winning the game. They just played the game for the sick fun of it. Even worms like Bloodbeard received Wonten¡¯s providence without a price, without asking. But Sanguine and his stooges charged their Champions for the fun of it. Other champions were equipped with prophecies and miracles by their patrons for free, these three stooges asked their champions to pay a price for everything. These stooges dragged their Champions into the swirl of chaos and then made fun of them. In war, a single prophecy could all the differences, and these stooges charged it.


    It was madness that Sasengun could actually defeat over 1000 warships in a series of battles with only 50 ships. It was pure madness that Isonos could nearly conquer a continent.


    I have predicted the destruction of Kharigan before I killed Bloodbeard. I have predicted that either Wrath or Wonten would assist me to accomplish that feat. I have predicted that Xaara, being the hasty fool that he was, would be first Demon Lord to come at my place searching the vengeance. A person does not need to become a God or a Demon Lord to be able to predict the future. With enough information provided, anyone can predict the future. The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ would be the instrument that demonstrates that belief of mine.


    I slowly swept my eyes across the square packed full of people.


    ¡°Here we stand, my dearest. I, a supposed to be pieces of lucky charms to be shared and worn by Demon Lords and Gods, here I stand. You, tormented prisoners of Sanguine, here you stand. There is no place for you or for me or for us on Escana. Even if we are here, trapping the Demon Lords and scheming of ending the chaos, there is no place for us on Escana. We are walking dead men and dead women. We are rejected by the natural ordinance of the world and the Death of the world. The world out there is that kind of insane, cruel, unjust and thankless place.


    But here we stand, declaring our intention to fight for Escana when Escana should have fought for itself. So don¡¯t fight for Escana, fight for yourself. It¡¯s all right to be selfish. Fight for yourselves. Fight for our brothers and sisters. Fight for your love.


    Here we stand, my dearest. I send you, my heart, to sail through the flame of chaos to the most punishing voyage. You, my dearest, you shall face what I have once faced, a test against father time. What appears to be an hour in the real world could be many millennia to you. It will be a lonely, harsh, and thankless voyage. You will discover that the harvest that you have toiled and cultivated with millennia of sweat and tear would be converted to but a short moment of triumph in the real world. That day might or might not come when your heart will be broken due to the futility of being endlessly tested by father time. It might or might not come, the day when you will curse me for burdening you with such a heavy and unrewarding task. It might or might not come, the day when you no longer care about this fight against the chaos of the world and move on. It might or might not come, the day when your heart could not take it anymore and fall into despair. It might come, the day when you are unfortunately captured by my enemies. It might come, the day when you decide to forget everything and let go of everything. Regardless of whether that day shall come or not, you have my promise that I will come to pick you up, my dearest. I will not blame you for I am the only one to blame. I will release you of your thankless burden. I will cry and I will tell you that I am sorry for tasking you with such heavy burdens. I will hug you inside my arms. I will tell you that I was extremely thankful for your sacrifices. I will tell you how chaos was ended not by the valorous champions and ingenious heroes of the gods. I will tell you how chaos was ended by your devotion and sacrifices to embrace the thanklessness of your tasks. Then we will gather here again.


    And we will declare, here we stand, for we have already ended the unending chaos of the world,¡± said I. I gave every staffer of the DDWD a warm hug and a long kiss before sending them off with Lust¡¯s succubi. Meireen, the leader of the Baku and my favorite S queen, made me read my promise with her one more time before sending her off. ¡°I will take a better care of myself,¡± promised I, shaking my head.


    ¡°Make sure you do,¡± Meireen said and seized her long goodbye kiss.


    Many women asked me to promise them my love for their service. They are already qualified to be called ¡®stupid¡¯ because they should have known that I am a womanizer. But Meireen and Sasengun just had to take the cake. Sasengun asked me to always have a place on my side. Meireen asked me to love myself. One is the wailing queen of the world who had sacrificed all of her love to defend her people. One is the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods who killed her emotions for her Empress. They should be able to kill their dependence to me and their adoration of me. But they just relentlessly refused to do that. One day, I might change the word ¡®stupid¡¯ in my dictionary into ¡®Sasengun¡¯ and ¡®Meireen.¡¯


    As I was sending my DDWD off, Faugus talked and exchange farewell with other members of my General Staffs and a crowd of my dreamland stupid people. As usual, the old kobold was acting like an old grandfather giving advice to his grandchildren. When it was Faugus¡¯ turn to leave, I knelt down to his size to give him a tight hug.


    ¡°Take care,¡± I said, having nothing else to say with Faugus.


    ¡°You too, shandorei,¡± replied Faugus and headed off.

 Side story 1: Human father, draconian son

    ¡°Here we stand, my dearest,¡± my pa spoke. His dark eyes penetrated and swept through our ranks. It was as if he was looking and talking to each and every single one of us rather than talking to all of us. His voice, as usual, was terrifically loud and crisp as if his voice has been enhanced by a miracle.


    Standing in the rank of Warren, I listened to pa¡¯s speech. But there was a part of my mind was running loose on its own will, reminiscing of the past. I was here and there. Here listening to pa¡¯s speech and there living inside that magical house on the cliff. I suddenly recalled my childhood with much fondness. It was a time when I was still mentally a child, undeveloped and unacquainted with the complexity of the world. I remembered wanting to become a grownup. I could not understand the reason of such longing at the time. Now, when I look back and am able to rationalize things, that strange longing must have connected to pa and admiration for him. I lived my childhood wanting to become a grownup in a hurry, not wanting to be a chain to tie my pa down. As a child, I could always sense that my pa was a man of unlimited potential. He could do everything that he set out to do. And yet, he was always by my side, taking care of me, worrying about me. I hated to be the chain that ties him down. I hated to be his downfall. I longed to become a grownup, freeing pa of his many worries and accompanying pa in whatever he wanted to do.


    And yet, when I finally become a grownup, there is always a part inside me longs for that long gone past.


    It was like my pa has always said, ¡°You only know how important something or someone is when you lost them.¡± For a man who deliberately conditioned himself to be stupid, pa¡¯s words were often oozing with wisdom. As a result, I could not help myself but discourage him to walk an alternate path from time to time like many others. Neither insanity nor stupidity suits him. Things like that, they are beneath his stature.


    Back then, the world of my childhood was small and uncomplicated. It was just me and pa, and our magical house built on top of a windy mountain peak. To an infant minded draconian that I was at the time, that was the world. That was my world. Just me, pa and our home, nothing big or complicated. Our magical house was built on top of an isolated, high mountainous peak facing the sea on one side and valleys of colorful, wildflowers and green reeds on the other. Looking back, that world was small. It was indeed small and isolated, but it had never felt small, or dull for a moment. I had never, for a moment, regretted living inside that small and isolated world, not knowing of the larger and more complex world outside. I had never felt like I was living the life of a caged bird for a moment because pa was always there, at the center of the world. To me, an infant minded child at the time, he was the magic, everything that makes that world enchanting and hopeful. He was the reason why I did not feel like I was being isolated from the world. Pa was the world. Pa was the reason why that house was magical.


    I learned from the storybooks that I read and the tales that pa told me. The world was much larger than I could have ever imagined. But I had never pondered about the undiscovered sceneries that lie beyond the distant horizons. I had never once looked at the valleys and questioned the unknown world beyond the valleys. I knew that, by Nature¡¯s ordinance, even if my pa rutted with a female draconian, I would not come out. But not once I questioned my mother. I had never questioned why a soft-skinned human pa would raise a hulking three meters of scratched scales and toughened hide draconian cub. That made no sense, but not once I raised a question about it. I had never become hungry once while living inside our magical house, as though I was incapable of being hungry. Yet, pa would still cook and feed me three times a day. Not once I had questioned.


    I was far from being the most inquisitive child. I had never asked enough about everything, including my name.


    Leph, Al-Lepherasus is an exceedingly strange name for a draconian to have. First, it is nearly impossible for a draconian to pronounce the ¡®Al¡¯ and ¡°phe¡± sounds from the word Al-Lepherasus. Second, there is no hissing or gnashing sound in between the pronunciation of the word like a word of the draconian tongues. But it is my full name.


    ¡°Al-Lepherasus, your name is Al-Lepherasus.¡± It was the most difficult to read and pronounce name for a draconian.


    ¡°In Naharis¡¯ titan tongue, it could mean either ¡°be freed¡± or ¡®to be free.¡¯ Child, you are nobody¡¯s slave. You are nobody¡¯s pet. Leph, to be you, yourself, Al-Lepherasus means to be free. So, be free.¡±


    Every day, pa would sit next to me for at least four hours of dreamland hour teaching me the correct pronunciation.


    ¡°Arrrr-Le-faaarass¡±


    ¡°Leph. Watch my mouth. Al-le-phe-ra-sus.¡±


    It was a most draining, repetitive task and routine. There was a time I hated pa for giving me such a difficult to pronounce name. I repeatedly asked pa why he could not give me a single syllable name. But I reckoned that pa must be more fed up with that routine than I have ever been. Though he had never shown it.


    I made friend with my boredom and mental exhaustion while learning the pronunciation of my own name. It took me seven toiling years to learn the correct pronunciation of my name and developed an adequate understanding of the Titan¡¯s tongue. And yet, I had never thought much about the meaning of my name or pa¡¯s intention when he gave me that name.


    I was not an imaginative, or adventurous, inventive or particularly bright by any stretch of the imagination. I had no grand ambition or dream. I was a slow learner, and beastly dull even by a draconian standard.


    But even I had questions. I remembered asking, ¡°How did he do that?¡± Again, again and again, and again. Over and over again.


    I spent the majority of my childhood asking this question. I remembered asking pa and myself this same question and the various interpretations of it many times. ¡°How did you do that? How can you do that? How can he do that? What is the secret? How can he do that but I cannot?¡± Regardless of the different wordings, it is, in the end, just one question. ¡°How did he do that?¡±


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± It was a normal, unsurprising question that a growing son would ask his father at some point. In the eyes of a growing son, his father is always like the smartest, greatest and most mystical person in the world. The son admired his father. He wanted to learn about his father and grow up like him, even when his father told him to grow up like someone else.


    ¡°How did he do that?¡± This question was my entire childhood. When the clouded obscurity of my mind became clear, when I became me, I have already asked this question. ¡°How did you do that? How did he do that?¡±


    To this ever repetitive question that I posed, pa rarely gave me an easy answer. Rarely. Instead, he often gave me the mildly difficult answer, making me work my mind and effort for the answer.


    ¡°Most of the time, you are given the answers and the hints to most problems. But you often neglect and miss them. There is a great difference between looking and observing. Between listening and hearing is a great wall. Don¡¯t look. Observe. Don¡¯t hear. Listen.¡±


    Pa raised me to perceive the world through observation and listening. Then, I noticed them, their invisible presence.


    Pa is my greatest teacher even though he often looks down on himself. But he is not the only teacher that I had inside our house. ¡°Patience, practice, instinct,¡± said pa, introducing me to the three invisible men. Invisible as they might be, but every single one of them is just as great a teacher as pa is. They are just as much as my teachers as they are pa¡¯s teachers.


    Practice is the most surefire, but he is a boring teacher. His lessons are ever-repetitive and ever-dull, but surefire. Only thanks to practice and pa, I could speak my own name. Patience is a demanding, infuriating and tough teacher. Demanding to please, tough to learn from, and infuriating to be around with, but patience is a great teacher. Without patience, I can only hear and see instead of observing and listening. Without patience, a slow learner like me could never reach any finish line. Instinct is the most difficult to perceive teacher. His commands are often too quiet and indiscernible. And even his presence is thin, more invisible than the other two. And thus, he always needs practice and patience to be his translator and mouthpiece. As a result, his lessons are the most boring, tough, demanding and yet indiscernible.


    ¡°Patience, practice, instinct,¡± pa told me to trust them as I trusted pa. So I did as a child, without raising a question.


    If I had learned something from these three invisible men, ¡°Most of the things that pa could do, I can, too. By learning from practice, patience, and instinct.¡± Like that, I was raised. If pa can cook, I can. If pa can play the piano, I, too, can. I might not be able to do things better or faster than he could. But I could do everything that pa can, no matter how impossible they appear. Pa raised me like that, a student and believer of the three invisible great teachers.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± I grew up asking this question a lot. Pa always beats me in old elven chess. I was always playing on unlimited time but he always played with a three minute time handicap. And he was not just playing against me. He was playing against himself on a different board. His left hand was used to play against me, moving the pieces and tapping the clock on our board. His right was to move the two colored pieces and tap the twin clocks on the other board. Pa was trying to win against himself and not losing against himself at the same time on that board, all while playing against me. That board has always been more exciting to watch.


    At first, I played the game fast, moving the pieces as fast as I could. I figured out early that pa used the time that I planed for my move to think ahead. The longer the time I used to plan my move, the more the time he had to plan out his. Thus, I moved my piece as quickly as I could, preventing pa from using my own time to plan his game. I wanted to win against him by draining his three-minute clock.


    I figured that method was the only chance I had to win against pa. It was the strategy. I dug up the chess books lying around inside our study room, learning various openings by the memory. I played our games just by books, fast, without much thinking. Just like that, I got beaten every time. The other board, where pa was playing against himself, has not even reached its first climax but my board has already ended. It was a familiar reoccurrence. Pa taught me to not concern about the speed of others. Pa taught me to take my mind off the more exciting board, the board where he played against himself, to focus on my own board alone. Pa taught me to move my pieces at my own pace. It took a lot of patience and practice that I could push my board with pa beyond the 40 moves. I saw that as my victory.


    I could not play the piano with my clumsy webbed hands and clawed fingers. Pa showed me how he could play various four-hands piano pieces with only two. Pa showed me that he could even play the pieces even when his eyes are blindfolded and his ears plugged. ¡°Other people call this a prodigious union of gifts and talents, a work of pure genius. However, I call it, practice, patience, instinct,¡± pa repeated himself very often whenever I was getting sick of the piano lessons. He always sat next to me and the piano, patiently teaching me to play it on my webbed hands.


    Pa could swim an absurd number of lapses inside our swimming pool without resting. I was the faster swimmer and the more physically able person between the two of us. My scaly body was streamlined for swimming. My hands and feet were webbed. My muscular tail was like a rudder. But when my entire body was struggling to stay afloat from the endless hours of swimming, pa was swimming still, effortlessly. He stayed afloat in the pool so much longer and swam so much farther. Pa made it pointless to count the length in the unit of lapses or kilometers. He made it pointless for me, a webbed-feet draconian, to compete with him in a swimming contest.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°I have spent a human¡¯s worth of lifetime doing nothing but swimming. Of course, I can,¡± Pa shrugged his shoulder and replied. It was an easy answer. Rarely would pa give me an easy answer, because I would learn little to nothing from an easy answer. Only when pa has succeeded training me to hate the easy answers, he would give me the easy answer at will. The more I grew up, the more I learned that pa was as difficult, infuriating and tough a teacher as my three invisible teachers.


    I observed and listened to pa¡¯s swimming, learning from the three invisible men. It took me an absurd length to figure out that pa¡¯s endurance is not infinite. It took me an absurd length to realize that he could swim so much faster but chose to swim at his own pace instead. He compensated for his lack of stamina with a mechanical swimming technique and breathing. He knew how to make himself float without stroking the water. He swam with his arms when his legs were tired. He swam with his legs when his arms required rest. He swam and rested at the same time. His breathing was trained and deliberated. Pa swam with absolute efficiency, without wasting his stamina or rest. His technique was solid, repeated without deviation. He was like a machine designed to swim. When I learned that, I highly doubted if the best swimmers among my draconian forebears could give pa a fair and square competition. They would probably be unable to finish an ocean length whereas pa would keep swimming forever until somebody stops him.


    Pa could tell things and recite things without looking at the books. Pa could make tasty meals without tasting the food he cooks once. Pa could do many different things and solve multiple problems at the same time. Pa always seems to know me better than I know myself. Pa seems able to do everything right and with style. Pa is a man who gives off that vibe. He is a person who can literally go beyond and above his limits, a person who makes the most Herculean and impossible tasks appear laughably mundane and stupidly feasible.


    I grew up admiring pa in the same manner pa admires his king, his goddess and his brothers. Very often with a much-cherished tone, pa told me their tales among other heroic tales from various myths and legends. I learned of a king despite being so wise, chose to save a brother and put his entire kingdom at risk. I learned of a man, who was cursed to unable to recognize words, yet become a respectable scholar. I learned of a fighter who was barred from the fighting ring that he loved and found his true calling. I learned of a person whose purpose is to spread joy and laughter to the world around him. I learned of a nigh-omnipotent goddess whose truest potential shall never be realized. Their tales I loved to listen to, but I wanted to listen to the tales where pa appeared more.


    The landscapes that lie beyond the distant horizons, the vast world beyond the valleys, the blue sky beyond this sky, the working of the universe, the truth, none of them captured my thought as much as my own pa. The heroes in the tales that pa told me and the storybooks that I have read, none of them had ever commanded my attention as the man who raised and fed me.


    Magic did not hide at the distant horizon. Magic has always been right in front of me, a man. Myths, fairy tales, and legends were not shrouded in tales and books. They were right next to me, a person, my pa. And, God, the only one that I considered my God, did not live in stories, imagination or some heavenly planes of above and beyond, as my three invisible teachers have taught me.


    Only now, that I have mentally become a grownup, I recalled. The hints and the answer were right there, all along. We were supposed to have a picnic on that day. Pa was going to show me the outside world, the world lying beyond the white walls, the large wooden doors and the oaken framed, glassy windows for the first time. We had the picnic planned, from the beginning to the end. Pa baked his special cheese potatoes and the honey chicken drumsticks in tinfoil wrapping to perfection. I made sandwiches, pasta, and salads. He packed the napkins, jams, and milkteak inside the picnic basket. I had the picnic blanket roll inside my rugged reptilian arms. We had our food and items ready. We had the whole thing ready. But the rain was falling, on and on. We waited, having all the patience to wait out that rain. But that long rain became a storm, and it dragged on, forever.


    As a child, I did not realize that I had caught my pa sneakily waving the rain away with his smooth, scaleless hands. Three times he waved his hand. The first time, the leaden thunderclouds were fanned away. The second time, the rain stopped falling. The third time, the sky was blue and bright.


    The hints were there all along. But as a child, I had never realized. The world I lived in throughout my childhood was strange. Our house is strange, full of magic items and miracles that lie beyond my understanding. Our large fridge would refill itself with fresh cooking ingredients over the night. My personal corner of the study room would always have new storybooks whenever I finished reading the old ones. Pa¡¯s corner was an inexhaustible supply of exercises for me to do.


    ¡°Is there anything that you cannot do?¡± I remembered asking pa this question a lot. Every time, he smiled a wry smile. No word was spoken as if the answer was already given.


    It was my periodic spasms. The answer has always been before me, but as a child, I could not perceive them and their hints. If dad could do away my periodic spasm, he would immediately do.


    The ruddy color spasms, they had a fiendish will of their own, cruel and beastly. They came at their convenience, without caring where I was or what I was studying. They would come and strike me down without fail. The spasms are inevitable. The spasm would come and strick without warning or remorse or mercy. They would come again, always. There would definitely be a next time. They promised, always.


    When they hit, the spasms hit with the force of the sky falling down and reshaped the world with a red malevolence. The crippling excruciation from having something jagged¡­ burning like fire, yet slimy and alive squirmed clicked, prodded and pushed¡­ things inside my head ¡­ brain matters and nerves¡­ with a vicious will of its own, was like nothing else, incomparable. The buzzing agony when the small snails inside my ears popped like water balloons, or when those hot rods of pain poked into my eyeballs from the dark side of the sockets and pushed them out rolling, or when there is something clicking and scratching my brain from the inside, indescribable, no word could describe such agony.


    When the spasms struck, I was completely at its mercy, a doll stringed by its will squirming on the cold ground in an alien reshaped world. My eyeballs were often hanging on my cheek, either that or rolling somewhere on the floor. Yet, malevolent things seared into my sight in vivid but chaotic, disconnected details. People, who look like my dad, human. And more. Those, who I had only recognized from the picture books, kobolds, dwarves, orcs, nagas, and even people of my own race, draconians. Saber-toothed cats, flightless earth dragons, chained flame wyverns, large dogs, giant serpents, unintelligent beasts. They did not look the same. They were chained up, unchained, with or without weapons or armors. But they were doing the same thing, killing. The one with long protrude fangs tearing. The one with claws raking. The ones with swords swinging. The ones with spears piercing. The one with a fiery breath incinerating. Heads rolling, bodies separating, limbs flying. They killed each other. I killed them first before they could attack me. They came to me. I killed them first before they could kill me. They ran. I chased and killed them before my masters punished me. The small snails inside my ear canals busted. Yet, voices and sounds blared into my mind. Cheers, clapping hands, roars, wails, curses, beggings, metal-tipped whip cracking. The foulness of someone¡¯s life seeping into my jaws and down my throat, the waffling musky smell, and the metallic taste that overwhelmed my senses. I was here and there. Here, lying on the cold ground, a frightful, wretched slave of the reddened spasm and there, a bloodied, feral-minded slave of the fighting pits. My masters were here and there. There, cracking the cursed metal-tipped whip, and here, jagged tip tentacles prodding, chitinous legs clicking, deranged vision searing, evil voice whispering.


    ¡°Pa,¡± I cried, whimpering for him, pa, the only who would come and stay with me. ¡°Pa,¡± I cried, a desperate child calling his dad. But, I could not hear my own cries. I could hear the many and multitude voices of beastly madness, but not my whimpering. I could not see my pa, the person I wanted to see the most. I could see everything that madness wanted me to see, but not my pa. When the spasm came, I trapped here and there, ¡°Pa,¡± I cried a frightful, hurt child, always, repeatedly, countlessly, helplessly, mindlessly.


    ¡°Pa¡¯s here. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here.¡± I could not hear his voice. I could not even see him. I could not even feel his hands holding mine. But I knew what he has said, what he would say. I knew that he was right beside me even when madness denied that.


    When the spasms left, when madness left on high note singing victory and promising the next time, I always found myself sprawling on a different ground, bathed in the bitter tears and bloody pains of my own defeats. I had but a vague collection of what I have seen and heard during the spasm. I cried a hurt and confused child from the throbbing phantom pains. I cried a fearful child from hearing the promise of the next inevitable, the next spasm, the next worse defeat. But, pa was always there, smothering the cold and crying me inside his strong, enveloping comfort, crying with me, crying for me.


    ¡°Pa¡¯s here. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here. It¡¯s okay now.¡± He would repeat himself in a teary voice. He would stroke my scaly head with his smooth palms. Pa is strong, as strong and victorious as any great hero of old would have been. Pa could beat madness as effortlessly as snapping his fingers. My instincts always told me, so I knew. But pa has cried as much as I did at the end of every spasm. He cried for me. Pa is brave, braver than any champion of old could have been. My patience told me. But pa feared of not knowing the next spasm would come and strike as much as I was. Pa can do everything. My practice told me. But pa was as helpless as I have ever been. He cried because of me.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m here,¡± said pa, the hero of my world, in a teary, shaken voice whenever my spasms left me defeated, fearful and hurt. A child crying inside his strong comfort, my instinct could feel everything, everything that pa would never admit. His hurt, his fear, his helplessness. The usual trio among the quartet, whose existence that pa would always outrightly deny.


    I cried. I cried a lot. I spent my childhood crying more than smiling and laughing. I only knew how to cry. Every time I cried, pa was next to me, wrapping me inside his arms. Pa had never condemned my tears. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he said. He told me to cry my hurt and fear out.


    Pa armed me with every wisdom, every trick and exploit. Pa spent his patience and practice on arming me to win the next fight. Inside our magical house, pa spent every breathing moment teaching me how to conquer my own madness.


    But the ruddy spasm would come. Madness would come, spelling my defeat yet again and the inevitable. My next spasm would come. Madness would defeat me yet again, promising that next time it would do worse. I knew and predicted my defeats before I fought the battles.


    ¡°I¡¯m here. I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± pa promised. Teary and helpless was his promise, pa¡¯s promise. Not a heroic promise as the tales of legend and myth would tell. But to an infant minded child like me, that promise has always been more than just promise. It was everything.


    Madness always promised the inevitable. Madness is inevitable. But, pa promised of an immovable truth. Pa¡¯s promise was immovable and unshakable. To move an immovable and unshakable object, an unstoppable force is required. That force is not madness. Madness lacks everything that is required to step to the ring with pa. Whether it is weight, or skill, or rank, or recognition, or strength, Madness lacks every right and qualification to step into the ring with pa. A bottom dweller, who has never climbed a mountain, has no right to challenge a Champion, the one who had climbed and conquered the peak. That, I knew.


    My pa is with me. That was my only courage, my only torch, my only weapon and armor in the face of my unbeatable and inevitable madness and its ruddy instrument.


    I cried with every defeat, every time the spasm best me. Then, I cried for pa. My own defeats were as much as his defeats. My pain was as much as his pain. My torment and slavery to madness, too, was his. I loathed the underhanded nature of madness.


    Only through me, they could get pa. It was a reminder. I hated my defeats. But I hated watching the magic of my world being undone even more. And I could feel that my madness took much delight on that. I feared my hurt but I loathed watching pa hurt so much more. I had never told pa that I hated myself crying. I hated how my tears tasted like fear and defeats. But I hated watching pa crying for my fear and hurt even more. His tears tasted like unspoken agony and repressed rage. I hated being the reason for pa¡¯s defeat. But I loathed how my madness was delighted at the sight of my pa being brought down through me so much more.


    Madness would come. Madness promised the next, the inevitable with every victory. Pa promised the immovable, always. I lived my childhood, promised a change would come with every defeat. I counted and marked my defeats. Every defeat of mine was a direct insult to pa.


    ¡°Wrong contest,¡± pa said, repeatedly chopping my scaly head with his hands on one day. His wording, as usual, without an explanation is tough to discern.


    ¡°Have you learned nothing? This is not a contest of speed. This is neither a contest of record. How many times can you lose against madness until you win? This is not that kind of contest. I don¡¯t care how many more times this madness shall defeat you. I don¡¯t care how much more time you need to defeat this madness. Don¡¯t care about me or my defeat. This is about you,¡± said pa, loudly, solemnly and sternly.


    ¡°In the end, you will defeat madness and conquer it. That¡¯s the most important thing. Time is not a factor. The past record, how many times you have been bested, is not a factor. In this place, neither time nor reality matters. So what matters? Your patience matters. Do you have the will to win against father time? Do you have the patience to keep losing for the goal? That¡¯s what matters. Practice matters. It is your goal. Think of your losses and defeats as practice. You are practicing so that you can eventually win. Can you learn from your failures and defeats? That¡¯s what matters. Every time you learn something about defeat and failure, that¡¯s a step toward victory. That is your final goal. Don¡¯t move it. Don¡¯t change it. What else matter. Instinct matters. He is your greatest ally, your weapon. Madness changed and adapted to your thought and personality. Is your instinct trained? Is your instinct learned? What has your instinct told you about the losses and the nature of madness? This madness keeps changing form, nature, and strategies to keep you its slave. This is not an opponent you could defeat through wisdom or feigned bravery. It is using your wisdom and power against yourself. It is you. Do you have the killer instinct to conquer and dismantle this ever-adapting madness? That¡¯s what matters the most. Do you have the killer instinct to win against yourself?¡± Pa spoke, wearing a strange, hitherto unseen look on his face.


    I had an epiphany from listening to that wisdom. I have always thought that pa seemed to know me better than I know myself. But I was wrong. It is without uncertainty that pa knew me. He knew me just as much as he knew my madness.


    Madness evolved and adapted from person to person. Just by spelling the words out to me, pa has granted strength to my madness as much as he has granted me strength. We were both getting stronger and wiser from this piece of knowledge. My madness is a beastly monster. I forget my beastly self, becoming pa¡¯s child. It doesn¡¯t. My madness doesn¡¯t. It knows me, hides things from me and summons them to my recall through the tormented spasms with a cunning will of its own and its true fiendish master. Outsmarting a creature like that is impossible. No weapon of logic or wisdom can beat it, only a sword forged out of instinct and illogical feat.


    Only then, I suddenly realized how dull I was. With that, an epiphany about my true enemy. Anyone else would have realized that much earlier.


    It, my madness, proclaimed to be the inevitable. But pa is the immovable. His belief is immovable. It can defeat pa through me. But pa saw my defeats as the result of practices, a tutoring fee that we must pay to my ¡°Practice¡±.


    My repeated failures are not a factor. Against my madness, time is not a factor worthy of consideration.


    Patience is. Practice is. Instinct is. It was for the same reason, pa has raised me following them.


    Pa has always considered my defeats as an expense, the cost of victory. Whether my defeats reached thousands, millions, billions, or trillions, pa only saw that as a cost that we have to pay for the ultimate victory. His eyes were not on my repeated defeats. His eyes have always been on the end, the truest end, the day I would defeat my madness.


    Today, I realized, this is the final battle. Suddenly, I knew.


    I just knew things. My instinct told me that my own madness would come at me with a greater, hitherto unseen, force and cruelty, lashing out its fear. My instinct told me that madness would be relentless, trapping me in its jaws without letting me go this time. There shall be neither peace nor comfort in between this time. Only an endless madness, pain and torment.


    Pa is both the immovable and the inevitable in the truest essence. I thought and admired him even more while mentally preparing myself for the relentless pain and torment to come, for my madness to do its worst bidding.


    Sanguineous howls blared my mind with seeping hatred for pa. The ruddy spasm hit me with its worst force and cruelty, dissecting me from the inside with its jagged head tentacles. In that raging storm of hurt, with every subsequent blow, its fear became more vivid to me. It feared pa¡¯s prediction. But it feared pa so much more. It feared pa as much as I admired him. That day, I vividly felt it, for the first time in my entire childhood. My madness¡¯s worst fear. Its uncertainty about itself and its belief. It is not the true inevitable. It is but a caricature of the real thing, the real inevitable.


    Pa is.


    My madness was trying everything it could do to break pa through me, suspecting that its method would definitely fail. But it had no better alternative. It could not fight against pa directly. That¡¯s why it feared him. That¡¯s why it lashed out its fear on me, indirectly fight pa. It hit me because it had always known that I was its weaker. But this time, pa has promised its inevitable. Its end. My victory. Pa ushered me into this final battle knowing that I would win. He made this final battle happened. I was raised and taught by pa and the three invisible men for this moment. I was a student of patience, practice, instinct, my pa.


    My madness pressed its attack relentlessly. The metal-tipped rods of my phantom past whipped me. Swords bit me. Spearheads dug into my toughened scaly hide. But my hazy thought was on pa¡¯s final expression before sending me off to my final battle and before madness took me with its fiendish claws and jaws. It was a strange look. It was as if harrowing pain was twisted into cold acceptance.


    I recognized the rare appearance of the final member of the denied quartet on pa¡¯s face. It was the same look when I told pa that he was the kindest man in the world. His belief in his kindness. Pa had no doubt in his coldness or cruelty, or the length that he would go in the name of evil and injustice. But he denied his kindness, always. He denied his fear, his hurt, his helplessness, and his kindness, always.


    I then realized that pa has come clean to me with that piece of knowledge, truly preparing for the end goal, truly preparing to pay every cost and expense for that end goal. Pa doesn¡¯t believe in his kindness. Thus, he doesn¡¯t believe that he should be loved or be treated kindly. He is a man who is prepared to be loathed for the rest of his life by me and my doomed to be vanquished madness.


    My madness changed its attack pattern base on this new realization. It negotiated. It granted me rest. It soothed my mind. It killed the pain and the torment. It told me to hate him, blame my hurt and torment on pa. It directed the malice of its jagged head tentacles at pa. It taught me that if it was not for him, it would never hurt me. I knew that my madness was spew nothing but lies. It whispered lies after lies. It blamed pa for every wrong it has committed.


    I was dulled. I laughed at how dull I was. Had I possessed the keen foresight of pa, or just 1/10 of it, I could pronounce a prophecy to my madness as my pa had. I hated how dull I was. But I loathed how my pa has predicted all of this and yet having no trust that I could still love him at the end of this battle. My instinct told me that my pa had turned himself into my madness¡¯ worst enemy, predicting all of these developments. If I needed rest in this endlessly long final battle, I only needed to direct my hatred and fury at him. He was prepared to be hated and forever feared by the beast he saved. Just the mere thought of that, I hated.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Do better, I mocked both my madness and my pa. I needed no rest, not the kind of rest that my pa has designed. Not the kind of rest where I would curse my hero, my pa.


    ¡°Patience, practice, instinct,¡± I uttered the familiar words.


    The day I conquered my madness and fully regained my past before I was pa¡¯s child, celebrating my victory inside his arms. That day, my childhood abruptly came to an end, for I was already a grownup before I became a child.


    Pa thought that it was about time for me to discover a whole new world, to expand my world to the beyond of our house. I agreed because pa said so. He snapped his fingers.


    It was a whole new world.


    The world outside of our magical house is confusing as confusing is. Pa multiplies. He is the toddlers, the youngs, the olds, the men, the women. He is the stupid people of dreamland and their god. My relationship with pa became cold and confusing, but it was more on pa¡¯s part than on me. He acted as if millions of years have passed since he last saw me after a single snap of his fingers.


    All of a sudden, pa had thousands of lovers. He also gained over a hundred thousands of haters who hated him as much as they hated their madness. I gained a population worth of self-proclaimed mas. Not even the past that I had seized back from my madness was as confusing as that. And yet, these sources of confusion arrived at the same time.


    Pa became like a stranger. Of the four teachers I trusted the most, I lost the one that mattered the most. For a dull person, it was hard to find my bearing in such a strange new world. The world moved too fast for a slow learner. And I was a boy in a man¡¯s appearance. The world became strange, complex and confusing.


    ¡°Patience, practice, instinct,¡± I summoned the invisible men to my side, helping me to cope with the situation.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Not everyone was born a hare, fast at running, fast at adapting. I was an unspectacular being, a slow learner. I was a turtle of a learner. Thus, I took my time to observe and listen. I expensed my patience and practice to learn new things. Pa has become like a stranger to me. Yet, I still trusted his words like a guiding compass to navigate the new world. Instincts are things that could not be explained through logic.


    I learned to move at my own pace. I could not sprint like a hare. So I moved like a turtle. I remembered the old swimming lessons. I remembered playing the board games with pa. I remembered learning the piano from pa. Pa had raised me in a way that I would never bother to compete with him, my madness or anyone else in a contest of speed or record.


    It is not about how fast I could reach the end line, the goal. It is never about how long I had stayed oblivious and defeat. It is always a matter of patience and practice, whether I could reach the finish line despite my repeated failures or not.


    There is no need to rush. I told myself, kept walking toward. Once in a million failures, I learned something new. I used the roughness of my failures like a whetstone to grind the edges of my instinct. Eventually, I would learn everything. Keep moving, I told myself.


    Wise people like old man Faugus formed their support groups. They employed the nagas, kobolds and arachnees, those who had the ability to speak multiple languages as translators. I realized the advantage that I had over many others. I could already speak Titan, the agreed universal tongue between various groups. Everyone sat down and shared. People recounted what they had learned, what they had been through and how pa had played his role. I, too, learned to share my story and listened to other¡¯s stories.


    Fast learners patched invisible dots together faster. Slow learners like me picked up the scraps of their wisdom. I learned more about what happened. I learned about the strangeness of the time flow inside this world. I learned of the absurdity feat that pa had done during that snap. He remained inside that house, aiding other unfortunate chosen ¡°Champions¡± of Madness, one by one, just like how he had aided me to conquer my own madness. Smart people learned fast from similar stories. But I caught up eventually by picking up their scraps.


    Madness evolved and adapted from person to person. So pa had decided to aid everyone individually and differently. Pa had decided to live with everyone, saved them and restarted the process with a new person. He kept repeatedly do that with every person.


    Not everyone was thanking him. More people were cursing him and hating him than they were thanking him. But that was what madness is, and how different people conquered their own madness, and how pa has been calloused about being hated.


    Amidst that confusion, many people were trying to figure out how long had pa stayed inside that house. I could not help but wonder if there was meaning in such an act. It was like asking how many lapses pa could swim inside that swimming pool. Many were trying to compete over how long pa has stayed with them and the length pa has gone for them in the name of love, refusing to believe that pa has treated and loved everyone all equally. They refused to believe that pa would treat other women in the same manner. They were yelling and growling at each other over the same thing. They refused to believe that they had no special place inside his heart. A small portion tried to figure out who was the last person stayed with pa inside that house. There was no benefit to learn that knowledge. But jealousy and false hope could drive people to do incomprehensible things. Because of pa, even the long-living races like high elves, dark elves, elves, draconians and fauns had their confusing arguments about time and their perception of time. Heated arguments quickly exploded into combat situations between a bunch of angry and jealous lovers of pa. Disillusioned fingers were pointing at each other, telling their reflections were being delusional and jealous.


    I watched, realizing how everyone was acting in the same manner that my madness acted out its fear. They were merely lashing out their confusion, disbelief, and anger at pa, but toward someone else. It was a mess until pa coldly sent his law enforcers down to settle things.


    Pa is insane. Pa is insane. I clutched my head inside my webbed hands, thinking. One of pa¡¯s enforcers suddenly burst out that 30 meters blade of extreme heat. That blade was bright and radiating as a small sun, fire, and miracle shaped into a blade. Nobody would even think about quarreling with the person who held that blade.


    I was quiet. I had no idea what to feel or what to think. I listened. I observed. I was confused about everything I have learned. So I worked out the details at my own pace. Then, slowly, at a turtle¡¯s speed, I started to comprehend. I regretted not telling pa that I did not hate him. I regretted not thanking him immediately before he made that snap. I regretted many things. Only then, I recalled that look on pa¡¯s face before he sent me to my final battle with my own madness. I truly understood why he wore that look. He had already thought of this moment. It was a cost he was willing to pay to beat madness. Somebody had to pay a price, so pa decided that he must be that person simply because he can.


    This is madness. For the first time in my entire life, I thought that my pa was not a sane man as he appeared throughout my childhood. But then, I realized that I was given a lot of hints about the nature of things. I just did not notice. No sane man would spend his human worth of a lifetime swimming. Only madness could drive a man into doing things that pa did. I thought that it was perhaps for this same reason, my own madness was so fearful of him. Pa was like a bizarre manifestation of madness, a madness that conquers madness, a madness beyond madness¡¯ comprehension. I had no idea what to feel or what to think about that. Things are just confusing and happening all at the same time.


    I could help but wonder how pa¡¯s brothers, goddess, and king could have kept up with pa¡¯s antic and insanity. They must have a really hard time. I realized that despite living with pa for my entire childhood, I understood so little about him.


    Amidst the chaos of the confusing new world, wise people moved around wisely. Fast learners moved fast. Confused people moved around with confusion. Adapting people fit right in with the confusing new world. Everyone was doing their own things at their own pace. I walked and learned at my own pace.


    ¡°Patience, practice, instinct.¡± It was utterly strange how even when I was disillusioned about him, my pa, my greatest hero, I still followed his teaching.


    I hung around various support groups, listening to the wisdom of the wiser people and tales of how various people coping with the confusing new world and their disbelief at pa¡¯s sudden betrayal. Knowing that pa was no longer with me, my ruddy madness often came out of the looming shadow inside my heart, taking its chance every now and then. However this time, I was no longer afraid of the spasm or my madness. I knew that if I could beat it once, I could conquer it again.


    Through the support groups, I have learned that conquering our madness once or twice was not the end, for it remained inseparable from us, ¡°Champions¡± of Madness, evolved and adapted with us. Our relationship with our madness is one that could never be severed.


    ¡°We must firmly establish a relationship with it. We must either make peace with it by reaching an agreement. Or we must constantly make peace with it through war and conquest, making it fear and submit to us by force in every moment.¡±


    For some reason, that piece of wisdom from old man Faugus stuck inside my mind the most. I have always thought that it was strange that a pacifist like old Faugus would repeat such forceful belief from one meeting to the next in our support group. That was like something my pa would say.


    I practiced my patience and instinct to conquer my still evolving madness without pa by my side. My instinct noticed just how smooth and easy for me to hate pa and direct my malice at pa in this strange new world. Pa has given me and everyone else the reasons to do so. Only then, I slowly learned why so many people hated pa. Only when they hated pa, their own interest and their madness¡¯ interest coincided and at peace. Hate pa forever and forevermore, through that agreement and concession, their madness tortured them no longer.


    It was as if pa had calculated and manipulated everything, from the beginning to the end. It was as if pa has manipulated us ¡°Champions¡± of Madness and our madness into a peaceful relationship. It was the easiest and least painful path to walk, hating my pa. After all, pa has deceived and manipulated all of us. Pa has turned his back on us in this confusing new world. He has given us every reason to be at peace with our madness. His law enforcers, the fairest and haughtiest of high elves and titans, all of them with the way they walked around flaunting their authority and their relationship with pa, only made it easier for us to hate pa.


    I did not immediately voice out my sneaking suspicion at the time. I let the wiser people voiced their wisdom and inspired the mass to overcome their madness. I simply listened and observed. Through patience and practice, I slowly realized that not every wise person knew what they were talking about. Some were ignorant, believing that because things worked for them through a method, things would work the same for everyone else. Many lied to cover their wounds, shames, and scars. Many others just struggled to find their true calling, believing in whatever they could and talking about their experience. Not every wise man is a wise man. Some wise men become ¡®wise men¡¯ because others consider them to be. Some are wise men because they believe that they are wise. Others act like they are, and thus they are. Things were not as clear cut and uncomplex as they were in my childhood. Then I remembered those chess books. Just like these wise men, the books spoke and argued about different openings in a confusing mess. Blindly relying on their wisdom would not work for me. So I slowed down my pace even further to learn things.


    I observed and listened, separating the ¡°true wise men¡± from the rest. I spotted the small negligible similarities between all of them and picked up the invisible connection between their wisdom.


    When I have clearly defined the balance of power between my beastly madness and me, my instinct became twice as sharp. I was sure that pa was manipulating things in a place where we could not see him. My madness acted like a radar whenever pa¡¯s works and machinations were nearby. It whimpered whenever words, that felt like they belonged to pa, were uttered. It reacted to an invisible area around pa¡¯s law enforcers and the leaders of those support groups.


    ¡°Did pa¡­ no Prince Fearless order you to form this support group?¡± I confronted old man Faugus. The person denied verbally with a twitch of shock on his face. The thought that a dull person like me could come up with a conclusion like that must have never crossed him.


    A lie, my instinct whispered. I was expecting the old kobold to deny. My madness¡¯ reaction, its whimpers, only highlighted my suspicion. My pa must have instructed old man Faugus to deny questions like the one I have just asked. It was clear.


    ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s enough of a confirmation. You don¡¯t have to talk more.¡± I boldly spoke to old man Faugus, pushing my long mapped-out plan headlong. One way or another, regardless of how things would go, by concession or by force, I would meet my pa today. The time for me to listen and observe was over. I have listened enough. I have observed long enough. My madness retreated into the tiny crevice of my heart, docile and quiet like a domesticated rat, fearing my resemblance to pa.


    Pa¡¯s modus operandi was to stay quiet and feign ignorance when he was planning, bold and arrogance when he had a plan. And when he truly struck, he made sure that it was a lethal blow.


    I thought of reconnecting with pa. I thought of another start. I thought of restarting our father and son relationship all over again. I thought that if pa could keep restarting things from the beginning every time he aided someone, I could rebuild my relationship with him. That thought has haunted me for a very long time. I had been haunted by that thought from the moment I realized that pa had stayed back and repeated his work.


    I refused to let anything or anyone standing in front of that goal.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Not every ¡°Champion¡± of Sanguine and his instruments of madness achieved big, become famous or infamous in history. Not every person was a one-person-army like mama Meireen, the leader of the Baku and the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods, who can make an army withdraws at the brief mention of her name. Not every person could conjure a thirty meters length sword of pure radiating heat or other absurd miracles like mama Lortenite. Not everyone was a genius who can use 50 ships to sink 1000 warships like mama Sasengun. Not everyone could become a leader of a religion because he wanted to. Not everyone could make a continent tremble with a sneeze. Not everyone possessed the kind of wisdom and perceptiveness to outsmart his maddened patrons for over two decades. Not every unfortunate soul, who caught the attention of Sanguine, Yasubotay, and Rasahlu, had the competency or ability to leave his mark in the history of the world.


    Not everyone can be like pa, a person who can orchestrate a scheme to gather all of his problems and enemies in one place and solve all of them within one single move. It was so sickeningly brilliant of a move that it must have been illegal. Not everyone can be like that. But even pa started slow. Pa reached an unreachable goal while swimming through the endless ocean like that. He kept swimming.


    Just like my pa, I kept moving forward at my own pace. It was how pa raised me. It was how pa has taught me. I have learned that I was inside a Divine Dream. In the Creators¡¯ words, in URLOX¡¯s words, ¡°The Divine Dream is a dream, a lucid dream, but it¡¯s more than just that. It is a shrine, a sacred space where a mortal could interact with an Immortal. It is a space where Champions are appointed. It is a space where neither reality nor time matters.¡±


    If neither time nor reality matters inside a Divine Dream, this world, this space, this dreamland does many great favors to the fast or the born-able people. But slow learners and dull people like me would catch up with them eventually as long as we kept practicing our crafts, instinct, and patience. Other people moved fast. The world moved fast. My pa moved so much faster. He is the time of this world and dreamland.


    But I would catch up eventually. I told myself and I did. When pa would not be the person to encourage me to keep walking, I must be the one to do that. When pa was no longer the number one supporter and believer of mine, I must be that person. Through patience and practice, I learned to adapt to every new problem and training eventually.


    An eventuality I must spend walking, so I shall. If it takes forever, forever it is, I had repeated my goal to myself every day.


    The moment when pa was sending me and my colleagues off to set up and map out his attacks, many of my mamas, friends, and colleagues expressed their surprise and congratulation that I could have moved so far. But I, myself, had no doubt or surprise about the fact that I could reach the goal that I have set out for myself. Neither time nor failure was a factor throughout my training. If I failed my exams, I would simply restudy and retake them again. If I failed my training, I simply restarted from the beginning.


    Therefore, I kept motivating myself that if it cost an eventuality for me to reach my goal, an eventuality I would gladly pay to reach my goal. If it took forever for me to pass an exam, ¡°Forever, so be it,¡± I would say before entering the time chamber.


    It was the only way I could slowly figure out how other people become good at their own things and replicate their feats one way or another. Through lots of patience and practices. Defeats and failures are my companions and teachers. So I learned not to be discouraged by their nagging presence. Things that other people could do after a single practice, I learned to do after the thousandth practices. Things that they could master after a thousandth practice, I learned after the millionth or the billionth time. I would get there eventually if I keep walking. Just like that, I kept on moving toward a goal that pa kept hidden for so long.


    I envied my surroundings and my colleagues, the fast learners, prodigies among prodigies, geniuses among genius. But not once I let my envy clouded my goal. To a slow learner like me, a clearly defined goal is a matter of utmost importance. So when pa kept the goal hidden, I learned to set goals for myself throughout the length of my training.


    It took me an eventuality to crawled all the way to the finish line with my turtle¡¯s speed. Pa was sending me and my colleagues off to set up his attacks. Many of my mamas, friends, and colleagues expressed their surprise that I could have moved so far. But I, myself, had no doubt about the fact that I could reach the goal.


    There were days that I recalled how much I resented pa for casually hitting the reset button in our relationship as he has done with everyone else. I thought more about the meaning of my own name. Leph, Al-Lepharasus, be freed, be free. I could not help but ask myself if pa believed that his influence is bad for me and I should be liberated from him and his influence.


    I let pa knew how much he meant to me, back then during my childhood and now. Without him, my life would not even start.


    No matter how strange or how mad this world is, dreamland is, I had a much easier time living inside it than on Escana. Even after I had truly conquered my madness, I had only but a vague and seemingly disconnected collection of the time I lived on Escana. On Escana, I did not live. I merely endured and lasted for as long as I could. I often reflected on the life that I had on Escana and the life I had inside dreamland.


    ¡®Kaydgez,¡¯ the name when I was a slave on Escana. ¡°Carnage.¡± And what a bloody carnage I was. My serrated, strong jaws were a bloodbath making machine. My entire existence was linked to the bloody festivities of the fighting pits. For that purpose, I was bred and raised. If I possessed anything resemblance to freedom on Escana, resemblance to the word Lepharaus, my life was free of questions and intelligence. I did not question, because questions would not take away my endless starvation for fleshes and the need to release my rage. Nobody taught me. I did not know how to speak. I did not know how young or how old I was, how long or how short I had lived on Escana. And then Madness took me into the demented despair of its bowel, claiming me its trophy.


    I did not remember much of my time on Escana because my madness was just as confused about my memory as I was. But I vividly remembered how small everything has always been. The world was small, but such was the world of a caged beast. I was bred, fed, and raised for the gory festivity of the masters. If there was peace in my life, it would be those short sunbaths before every fight. A draconian is strong, tough and immune to many deadly diseases, but coldblooded. My masters would make sure to give me a good sunbath to fill my body with raw energy, turning me into a beast of destruction, a carnage. My life, if that could be called ¡°a life¡±, was a cycle of being chained inside different metal cages, fed and whipped, transported to different places and participated in roaring carnage of the fighting pits. Hunger was an enemy and a friend. Hunger weakened my body but made me a deadlier beast. Pain was an inseparable soul mate. There was no day where the pain would not accompany me. Other than the bloodied fights, the pain of dugout scales and torn flesh, the cracking metal-tipped whips, the clinking black chains, the tasteless greasy meals and the face of his master, I knew nothing else. I remembered nothing else.


    Throughout my childhood, I enjoyed eating pa¡¯s cooking three times a day without questioning. Only when I went through my training to be a member of the Warren, I realized that pa has tamed me through patience, practice and his cooking. He has won me over through my stomach.


    On Escana, I knew nothing. Not even my own name or what I looked like. Then one day, in the exhausting darkness after a long flight, a glimmer of radiance enlightened my world, showing me something I had never known or thought of. I felt like I could do anything and everything. I suddenly knew how to remove that smelly basket strapping my strong draconian snout after every meal and fight. I just knew how to bite off my thumbs to remove the tight manacles from my wrists. I licked a drop of that red, sticky liquid offering to me. Pain seemed dull and strength seemed to fill my body. I did not know that my body has merely forgotten the sense of pain. I woke up from a long fight and suddenly grew stronger and wiser. And so I did, exacting as my newfound wisdom told me.


    I stalked the guards in the shadow and killed them without mercy, taking the keys. I set loose the other slaves, dozen upon dozen, hundred upon hundred, and then thousands. I knew how to wait for the other slaves to cause chaos and carnage to make my escape. But things did not work out as I have known. Something bit me through my back. I suddenly could not feel my legs and tail. I could only squirm and crawl. ¡°How disappointing!¡± A dark malevolent voice rang. I had no idea what madness was thinking, back then and now. And before I knew it, I was already inside that pit of despair, a bodiless head strapped to a muddy pulsating wall, a trophy on the wall of madness.


    And then, things just stopped. The hot rod that constantly poked and made a mess of the inside of my head, it stopped. The phantom torment of having my non-existed body, flesh, and bones crushed at every sadistic whim of madness, it stopped. The loud echoing discord of wails, cries, roars, howls and all manners of sound that a tormented soul of madness could make stopped. Things just stopped and reality warped. Dead and stranded inside a dream of a madman, that feral draconian gained an identity, sanity and a name. I died first before I got to live, and I lived inside pa¡¯s dream. I was an adult first before I became pa¡¯s child. I realized how weird everything was.


    What is Madness? I was not the only one among the ¡°Champions¡± of Madness who has mulled about this question. Madness evolved and adapted from person to person. Therefore everyone would have his or her own answers.


    Mine were more simple than most. Madness is Sanguine, Rasahlu and Yasubotay. Madness is the spasm with a beastly fiendish will. Madness is the world before I became pa¡¯s child.


    Madness is the fact that pa believes that I should be liberated from him.


    ¡­


    Somehow, pa¡¯s speech ended sooner than my recollection. I waited for my turn, bending my back to his height and giving him a strong hug.


    ¡°If things become desperate, open that memory orb,¡± pa said. As usual, he¡¯s a worrywart. He gave me two memory orbs. One contained a written list of assignments. The other contained his secret wisdom. It was to be remained unopened until I became truly desperate.


    ¡°Take care, pa,¡± I said and left my home with my succubus partners.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Warren 023, Leph was finally able to see the ethereal side of the world through the help of his dream demons. Throughout his training time, Leph has been educated about the characteristics of this side of the world through the memory records of Lust. But that experience was like watching a clip comparing to experiencing the real thing through his eyes. Escana, where every single physical aspect was stripped, was like a benighted sea rolling with thick, leaden mist. The sun, the Throne room of Naharis, illuminated the world in its dim silver luster even when it was on the dark side of the world. The nine colored spirit realms, with the exception of the dark moon, spread across the sky and acted like giant mirrors to reflect the shimmering radiance of the Throne room to Escana. When Leph trained his eyes, a vague phantasmic reflection of the Great Throne could be seen projecting on the moons. Amidst such majestic grandeur, the souls of the livings floated on the misty sea and glowed in a modest swirl of wispy blue and white spectrum.


    But before Leph could marvel this unfamiliar side of the world, his dream demons informed him that he has reached his destination. And indeed, Leph was hovering before his objective, the bandit One-eye.


    ¡°I let him live for two reasons. First, he will live to provide the testimony against White Winter¡¯s war crimes to the people of the Golden Triangle. He was there when Bloodbeard was asked to lead a force to despoil the Triangle. He knew how Bloodbeard coordinated and carried out his raids. He handled most of Bloodbeard¡¯s transactions, selling the captives to those slavers. Second, he is an important source of intelligence since he is Bloodbeard¡¯s most trusted man. He¡¯s with Bloodbeard when Bloodbeard crossed that secret path inside the Kharijard Corridor. So, Warren 023, draw out all the intelligence from him and pass that intelligent across the network.¡±


    Remembering the debriefing of his first mission, Leph could only admire his pa¡¯s ability to solve multiple problems at the same time.


    Kill Bloodbeard and his bandit. Send messages. Trap the Demon Lords and the four deities. Create an army through a Divine Dream. Declare War and Destroy Kharigan. Kill Xaara. Clean up after his mess.


    How many people could claim that they could address that many problems in four days? Leph admired. Even though his pa has always deterred Leph from looking at him with admiration, it¡¯s harder for Leph to not to.


    The bandit One-eye had already been locked and blindfolded inside the dungeon, completely wasted from the mix of fire wine and paralyzing alchemical poison. Ainis, the leader of the five succubi accompanying Leph, invoked the name of her queen in a smooth musical voice, weaving a castle of dreams inside the head of the wasted bandit. The dream demon created a Divine Dream through her connection with her queen. She altered time flowing inside her castle of dreams from the time flowing outside. With a nod of confirmation from Leph, the five succubi gently stroke the bandit¡¯s soft mind and worked their charms on him. Most people let their guard down while they are asleep and rested. As a result, their consciousness is loose and disconnected, instead of being tight and alert, thus making it easier for the succubi to work their charms. It certainly did not take long for the succubi to succeed.


    Leph walked the lane of One-eye¡¯s memory from the latest, making a detailed note on every significant intelligence he gathered. He would coordinate with the succubi through talking, letting the succubi handle the bandit through their charm and dream manipulation power. Leph¡¯s only focus was drawing the intelligent from the bandit¡¯s memory.


    Through the eyes of One-eye, Leph vividly saw how the bandit had admired his pa, and how that admiration was rewarded. It was as if his pa has intended to repeat his usual warning, ¡°Don¡¯t admire me and follow my path. If you want to admire someone, admire people like Faugus or Searek,¡± to Leph one more time.


    As usual, Leph ignored his pa¡¯s warnings. He made a detailed note base on his given objectives.


    ¡±As soon as I am done with Xaara, I will book a trip to White Winter. What do I mean by a trip? Well, I promised Hyrios that I would help him defending Zard if he helps me dealing the killing blow to Xaara. I intend to do just that.


    So what are the problems that hinder me from defending Zard? Firstly, there are still a host of bandits, one Judgment army, and the experimental Wind Trope remained in the Golden Triangle. Secondly, down in the South and the West, the Imperial Army of White Winter has already won its objectives at the moment. Thirdly, the newly crowned king of Zard will give White Winter the legitimacy to mobilize their army to ¡®liberate¡¯ Zard from Hyrios and his ¡®false king¡¯. The Duke¡¯s armies are already marching. Lastly, I also am having my hands full dealing with those Demon Lords and their demons that have already been sent to Escana. So, collateral damages will occur wherever I am. Zard would be destroyed if I stay.


    Therefore, I am going to Whiter Winter to turn it into a war zone while Hyrios will stay back to defend his kingdom. The best defense is a good offense. I am taking my war with the Demon Lords to White Winter. I am going to stall the armies of the Dukes from marching to Zard. I am going to make them defend their kingdom. If Lanxer, the Golden Son of Craxus was a smart person that I believe he is, he will withdraw his force to return and defend White Winter. But if he is stupid, whelp¡­ there will be no longer a White Winter for him to return to by the time I reach Kingscrown. So, Warren 023, Morpheus 017, your job is to map out the most convenient paths for me to arrive at the King¡¯s city of White Winter. I¡¯m probably taking two or three dozens of Hyrios¡¯ men with me on this trip. I don¡¯t believe they have known the coldness of White Winter or been outside of Zard. So, keep that in mind when you do the logistics and conversion.¡±


    Leph felt bad for every unfortunate soul who got on the bad side of his pa. His old man was a walking disaster when pissed.


    Leph knew that his pa has intended to use the same secret path to pay a surprise visit to White Winter. The webbed hands draconian carefully mapped out the secret path that Bloodbeard has used to usher his war band into the Golden Triangle without anyone¡¯s notice. Leph drew a map of the various towns that the bandit One-eye had been to, and the paths that he had used to travel across White Winter with Bloodbeard.


    After that, Leph profiled the face and personality of various slavers that had made transactions with Bloodbeard¡¯s war band, members of the Wind Trope and agents of White Winter base on the bandit One-eye¡¯s vague memory. During the briefing, Leph learned that his pa intended to bring back all the slaves and prisoners of war that Bloodbeard¡¯s war band has sold. That assignment was given to a different pair, Warren 006 and Morpheus 019. But One-eye had the information related to that assignment. Finally, Leph made a detail note of the location where the Wind Trope used to hide their troops and mapped out their routine and movement.


    From the knowledge that Leph has learned, the Wind Trope was the latest addition to the Men of No Banner. Just like the other units of the Men of No Banner, the Wind Trope is a unit composed of soldiers without uniform or banner, and no evidence that could trace their connection to White Winter. What made the Wind Trope stood out from the other units of Men of No Banner was their unit¡¯s composition, training, and equipment.


    In the game, the Wind Trope was White Winter¡¯s early-game version of the elite warlock units. As players invested their resources into Magic Research and Alchemy Research, they could recruit warlock units or directly upgrade the Wind Trope into an army of warlocks. Two magic casters would merge into one warlock unit, one acting as the pilot to control their flying device, the other as gunman and wingman. The warlocks can fly across the terrains. They can perform incendiary attack like the witches and fight aerial battles like the dragoons, but lack the siege power that the witches possess and the anti-air prowess that the dragoons have.


    In the lore, the Wind Trope is fully composed of doubled and tripled blessing magic casters. Each member could conjure the miracles of at least two deities or more. The Wind Trope is expected to be able to conjure all miracles from the four patron deities. The Wind Trope employs magic as a tool to solve problems rather than a gift from their patron deities. They do not move or act upon the command of a religious order. They don¡¯t fight shouting honors and justice. They don¡¯t show mercy. They don¡¯t fight with the arrogance of the followers of the Great Gods. They fight wars the way Prince Lanxer has instructed and trained them. The Wind Trope could engineer structures and tools and perform an incendiary attack with Sinintee¡¯s miracles. They could heal wounded troops and solve various logistic problems with Niwdar¡¯s miracles. They could buff combatants, defend points and execute siege attacks with Wonten¡¯s miracles. They can relay intelligence, disrupt the flow of information, or create mirages through Eogaill¡¯s miracles. As a result, their utility is unmatched. Prince Lanxer first employed the Wind Trope as an experimental unit to test the usage of the Philosopher Stone and the newly discovered Military Magic during the invasion of Zard. While Bloodbeard¡¯s war band and the Judgment Army to take the spotlight, the Wind Trope mobilizes in shadow, focusing on testing the Military Magic and using their miracles to solve logistical problems. However, when the war escalated further and the witches decided to strike back, this elite unit was employed as a quick reaction task force on various theatres.


    The bandit One-eye apparently believed that he knew little about the movement of the Wind Trope. But in reality, he learned more than that without realizing it. Leph drew up a line that connected all the invisible details and concluded that the Wind Trope has engineered large camouflaged mounds half a kilometer to the South West of Madukat to hide their troops. If Leph has a specialty to distinguish himself among his peers, it would be the quality of his work. His work was always slow like the grind of time, slow but detailed and sure. He left no important and valuable information out. And like other members of the Warren, he was trained to be excellent at drawing a line connecting the invisible dots between various details and intelligence.


    The grassy mound was artificially erected with the combined usage of various miracles belonged to Wonten and Sinintee, then camouflaged with greenery to blend in with the environment through the blessings of Niwdar. Leph took note of the location. While the task to cripple the Wind Trope was not given to Leph, the intelligence that he could draw out about the Wind Trope would make it easier for the person executing that assignment.


    When the soft-minded bandit has run out of his use to Leph, he signaled the succubi to wrap up. Ainis turned all of the intelligence that Leph recorded into a nail size rainbow-colored pearl. The other four succubi evoked the name of their queen, infused their mana into their magic and multiplied the spectral pearl into two copies. Ainis unraveled her castle of dreams, but not before signing her own name on the dream mist. Leph could not help himself but stare, wondering what drove the succubus to do that.


    Leph soon arrived at the dream castle conjured by Ba¨ª Z¨¦ 001. It was a white hall filled with various members of the DDWD from Warren and Morpheus divisions and their supporting succubi. Everyone sent their orbs to Ba¨ª Z¨¦ 001 for copying into her database, waiting to update their intelligence and collect new assignments.


    ¡°Can you even believe it? They are cursing him. And he asked us to teach them to be mothers. He asked us to teach them to lie to their children.¡± Leph recognized two of his mas, a human and a naga, working in Morpheus complained to each other as they waited for the update of their memory obs and handout for their next assignment. He did not catch their entire conversation. However, Leph drew the conclusion that they were dissatisfied with their previous assignment. Leph quietly darted his eyes around. Warren 001 and Warren 002, the two leaders of the Warren did not present. They have already gone south. Warren 002 was tasked to screen Hyrios¡¯ arriving retinue and his trailing army. Warren 001, on the other hand, was assigned to go straight to King¡¯s city of Zard to gather intelligence. Leph then noticed Morpheus 017, his pairing partner, to quickly exchange and discuss the detail of their assignment. His partner made some small talk about how his succubi partners have just charmed a sleepwalking woman into completing the message intended to Xaara.


    First to arrive,


    First to die


    Xaara the Quick,


    Fall in a click.


    It was a message written to taunt the Demon Lords. But it is more than just a taunt. It is a battle forecast written in stone. It is a final merciful warning given to the Quick Demon Lord, telling him to turn around and run. It is the most self-fulfilling prophecy in the case Xaara would stick to his arrogance. His fall has already been predicted. And yet, Xaara, the person of concerned was still oblivious, using all of his jail time to curse his jailer instead of thinking.


    Leph gave only but some casual comments about the work of his partner before quickly finalized the details of the assignment with him. After that, Leph studied the updated intelligence and allowed his succubi partners to send him to his next destination. His next destination would be in White Winter.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Life is weird. Just like my madness and its faithful instrument, life strikes without warning. It is unapologetic for its wrongness. It is cold and indifferent to the tragedies it creates. It beat people up for no reason. Life is weird.


    So do I. I am weird.


    I died first before I got to live. I saw what Madness is first before I got to understand what sanity is like. A feral beast, a mindless fighter, a remorseless killer I was first before I am a child. A slave first before I am a free man. I am just as weird as life could be.


    But my pa, he is a different beast, for life can never be as weird as he is.


    His existence, his story, his thought, his action, his life is weirder than life could ever be.


    ¡°The unicorn of madmen,¡± my mamas called him. I don¡¯t know which one, the first person among the dozens of thousands of them to give him that epithet. But I have always thought that epithet summed up his character very well.


    The proverb ¡°a unicorn among unicorns¡± means ¡°a weirdo among the weirdoes.¡±


    ¡®The unicorn of madmen¡¯ is the madman of madmen. The weirdest and strangest specimen of the madman of the world, my pa is.


    But, as weird as he is, as mad as he is, my pa, there is nothing that I would not do for him.


    Thousands of my mamas and the combining mass of their love for him could not match my sum.


    He is my life, my sanity, my childhood, my freedom, my home, my dream, my dad, the one and only that I had ever had. There is nothing that I would not do for him. To the cold, unapologetic world with its Gods and Demon Lords and its Game of Chaos, everything that is trying to take him away from me, ¡®Beware, Beware, Beware.¡¯


    I am my pa¡¯s son. He warns first and strikes later. So do I, naturally.


    ¡°Beware of me.¡±


    Al-Lepherasus,

 Side story 2: True Chaos Is Planned and Made, not Born

    The worship of Naharis dated back to the golden age of mythology and legend, the age when the Titans and the Gods still walked the ground of Escana. Naharis was the One True God. The All-Father, the Creator, the Gifter, the Protector, the Savior. He was everything but the cold embrace of Death. His children were but the extension of his greatness and magnanimity. Back then, those who worshipped Naharis as the one true God of Escana would worship his children in the same reverence. That age has long gone. The Dusk of Naharis has come and gone with Naharis¡¯ ultimate destruction. The First Great War, too, was already a bloodied stain of the past. The Titans, Naharis¡¯ beloved creations, were but bones, ashes, and stories of the long-gone ages. Still, the worship of Naharis persisted.


    Those who still worshipped Naharis as the one true God of Escana would carve an oath on their chest. ¡°Live for His glory. Die for His vengeance.¡±


    Eolli, Morpheus 009 grew up bearing such mark on top of her full, ample breasts. She was told that was her only purpose. Her life was devoted to spreading Naharis¡¯ glory. Her death was to bring justice to his demise. She was raised to bear that oath unquestioned loyalty and pride. The very day Eolli bore that oath on her chest, she was no longer a nameless slave in the servitude of the cult. She gained a name, a Titan¡¯s name. She was embraced and accepted as a sister of the cult. By swearing the oath, she gained a name, a purpose, and a sisterhood. So Eolli has never questioned the goodness of the oath.


    ¡°Live for His glory. Die for His vengeance.¡±


    The followers of Naharis¡¯ worship were scorned as the occultist of the Dark God. Naharis¡¯ avengers were mocked by the ungrateful world as the Demon Lords of Kharigan, bastard children of Naharis, mistakes. But to Eolli and her people, they were the follower of the One True Gods. And they, who Escana called Demon Lords, were the true Saviors and Gods of Escana.


    Why must she fight for a God, who had already become just a shadow of his old self, who was not even fully alive? Why must she die for his avengers? Why this, why that. Neither Eolli nor the people around her asked such questions. That was how the adults lived, that was how the children were raised, that was how the slaves and captives were taught. That¡¯s how a follower of the dark God was.


    Eolli was taught not to fear the cold embrace of Death in the process of dying for the greater cause. ¡°You will not see Death. You shall not answer to Death.¡± Eolli was taught.


    If she died for Lust¡¯s wish, she would simply reborn in Lust¡¯s ardent, most desired image. If she died to sate Gluttony¡¯s hunger, she would become one with Gluttony and be a God. If she died for Leshy, she would be welcomed to live the afterlife within his fruity forest. If she died for Sanguine, she shall be heralded as his Champions and his cherished heralder for an eternity to come. If she died in Flok¨ª¡¯s name, she would be the happiest woman in the world, always smiling in blissful happiness into the end of time.


    To die for Naharis¡¯ vengeance, to die for his avengers was a special privilege, a reward.


    So, Eolli was taught. So, she was promised. So, she believed.


    ¡°And so, you shall be rewarded for your devotion.¡± Never would Eolli forget that sentence, that sweet musical voice, and the person who whispered sentence that to her.


    Never would Eolli forget the uplifting elation inside her heart when she heard that honeyed promise poured into her mind. And the betrayal, the appalling, the hurt, the madness that followed.


    The world is a cold, unapologetic and unforgiving playground for the Gods to play their game of Chaos. And mortals, regardless of who they were, king or peasant, holy maiden or whore, hero or thief, are just pieces and instruments of Chaos.


    Never, Eolli promised. Her accursed deceivers and tormentors, she vowed not to forgive them.


    Never, Eolli swore not to forget. In that dimly lit bowel of madness, he appeared as though the darkness itself has arisen. It was as though a starless night has turned into a man and wept for the madness of the world. Never, she swore not to forget, that harrowed, tearful face of the man who appeared out of nowhere to end her torment.


    36,591 days he has been by her side. It was lengthy of time in the real world but laughingly short in dreamland.


    But a normal person would have fed up and given up on her a long time ago. Not him. The length that he has gone for her was madness, in and of itself. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m here,¡± he said that sentence again, again, and again. He asked nothing. Her salty tears, he drank. Her sanguineous craze he absorbed. Her torment he ended. Her bitter and hurt he comforted. The void inside her heart, the ache in her womb, he filled. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m here,¡± he said, enveloping her inside his warm comfort. He demanded nothing from her. Not her thank, not appreciation, not her love, not her wisdom, not her loyalty, nothing. 36,591 days he has been by her side, granting her a blissful peace and a wholesome love, asking nothing in return.


    Her love, her rest, her loyalty, and her soul belong to him and him alone. Never to be given to someone else. Never, Eolli pledged.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    When a person saw that absurd scene played out before her eyes, she would believe that she had seen everything.


    The Gods of Kharigan told a man that he was an insufferable conceited fool for acting against them. The man mocked the Gods to be a bunch of brain-dead morons for dragging him into their game despite not knowing what he could do.


    The Gods declared that they would punish the man, giving him an endless torment to the infinity of time. The man declared that he would end the Gods, their games and their era.


    The Gods mocked the man that he could only win against them because he was dreaming. The man laughed at the Gods, telling them that if they could not win against him inside a dream, what hope do they have in winning against him in reality.


    The Gods dared the man to free them from their prisons. The man dared the Gods to free themselves from their prisons.


    The Gods labeled a man ¡°Mad¡± because he declared his intention to fight them and then fought them for real. The man called the Gods ¡°Mad¡± because they dragged him into their game over a prophecy.


    Who is right? Who is wrong? Who is conceited? Who is humble? Who is stupid? Who is smart?


    Does it matter?


    Both sides are wrong. Both sides are arrogant. Both sides are stupid. Both sides are equally mad.


    From her objective point of view, Eolli reckoned that the world is mad. The Gods are mad. And her man, the Prince, who declared war on the world and Gods for real, must be a unicorn among madmen, Eolli sighed inwardly.


    Unicorns are often regarded as the weirdest creature that Mother Nature has created. They could sniff out if a female¡¯s hymen was torn or intact. They could tell if a female was pure, virgin and be of undiluted elven pedigree, or unpure. They don¡¯t allow themselves to be tamed. They only allow pure elven females to ride them. They could tread and run on the surface of the water for a limited time. Their blood heals wounds and lifts curses. No creature is as weird as the unicorns. Therefore, the proverb ¡°a unicorn among unicorns¡± means ¡°a weirdo among the weirdoes.¡± The ¡®unicorn among madmen¡¯ is the madman of madmen.


    Therefore, she, who wishes to be the extension of that madman¡¯s madness, must be mad, Eolli exasperated over how she has come to terms with that. But if she wasn¡¯t already mad, she could not walk among his Morpheus.


    The Baku is the Prince¡¯s merciless fist to hold the Gods in one place for his executioners to slay them.


    The Morpheus is the magical, deft hand of the Prince, allowing him to mold and reshape the world as he pleases.


    The Warren is the farseeing eyes, sharp ears, and lifeblood of the Prince¡¯s body and body extension.


    The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ is the invisible sixth sense of the Prince, warning the Prince of the calamities of the world and the tides of war.


    The chief of the Divine Dream Warfare Department, the Queen of the Succubi, the Red Queen herself has once sung, telling her subjects just how great their role would be in the Prince¡¯s vision.


    It sounded beautiful and inspiring when the Red Queen said it in her lovely ardent voice. ¡°Members of the Morpheus exist only to shape the world as the Prince¡¯s decrees. Your role is to turn his dream into reality.¡± Her words were as beautiful as they were mystifying. So the Prince translated, ¡°If I can do something, you must be able to do it as well. If you can do something, I can do it as well. Share and instill this mindset among yourself and your dream hosts.¡± That is a very unrealistic and ambitious goal to set.


    Be able to do everything that the Prince can do, that is what it takes to be a Morpheus.


    If the Prince commanded Eolli to make an incompetent king competent, that king shall go to sleep and an incompetent king and wake up competent. If the Prince commanded Eolli to turn a hardened soldier into a child, ¡°Consider it¡¯s done,¡± she would reply. If the Prince told Eolli to make a brilliant general stupid, ¡°That¡¯s easy,¡± she would laugh as any member of the Morpheus would.


    But her Prince gave Eolli a list of faces and told her, ¡°Teach these scarred beasts to live standing on their feet. Make them independent of me. I¡¯m not going to fight this war with my arms and feet tie to them.¡±


    At the time, Eolli shook her head in disbelief and grabbed her Prince by his collar. Madness, she thought. ¡°If you are going to be a busybody, worry about your own safety first. If you want to protect someone, protect yourself first,¡± pleaded Eolli in a furious voice. No longer had Eolli had any delusion about her Prince being a selfless saint, a gallant warrior or an otherworldly prince. In dreamland, where time drifted infinitely, Eolli had outlived such na?ve, romantic delusion of hers. She realized that he was nothing but a hopeless mad fool. She could no longer admire him. She pitied him. He could cure people¡¯s madness but not his own. Not that he had any intention to rid or cure himself of his madness. That. That¡¯s what made it nearly impossible for anyone to cure his madness. It was something everyone has accepted and resigned.


    Her Prince commanded Eolli to make a group of beasts, that could barely speak their name, human. Thus, Eolli played the dual role of being a teacher and babysitter to every face appeared on that list. Her Prince has given them, the scarred beasts, his promise to welcome and protect them until they could stand on their feet. So if Eolli could make them stand on their feet through a Divine Dream, her Prince was freed from his promise.


    By the time Eolli began her work on the third case, she realized that she was trapped in a loop. It was a dull repetitive cycle of spending years to befriend her dream hosts, gaining their trust, getting them to share their hurt, and alleviating their hurt bit by bit. Then, Eolli would teach them a repertoire of life skills. Making weapons and tools, hunting, fighting, killing, reading and writing, sewing, cooking, trading. Eolli did not just teach them. She trained them, but never as hard as her Prince has trained her.


    When her dream hosts cried because of the toll of the training on their mind, Eolli would signal her succubi partners to comfort their mind, channeling their charm magic on Eolli. Eolli would hug her dream hosts and reinvigorate them to train again. She did not allow her dream hosts to quit halfway.


    Chaos is volatile and unpredictable. Therefore, in order for a person to survive the chaos, that person must be lucky, skillful, adapting and wise. Eolli gave them but small, acute wisdom to avoid the inbounding claws of carnage and the wheel of chaos. That was her lucky charm given to them. Even if they leaked this small piece of wisdom, it would do nothing to her Prince¡¯s vision. When her job was done, Eolli told her dream host to be thankful to her Prince and to stay away from him.


    Eolli was repeating herself, moving from one identical case to another. Her work was dull, repetitive, and drawn-out enough that Eolli could make a manual and formulas out of her works. And so she did just that, compiling a manual and formulas of her past experiences in order to accelerate the later cases.


    Around the sixth case, Eolli learned to not to treat all of her dream hosts equally. She was reminded again that the same knife, that is used to stab five women¡¯s heart in the same motion and force, could leave vastly different puncture marks. The size, the shape and the severity of the wounds varied from person to person. The fact, that until now Eolli and her colleagues have used the stupid people of dreamland and themselves as the experimental guinea pigs to conduct their study, had its drawbacks.


    Normal people could never be as resilient and stubborn as those stupid people of dreamland. Normal people, who had not seen, heard, and suffered the true work of madness, would be vastly different. Eolli thought that it was by the blessing of pure madness that her Prince had saved many people from Sanguine. Ending their confinement and removing their chain was just the beginning, the easiest part. Removing the venom, too, was easy enough. Having the patience and heart to undo the work of madness was the hardest part. Her encounter with the drawbacks deepened Eolli¡¯s appreciation for her Prince. With that, a sneaking shadow of a doubt. Eolli questioned if he had ever truly loved her.


    Eolli realized just how toxic and strange her line of work was. The more she tried to unravel and change in the mind of another person, the more she understood of her own shadow and weakness.


    Eolli¡¯s mental age has outgrown the desire to be reciprocated by her Prince. She would accept it if he would not. She would be very happy if he did. For a short 36,591 days, he has been by her side, giving Eolli his undivided attention. He cried for her. He smiled for her and he filled her heart and body with love. For a short 36,591 days, he was hers alone. Eolli thought that was enough.


    Eolli has understood and accepted her place in the world. Eolli was not a peerless beauty, a woman carved out of breathtaking loveliness and ardent desires like the Red Queen. Even with stylish makeup on her face and glamorous dresses, Eolli knew that she could never be comparable to those high elves of the Baku, the golden apples in the eyes of any male.


    She was never the smartest, the strongest, the bravest, or the kindest. When she came across the term ¡°Plain Jane¡± in her study, Eolli immediately thought of herself. That, she was. So, she had come to terms with various matters. But Eolli questioned if he had ever truly loved her. It does not matter, Eolli sighed. She shook her head and faithfully continued her work.


    Eolli worked diligently and tirelessly. Eolli wired herself to think that her dream hosts were not patients needed to be treated but friends. There is no shortcut in mending a wounded heart or gluing a fragmented mind. There is no leeway in learning how to hunt with a bow and arrow. There is no short or easy path to learning how to fight and defend oneself. It is a process for the teacher and the student, the healer, and the patient. Eolli¡¯s work was a slow grind, but sure, a process with a clear goal.


    The progress of time and the importance of reality became lost inside the Divine Dream. ¡°Neither time nor reality matters,¡± in URLOX¡¯s words. That¡¯s why a person must cling to other values such as his own progression and his own reality. Otherwise, he would go mad or degenerate. That¡¯s why inside a Divine Dream, a person¡¯s greatest foes were himself and his own perception of things.


    A useless person could become useful with the right mindset and training. Correcting a person¡¯s mindset and give that person the correct training requires time. But we have all the time in the world, her Prince always repeated that line to encourage his subjects. He was often wise and intelligent, but once in every now and then, he would be bafflingly stupid and crazy. It was hard to predict his thought and action. It was hard to tell which was acting and which was real. It was hard, but not impossible, as Eolli has learned.


    Practice makes perfect. Eolli did not allow her dream hosts, her students, to lose to themselves and give up. Even if their body would not gain a spurt of strength and benefit from her training when they wake up, the experience that they gained from the training would make a stark difference. She taught them to keep on walking. There were times that they would get angry at her for the training and the over-preparation that Eolli has forced upon them. But there is no such thing as being over-prepared in the face of chaos. When chaos comes, no amount of preparation is ever enough. That, Eolli has learned firsthand. So, she kept pushing them. The stronger they become, the more independent they become, the less worried and distracted her Prince would be.


    Her work was draining but not always thankless and rewardless. Eolli found a small joy and resemblance of reward whenever her dream hosts could smile and be freed from their inner demon. Her Prince taught Eolli and the members of his DDWD to be happy for someone else¡¯s happiness. ¡°That, alone, is enough of a reward,¡± he often said. ¡°Condition yourself to be happy. Thus you will be,¡± he also said. He was truly an insane man. His recipe for happiness was insane. He was happy because he wired himself to feel happy. That¡¯s just insane. It was because the Prince was like that, during her own training, Eolli and many of her friends and colleagues could not help but wondered if he wired himself to be strong. Nothing seemed to faze him. No force seemed able to put a crack on his mind.


    Eolli found joy when her students made an improvement. She found a small, bubbling happiness when her students could crack their own jokes and appreciate the training. But Eolli did not forget to make a record of the useful intelligence from the memory of her dream hosts. One of the women encountered a real demon without realizing. Aside from that, there is a lot of beneficial information to draw out from their memory. The power of the Divine Dream spared no respect of privacy to a person¡¯s memory, and thus, neither a member of the DDWD.


    When it was her turn, Erinys¡¯ turn, the girl who has earned his special attention and golden coins, Eolli gave her special treatment. Her Prince has given Eolli his permission to be harsh with the training. And so she did.


    Eolli taught the other women to hunt hares and small games. But she trained the girl Erinys to put down something much bigger and heavier. Eolli taught the other women to fight smart for their own protection. But she beat Erinys to fight hard and smart. She beat Erinys to be a soldier and a protector. Eolli taught the other women to evade chaos. But she made Erinys dove into chaos and swam. It did not matter if the girl¡¯s petite physical body could not keep up with the burden of the tasks. Eolli did not care if the girl lacked the talents and aptitudes for the task.


    ¡°It is a must,¡± Eolli repeatedly told herself and the girl. ¡°You are already on harm¡¯s list,¡± said Eolli.


    With Erinys, there is no room for weakness or delay in her training or retreat.


    The Prince has given the girl his special care, attention, and promises. And many of the Gods had not missed on that. The three Gods of Madness certainly did not miss on that. The girl was most unfortunate to have the Prince as her savior. She was dragged into his swirl of chaos and battles.


    Eolli was especially hard on Erinys. She did not become a friend with the girl. She abused and yelled at the girl more than often. She whipped and caned the girl to complete her training. She punished the girl mercilessly whenever the girl failed her exercises and training. Eolli played the role of a cruel mistress to perfection. When Erinys cried, when her mental health reached a critical breaking point, Eolli made the succubi to make their appearance, playing the role of friends and fairy godmothers for Erinys. Eolli taught the succubi how to help the girl and encourage her to keep going with the training.


    Her relationship with Erinys was set to be a cruel trainer and a student, nothing else.


    The Erinys lacked the strength to properly wield a long sword or anything too heavy. Eolli taught the petite girl to wield a high elf slim sword, a bizarrely shaped weapon that looked like a fusion of a one-handed sword and a rapier in one blade. The hilt of a slim sword featured a thin knuckle guard, a one-handed grip handle, and a wide crossguard. The blade of the slim sword was extra wide at forte then abruptly tapered down to a long, acute and wicked point. Eolli taught Erinys only the basics and allowed Erinys to learn her weapon on her own through practice and sparring.


    Eolli, by no mean, was a one-man-army monster like Lortenite. She was also far from being a one-person army like the leader of Baku. One could part the cloud ocean on the sky and will a storm into existence. The other sneezed and an army scattered. Those two were impossible to become. No amount of training could turn a normal person into monsters like them. The mindset ¡°Because you can, thus I can,¡± does not work on the two of them. But Eolli has trained hard enough to be able to bring down squadrons of angry orcs if her Prince commanded her. Eolli beat the same mindset into the mind of the girl first and the punishing lessons into her shape later.


    Because the reality inside the Divine Dream is separated from the reality of the outside world, Erinys would not gain any muscle and physical strength from her training. Her physical body would remain the same. Adding to the fact that Erinys was sorely lacking in both intuition and natural talent, Eolli drilled her to think fast on her feet even in the heat of combat to make up for her physical prowess. There is no amount of training could make Erinys thinking on her feet as fast as the Prince himself, nobody could, no amount of training could. It is impossible to teach a person to be a one-man army. But Eolli made sure that the girl was as competent and adaptable as she could be.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Every dreamland day, Erinys was given some short personal hours to meditate and prepare for her lessons or find comfort with her golden coins and fairy godmothers (dream demons). After that, it was relentless 12 to 18 dreamland hours of training with Eolli. Eolli sparred with Erinys using a wide array of weapons and equipment, from saber to quarterstaff, light armor to heavy armor. The sparring field was randomized in every session. It was not always flat land. It changed from one session to another, ranging from a small deck of a rocking boat to a snow-filled land. Eolli did not allow Erinys to grow used to deal with one weapon or situation in specific. Eolli taught the girl to poke and parry with the slim sword while solving puzzles at the same time. Her mind must focus and multitask on both the fight and the puzzles. Failing either one aspect of the task means pain and punishment.


    Erinys repeatedly learned the pain from both failing to parry with her slim sword to failing the puzzles. Failing both means double the pain, double the punishment.


    ¡°There is a life and death battle to be fought and important puzzles to be solved. So, deal with both at the same time. Fight the fight and solve the puzzles at the same time.¡±


    It was the same, much hated, much-feared ritual and much despairing trial that every member of the Morpheus must go through. It was a part of the compulsory training for the Morpheus and the Baku. Staffers from the other Departments and Divisions of the DDWD did not have to go through this training course. Their role and responsibility do not require them to go through this course. But the staffers of the Morpheus and Baku knew this training best.


    The ritual was a caricature to the one that the Prince has gone through.


    It was how those two sadistic monsters of the Baku and the Executioner squad had beaten their lessons into the Prince¡¯s mind. The difficulty and purpose of the training would scale accordingly to a person¡¯s potential and power. The abilities he received from URLOX were remarkably powerful that it was pointless for him to learn how to fight with a weapon. Adding the fact that his mind was abnormally fast, he was accompanied by three one-man army monsters as his sparring partners.


    The Prince was tasked to survive those three for as long as he could while solving an endless amount of puzzles. His training was a contest of survival against unwinnable foes.


    For the Baku, this combat ritual taught them to outlast their opponents. For a Morpheus, the ritual is all about outwitting and overcoming the stronger opponent.


    Eolli has gone through the same ritual, sparring with various members of the executioner squad as her opponents while solving some difficult puzzles. But sometimes, the Sword Demon herself would grace Eolli with her (promise of a certain failure) presence.


    Eolli remembered failing her exercises and tasks more than she had succeeded. This sadistic ritual just designed to make people quit and gave up from the pain and despairing amount of failures, that or become a Morpheus or a Baku.


    Eolli made Erinys go through the same ritual of pain and despair. As Erinys improved, bit by bit, the difficulty of the training scaled along. It was no longer just a face to face kind of sparring. Eolli widened the sparring field, teaching Erinys to fight various combat situations. The girl had no aptitude and understanding of magic. Eolli drilled the knowledge of magic and spells into her head and taught the girl to walk around her lack of aptitude. Eolli taught Erinys to shoot with a horse bow and throw projectiles.


    As the training became more taxing, demanding and painful, the girl¡¯s sense of pain dulled. She could take hit without flinching. Eolli told her succubus partners to recalibrate the Divine Dream through their racial power, altering the senses of a person. Pain is a good teacher for the girl who is still learning the limits of her body.


    It was precisely because Erinys was truly the weakest among Eolli¡¯s assignment; Eolli was especially harsh on her. She was so weak and hapless in both the department of physics and will that it was worrying. Eolli feared that her Prince would be killed as long as Erinys remained the same, his burden and Achilles heel. Greed could supplement the girl with protective charms and enchanted items. But if Erinys remained dependent on her Prince, no amount of protective charms and enchanted items is ever enough. Thus, Eolli made sure to grind the girl into a soldier and a protector.


    Eolli could count more than two hands worthy of fingers, the number of times that Erinys had quitted everything completely. Eolli left the task to the succubi more than half of the time. Other than that, Eolli dragged the girl out of her retreat by force or by abuse. She threatened to take away the coins from the girl. Eolli would employ various tricks and devices to get the girl out of her retreat, and back to the training again.


    Erinys did not know that the hardest part of her training has not come yet.


    ¡°Our dreams, ours,¡± that is the motto of the Morpheus, the ultimate goal and training of the Morpheus.


    When Erinys achieved a satisfactory result with her combat training, Eolli started teaching the girl to wrestle away the control of the Divine Dream from Eolli and the succubi.


    Eolli asked Erinys to manifest the miracle existing inside the coins that the Prince has given to her.


    For the first time, the girl surprised Eolli. She did not just surprise Eolli. She shocked her and the succubi. That talentless petite girl did a magnificent job in her first exercise. The Prince¡¯s golden coins have no real enchantment of their own. Their magic and power were invented, a lie. So are their replicas, a product of the Divine Dream, have no enchantment and powerless. And the succubi have made sure that the coins were without an enchantment.


    It was a lie that the coins granted bravery and courage to their holders. In front of Eolli¡¯s eyes, Erinys effortlessly willed that invented power and lie into the reality. While holding the coins, Erinys did not just become brave. She became unflinchingly fearless.


    For someone who struggled so haplessly through the first half of her training, that petite girl shocked Eolli throughout the length of the second half of her training.


    It took Eolli nearly two toiling centuries to achieve the state, ¡°Our dreams, ours,¡± that Prince described. That was about the average record. Erinys cruised through the second half of her training in lesser than a year just by holding those fake coins. She actually completed the second half of her training before she saw the end of the first half.


    Eolli could not tell if the girl was a genius or not.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ is a fantastic beast from Chinese legend. It is said to be a wise beast that possesses the intimate knowledge of every supernatural creature existing in the world, whether that supernatural creature is good or evil or neutral. The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ often lends its wisdom to the common men on how to placate and overcome their conflicts with the supernatural creatures. There are various depictions of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦. The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ could be a sacred beast of goodness, as kindhearted as it is wise, appearing to warn men about future calamity or lending them its benevolent wisdom to ward off the haunting evil of the world. The Ba¨ª Z¨¦ also has another depiction, being the harbinger of evil and calamity. Once it appears, calamities and evil would ensue without fail. Depending on which depiction, the Ba¨ª Z¨¦ could be either a force of good or evil.


    But the Prince¡¯s Ba¨ª Z¨¦ is another beast entirely, as every member of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦ has been taught, neither a force of good nor evil.


    ¡°There are many things I could never understand, back then when I was on Earth and now when I am on Escana. They call this game, the Reign of Chaos. From a mortal¡¯s standpoint and a gamer¡¯s standpoint, it is Chaos for sure. There is no set of rules. There is no law, no pattern, no similarity, no nothing. War just happens because it happens. People just go mad because they go mad. Good people become evil because they just do. Warlords just exist because they simply do. But then again, if you look from an Immortal¡¯s point of view, this is not Chaos. They have an Arbiter to settle the disputes between the various factions. They have a set of laws and rules, albeit flimsy and tricky like the rules of a gambling den. As long as they don¡¯t get caught cheating, it¡¯s all right. But still, rules are rules. Don¡¯t you think that this is strange? They call this the Reign of Chaos. And yet, they have a set of laws and rules to play this game. Rules and laws are like the opposite of chaos, the makers of order. Why there are laws and rules in a game called the Reign of Chaos? Don¡¯t you think that this is strange?¡± Questioned the Prince on the very first day he founded the Ba¨ª Z¨¦.


    ¡°It is strange, isn¡¯t it? Why must this game be played on Escana and not Kharigan or Coeles? Why mortals must die for Immortals¡¯ conflicts? Why must the Rulers of the other spirit realms side with either Coeles or Kharigan? Why can¡¯t they just take care of their own business? Why can¡¯t they leave Escana alone? Why the soul of Escana must belong to either those who live on Coeles or those who live on Kharigan? Why the one who can inherit the Great Throne must either be a God or a Demon Lord? Why the one who can wear the Crown must be a Child of Naharis? Why a game called the Reign of Chaos has so many rules? I have wasted a lot of time thinking about these questions. And when I say, I have wasted a lot of my time thinking about these questions, I mean it. I have wasted an unhealthy amount of time thinking about these questions. I am done with these questions. I had enough of asking myself these questions. It is about the damn time that I must grow over them. And I need you to do this, Ba¨ª Z¨¦.¡±


    If Chaos has a form, he was fair, a statue of immaculate loveliness. Dark enchanting eyes complimented a fair, smiley face was Chaos. Arms wide opened with a sweet, irresistible invitation, a light trap to lure in irreversible catastrophes and maddened cataclysms.


    ¡°Instead of asking myself, why must this game be played on Escana and not Kharigan or Coeles? I will bring this game to Kharigan and Coeles and play it there. Instead of asking myself, why mortals must die for Immortals¡¯ conflicts? I shall slay Immortals for the conflicts between mortals. Instead of asking, why must the Rulers of the other spirit realms side with either Coeles or Kharigan? I shall make them choose to either be on my side, stay neutral, or be erased. Instead of asking, why the soul of Escana must belong to either those who live on Coeles or those who live on Kharigan? I would say, let the soul of Escana belong to the people living on Escana. Instead of asking, why a game called the Reign of Chaos has so many rules? I shall show everyone what a game called the Reign of Chaos should look like. There is no place for Order. There is no room for law or rule. In the Reign of Chaos, only Chaos exists and Chaos reigns supreme. This is how I shall grow over these unanswered questions.¡±


    If Chaos has a voice, he was speaking. He was declaring his intention. Comparing to him, Death seemed to be a warm, merciful mistress. Madness seemed to be an oddly good, preferable master.


    ¡°Ba¨ª Z¨¦, I need you to be the prophets who predict and warn people about the incoming of Chaos but also be the precipitance of Chaos. In another wording, you are the heralder of Chaos who disguises as the Hailer of Order. Just as I say, in the Reign of Chaos, only Chaos exists. Only Chaos reigns supreme.¡±


    If Chaos has a will, he was penning his will down with a childlike innocent smile on his fairest face. The world remained oblivious of his will. ¡°The world needs not to know, not yet.¡± His will was quiet and humble, spoken in a dream and to 25 beasts, neither as grand as that of the Creator¡¯s prophecy as divinely as that of a prophecy of Gods and Demon Lords.


    The Creators grandly pronounced their prophecy to the world. Gods and Demon Lords spoke theirs to their Champion in their divine fashion. Death confidently pronounced hers to the participants of the Great Game. The Creator¡¯s prophecy spoke of a Prince and the succession of the person who was chosen by that Prince. But Death pronounced that Prince to be hers, she, the Arbiter who existed to referee the game. Thus, her prophecy conflicted with the Creators¡¯ words. But it wasn¡¯t just Death¡¯s prophecy. Every prophecy, that has been uttered, formed a web of conflicts to either one or many of the other prophecies.


    So the Prince of The Alliance naturally ordained his in a humble, soft whispering voice. ¡°When I wake up, it¡¯s already Game Over.¡± His first prophecy was whispered in a most saddened voice. His prophecy clashed with every prophecy that had ever been pronounced. ¡°Only one prophecy can come true,¡± he smiled a wry smile, telling his war beasts, raised and trained for the sake of Chaos, that he wholeheartedly wished that he was wrong. ¡°That¡¯s my first prophecy. So, Ba¨ª Z¨¦, pronounce it, realize it.¡±


    The Prince¡¯s Ba¨ª Z¨¦, it is neither a fantastic beast representing the force of good nor evil.


    The Prince¡¯s Ba¨ª Z¨¦ possesses his darkest secrets, his unspoken intention, his maddened patience, his chaos, his will, his wisdom.


    It is born, fed, raised, and trained for purpose of Chaos. It lives a cruel, disguised life. It lives, predicting the will of Chaos to people like an agent of Order, hiding its fangs and claws, its truest nature. It is the only animal in the world that knows the true form and true face of Chaos. The Prince¡¯s Ba¨ª Z¨¦ exists solely for the sake of realizing the promised day, the day when Chaos reigning supreme.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Of all twenty-five members of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦ released to the world, only one stayed within the close vicinity of the Prince¡¯s physical body, acting as the Prince¡¯s personal alarm and point of contact with the rest of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦.


    Moniy, Ba¨ª Z¨¦ 001, the current substituted leader of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦, was working inside her recently constructed castle of dreams. Her castle of dreams was a house full of memory orbs with messenger succubi came and went.


    All 25 members of the DDWD were taught to keep a distance from the physical body of the Prince for various safety reasons. Wherever the Prince goes, he draws the spotlight of attention with him. The eyes and ears of Gods and Demon Lords would point toward him. Thus, anyone and any being staying near him would be inadvertently brought to the spotlight of attention, which is never a good thing for any staffer of DDWD who is supposed to work in the shadow.


    Being the Prince¡¯s personal danger alarms and chief of the Ba¨ª Z¨¦, Moniy was asked to tread the thin, delicate circumference of spotlight and shadow surrounding the Prince¡¯s body. She must be physically near the Prince to quickly warn him of the dangers and chaos, but at the same time, staying away from the spotlight collared around his body to avoid attracting unwanted attention to her own self. That put a strange limit on Moniy and her work, making her dependent on the fact that someone must be asleep around the Prince¡¯s physical body at all times. Without someone being asleep, Moniy¡¯s succubi could not construct a castle of dreams to provide a secure working space for Moniy. Such a limit could be lifted with the help of Greed¡¯s avarice items and blessings. But that had to be delayed at the moment.


    Moniy¡¯s current dream host was a pitiable old maid, the oldest among the harem of the slain bandit lord. Moniy and her succubi could easily detect the woman¡¯s confusion and fear toward her uncertain future.


    Since the moment the woman had caught the eyes of the bandit lord, she lived a much confused and afraid life. For nearly a decade, she lived a wakeful endless nightmare, knowing that her fate has been enslaved to the bandit lord¡¯s life and successes. She slept, suffering countless graphic nightmares that she would, one day, be pushed down and violated by the bandit lord¡¯s lawless brutes at the moment of his death. The bandit lord made a living on the spoils of wars and plundering trips. Thus, wherever he went, she followed. She lived, constantly dragging her cold feet and running from places to places with the bandit lord¡¯s war band, not knowing if tomorrow would come.


    She had the intuition to understand that the bandit lord did not love her. What he loved was her exact image. Her only meaningful purpose in life was to bleach her hair white and dye it in the green of Zardian¡¯s summer reed, walked and talked as if she was the bandit lord¡¯s deceased mother. Her nightmares only intensified with every wrinkle formed on her forehead and the appearance of her younger images. One was a noble lady and the other was a virgin follower of the Lady of the Light. And unlike her, a lumpy old maid, her younger images were much brighter, fairer and bolder. Since, she had lived fearing the approach of that darkened tomorrow, not knowing when the bandit lord¡¯s cunning rationality would grow bore of her and toss her to his brutes, whoring her for their morale and loyalty.


    The bandit lord lived, she was afraid. The bandit lord was killed, she was afraid and confused.


    It was depressing for Moniy to watch her dream host¡¯s memory. Moniy instructed her partner succubi to soothe the woman¡¯s mind with a bright, pleasant dream, a promise of a better tomorrow as a rental fee for using her sleep to construct a castle of dreams.


    Moniy, being a woman herself and an old lover of Prince Fearless, had been through a similar phase and thus could relate to her dream host. It was a phase that most, if not every freed slave of Sanguine, have gone through.


    The Prince was not Moniy¡¯s first and only lover. He might not be the strongest of a man, a ripen body of sheeny muscles. He might not have a strong serpentine lower half to twine around Moniy¡¯s lower body and squeeze her into a coiling embrace. He might not have a back laden with glistening scales. His mouth was a land of foul and blight, caustic and especially venomous every now and then. He loved to argue and pick a fight despite being so physically weak. He was an infuriating, disagreeable man with a big attitude. But he was everything else that Moniy has ever romanticized about a lover. He was more than just ardent fantasy standing on two feet. He was more than just a promise of passion, fervent steeped kisses, and steamy endless sexes.


    Her Prince was gentle and understanding when it counted the most. He has stayed by her side for the longest of time, over two-century, helping her patching up the pieces of her fragmented soul. He was always with her whenever the vague phantom craze came over and the Whisperer¡¯s phantom voices twisted Moniy¡¯s mind with its cruel malevolence. He has seen Moniy in her ugliest moments, when she cried, retched and tortured herself like a maddened crone. Yet, he oddly accepted her.


    Being a naga herself, Moniy was as fiercely possessive and territorial as any female naga could have been when she was alive. By Nature¡¯s ordinance, male nagas were born to cheat on their partner whenever the chance presented and female nagas were conceived to be unforgiving of the thieving snakes and her cheating partner. Since the moment Moniy was born, she has always been the strongest and most sought out of the stronger sex. It was a meager fragment of her old pride, what left of Moniy when she was alive. She detested how ugly and mad she looked in a mirror in contrast to how fair he appeared. Swollen vacant eyes devoid of thought, tears smudged face, untended mane, unpolished scales, hopelessly insane. She loathed how she could only live crying and suffering and depending on his kindness.


    When the pieces of her pride succumbed to the darkness of her heart, she lashed out her violence at him, her savior, with malevolent intents and maddened shame. Even so, he remained by her side even. ¡°It¡¯s all right. I know. I know. It¡¯s not your fault,¡± he spoke to her and smothered her teary face inside his comfort. Moniy has always hated just how oddly natural it was for her to weakly cry inside his embrace. But Moniy just could not help but act like a spoilt girl around him. When Moniy requested him to be her lover in a strange flushed voice and he nodded his head, she has never been happier in her entire life.


    Moniy has thought she knew happiness. But, she was wrong. Happiness was not defeating a queen in a ritual of combat and becoming the queen. Happiness was not a pillared throne of exquisite jewels and dashing gold. Happiness was not a diamond-tipped trident. Happiness was not subservient bow and envy laden eyes from her lesser.


    The jagged edge tentacles of madness would come, plowing the inside of her brain. The blaring sirens of the Whisperer would manifest, disrupting her peace. The vague branding visions would project, standing between Moniy and her happiness. But Moniy was oddly fine with their cruel, rude intrusions and how miserable they made her. He was always by her side, readied to smother her tortured body inside his kind, loving embrace.


    Living with him inside that small seaside love nest, Moniy could not even recognize herself.


    Moniy has never known such small and modest happiness, such strange happiness. It was strange and it made her strange. Her happiness was a small seaside love nest. Happiness was a confoundingly small house, small enough that when Moniy straightened her 16 m half woman half serpentine body, she could touch both opposite sides of the house. Happiness was strange and very much unlike her old self or her normal self. Moniy repeatedly called him by his name without reasons, hugging him and wrapping his lanky body inside her coils on childish whims. She loved arguing with him, then pretending to pout. She giggled in sickening giddiness from knowing his different reactions and emotions. Moniy felt like she could die again from sheer happiness, from holding his hands, hugging his chest, teaching him things. Sometimes, when he kissed her, her eyes moistened and her heart seemed to burst out of her chest for unknown reasons.


    It was not like Moniy has forgotten. It was not like her mind has become completely dense. Moniy knew that she was not one of living. She understood that she was dead and he was still very much alive. She knew that her love nest was built inside a bubble of a dream, his dream. Moniy knew that when he woke up, her small bubble of happiness would burst. But that was not the only thing Moniy feared.


    Good things could not last forever. Her womanly intuitions seemed to understand many things that her rationality could not perceive. She instinctively found a strange need to cling to her vanquished foe, her madness, her old torment. She did not understand why. But Moniy clung to her madness like her life was depending on it. By Nature¡¯s ordinance, male nagas are cheaters and female nagas are their owner and punisher. When her possession started to slip away from her anguine coils, a female naga felt it. She swallowed her pride, acting weak, undignified, cowardly and crazy to hold him inside her arms and coils, not knowing the true reasons. Moniy recalled the time when she had already overcome Sanguine¡¯s venom and torture. She was not prepared to let go of her happiness. She was not prepared to let him go. She was not prepared.


    Moniy acted crazier, feigned madness to prolong his kindness, love, and attention. The phantom, crippling hurt from Sanguine¡¯s sadistic whims was never as terrifying as her inevitable parting with her savior and lover. But even so, her Prince could see through the chaos and the true madness of the world.


    How could a feigned madness escape him?


    The day her ¡°Fearless¡± became ¡°Prince Fearless,¡± Moniy committed suicide only to realize that she was already dead.


    Out of pure coincidence, her fretful dream host reminded Moniy a lot of her old miserable self, a phase that eventually most of the Prince¡¯s lovers, if not all of them, must learn to grow over.


    ¡°Report from Morpheus 011,¡± Warren 025 loudly conveyed the message she has just received from a newly arriving messenger succubus. The rainbow-colored, memory sphere unfolded inside her hands, projecting a folder of intel and a highlighted parcel.


    Warren 025, Sanhintau was an exotic mannequin hobbling on one brown cloven hoof and one polished metal hoof. A pair of dark caprine horns crowned her thick coral colored braid. A feminine, dark blazer, and a floppy bow tie darkened on a pure white, long-sleeved shirt, knitting her thin, lovely figure. Dark, tight pants shaped the exotic comeliness of her hooved legs. Knowing her developed relationship with Sanhintau, the Prince has assigned Sanhintau to be Moniy¡¯s secretary and immediate point of contact to the rest of the Warren.


    Once, Sanhintau was known to be a becharming enchantress herself with the countless males of other races have sworn to sin against the ordinance of Nature and knelt before her hooves asking for but a moment of her gaze. But Madness and his fiendish friends had a different thought. Few of Sanhintau¡¯s olden enchanting glamour were left untouched. A long, pronounced scar blemished her fair-skinned face. Beneath the tight-knit of Prince¡¯s modified uniform and that mannequin loveliness, numerous unspoken tragedies dwelled and kept by none other than the work of Madness.


    ¡°Two skin changers spotted among the Wind Trope,¡± Sanhintau unwrapped the highlighted parcel and read its content.


    Moniy blinked her eyes, not really surprised by the news. She recalled from Lust¡¯s memory of the previous round of ROC, White Winter has been a hot contention ground between Sanguine¡¯s faction and Kel¡¯tahal¡¯s faction. Kel¡¯tahal himself was the faction leader of four Demon Lords and all-father of the skin changers. Therefore, it was not a surprise to find a few if not hundreds of skin changers lived within the vicinity of White Winter and its neighboring kingdoms.


    Moniy glimpsed over her unique memory orb containing the assignment list to every staffer of the DDWD, double-checking with the written will of the Prince to see if her decision might come into conflict with his will. The orb, despite its mundane outer appearance similar to all other memory orbs, contained the information of utmost importance.


    ¡°Tell Morpheus 011 to track their activity, but keep distance and don¡¯t alert them yet. Other than that, proceed with the assignment as usual,¡± Moniy gave her order while telling her succubus partners to copy the identity of the two skin changers to the database.


    ¡°Morpheus 016 reports. No demon found among the captives. Morpheus 009 reports, mission completed.¡±


    ¡°Orb No.000780 and Orb No. 001013 to Morpheus 016,¡± Moniy read the code of memory orbs. Her succubus partners drew out the orb and sent them to Sanhintau. ¡°Orb No.001276 to Morpheus 009, wait, pass that orb to me first.¡±


    Moniy received the corresponding orb from her succubi, recording and adding a personal message on top of it. ¡°Your next location might just be a hotbed of shadow demons, so be extra mindful of the environment and lighting. Let no demon aware of your presence.¡±


    Another succubus messenger arrived with her rainbow pearl, ¡°Warren 002¡¯s intelligence.¡±


    Sanhintau received the memory orb from the succubus, opened it and read, ¡°No demon confirmed.¡± Her sharp amber eyes lit up. Without waiting for Moniy¡¯s instruction, Sanhintau directed her gaze at one of her succubi. ¡°Please, inform his Highness that Operation Click is good to go,¡± said she and sent her messenger away while passing the folder to Moniy.


    Moniy processed the content of the folder. ¡°Nine of Hyrios¡¯ men were identified moles of White Winter,¡± she read aloud the personal message that Warren 002 has recorded.


    She pulled out the content related to the nine men, quickly examining their profile with Sanhintau. The Prince, being the insane man that he is, has told Moniy that he would bring at least one of White Winter¡¯s moles with him to his trip to White Winter for the excitement of it. Moniy screened the most beguiled mind among the moles just to make sure.


    More succubus messengers arrived, bringing with them the messages of confirmation of various Baku units. They were already in position, ready to trap and jail any foolish, unsuspecting Demon Lord. The fact the participants of the Reign of Chaos pronounced the name of their Champions to their competition made it easy for the Baku to narrow down their net.


    ¡°It¡¯s already Game Over,¡± Moniy sighed. Her forked tongue flicked on her lips. Until these Gods and Demon Lords could kill her Prince, it is impossible for them to resume playing their games.

 V2 Chapter 38: Pride Before The Fall

    A mess I am.


    I embraced logic as much as I worshipped ill-logic. As much as I practiced the common wisdom, I wholeheartedly trained myself to be utterly stupid and absolutely insane. The followers of ill-logic cannot understand the thinking of logical thinkers, and vice versa. Therefore, I do not long to be understood.


    I am an adulterer, a mess of a human being. I am a most terrible material for a lover and a husband. Thusly, I have no hope to be reciprocated or loved. I am a most selfish man. Therefore, I prefer being in the company of the most selfish people than the company of the unselfish people. That¡¯s where I belong.


    I don¡¯t even like myself, but I am who I am. As much as I hated myself, I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. That is my ego, my arrogance, my worth. That¡¯s an unchangeable fact and an immovable truth. It is something that has remained uncorrupted on Earth until the day I died. Now on Escana, it is unchanged.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± I would repeat myself to the point that any person would be sick of hearing me repeating myself.


    ¡®I am Fearless. I represent Prince of The Alliance and The Alliance itself.¡¯


    ¡®I am not URLOX¡¯s Prince. I don¡¯t represent URLOX or URLOX¡¯s will or URLOX¡¯s machination.¡¯


    People don¡¯t understand what I meant, thus I repeated myself until they could understand me. Is that logical? No, it isn''t. But whether they could understand the meaning or not is up to them, it is not my responsibility to explain myself to every person and every people. If an insane and stupid person could understand the meaning of the words, the smart people and sane people should be able to figure it out eventually.


    Whether I like it or not, I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. The moonless black and royal gold is the color my banner. A golden flower of five hands is my symbol, and one of the five hands on that symbol is mine. Therefore, the value of my service is linked to The Alliance and the other four hands on the banner. People would use me as a medium, The Medium, to judge FY, Misery, Merleon and Fantasy. People would use me as a standard to grade The Alliance. People would use me as a medium to judge the worth of the Prince of The Alliance and his equal counterparts and his greater. Therefore, I refuse to cheapen the value of my service; for when I cheapen the value of my service, I cheapen the worth of The Alliance and the Prince of The Alliance.


    I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. I am expensive. My standard and service are as expensive as their value. My loyalty, love and devotion are as expensive as The Alliance itself. For that cause, I am willing to walk a great desolated pasture or swim an endless ocean or pick a fight against father Time to prove my value. Must I fight war to defend my value, I shall.


    To the people who sought Fearless and Fearless alone, I could sit down to negotiate the price with them. But to those who sought the service of Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance, price is non-negotiable.


    I refused to sell my service to a bunch of brainless nitwits who had decided to dissembled and purchase a piece of the Prince of The Alliance simply because they lack the capital to purchase him whole. That is not how a piece of art is sold. Art dealers don¡¯t cut an invaluable picture painted by a renowned artist into smaller pieces to sell it cheap. Smart people don¡¯t dissect an invaluable piece of historical relic to sell it to a bunch of nitwits, who possess neither the knowledge of value of the relic nor the capital to purchase it whole. Musicians don¡¯t sell a small part of their songs. That is not how invaluable luxury goods are sold. Those brain-dead nitwits, who wanted to cut a piece of art into its unrecognizable shapes to purchase it, are pieces of shits who understood nothing about the value of art. They are unqualified to discuss and talk about art, let alone possess it.


    I refused to sell myself cheap to Death, an opportunist who schemed to crash the market price and devaluate the worth of the Prince of The Alliance to purchase his entire service. That¡¯s not the doing of a person who appreciates and understands art. That is the most disrespectful thing a person can do to the artist, the one created that piece of art. That artist is The Alliance. Without The Alliance, there is no Prince of The Alliance. I refused to sell myself cheap to such a disrespectful person. The fact that Death convinced me to sell myself to her with a lie is even more disrespectful. I am liar but the worth of the Prince of The Alliance is no lie. If Death could not understand something so simple, ¡°Nay,¡± I would say if I am nice. But I am anything but nice, ¡°FUCK OFF,¡± said I and demonstrated my rejection.


    In the Arthurian, the Caliburn did not dissemble itself into unrecognizable pieces and fragments to distribute itself equally among the knights just because none of the knights are worthy. It is the Sword of Kingship. It is Britain and the fate of every man and woman  living in Britain. The only one who is qualify to hold the Caliburn is the person who can bear the burden of kingship and hold the entire weight of Britain on his hands.


    Similarly, ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± I can only repeat myself until people understand the meaning of my words. Trying to explain the value of an artifact bearing invaluable historical value to a bunch of history haters is meaningless. Trying to explain the meaning of art to a bunch of art rejectors is a waste of time. Pitching a sale talk for a luxury good to a bunch of disrespectful, empty-pocket cheapskates is futility in and of itself.


    To the meaninglessness, the waste-of-time and the futility of the world, I simply gave them what they deserved and what they are qualified for. Meaninglessness, a waste-of-time and futility, in and of themselves.


    Those who denied the existence of The Alliance are ignorant. As long as I am here, on Escana, The Alliance exists. As long I still draw a breath, the Prince of The Alliance still lives. Those who denied the worth of The Alliance are in denial. I am a part of the symbol of The Alliance, one of the five hands. But that does not mean the minimum worth of The Alliance is five times the value of my service. Only brainless nitwits would draw such conclusion.


    I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.


    To the only person who can understand the meaning of my words and the value of my service and still seek me, ¡°You want the Prince of The Alliance, an authentic, bona fide Champion, not fakes, earn him,¡± said I.


    The path and the length that that person would go, the cost that person would pay to earn that qualification is not my concern.


    A person who can earn my service is the person who is qualified. This is my ego, my arrogance and worth.


    ¡°I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± repeated I.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    ¡°Clothes make the man,¡± they said, I thought, disagreeing with the common wisdom once again. What is the common wisdom on Earth might not be the same on Escana as I have learned and relearned again and again.


    Glamour was the usual sight of Pride dressing in her royal colors. But then, glamour would be any dress and suit that was fortunate enough to be chosen by Pride. She, Pride, the Perfect Demon Lord was the personification of glamour.


    ¡°Pride makes the clothes,¡± I sighed internally.


    A gorgeous high low dress in sheeny red velvet shaped after her lovely curves and revealed the inviting sight of her pristine pale legs beneath. Pride really knew how to pick her dress. Her prized mane set loosed, but slyly tucked behind her revealing shoulders, framing herself in a fresh, shimmering cascade of gold. Her pendant, chains of refined golden rings hung loose on her fair neck, highlighting the stunning combination of her revealing low cut neckline and deep cleavage. Her earpieces, both diamond shaped, a passion steeped ruby and an alluring amethyst on beaten gold, humbled to compliment Pride¡¯s bewitching glamour.


    ¡°How do I look?¡± Pride slyly asked, tilting her head slightly.


    ¡°I thought you are roleplaying a princess?¡± I narrowed my eyes and quizzed.


    ¡°Who do I look like but a princess?¡±


    ¡°A goddess of love and beauty who is not named Venus,¡± I replied. Only a goddess can possess and manipulate her own sexuality as much as Pride did.


    Pride smiled pleasantly and shared a passionate kiss with me. We exchanged pleasantries, our kind of pleasantries. If other people were looking at us, they would think that we were flirting. Objectively, we had that, ¡®Get a room, you two,¡¯ atmosphere around us. So perhaps, we were flirting all along.


    Suited in the usual black and canary gold of my uniform, I acted like Pride¡¯s escort. Back then, on Earth, I had only played ROC under one banner. I could predict the future to a limited extent. Therefore, the day I would play ROC for a different banner would come, but that is just not today or tomorrow.


    Pride walked side by side with me. Our arms crossed in a passionate tight knit. Pride nestled body against mine, waffling me with her dizzying cologne and sensual warmth. The way we walked side by side, the way we looked and appeared, it was as though our competition has never been a matter of concern to her or me. It was as though she has never been bested 14,999<sup>th</sup> times. It was just another game for Pride. It was just another day to live and to enjoy.


    As we were walking hand in hand, I started telling Pride to surrender for her own good. The pre-game was the same as ever, a meaningless mind game disguised as a battle of words. I advised the female Demon Lord to cut down her losses before it got worse with all of my sincerity. While I believed that the day, when Pride would finally turn the table on me, would come, I had no doubt in my victory.


    Pride smiled and retaliated, word for word. Her ample chest puffed out with an air of unshakable arrogance. Her free hand cupped my chin to correct my line of sight, aligning my gaze with hers. Her pearly white teeth flashed into a predatory scoff. ¡°Do you think they can keep supporting you? Do you seriously think that they were on your level?¡± The lioness asked. There was recognizable shift in her speaking tone, from the light and casual of coquettishness to the deep of power and authority. Her twin orbs of dawn and dust shone with contempt. The Demon Lord added a nasty touch of mind game into her today trash talk. She has probably saved this mind trick for this day.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I suddenly remembered the nervousness in the voice of the reporter who asked me, ¡°Is FY really as good a person as he seems in public?¡± It was, in all senses, not that strange of a question to be asked. But the wording of the question is strange. That reporter could have just asked me, ¡°What is FY like when he is at home?¡± which is, by far, a friendlier question to ask. So I had to pause for a half second to analyze the question. At the time, I detected no hint of malice in her voice, only expectation and nervousness.


    It was as if that was her first day of work. I felt bad for that reporter. She had me, a notorious ticking time bomb, in her first day of job.


    I knew how to handle the presses¡¯ questions safely. But when the reporters tried giving me the more provocative questions, either due to their job¡¯s demand, malice, or other reasons, things could get ugly in an explosive hurry. Depending on the mood, intent and situation, I could either choose to go with the flow or lash back. If the questions were phrased to embarrass me or my brothers, I was not a person who would sit back and flash an amiable smile.


    ¡°No, fuck, no,¡± I scoffed incredulously as though feeling insulted by the very question, fully prepared to pay some fine money by league at a later time for dropping an F bomb in a press conference.  I grabbed hold of the mike, craned my neck at the reporter¡¯s direction and gave her an intimidating glare. ¡°What make you think he is as good a person as he publicly appears to be? Hmmm? That is just his public persona. All of us have one, a public persona. In reality¡­¡± I paused for a good two second to draw the attention of the presses, ¡°FY¡¯s a much better person, a much better brother, and a much better lover.¡± Only when that reporter flashed that look of realization of a person, who has just been pranked on her face, I smiled a sly smile, winking my eyes.


    As though Pride has grown used to the timing of my distraction, she pinched my arm, jerking my consciousness back to the present with an angry, jealous look to service my perverseness.


    ¡°My bad,¡± apologized I.


    It happened often, my thought of the past and the disconnecting of the presence. It was just like John Irving has said, ¡°Your memory is a monster; you forget - it doesn''t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you¡ªand summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!¡±


    Old stuffs just popped up inside my head whenever, wherever and however they like, more a monster than the combination of Dion and Ira. Dion, I could silence. Ira, I could tame. And even when the two of them got out of control, I could discipline and remind them of their place with an iron fist. Death, I could cheat. Curses and mental charms, I could break. However ¡­My longing for that long gone past, my old memory, no matter how much they hurt me right now, I could not bring myself to hate them or do away with them. My slavery to this monster of memory, it was hard to break, mostly because I did not want to break my bondage to it. I neither feared it nor hated it, this monster, my memory. I could not bring myself to fault and defeat this monster.


    ¡°Do you think they can keep supporting you? Do you seriously think that they were on your level?¡±


    Pride¡¯s mind trick hit where it hurt. This new The Alliance that I have assembled and trained, they were not my old squad. The banner is the same, the same old golden flower of five hands on a dark canvas. The uniform is the same. But this is not The Alliance that I once knew. Brilliant as Isonos is, he is not FY. Commanding and keen as Sasengun is, she is not Fantasy. Searek is no Misery. Ember is not Merleon. This is not The Alliance that I have fought for. But that changed nothing. Even if this new The Alliance is but a caricature of the old The Alliance, I have assembled them. I have trained them. I have created this new The Alliance. I trust them, simply because I have to.


    ¡°So, do you?¡±


    ¡°I trust them more than you would have trusted your lovers.¡± I countered Pride¡¯s words.


    I smirked savagely. Pride grinned widely. I put my hands at her shapely waist. She weaved her strong arms around my neck. We seized each other and killed the already short distance between our bodies, entwining our body shape and shared a smothering, feverish kiss.


    Half of Pride¡¯s Golden Sword of Superbia has belonged to me, inside my body, working to my intention. The other half still remained with her. Only when we became one like this, the sword was whole. I vividly felt her growing hot for me and her unabashed delight when she recognized that I was just like her. We felt our strong desire for each other. How much we desired a partner of equal in term of strength and abilities, how much we desired the other person¡¯s body, love and talent, we could sense it. But as usual, when we made each other out of breath, we drew away, cutting the transparent saliva bridge between us.


    Once again, we did the deed in front of Sasengun, keenly aware of the pain she felt. An asshole I am. I cared not of Pride¡¯s intention. I kissed Pride in front of Sasengun to let her know that I am not, in any standard, a man worthy of her love. Sasengun was not the only woman who harbored the hope and thought that I was a good person underneath. She was not the only one who believed that I can turn a new leaf and redeem myself. However, I was not that kind of person. I am bad, a walking disaster, and I have always known it. A good man, a good husband, a good father, I could only pretend but never be. I knew what a mess I am, a bottomless quagmire of problems and wrongfulness. I knew myself more than the world knew me. Therefore, as long as Sasengun still had a delusion about me being a good man, a material for a lover, I would do everything to destroy such wishful delusion.


    Pride and I returned back to our status quo. We gazed pass our passion steeped expression and into each other¡¯s eyes, finding our own reflection. I saw myself for what I am and what I have become in the twin colors of her eyes. Similarly, she saw hers in my eyes. Arrogance we are, and we would back up our arrogance in any situation, at any moment and against anyone. Our egos are dreadfully similar.


    As much as Djinn Demon Lord believed in her superiority, she wisely submitted. As much as Pestilence believed that a human, a mortal being should submit and kneel before a Demon Lord, he would curl into a ball of miasma in Isonos¡¯ presence or mine nowadays. Steeped in bestial madness as Wrath was, he traded the core of his strength for comfort and peace. For a while, Acr?a had believed that she was my equal and superior, my ultimate queen. When I was serious, Acr?a learned to fear me as much as she has desired me.


    URLOX¡¯s God and Demon Lords. Their egos as Gods, Demon Lords and Immortal beings were strong. Their belief in their own superiority was strong, until I appeared. Reality is just that sad and disappointing.


    Every single one of my captive has changed, just not for the better. Their psyche changed and their ego reshaped, in one way or another.


    Even Munezee and Sinintee, two of the most egotistic persona among my captives had to recompose and reevaluate their ego toward me. Sinintee had an armory housing infinite magical weapons and artifacts. His armory is a match for Greed¡¯s wealth in both quality and quantity. Yet, Sinintee stopped speaking as if he was my better. He stayed silence and motionless, humbly devoting his time to plot my downfall. It was almost hilarious that a God of Civilization refused to combat with me in war of words and ideology. But it was more hilarious that a God like him would take a charlatan of a human like me seriously.


    Munezee, the Father of Demon Lords, as powerful as he was, he has come to term with the current situation. Munezee closed his eyes, humbled and stopped looking at how his creations have been changed by my hands, mapping his victory. He, too, took my jokes seriously. It was absolutely weird that when I gave them my serious warnings, they did not listen. And now, when I spewed nothing but jokes and lies, they bought everything.


    I had expectation for them. I had expected that they would remain unapologetic and even proud of what they had done. I had expected that they would remain arrogant. I was let down.


    ¡°So Great a God, so omnipotent a Demon Lord. What good your Greatness is? What good your omnipotence is, when your arrogance is easily changed and destroyed by a mere human?¡±


    Their worthiness is infinitely close to zero.


    On the contrary, I have beaten Pride 14,999 to 0, more than enough of the reoccurrence to make any normal person realizes that she could not win against me. Most people who had accumulated this many losses would have subtly acknowledged their defeats and inferiority in one way or another. Not Pride.


    Pride perceived her still-accumulating losses as an investment. The lioness knew that she only needed one victory to turn things around. She only needed one victory to earn my service. For Pride, this is a hunt as much as a business. But until the day she would win her first battle, I had no intention of selling the worth of my service short. I had no intention of giving up.


    The losses she had accumulated have cost Pride much. Nearly half of Pride¡¯s Authority had become mine from her losses. Her Divine Vestment, mine. But more importantly, the ownership of her sword. Half of it is mine now. Depending on the subjects and the agreements of the contest, the Golden Sword of Superbia transferred the loser¡¯s rightfulness and properties to the winner¡¯s possession. It spared none. Not immaterial substances like emotion, memory, experience or talent, not the materialistic things like wealth, bounded followers and slaves, not even the conceptualization of miracles and divinity. Properties of the loser became the possession of the winner. Golden Sword of Superbia is a weapon of a conqueror. A strong person would only get stronger. A rich person would only get richer. A qualified person would only get more qualified.


    As the result, Pride¡¯s chess pieces, lovers and servants bounded to her through the sword are being currently deposited into my account. Her authority is being robbed, one by one. Her capability is being questioned. Her power is being bested. Still, her ego remains unchanged. She does not regret picking me, challenging and losing against me. Our arrogance is equal in term of size and weight. Putting our egos on the two opposite sides of a scale, that scale would remain balance for an eternity. Past or future, rich or poor, sane or mad, in victory or in defeat, for better or for worse, our ego, our arrogance and pride remained strong, uncompromised, unbeaten and unchanged.


    I don¡¯t sell the value of my service cheap. Pride refuses to compromise on her queenship and leadership.


    I shook my head, smiling wryly. Pride scoffed, snickering resignedly. It was as if we were gazing at our mirror reflection.


    Our egos come first, anything else comes later. Love is love, friendship is friendship, lust is lust, and business is business, but our ego and arrogance comes first.


    True to her name, she is Pride, the Golden Lioness, the Perfect Demon Lord. She had no intention to submit and become my sword. She had no intention of straying from her goal to follow mine.


    I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. I am who I am. Even though the words ¡°The Prince of The Alliance¡± commanded little to no power on Escana, I am still who I am. I have no intention to lend my expensive service to someone else for free. I have no intention to play a game with these Immortals, not when this game means the life and death of millions of people, not when this game would remain and repeat perceptually without a clear end. I have no intention of lending my service to further someone else¡¯s ambition, not when the cost of my service is way more expensive than the value of that person¡¯s goal. I have no intention of changing my banner for the moment. I have no desire to become someone else, someone that I am not.


    We are similar. Chaos could not reshape us. This game cannot change us. Neither URLOX nor we can change the other, only we can change ourselves. And neither Pride nor I had any intention of changing ourselves at the moment.


    Once again, we turned and went back to our respective corner. Pride returned to her game booth. I went to my spot, standing among the black and gold uniforms on the opposite side of the battlefield. As usual, I have failed to convince Pride to submit. As usual, Pride could not persuade me to resign. And as usual, we decide to resolve our fate and future relationship through this game in a ¡°Might makes right¡± style.


    ¡°Might makes right,¡± back then, on Earth, it was a cheat code of invincibility, something I had activated to see the Valkyria. It was not the feeling of invincibility that I wanted to experience. It was the Valkyria. Now on Escana, ¡°Might makes right,¡± is a popular method of diplomacy.


    This strange game that we kept playing together for so long had become more than just a game. The roles of student and teacher have been reversed and reestablished. I was her teacher. She was my student. But now, we are both a teacher and student. I am learning from Pride as much as she was learning from me.


    Pride, a Demon Lord, has played this game like a pro-gamer would. I, a pro-gamer, played it like a warlord and a general on the killing field. She had a mouse and a keyboard. I had five brains and a dependable supporting cast on my side. Pride saw the battlefield from the bird¡¯s eyes camera angles. I visualized the battlefield through my imagination and listening.


    It was a strange game that we played and kept playing. But, it has become more than that.


    I, a pro-gamer, a player of games, is playing a war. Pride, a Demon Lord, a maker of war, is fighting a game that simulates war.

 V2 Chapter 39: Pride Before The Fall (01)

    Fans and Supporters of the Zombie Dragon often mock Hyrios, ¡°a discounted Craxus without Craxus¡¯ cunning.¡± In a way, they were not wrong. I could not bother to argue because every word was true.


    Craxus possessed the two game broken abilities <God¡¯s Strength Level 5> and <God¡¯s Speed Level 5> which conferred him a wobbling 100 bonus Might point on top of his already sky-high Might point. Hyrios possessed <God¡¯s Strength Level 1> and <God¡¯s Speed Level 1>. Hyrios had a skill level cap of 1 in <God¡¯s Strength> and <God¡¯s Speed>. So even when he reaches max level, these two skill remained the same, unimproved.


    When comparing the Might point different between the Hyrios and Craxus, there was a massive 145 Might point separating the two when theyare at max level.


    Craxus was a shrew warrior with a sense of honor. Hyrios was too honorable of a man that he often fall victim to his sense of honor.


    Craxus fought with might, wit and instinct. He died a hero, a conqueror, an emperor, a king among kings. Hyrios fought with honor and bravery. He died a traitor, betrayed by his own men, loathed by the kingdom and the people he has defended.


    Most of URLOX¡¯s 63 warlords met a tragic death in the canon history. But Hyrios¡¯ death was arguably the most tragic of them all. He was known as a traitor who died from loyalty.


    I was no fan of tragedy. I have seen enough and known enough of tragedies. But I could not help myself from replaying Hyrios¡¯ campaign over and over again. There was a Good Ending in his campaign, but I considered that was the Worst Ending for man like Hyrios. As the result, there are only the Canon Ending and the Bad Ending and the Worst Ending in Hyrios¡¯ Campaign. Still I played the campaign again and again. I had no idea what I was trying to prove. But I kept playing, and once the credit rolled, I restarted. It was a masochistic experience through and through. I had no idea what I wanted to see.


    Whenever I looked back at that time, I thought, I became good at playing Hyrios and is faction over something like that¡­ What an idiot I am! I could not help but realize.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Zard was chosen as the map for this 15, 000<sup>th</sup> match, one of the eleven maps where the Dark Occultist faction could summon their Demon Lords. The entire kingdom of Zard, from the Golden Triangle to the Southern wetland, from the western disputed territory to the rocky height of the Spine Range, became our battlefield.


    Picking the dark occultist as usual, Pride¡¯s faction randomly spawned at the northern Golden Triangle. Playing to my strength, Sasengun picked Hyrios as the warlord as our faction arbitrarily spawned at the Southern Wetland.


    There are two Demon Lord summoning sites in the Zardian map. First there is the entire city of Et¨¢ D¨¦lador in the western frontier, and then the Tomb of Naharis located inside the heart of the Mangora forest. The fact that Pride¡¯s faction has spawned at the northern Triangle made it impossible for me to deny her contest for one of the summoning site.


    The Triangle or the Golden Triangle conferred Pride with more gold mines. The Zardian Wetland allowed me to begin my campaign with more stockpiles of harvest and provision to plan out the late game. Playing to the geographical advantage of the Triangle, Pride had an early lead. Aside from mercenary and occultist units being the staple of her faction, Pride had the option to recruit a bunch of neutral bandit, slave armies and generals for cheap, without worrying much about food. The Golden Triangle of Zard had an abundance supply of such units. Those units and generals only cost gold to hire in bulk without fearing about any provision burden. These units would secure their food and provision through successful raids.


    On my side, all of the units associated with Hyrios are very expensive, but immensely powerful. As a result, I have to build the bulk of my army with cheap militia and slave units in the early game to contest for map dominance with Pride. By picking Hyrios, I have already secured my access to the unique and expensive late-game Cat Tamer units and the renowned Chimaera, Hyrios¡¯ most prestige retinue.


    The map was the entire Kingdom of Zard. Over 50% of the battlefields are plains and grassy terrains. Thus, the side that managed to conquer and pacify more neutral nomadic settlements to his side would gain a huge lead. All Zardian nomadic units living inside the Great Plain gained huge buffs in movement, stamina, and combat strength when moving and fighting on grassy terrain. They are the best raiding units, in term of prowess and economy, to be employed for the contest of Zard. By conquering these neutral settlements, the player would be able to recruit these unique nomadic tribes into his army. Thus, the conquest of these neutral nomadic settlements was one of the biggest objectives in the Zardian map. If this was the multiplayer mode, by picking Hyrios, I could swiftly bring these tribes over through diplomacies.


    But the only diplomacy and politic option available in a One vs One mode is an iron fist. Thus, an iron fist it is.


    While Pride was building and advancing her army south, Sasengun distributed a set of troops and provisions among us. I grabbed our faction¡¯s warlord and a hundred of nomadic riders with me, spearheading the march. After me, Ember, Isonos, Searek ushered their respective troops north. And so, the wrestle for the control of Zard began.


    I commanded my little war band to make a beeline toward Pride¡¯s advancing army and ignored those neutral settlements on the path, leaving the conquest to my staffs. Most of Pride¡¯s early game units are better than ours. Those slave and conscripted militia units that made up the bulk of our force would not stand a chance in a direct confrontation with Pride¡¯s mercenaries and bandits. Therefore, my mission was to create space for our side to operate and build time for Sasengun to collect resource to hire better units.


    Under my command, Hyrios and his small raiding band conducted their famous hit-and-run tactic. I could not stop the advance of Pride¡¯s massive army. But I could slow and wear them down with repeated harass attacks.


    A discounted version of Craxus Hyrios is. But by possessing <God¡¯s Strength Level 1> and <God¡¯s Speed Level 1> Hyrios is as strong as Ekar the Cruel and as fast as Narse the Hound. The combination of <God¡¯s Strength Level 1> and <God¡¯s Speed Level 1> is more than enough for a dull, untrained man to dominate a squad of elder vampires in a close quarter melee before being killed.


    But, ¡°A sword is only as good as its master. A gift is only as good its possessor. Therefore, cultivate yourself first, your weapons and your gifts second,¡± Meireen, the leader of my Baku Division, has always reminded her students. Granting these superhuman gifts of a trained warrior like Hyrios, hundreds of Acr?a¡¯s elder vampires made no different from a pack of wild wolves, trophy candidates, accolades, easy merits.


    As soon as Pride¡¯s south marching army entered the Zardian Great Plain from the north entrance, they had a taste of Hyrios¡¯ legendary black bolts. Among the whistling eagle feathered arrows, the infamous black bolts impacted with horrific result.


    In the lore, each of these black bolts that Hyrios effortlessly shot weighted at least 3 kg, approximately three times heavier than a normal spear. Hyrios has been shooting them with the force of a dwarven-made arbalest. No unenchanted, mortal-made shield or armor is ever thick enough to protect a mortal man from such horrific projectiles within their range of maximum impact. A titanite-made armor would protect its wearer from the puncture wound but not the blunt trauma that the black bolt wielded. Adding Hyrios¡¯ godlike accuracy to the combination, every time Hyrios releases a black bolt, an army would find itself without a leader or banner.


    In the game, Hyrios could only shoot the black bolts through <Twice!>, an active ability with 40s cooldown. For every black bolt crashed into Pride¡¯s army, two or three unit either strewed to the ground or exploded into a horrific eruption of blood and dirt. <Twice!> grants 20% Armor Penetration and a small cone shape AOE spread to the impact point of Hyrios¡¯ black bolts. The damage of the black bolts scales proportionally to Hyrios¡¯ Might point. With this skill, Hyrios is like a sniper operating a mobile artillery gun.


    While I lacked the accuracy, the precise control and visual aid to guide the black bolts at Pride¡¯s general units, what made Hyrios so deadly, I could just drop the bolts at the middle of Pride¡¯s marching army to wreak havoc and chaos every 40s in the conjunction of Hyrios¡¯ normal projectiles. Pride could only march her army and generals behind the constant moving walls of her archers, crossbowmen, and other range units. I commanded my small raiding band of 101 nomadic riders to circle around and find openings among the formation of Pride¡¯s advancing armies. My mounted archers drained their stamina fast with the constant movement around the map, but not as fast as Pride¡¯s archer units, formations of footmen that were trying to catch up with the mobility of horsemen.


    Making volley counted, just like that, I grinded down Pride¡¯s army.


    Haste makes waste. As planners, both Pride and I understood that philosophy well. If we have one hour of free time to think, we must. If we have one second to be prepared, we must. If we don¡¯t have time to think, we must buy time to think.


    While we were exchanging blows, we were constantly thinking of the next steps and making the next best move.


    My faction conquest of those neutral Zardian nomadic settlements would be a slow, consuming process. It was only logical for Pride to make that logical assumption. By combining her sighting of my 100 nomadic riders and my original spawn point at the southern wetland, Pride could work the math to calculate the amount of resources that my faction possessed, and how I could maximize that small amount of resources by hiring cheap units. I had taught Pride playing this analytical part of the game in the same manner that Misery and FY had once taught me and Ph¨²c. That made them Pride¡¯s grandmasters in this craft. Sentimentally, I wished that they could see how their torches were passed down and polished furthermore.


    The Alliance¡¯s MO is often described as, ¡°A well-oiled machine that runs on the fuel of logic until the second inauguration.¡± Esports writers had their way with the words, often change the truth of things and make them more beautiful than they appear, and more confusing.


    Our games are cold and calculating, running on FY¡¯s design and system until I say, ¡°Fuck that.¡± This is the uncensored truth. The cost of this uncensored truth is $666.


    The best analysts in the pro-league of ROC are the most observant and skilled in arithmetic and logics. They were like the Sherlock Holmes of the Reign of Chaos. They moved and fought with the force of logic backing them. Similarly, we operate like that, a car running on four wheels of logic. Logic is strong, a nigh unstoppable force, a most reliable weapon. Over a decade, we played ROC without a division of analysts working for us. We are the analysts, forecasters, players, critics and our team¡¯s coaches, all five of us. The world could only see us as gamers and players. Thusly, a major part of our games was invisible and unappreciated to the world.


    From the same school, Pride¡¯s game was also built like that, cold and solid with the invisible backing of logic.


    I communicated to Sasengun my battle forecasts, let her spread our faction¡¯s force accordingly.


    The bulk of my faction¡¯s force was built with early, cheap units. Against those neutral Zardian nomadic units, it would be a very slow conquest. Therefore, with that logical deduction in mind, Pride marched her armies giving more priority to caution than speed. She endured my relentless harass attacks with precise, disciplined control, while mapping out her traps and ambushes for my Hyrios. She kept her formation tight, range units at the foremost to trade arrows with Hyrios and his nomadic riders. There were openings in her formations, but most of them were lures to for Pride¡¯s army to swallow my faction¡¯s warlord.


    As powerful as Hyrios is, it was easy for a player to forget that he is not considered as a super-unit in the game or a game-breaking unit. Super-units are like those Demon Lords, giant golems, the current generation elven Sword Saint, or that spade and hoe wielding general. They each possess more HP and armor rating than Hyrios. There damage output exceeds Hyrios. And if those super-units can fall, Hyrios, too, can fall, much faster and easier.


    And when Hyrios falls, it¡¯s my defeat.


    Constantly move in and out of the fog of war, my small raiding band repeated their tactics to a deadly effect. I only trade arrows when my side has an absolute advantage. The mobility of Hyrios and his nomadic riders gave me a great wealth of flexibility to initiate a fight at my liberty. I controlled the ¡°when, where, and how,¡± factors of every skirmish. I could initiate combat and disengage from combat whenever and wherever I wanted. When to strike, where to strike, and how to strike, a man who could control these factors at will is often a winner in his battle.


    But every now and then, I extended the combat situations, trading HP, baiting Pride to go after my Hyrios for the killing blow.


    A unit¡¯s mortality is both a detriment and a gift in disguise. The fact, that Hyrios could be killed through some well-aimed volleys and well-executed attacks, made him a terrific hook to lure Pride into committing judgmental mistakes.


    I was a gambler, before and now. Put my own heart and staking my life on Lady Fortuna¡¯s hands, I played ROC and lived. That¡¯s why most of my most picked warlords are those who lead their troops on the field and their troops are often glass-cannon type of units. My warlord¡¯s fragility is a hook. My troops¡¯ little HP are the lures. My pre-game trash talk is the sinker. The ¡°how, when and where¡± factors, the mobility of my warlord and troops is the trusty line. According to the casual analysts, my game is just that simple. My highlights are that simple. When my competitions take a bite, I reel them in for the kill. If my opponents have more weight and strength than I am, I get dragged, simple.


    When casual analysts tried to break down my games to their core elements, ¡°He reuses this one trick again and again, and got lucky,¡± they said. It was baffling to see just how many people actually believed in that nonsense. The chance that a one-trick-pony could repeatedly climb to the top of the world for a whole decade is zero. People are not that stupid. Pro-gamers, coaches, analysts are not that stupid. If there is a strategy, there will be a counter-strategy. If there is a trick, there will be a counter. But explaining simple philosophy over and over again is too tiring.


    Thus, ¡°Simple and obvious of a trick, yet I have become the Houdini of the league through this simple trick,¡± I would counter such stupid arguments with an equally stupid argument of my own.


    Casual, self-proclaimed analysts said that I can only hit-and-run. I countered, ¡°I hit-and-run my way to the Hall of Fame seven times.¡± ROC has never been a simple game. Flimsy, single layered logic alone is not enough to win matches at the highest level. No single used strategy or one-trick system is ever sufficient to carry a team to the top of the mountain. Those, who could climb over the body of their competition to stand at the top of the world, are the most versatile people in their craft.


    Every illusionist knows that the most obvious facts in the world are often the most deceptive and difficult illusions to perfect. In Holmes¡¯ words, ¡°There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.¡± The obvious titles like ¡°Best One on One player,¡± ¡°Best Raider,¡± ¡°Best Ender,¡± ¡°Best Supporter,¡± ¡°Best Team Player,¡± ¡°Best Witch-picker,¡± ¡°Best Garuda-picker,¡± are deceptive covers to hide a person¡¯s versatile skill set. No player has ever won the ¡°Best Supporter¡± award by simply being a Supporter. The ¡°Best Garuda-picker¡± is not just a ¡°Garuda-picker.¡±


    For that reason, I had never trained Pride to be great at one aspect of the game. I trained her to be versatile and be great at one skill. Pride baited. I lured. Arrows clashed against spells and bolts. The force of logic met the work of ill-logic. Invisible plots blew up against layered schemes. We played a game within a game within a game, trying to outdo each other at every game.


    Casualty was mounting on both sides, but neither Pride nor I fell for the other¡¯s traps, knowing each other too well. We read each other¡¯s mind as we were trading blows.


    I shaved a good seven hundreds men off Pride¡¯s massive army. Though, no general was fallen, but foreign or local bandits, expensive mercenaries or cheap slaves, occultists, the eagle feather arrows made no discrimination about their affiliation and background, undid them all.


    Pride cut my 100 nomadic riders to 35. Those mercenary crossbowmen of hers did most of the damage. My Hyrios was at half health. My war band exhausted of projectiles and stamina.


    With her fingers tapped the code on my shoulder, Sasengun silently signaled my retreat for healing, provision and reinforcement while shouting the command for her own unit. I agreed with her decision. There was nothing else I could do but resupply and heal my units. Melee was not an option.


    I let Sasengun take over the control of our faction¡¯s warlord. In return, she handed me one of Hyrios¡¯ many cousins for the general and a ragtag band of 700 conscripted militia bowmen and some fifty nomadic riders recruited from the Eagle tribe.


    In the lore, the Eagle tribe was one of the great tribes among the Zardian nomadic tribes. Just like the other Zardian nomadic tribes, the nomads of the Eagle tribe spent most of their lifetime on horseback and placed their faith on the fertility of the Great Plain.


    While they are known for their husbandry of sheep, goats and mares, the Zardian nomadic tribes are more akin to the elves than human in term of faith and lifestyle. Believing in ¡°The Will of the Green Sky,¡± these Zardian nomads would constantly migrate to different parts and corners of the Zardian Great Plain, living their nomadic lifestyle by their belief and not by necessities. The Zardian nomads call themselves ¡°The Children of the Green Sky,¡± and they live accordingly. Sometimes, much of the frugality of their life condition is self-imposed, evidenced by some of their mobile settlements on the barren parts of the Great Plain instead of the more abundant and greener parts. It is believed that their self-imposed nomadic lifestyle serve to lessen the burden on Great Plain by return a plot of land to Mother Nature when Mother Nature wills it.


    The Eagle tribe, like their name suggested, is known for their masterful breeding and taming of the Zardian eagles. While other tribes have their share of bird tamers, the bird tamers of the Eagle tribe are held in a more prestigious light. Their tribe name is a reputable brand to be recognized in the field of bird taming. It is said that an eagle bred and trained by a bird tamer of the Eagle tribe is much smarter and stronger than other eagles trained elsewhere.


    It is still a fans¡¯ speculation that those fatbirds and the bird beacons, which the Empire of White Winter has employed to a harrowing effect in their conquests and expansions, are the inventions and works of a defected or excommunicated lineage of bird tamers of the Eagle tribe. Since the timeline of the introduction of the fatbirds and bird beacons came after Prince Lanxer¡¯s trip to Zard, fans speculated that the ingenious prince must have scouted and recruited his bird tamers since.


    In the game, the Eagle tribe is just one of the many variations of the Zardian nomadic riders. Their damage, armor rating and movement speed is identical to the other nomadic riders, saves for a different, more colorful and glorious Skin design and their unique ability. These Eagle tribe nomadic riders could summon a flock of war eagles for 45 seconds to scout the battlefield or drop a hail of smoke pellets on their enemies. Once the 45 seconds time limit is up, these war eagles would return to their owners, waiting for the 75 seconds cooldown timer to end for another flight.


    Among the different variations of the Zardian nomadic riders, the Eagle tribe¡¯s nomadic riders are among my top favorites. First, I approved their glorious appearance design. Second, I valued their ability to scout the map over their combat prowess.


    Different people value different aspects of life. I valued mobility over armor rating and HP rating. I valued the invisible ¡°where, when, and how¡± factors that a unit possessed over its raw, displayed combat potential. Thusly, the war eagles summoned by the riders of Eagle Tribe are more useful to me than they are to most people. Through these eagles, I could track multiple units¡¯ condition, movement and whereabouts at the same time. Every dog has its day. Similarly, every piece of wisdom, no matter how useless it appears, has its use. And the map information provided by these scouting eagles is huge.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Knowing my tendency and strength, Isonos and Searek have expended much of their slave armies and militiamen to pacify the Eagle tribe first. Ember and Sasengun, on the other hand, were building their forces and fortifications.


    I immediately deployed the war eagles to gain an understanding of the wider picture.


    No longer being checked by Hyrios and his annoying war band, Pride unleashed her tight lease on her dogs of war, her most useful pawns for this great raid. An avalanche of sacrificial slaves and bandits broke through the ranks of Pride¡¯s army and howled in savagery.


    They raced through the ocean of reeds and tall grasses, heading toward their objectives in double time. Behind them, Pride¡¯s other major chess pieces loomed, the real source of headache.


    ¡°I need some vanguard,¡± informed I, in a loud voice, moving my new army to meet Pride¡¯s south marching units.


    Needless of my belated affirmation, Isonos and Searek were already on the same page with me. They sent their conscripted militia units back to Sasengun for healing and resupply. Searek transferred the remnant of his slave armies to Isonos for a new assignment from Sasengun. Isonos combined a bunch of riffraff slaves into two armies of three thousand. It was a logical choice that Isonos would commit all of them to this battle to slow down Pride¡¯s progress of conquest. There is no point to keep these slave armies into the mid or the late game. Once the beginning phase of the game is passed, these slave armies are but an economic burden to our provisions and resources. Therefore, we would trade their lives with Pride¡¯s soldiers while their value is still high.


    I communicated the battle plan base on the information provided by the war eagles. Isonos looked at my direction and signaled a complete rout in four minutes with his taloned hands while barking his orders to his helpers. Just like that, we nodded our head at the same time. ¡°Let them come.¡± In harmony, we spoke.


    My new archer unit, both mounted and foot archers, stood on an uphill, waiting for Pride¡¯s army to arrive. 6000 unarmored, emaciate slaves stood in three lines with only crudely made weapons and rusty chains to protect themselves. The slaves formed a large V shape before my range units. Their leading generals, slaves just like them, third class, cheap, possessing the kind of Might attribute that made even a non-fighter like me look like a professional fighter, having more faults than merits. The list of their faults just never ends. The only reason Isonos and Searek had hired these generals were their cheap hiring and upkeep cost. One possessed a perk that made him prone to a panic attack every time 20% of his maximum force is gone and another perk that gave him a minus 5 points across his already abysmally low attributes. The other general shouted for more gold, foods and privilege than the service he could offer for him to give his utmost effort. And his utmost effort still did not worth the resource.


    If this is a reality, not a simulation, I would shed a thousand drops of tear for these fools and their followers, for their death are beyond hideous. I thought.


    One of my helpers started a countdown in her suave but emotionless voice.


    My eyes should not be able to see that image. But my imagination painted a vivid picture of a living hell. Pride¡¯s dogs of war flooded the plain, from hill to hill, from land to land, with their filthy presence a ruinous promise.


    The dogs of war closed in, howling, barking, gnarling from the distance. The bandit ravagers slapped the bit of their two handed axe against their strapping shield. The slaves advanced, crude weapons of war leading, chain whirling in the air. War is before them, on the way, the invisible vice of fear tightened around the neck of Isonos¡¯ unfortunate slaves.


    It was absolutely horrible for a man to find himself caught in the middle of this business. Holding steel inside their hands made a man felt like he could become steel itself, numbed to his own fear. Standing in a tight formation made a man braver. But middle line, back line, front line, it does not matter. My reasoning and instincts agreed on this subject. On a battlefield, this battlefield especially, nowhere is safe; a man¡¯s instinct knows that but is silenced.


    I had no wish to stand there myself or see any good man standing there. I took a deep breath to calm my nerve, telling myself, ¡°What will be, will be.¡±


    Dion snickered and asked me if I was visualizing the real carnage that I would make Escana endure in the future. I told it to zip its mouth.


    My helpers kept counting the shrinking distance. My archers, long bow and horse bow in hands, loosed their arrows upon my signal for maximum impact. 750 arrows took flight. My helpers still counted the shrinking distance, but in two separated countdowns this time. Again, another volley of 750 arrows arced, thinning the advancing savages and northern slaves. But the savagery of Pride war dogs could not be deterred with that mere amount of feathers.


    Then came the third volley, the fourth, the fifth volleys, casualty was mounting fast on Pride¡¯s side. Her bandit ravagers were falling at an alarming speed, but her thousands of unarmored slaves were dropping faster. But once the tenth volley was loosed, I ordered my archers to backpedal in double time. A rain of bolts, arrows and grimy occult spells mowed the back lines of Isonos¡¯ slave army and where my archers were previously standing.


    My helpers breathed a sigh of relief. They correctly gauged the distance correctly. I, without an error, calculated the moving speed of Pride¡¯s range units through the war eagles. Pride¡¯s reformed archer units took an immediate potshot at my archers the moment they were in range and missed.


    I withdrew my archers deeper into the other side of the slope, the dark side on Pride¡¯s overview camera angle, the place where the leaden fog of war was rolling, where none of her units had a direct line of sight. Covered the fog of war, I commanded my archers to shoot some, move some and retreat some, remaining outside of Pride¡¯s arrow range for the moment. There, I planned a surprise party for Pride if she decided to enter without vision, half expecting that she would not make that kind of decision.


    Pride¡¯s range units tested their projectiles on my constantly moving archers. My archers retaliated with a bunch of cheap shots at her archers from the rolling grey fog of war, making every volley count. I relay my order to them to not be greedy with their damage output and put more focus on their survival.


    Pride¡¯s range units had the number, but fatigued from their earlier mettle with Hyrios and lack a direct line of sight toward my archer unit. My archers were fresh and had a clear vision from the war eagle¡¯s scouting, but was lacking in number and firepower. We were even. But the 45 seconds ended sooner I would like, my war eagles returned, with them, a crucial battlefield update. My helpers informed me of the three units of Pride¡¯s bandit riders and light cavalries were circling, moving at canter pace to flank my archer units.


    Pride¡¯s range units soon switched their priority at Isonos¡¯ army. A quick, but heavy squall of crow feathers and occult spells dropped on Isonos¡¯ V shape formation, compelling Isonos to move them backward to minimize the casualty. Riding the momentum, Pride¡¯s dogs of war fell upon Isonos¡¯ unarmored slaves with unadulterated savagery. Bandit ravagers swung their two handed axes and side arms in bloody whirlwinds. The northern slaves fought with whatever they held inside their hands. Isonos¡¯ lines were slowly being pushed back. For every one bandit ravager fell, three unarmored slaves on Isonos¡¯ side were decapitated and one more wounded.


    The left wing and right wing of Isonos¡¯ formation were being pushed back a dizzying speed. But while the right wing still held, the left wing of Isonos¡¯ formation bent backward as their general had his repeated panic attack and ignored Isonos¡¯ command, allowing a small detachment of Pride¡¯s bandit ravagers to trickle through their lines, swallowing the formation from the rear.


    I was expecting them to go climb the hill, to get the vision of my archers for Pride¡¯s range units to work their volleys. But Pride, perhaps, has foreseen the trap and opted to speeding the process of dismantling Isonos¡¯ army, going for the slave generals.


    This battle was a loss cause. We understood that from the beginning, but Isonos and I had intended to milk the most value out of it. Buying more time and space for our side, making a best trade from this life trades life battle.


    Pride¡¯s armored units started coming to view. Mercenary in heavy armors advanced in tight formation, their shields above their head to protect them from the threat of projectiles. A single rank echelon of heavy armored horsemen started trotting. There was nothing I could do to slow down their march. Thus, I decided to double down on what I could do instead.


    From the other side of the hill, my archers retreated further while adapting to their new priorities. The footed archers thinned the back lines of Pride¡¯s ragtag vanguard while retreating to stay out of the projectile range of Pride¡¯s range units. I handed the control of these 700 archers to Isonos to concentrate my attention on the fifty mounted archers.


    My fifty-man mounted archers led by a distant cousin of Hyrios quickly galloped to their position, hoping to slow down Pride¡¯s cavalry while they still could. Fifty Zardian nomadic riders against a couple of hundreds cavalries was a fair game.


    My mounted archers of the Eagle tribe reached their position in time, stood and nocked their arrows. They gave the arrowhead of Pride¡¯s cavalries my second greeting of the day with a rain of eagle feathers.


    While not nearly as impactful as Hyrios¡¯ greeting, but still, a Zardian nomadic riders¡¯ greeting was as annoying and frustrating as it could get. After three cheap volleys to put small scratches in the arrowhead of Pride¡¯s cavalries, my mount archers bolted in the same direction as Pride¡¯s galloping horsemen before they were locked in a melee.


    With around forty to thirty meters in the between of our cavalries, led by one of Bloodbeard¡¯s lieutenants whose name I could not bother learning, Pride¡¯s mercenary cavalries broke out of their canter and galloped, racing against time to reach my mounted archers before they could accelerate to their top speed. There was a small gaping window of opportunity. Keenly aware of the damage I could wreak with a small band of fifty nomadic riders, Pride decided to seize up her chance. Her light cavalries rushed in and a loosed a blanket of flying javelins. With a blazing sense of vengeance, the javelins arced and pierced the unspoiled green pasture, but took none of my mounted riders.


    Neither the wonder of physics nor the work of math was on Pride¡¯s side. I got both the physics and the math from the beginning. I am a known liar, an illusionist. That small window of opportunity was a lie, an illusion that I conjured. The galloping speed of my nomadic horsemen whiffed Pride¡¯s horsemen. Neither sorrowful short arc of the bandit riders¡¯ tomahawks nor the limping arc of the mercenary riders¡¯ javelins could cover more than twenty meters. There was nothing Pride could do to hit my retreating mounted archers.


    Being safely escorted away by a wall of logical reasoning, my mounted archers retreated. I communicated my order to my mounted archers to retreat and maintain their distance from Pride¡¯s cavalries and being as much the sore in the asses as possible. The Zardian nomadic horsemen were retreating, but still their horse bows arched, and still their eagle feathered arrows nocked, and still their arrows loosed.


    A single volley of fifty one arrows was but a scratch against a moving army of hundreds. But if I had learned from my experience of dealing with Ira, when I scratch someone hard enough and many times enough, eventually that person would bleed. As soon as they redeployed their war eagles elsewhere for my staffs to read the larger battlefield, my mounted archers matched their movement and speed with Pride¡¯s cavalries. Pride¡¯s cavalries turned left, mine made a left detour, matching the movement. Hers stopped, mine stopped as well. Hers slowed down; mine matched the speed while slowly exhausting their quiver on their practice target. In the lore and the game, the Zardian nomadic riders are a constant source of frustration to their opponents for their ability to quickly exhaust a quiver full of argument. But it is the ability to rain down a blanket of dead and destruction while retreating that often tilt people out of their coolness.


    Playing against me when I decided to play to my strength, it was as frustrating an experience as things could possibly be. Pride knew, and I knew that her force could overwhelm and crush my puny fifty men unit in a direct combat. But I denied that direct combat, ran from the fight and treated her to a delightful all-you-can-eat feathery buffet. It does not mean my horsemen should fight a melee just because they wear their Zardian horse saber at their hips.


    Pride was micro-controlling her giant armies, fighting a total of six battles, small and large, at the moment. She could win elsewhere. She could win the other five, but not here. That, I have to make a statement. Standing in my corner and listening to the battle updates, I disrespectfully raised my arm high and gave Pride a giant middle finger, half-hoping that my lovely Demon Lord would not look at my direction and be tilted out of the game yet again. That would be yet another boring conclusion.


    Everything I have done, I did them to frustrate and bully Pride out of her coolness.


    Whenever I stop playing around and get serious, I am the most hated man for anyone who is unfortunate enough to be my competition. God gives me a talent, making people angry, and I have never shied away from not using this talent of mine.


    Due to the branding and media¡¯s cover, most diehard fans believed that among our royal circle of six, three mastered the art of manly combat, the melees, and the other three perfected the cowardly art of guerilla combat, the hit-and-run. Orithyia, Nightmare, Superior were legendary for their mechanical skills in the art of manly combat while FY, S0rr0w and I were notorious for our cheap and sneaky hit-and-run.


    While I was not the only master of the hit-and-run tactic in the league, I was the best, even better than Ph¨²c.


    Cold and mechanically solid it is, back by logic, calculation and preparation, but Ph¨²c¡¯s hit-and-run has too much niceness and good manner in his style. FY was responsible for that. FY¡¯s hit-and-run was too clean, too good natured. His strategies are about outwitting his competitions, not giving them a psychological wedge. Both Ph¨²c and FY had never tried to embarrass or bully or toy with their opponents in the game. Neither of them had tried to impair the confidence and psychology of their competitions. But I always did. I frustrated my competitions out of their coolness, toyed with them and bullied them to submission. That has been a staple part of my game, and it still is.


    There is no shame in bullying the weak in a game like ROC when it is a simulation of war. After all, war is all about bullying.


    ¡°War is all about bullying the weak. Only by picking a fight with a weaker opponent and punishing his opponent¡¯s weaknesses that a person¡¯s victory is assured, that is the definition of bullying. Therefore, the Generals and Commanders with the most illustrative career and records are the most successful bullies in the history of humankind.¡± This is the opening paragraph of my graduation thesis paper until my lecturer told me to scrap it.


    ROC is just simulation of war, my competitions always lived for another matches and another games. Therefore, only by completely shattering their confidence and psyche in first battle against me through trash talk and bullying, that I would easily make my opponents submit in the subsequent matches. A player with an impaired confidence and shattered psyche can only play their game passively and confusedly. They forgot their strength and their style. They played the game like a husk of themselves. A person like that is not a threat. He is easily beaten around, an easy target to pick on, a burden for his team. That is something I have learned from being whooped in the asses by S0rr0w. It is something I have picked up that experience. If I could not beaten the spirit of my competition through the first match, rinse and repeat until I do, and those who withstood this mind game commanded my utmost respect. What does not kill you only make you stronger. It is more satisfying to fight a truly strong, worthy rival than raining a pummel on some beaten pulps or some pretending-to-be-strong opponents.


    S0rr0w¡¯s hit-and-run, operated on a similar philosophy, equally nasty, brutal and ill-mannered as mine, but was unfortunately dampened by his handicapped hand¡¯s speed. For such reasons, during the time I was playing, I am the undisputed best among the masters of the hit-and-run.


    My style is unashamedly nasty. Mine is unshackled from good manner or slow hand¡¯s speed. Mine made people rage-quit more often. Therefore, I gave Pride my salute for being able to keep her emotion in check this time around, without truly care if she could see it or not.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    It was a protracted battle for map dominance. The tides of the combat raged and turned over a dozen times, back and forth between Pride¡¯s side and mine. Three times, I had tried to ride the tide to victory. Three times, Pride stopped my momentum cold. Five times, Pride decided to test her chance, going for the kill. Five times, I broke the point of her attacks clean. As a result, we used every advantage to build our momentum for the late game.


    No Demon Lord has been summoned into this 15,000<sup>th</sup> game, not yet. Until Pride has established map dominance, she would not summon a Demon Lord. Learned from her previous losses, Pride employed her armies and generals wisely. Though, her execution of tactics and strategy has left me confused.


    One of Pride¡¯s scouting forces was being caught in between her range units and Ember¡¯s raiding party. Still, her occultist units standing behind launched their spells and arrows without caution. The projectiles hit both her ally scouting units and Ember¡¯s units. Clumsy, accidental, ugly, and purely chaotic, ¡°messy¡± was the only word to describe such a combat situation, the kind of combat situation that no trained pro-gamer could love when they are not on the losing side. By the will of logic, only when a pro-gamer is clearly losing the fight and the war, he would seek chaos praying for an unlikely miraculous victory. It is a desperate strategy for a desperate time.


    But a prayer for victory was not how our game is shaping into. That¡¯s not Pride¡¯s personality. That¡¯s not her style. Knowing that, I kept racing my mind for an answer.


    As I raced my mind for an answer, the map was being filled with one messy combat situation after another. Then suddenly, everything could become messy, did, at the same time.


    Fuck you, Murphy¡¯s Law, I inwardly cursed, rolling the coins between my fingers at a higher speed.


    Chaos swept the battlefield like the flood in the Genesis, bending and breaking every working cogwheel of logic to recreate a new world¡¯s order. Archers traded punches with occult spell casters. Crossbowmen drew their side arm fighting a melee with a bunch of conscripted bowmen. It was hot-mess of new world order. Heated skirmishes and melee engagements happened across the wide map of the kingdom of Zard.


    I have trained Pride to play her game with clean control and precise mechanical skills. I knew her play style because its uncanny resemblance toward mine. Chaos only happens when we will it to be.


    Amidst that hot mess of pure chaos, it took me a moment too late to deduct what Pride was trying to do. Divide and conquer, it was the oldest trick in the book of military art. It was an old tactic, but never outdated. Instead of fighting a team of Isonos, Sasengun, Searek, Ember and me, Pride fought us individually. Instead of fighting an army of thousand, she fought ten armies of one hundreds.


    Sasengun logically shouted orders for us to disengage our fights and skirmishes. But Pride pre-empted, thrusting her all of her combatting units into melee engagements. This chaotic mess was Pride¡¯s game plan. She would not let us turn it around so easily. If we commanded our troops to disengage from the heat of melees, we would accumulate losses.


    I reimagined the entire battlefield from the bird¡¯s eyes camera, from Pride¡¯s POV.


    Good job hiding this trump card until now. I can only praise my student for her excellence.


    Pride was demonstrating a godly micro skill, controlling at least seventeen armies at the same times, fighting seventeen battles. Until now, Pride preferred fighting with a giant, unified army, slowly pushing the scenario into a conclusive battle. But now, she fought in small skirmishes. She cut her armies down to their smallest units, fighting for small objectives. For a moment, I sweated and recalled how dominant Orithyia was in her MVP year with this play style.


    Orithyia was my usual competition for the annual Top Ender of the Year award. But at the same time, she was always battling with S0rr0w for the Top Raider of the Year award. She could control an army of over 20,000 men as many small armies of 1,000~3,000 with unity, skill and precision. It was often described that playing against Amazon Electronic and their Amazonian Queen was like playing ROC against ten pro-gamers at the same time. Orithyia¡¯s micro-control skill and concentration was godly which result in Amazon Gaming¡¯s renowned map-control dominance.


    Orithyia, when she was in her top form, was a force to be respect. ¡°Chaos is Order,¡± revealed she, giving a very short summary to the secret of her dominance.


    What Pride was doing at the moment gave me flashbacks of Orithyia. I immediately shook my head, focusing on the battle at hands. Dion disrupted my concentration and sarcastically asked me if I needed its help. I taciturnly gave it a mental middle finger.


    My current force was being split into three, being locked in three separated engagements. The naked curve of my Zardian horse sabers sang a metal choir with the tapered black steels of Pride¡¯s mercenary units. Her bandit ravagers howled and crashed into the front of my militia spearmen with the unadulterated savagery of their bloodied long axes. Amidst the heated chaos, a 300-man unit of Pride¡¯s occultists offered their soul to Ira and Wrath, gaining beastly strength and movement. Their body framed by a swirling black aura of Wrath¡¯s and Ira¡¯s magical essence. These men turned beasts raced across the killing field on four limbs, slamming into the flank of my militia spearmen in a hammer and anvil tactic, while exposing their back like target practices to my Hyrios.


    I could calculate how fast that my militia spearmen were booking their trip to the black moon. It was just a matter of time. Pride¡¯s men-turned beasts unit and bandit ravager units would sustain heavy casualty. It was a losing battle, but a trade that Pride would gladly accept to keep my Hyrios contained. We, each, won one half of this giant mess.


    But Ember¡¯s units were being overwhelmed too fast for my liking. Ember was not the most adapting person. He operated well in a systematic environment. Break the system, turning order into chaos, Ember would lose half of his usual wit. I could see that once Ember¡¯s unit was routed, Searek¡¯s personal army was next on Pride¡¯s menu.


    Do I trust Ember to pull through this mess? Do I trust Isonos to come out of his engagement fast enough to aid Ember? Do I trust Sasengun to come up with a counter-strategy from this mess? Yes, I do. I trust them, because I have no other option, so I must. I gritted my teeth, my fingers fiddling with the invisible coins, simulating the current situation ahead and predicting the movement of Pride¡¯s warlord across the map.


    Pride¡¯s control over her troops and armies are much sharper and faster than ours. That¡¯s more than enough to allow Pride to overcome most of her disadvantage as long as her concentration and control is in top form.


    I mentally weighted the cost. I recalled Pride¡¯s taunting mind trick in the pre-game. Do I trust this new The Alliance as I would trust my old brotherhood? No, I don¡¯t. After all, war is their business and calling. They were not pro-gamers. I did not recruit them to play games.


    A, trust my teammates. B, do not trust them. How about C, FUCK YOU?


    Could not hold it in any longer, ¡°FUCK THIS SHIT,¡± I heatedly aired out my rage. I have always loathed being asked to make choice base on the options provided to me by someone else. I hated doing MCQs. I hated filling those stupid psychology checklists to my psychiatrists. I knew that my rage was the work of Pride¡¯s mind game. But I cared not. I am a person with anger issues. I am used to play ROC angrily. I am used to live my life angrily.


    I shouted my orders to Sasengun, telling her to shift the gears of her strategy accordingly.


    You want chaos? I show you the real chaos. I quietly breathed out my rage. A game within a game within a game, we are playing. I am trading one loss for one win.


    I gave up on my militia spearmen units, but commanding them to drag out their melee with Pride¡¯s bandit ravagers for as long as possible. I wanted to keep those brutes busy for as long as possible.


    Just for the briefest of a moment, I saw Pride took her eyes off her screen. If that was an act, I am so screwed, I thought, but staked my life on Fortuna¡¯s hands. My Hyrios and his small band of nomadic riders were bolting, but not to Ember¡¯s rescue, away from the smothering, corpses strewed contention for map dominance.


    In the heat of combat, Sasengun shouted, alerting me of one of Pride¡¯s nomadic cavalry units were moving away to intercept my west moving Hyrios and his retinue.


    ¡°Which unit?¡± I asked.


    Hearing Sasengun¡¯s answer, I licked my lips, readying my troops for combat. Dion internally accuse me of map-hacking and cheating. What I have just done was outside of its calculation. I have correctly guessed the whereabouts and movement of Pride warlord.


    ROUND 2, the dark art of stupidity and ill-logic, I answered Dion¡¯s accusation with an accusatory reply.

 V2 Chapter 40: Pride Before The Fall (02)

    O Fortuna, save her, I silently prayed to the Goddess of Luck to stop giving me favoritism when I had no need for such blatant favoritism.


    Fortuna is the will of luck, both bad luck and good luck, two sides of a coin. But Fortuna¡¯s favor is not something I truly needed at a moment. Her favor was something my competitions and foes desperately needed at the moment, in both quality and quantity, and that was not even enough.


    I snapped my fingers to conjure a tall stack of towels and a bag full of cold water bottles to appear on one hand. Slowly, I distributed the items to my fatigue seasoned staffs while darting a side-long glance at the Pride¡¯s direction.


    With her body leaned against the chair armrest, the Perfect Demon Lord rested her chiseled chin against her whitened knuckle in a laidback and carefree manner. Pride patiently waited for me to approach her with the swagger of a winner. But a winner she was in everything but the blindfolded game. Her body language did not look like that of a person who has been so desperate to prolong her defeat for days, knowing the inevitable result. The 15,000<sup>th</sup> matches last for eleven days. But it should have ended on day four.


    I smiled dastardly and blew a kiss at my lioness, trying to get an early reveal of her hidden frustration. Pride scoffed it off as though she has been expecting it, waving her fingers at me as if shooing.


    As I distributed the towels and water, I took my time to talk through with my staffers, giving them an encouraging speech and exchanging some casual talk in between. I tossed Searek his towel and water bottle, which he caught effortlessly, and complimented his work. Searek, as ever a person of quiet and solitary disposition, gave me a slight nod. Sasengun, as usual, was light on her feet. The dark elf approached me and stole half of my workload, helping me to distribute the water and towel to the rest of the staffers.


    Isonos was intoxicated from his physical exhaustion and the euphoria of a well-earned victory. The one wing Garuda spew a joke so cold and so lame that only a person like me could chuckle.


    Not everyone could appreciate a cold joke or a terrible joke, especially the kind of jokes that Isonos has been delivering with his straight, unsmiling face. Appropriately, people, even those who had been working with Isonos for well over ten centuries always had a hard time realizing if Isonos was cracking a joke. I gave Isonos a pat on his shoulder while putting the towel on his feathery head, wiping his sweat like the old-time before I directed my attention elsewhere.


    Ember, as usual, was flat on his sweat-drenched back and on the ground wheezing for air. His chest rose and sank without rhythm. His face paled and was devoid of vitality, looking like he was dying from exhaustion. Though Ember was no longer a part of the livings, his soul was immortalized by the work of Madness like the rest of my staffers. If Ember could die again in this dreamland, I would have been much worry.


    Slowly approaching Ember, I gave him my hand. Despite our years of spending together, Ember always kept a respectable distance from me in others¡¯ presence. In Ember¡¯s own words, ¡°Others don¡¯t treat you, Your Highness, with the correct amount of dignity and respect that you deserve. You, yourself, Your Highness have certainly failed to ¡­ No, you refuse to do that¡­ Therefore, someone must. I must. I must inspire people to do the same.¡± As a result, Ember taught himself to grow over his familiarity with me and treat me as though I was a royal in private and in public.


    Ember, despite his fatigue, forced his body to rise with independence. He respectfully declined my outreach hand and received the items I distributed with custom and tradition.


    While the fantastical appearance of Isonos, Searek, and Sasengun breathed a different air to the gold and black of the 2057 Fall version of The Alliance¡¯s uniform and seemed to fit right in the with the suit and blazer, Ember appeared oddly mismatched due to his Nordmen fashion. Ember¡¯s russet-colored hair, though coarse and time-bleached, was well-braided and neatly knotted together by small rings of silver and gold. He appeared like a medieval Viking chieftain who was forced to wear modern-day fashion.


    Without that dark, twisted visage that rarely haunted his face, it was impossible to connect Ember¡¯s current image to his villainous history, the Mad Saint, the person who had once lit the entire northern continent of Escana in flame or a hundred years of carnages and bloodshed. He appeared harmless, dignified and oddly down to earth, humble and kind. I lived with Ember long enough to know what he was all about. I have seen him in his most demented and vulnerable moments when his character really showed itself. There was an unsettling part of him that drove him to do certain coldblooded deeds to realize his goal. But there was another part of him that was very observant, philosophical and wise similarly to that Faugus. I have seen many sides of Ember and known him more than he knew himself.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s your thought?¡± I asked.


    As soon as he was done with wiping his face, Ember used the clean towel to dap his sweaty head like a scowl. ¡°Your Highness, you need to stop feeding a starved lion to court disaster,¡± Ember replied. He earnestly begged me to stop feeding ¡°A starved Lioness,¡± for she would only become stronger and hungrier with every meal.


    Feed a starved dog to garner a loyal hound, feed a starved lion to court disaster. It was a local proverb from where Ember came from. The mountain snow lions of White Winter are said to be so wild and proud that they are untamable. No matter the tricks that a man would employ, a snow lion is only loyal to itself and its crowned instinct.


    Shrugging my shoulders, ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I would go on doing,¡± I assured Ember of my future action, knowing that my words were having an accumulating desired effect on Ember.


    It sounded like Ember was whining. But when I put myself into Ember¡¯s shoes, trying to imagine the words written in dry blood on Ember¡¯s ledger, I realized that Ember was being increasingly stressed with my current status and unrevealed goal, especially when Faugus, my loudest voice of reasoning, was no longer here to give me counsel.


    Ember must have believed that if someone was to assume Faugus¡¯ mantle, it must be him. And in a manner, he was not wrong.


    Searek had seen how I could overcome many odds through my stubbornness alone and respected me for that. He would follow me blindly for that reason alone, no further logical reasoning is required. Isonos, a genius he was, but he excessively idolized me to the point that he would often overlook my greatest faults. He would go along with my stupidity trusting that I had always had a plan for everything, which I wished I did. Sasengun, though realizing that I was a faulty world of imperfect and pain, would accompany me to the deepest pit of hell and beyond due to her love. Lynx, on the other hand, had no wish to stain his hands again for someone¡¯s goal. Keenly aware that the other staffers were like that, Ember had forced himself to put on the mantle of logical reasoning that Faugus has left behind.


    When he heard my reply, Ember¡¯s complexion twisted with the olden darkness of the Mad Saint. The helplessness, the frustration, the confusion filled the veins inside eyeballs with a maddened pulsating red.


    To that, I only smiled, casually patting his shoulder.


    I knew that Ember was not having any fun with the blindfolded version of ROC and the amount of risk that I have been playing around, and that dislike and frustration clearly showed on his face.


    Ember lacked a strong, vivid visualization and a level of flexibility to keep up with the fast pace and unpredictability of this game. But above all, the condensation of Sanguine¡¯s venom inside Ember, the manifestation of his insanity, was an immaterial ledger. This ledger recorded events and highlighted details that have fed into Ember¡¯s paranoia and doubts. Its property was the opposite of Isonos¡¯ crystal wings which allowed Isonos to peer into the distant future through his imagination and intelligence. If Ember¡¯s insanity dug into the obscurity of the past, Isonos¡¯ madness pried the mysterious veil of the future. This ledger of Ember, however, did not give him an edge while playing these blindfolded games in real-time the same way that Isonos¡¯ crystal wings, Sasengun¡¯s compass or Searek¡¯s broken mirror. Its helpfulness only came when he had the time to review the games that Ember had played and watched.


    Ember¡¯s ledger allowed him to view the most unsettled parts of his history in written details by pointing out his mistakes, fear, and doubt. It would be a most excellent tool for Ember if he was a member, or the leader, of the Warren, which he wasn¡¯t.


    But the biggest reason for Ember¡¯s frustration with these blindfold games had to do with how his greatest weaknesses were exposed and punished repeatedly. Ember¡¯s weaknesses, as usual, was fully exposed, targeted, and exploited by Pride repeatedly throughout the match. He struggled through and through in every game. It has become a norm for Ember since his first blindfolded game.


    While I would love to trade for Ember¡¯s spot, to be truly felt punished for my weaknesses and mistakes, to be strong-armed by desperation and struggle like a true underdog until the grace of victory found me, Ember was having none of that. He would rather trade for my spot, having the unreasonable confidence that I would win every ROC game regardless of the number of odds stacking me.


    Just like I had no idea how to nerf myself with insecurity and Ember had no idea how to buff himself with confidence.


    As the number of victory mounting, I sorely missed the feeling of being challenged, the thrill of one step away from losing everything, the bizarre, crushing fear of having my life rolled out of my control, and the sheer elation from earning a hard-fought victory from overcoming impossible odds. But difficulty and challenges were something that I had slowly lost to this Divine Dream that I willed. Gradually, everything just became easier, much easier for my liking. It was as though I was forced to play my game in an easy mode. Even those boggling difficulties and problems, which had once appeared as herculean tasks, were too easy, nowadays. I barely felt the difficulty. I felt the pain of a max level game character who was stuck inside the invisible walls of the town of the beginners and just one-hit every foe that he encountered. There was no adventure. There was no thrill. There was neither a rush of adrenalin nor a breath of relief. There was only undulating boredom of my doing that kept going forever.


    Foes that I was once forced to strategize, and map out my moves perfectly to win, would now fell before me in a flick of a finger. I knew that I must be prepared for the war to come, but, as usual, when I was prepared, there is little to no challenge in my life. So these blindfolded games were the only thing in this endless dream of mine that I could look forward to.


    Ember was by no mean a handicap of mine. He was versatile and clever enough that if I gave him an assignment, no matter how impossible the assignment may appear, for instance, the destruction of Coeles, Ember would be able to find the best answer for that assignment. But that was his greatest problem and greatest weakness. Ember would not opt for anything else but the best, risk-free answer. But the best, risk-free answer was ever a rare gem in life and in war.


    In this dreamland, Ember was the number one on the leaderboard of abusing the time-chamber that did not include me. Leph was second and Meireen was third on the leaderboard.


    In this Divine Dream of mine, when the time has been reduced to a mere device of convenience, none of my staffers were shy from using the time-chamber to solve their inconveniences according to their purpose and intent. But Ember abused the time-chamber to the point that he had grown dependent on it. He always retreated to the time-chamber to get the best answer out of every problem that he had encountered. If Ember lacked a skill, he would hit the time-chamber, coming back in what appeared a second to everyone but a century for him with that skill solidly developed. When I gave Ember a night to be prepared to play Blindfolded ROC, he locked himself inside the time-chamber for centuries to study and practice the game to his best capacity.


    ¡°Can I ask you, Your Highness. Why are we doing this? I don¡¯t understand,¡± with his sweat-soaked back flattened against the floor, Ember rasped, asking the same question that he has kept repeating to me.


    ¡°Now, you don¡¯t understand. But, in time you will,¡± I repeated my usual asinine answer to Ember with a refreshing smile curving on my lips. In my antic and rule, he who asked a stupid question deserved to hear a stupid answer. Ember asked that question of his, fully expected to be disappointed. Therefore, I kept him wallowing in disappointment again.


    No surprise there.


    Once I was done answering Ember¡¯s question, which I technically didn¡¯t, I told the rest of the staffers to return to their place and get some rest before the next game would commence, knowing that none of them would do that. Ember would hit the time-chamber again. Searek would try to mediate, searching for his inner peace, and maintain his battle skills from rusting. Isonos would find works to keep himself busy at all times. The rest of the helpers would also go back to their Division, continuing with their current assignments.


    Only Sasengun dawdled behind when the rest had already hopped on a different time-plane, other parts of this vast dreamland. The dark elf wore a sullen expression of hurt when I declined to visit her chamber for this night.


    I inadvertently shook my head and heaved a heavy sigh. ¡°Of all the flavors, why would you choose salt? Having too much salt would only make you thirstier, more insane, and more hurt. I am that salty water that you sailors are taught not to drink when thirsty. You are smarter than this, so why?¡± I asked. It was not the first time that we had this argument but we kept going about like we were beating an already dead horse it over and over again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me to do something you cannot do, Shandorei,¡± Sasengun replied, stubborn as ever on the subject. She would listen and comply with every selfish and insane wish of mine, but not this one. Sasengun was not the type of woman who wore makeup or perfume when she was alive. But she did, wearing them here in dreamland, for my attention and affection. Sasengun was not the type of person who bowed and obeyed to whims of others. She commanded and others bowed before her. But here, she waited, devoting herself for my orders and commands.


    ¡°Sasengun, baby, a good woman like you deserves a much better lover, someone who would reciprocate your feeling and fidelity in full and more, but that someone is not me. I am the worst material to be a lover.¡±


    ¡°I sentenced my first husband to his death. I sacrificed the two lovers that I had ever had after that and even my children to Sanguine. I¡¯m not a good woman,¡± Sasengun countered with the same argument that she has adopted in the last two and a half centuries. Her brown, captivating eyes turned misty.


    Frustrated I was, though not nearly as frustrated as Sasengun. My tongue clicked like it had a will of its own while I was sorting the jumbled mess that was my thought and emotions in an orderly fashion. Dion internally cursed me for being a dick. Shut the fuck up for a moment, I cursed the faulty prone virtual assistance of mine right back. For once, I regretted drinking that venom and created Dion.


    ¡°So you are telling me that you have been using your love for me as a punishment for your lovers¡¯ death?¡± I specifically picked the words that would hurt Sasengun the most. Lortenite and Meireen, and everyone else had kept telling me to stop hurting Sasengun. But the only way I could stop hurting Sasengun was dissuading her from pursuing me.


    Unlike them, who could pursue their goal over their emotions for me, Sasengun could not. If I went to hell, those women who had grown over their affection for me would wisely choose not to follow my footsteps to that place. But Sasengun would. If the worst happened to me, they would seek revenge, and then mourn. But this dark elf would revenge and then seek her own destruction. That was something I could not allow to happen.


    On the contrary to my hopeful mental prediction, Sasengun steeled herself, ¡°You know that is NOT what I meant,¡± she hissed heatedly, her eyes boiling with salty water. ¡°You know that is NOT what I meant.¡±


    Of course, I knew, the words thankfully got stuck inside my throat, could not come out as intended. I took a breath and smirked, ¡°Then what do you mean?¡± I absolutely hated the cruel cutting edge of my smirking voice.


    ¡°I love you. There is nothing that I would not do for you. I love you, Shandorei,¡± Sasengun sobbed, her slender but solid shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. Her boiling, watery beads flowed, washing away her mascara in two broken, tainted salty streams. With the falling tears, crumbled anything resemblance that of authority, gallantry and fortitude that previously exhibited in Sasengun when she took the command position. Her voice broke, begging and tearful. ¡°Please stop commanding me to do this. Please, stop giving me this command. This, I cannot do. I would not ask for your reciprocation, but please, just allow me to love you and stay by your side as I am.¡±


    Using your tears like this is unfair. I pulled Sasengun into my chest and let the dark elf sobbed her eyes out.


    Mind games I played, psychological tricks I had employed, but this dark elf refused to be strayed from her goal. I felt as if my relationship with Sasengun could not progress further from this stage in the direction that I have wanted.


    Acr?a¡¯s tears, I could stand. Acr?a employed her normal tears and crocodile tears too slyly that I had developed immunity toward her tears. Others¡¯ tears I could scoff off. Their tears sometimes contained too much self-pity. Those kinds of tears, I could get used to. But Meireen¡¯s tears and Sasengun¡¯s tears were terrifyingly hard to deal with. Theirs were the tears of pity and worry. One cried asking me to love myself while the other cried asking to follow me wherever I might go. Conquering the world is easier than complying with the request of these two. How am I going to solve this problem? I mulled, half wanting to cry for Sasengun and half wanting to cry for myself. I wanted to be challenged, but not with this kind of challenge.


    I sighed again. I lamented how Father Time had failed to chisel me into a better man¡­ not that I had ever entrusted myself to the work and machination of Father Time. So again, Father Time was not to be blamed, I was. This Divine Dream, too, had failed to shape me into a better person.


    A Divine Dream was a reality-bending miracle, a place where the will of the stronger person would decide the result and the reality. Depending on how it was used, it was said to be capable of making a weak man strong and an ignorant man wise. A poverty-stricken, manure-smudged farm boy was turned into a Slayer of Dragon and an Emperor in a Divine Dream through the miracles wielded by two Immortals.


    There were some fifty Immortals presented inside this Divine Dream, and yet, none of them had the power to change me.


    Though I have gained an army and an improved wealth of trickeries, I remained the same, the same person that I was in my last six years on Earth.


    I failed to comprehend how a reality-bending miracle could have failed to change the both of us, me and my other half, from the people that we were.


    We had been transported into an alternate reality. We both have looked at Death in the eyes. We were both tested by Father Time. We have been touched by reality-bending miracles and Authorities. A myriad of skills I had attained, yet, nothing has truly changed. I was the same disagreeable asshole that I was in my last six years living on Earth. And he remained the same since that dark, dirty day.


    This chip is just too hard to toss away¡­ I internally complained. ¡°Oh, baby¡­ What should I do with you, Sasengun?¡± I resignedly asked, burying my face into her brunette hair. I smothered her sobbing frame within my arms, unable to predict how our future would shape. At that moment, my attention was Sasengun¡¯s alone. Everything else was an afterthought, even Pride and the war.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    For the last six years of my time living on Earth, every single day, I had staked everything that I possessed on Fortuna¡¯s hands. Everything.


    The value of my own existence and heart was cheap, in fact, dirt cheap had they were not directly linked to my other half. Monetary wealth is cheap for I could always earn them right back, one way or another, through my investment and business, ROC or through the cult. But it was the other things, invaluable and priceless worth, family, brotherhood, love, important bonds, that had me on a roller-coaster of emotions. They were precious things that no substantial amount of wealth in the world could purchase. They were things that I would gladly trade my own life to exchange. Every time when they were slipping away from my hands, I felt like there was a sharp knife stabbed into my chest, twisted and wrenched a gashing hole there. It was my own doing, I knew. And I hated it. My eyes would boil in salty steam. There was a furious, gnarling beastly voice inside my soul, cursing and growling at my own self-inflicted stupidity and insanity. This beastly, immaterial voice made me laughed at how na?ve and ignorant Ira used to be. Ira acted like a gangster when it just moved to its new house. Ira thought it was the manifestation of anger and hatred. The spiny beast was housed inside Wrath¡¯s astral body in the same manner that a frog living inside a well thinking that it has seen the world. Ira could multiply itself by a thousand and that horde would not come close to what I had.


    Whenever I lost those gambles, when those invaluable chips slipped away from my grasp, I was always one trigger, one knife-cut, one leap of faith, and one drunken, crazy party with a bunch of lunatics away from death. But they, too, were gambles within gambles. I gambled in and out of the pit of self-hatred and curses, in and out of a losing gamble.


    I told myself that if I could turn the most important pieces of my life into chips, there is nothing else in the world that I could not do. That¡¯s a great fallacy, in and of itself, I had always known, but I kept deceiving myself by repeating it.


    Fortuna was, often, kind enough to let me become broke first then regain everything later. Don¡¯t lose them ever again. Sometimes, in the foggy undulation of my drunken nightmares, I heard Fortuna¡¯s reprimanding voice, urging me to stop. But, still, I chose to gamble on. Fortuna would punish me in the exact manner that I had expected that she would. When Fortuna was like that, words failed to describe her wrathful frustration with me. Fortuna punished me as if she was meant to undo me with the crushing weight of the world. In those moments, no matter how broken and devastated I was, I learned to find the way to please Fortuna and improve her mood, somehow, by going on gambling some more.


    When the most important parts of my life returned and assembled on my hands, I clutched them inside my fingers, weeping a tearless cry. A man-made demon, a self-trained worm I was, worst of the worst, the epitome of Injustice, the world is better without me. But, while holding them, I felt a vivid illusion that there was still unfound meaning, hope, and purpose in my wretched, fucked-up life.


    But an illusion, no matter how vivid, how real they appeared, was unreal. Earth or Escana, there is no hope or meaning for the like of worms and demons. For the like of them, the purgatory flame of hell is their only purpose and suffering is their only calling. That is the reality.


    Once I lived out my life, that¡¯s where I belong. Not this place, not this universe.


    I could not stop myself from gambling away everything that matters the most to me. They were better to be away than be with me. I had no intention of dragging them to hell with me. I lived, paving my own path straight to the pits of hell. That¡¯s how I intended to live.


    Six years, Fortuna had kept that life stake of mine on her hands. That was long, too long. If I was her, Lady Fortuna, I would have tossed that wretched burden aside six years earlier.


    I believed in Fortuna. Fortuna is luck, both good luck and bad luck. Therefore, I kept practicing my faith in her. I kept gambling with my chance.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    For Pride, blindfolded ROC was a costly, high risk and high reward investment. If she kept playing against me, she would risk losing more of her Authorities with her failures and defeats. But defeat me just once, I would become hers to command, to love and to own.


    In my case, this blindfolded ROC was like a Gacha machine. For every 5000th win, I got to crank the Gacha machine once. A random Authority belonged to Pride would be skewered by the Golden Sword of Superbia, cut off from her dominion, and be delivered into my hands.


    I thought I would have to slowly grind my way to solve that Wrath¡¯s problem like how I had once climbed my way to the one percent of ROC pro-league.


    Either <Bestower of Life> or <Will of Civilization> would do the job, giving Wrath a clear will of his own, a defined consciousness. Either following the evolution of Nature or the path of Civilization, Wrath would gain his own consciousness, no longer just a mindless tool of destruction alone. But I had intended to give <Will of Civilization> to Wrath and <Bestower of Life> to someone else. Through the first 5000<sup>th</sup> loss, Pride parted with her <Will of Civilization>. As soon as the <Will of Civilization> fell into my hands, I immediately used it as a bargaining price to trade for Wrath¡¯s <Slave of Ira> through the help of Envy and Lust. With the <Will of Civilization>, my share of memory and experience of the time when Thu? D??ng sat next to my other half, forcing him to learn the piano again, forcing him to welcome music into his life again.


    It was a time when an important part of Ph¨²c¡¯s life was reclaimed through the tyranny of a Goddess. It was a time when bitter tears turned into notes and outraged hurt was converted into music.


    The remaining of that task is putting my faith on the stupid people of dreamland to nurture that newborn will of Wrath toward a peaceful, non-destructive goal. No matter the character of Wrath deep down, he could only survive dreamland by growing up with that kind of goal. Even a child among the stupid people of dreamland was more destructive and angry-prone than he has ever been. Therefore, as long as Wrath lived inside dreamland, violence is never an option. The moment he exerted force and violence, he was just asked to be flattened.


    Fortuna has given me one of the Authorities on my wish list with my first Gacha roll.


    It was as if Fortuna was whispering to me, ¡°Keep trying,¡± telling me to keep cranking this Gacha machine. So I did. <Superbia> was put on the chopping block with Pride¡¯s second 5000<sup>th</sup> loss. I nearly got a heart attack, but Pride must have suffered a worse heart attack. Of many Authorities that Pride possessed, <Superbia> rolled out of the Gacha machine. Fortuna favored me too much, giving me an early winning streak in this Gacha. Not even I had expected to land myself on this Authority this early. The loss of <Will of Civilization> did not hurt Pride as much as the loss of this one. It was her identity.


    Pride belonged to a group of seven Demon Lords, whose names were uniquely linked to the seven deadly sins. Just like the other six, Pride possessed a unique Authority attributing to her nature and name. The name of these unique Authorities spoke about the identity of these seven Demon Lords.


    Wrath was the <Slave of Ira>, and a slave he was, to both Ira and to Munezee. Sloth was the <Slumbering Husk of Acedia>. Lust was the <Favored Bride of Luxuria>. Gluttony was <Mandates of Gula>. Envy was the <Incarnation of Indivia>. Greed was the <Master of Avaritia>, the ¡°Master of Avarice¡±.


    Ira, I had tamed. Avaritia, I had befriended. My relationship with Luxuria was as big a mess as a mess could possibly be for I had stolen its favored bride and its daughters. The other three personas, Indivia, Gula, and Acedia, I had not met or spoke to, but I knew that they must exist. In that sense, Pride¡¯s unique Authority was written as <Superbia>. She is Superbia in a sense.


    In the aftermath of Pride¡¯s 10,000<sup>th</sup> loss, her Golden Sword of Superbia was forced to cut itself and its owner in halves. Pride¡¯s <Raiment of Superbia>, one of the four trademark miracles from the <Superbia> Authority, fell into my hands. <Succulent Bride> remained in her possession. <Sublime Tyrant> and <The Golden Sword of Superbia> were being disputed. Pride and I shared a custodian over these two miracles. The two of us had half of each miracle. It was as if we were a divorced couple disputing over our asset. If I was surprised that Pride did not break after experiencing something like that, I did not appear so.


    ¡°Pray to Fortuna,¡± said I in a taunting voice, returning from Sasengun¡¯s house to escort Pride back to her mansion with a cruel smirk curved on my lips, ¡°Hopefully, your <Superbia> is not on the chopping block again this time.¡± I acted as if a blink of an eye was really what it was. What appeared as a blink of an eye for Pride was a week for me. But Pride did not need to know about that.


    ¡°Good game,¡± the Perfect Demon admitted her loss with a subtle hint of frustration in her voice, giving me her hand.


    Seeing how Pride has refused to buy into my trash talk, I smiled and took her hand, helping the seated Demon Lord to rise to my height. Only then, I shook her hand and flashed an eloquent, respectful smile, ¡°Good game, you have tried your best. But there could only be one winner in this game.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your pity.¡± Pride curtly drove a fist into my gut to settle her frustration.


    I heavily dropped to the ground on my knees, wheezing for air, my hands clutching to my own stomach. Teary eyes, I was half-suffering the radiating pain from a flattened liver and half-aroused from it. Pride controlled the force and gave me the exact amount that I needed, neither too much nor too little.


    As usual, ¡°Perverted Prince,¡± Pride coldly insulted me. Her eyes rolled with pure disdain, her chin cocked with condescension.


    ¡°I certainly did not ask you to fuel my perverseness. Out of free will, you chose to do it,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she yanked me to her eye level and smothered me with the promised victory kiss while exerting her dominance. Pride¡¯s fingernails dug into the scalp of the back of my head as she hungrily sucked my breath away. Amidst that steamy, magical-induced euphoria where our body and mind were one, our unfiltered emotions were shared and pooled through the entwining, slippery smacks of our tongue and through the connection between two halves of Pride¡¯s golden sword.


    Miracles and Authorities shaped after their wielder¡¯s personality, intention and emotion. When half of Pride¡¯s Golden Sword of Superbia fell into my dominion, it was changed in the same manner that Ira¡¯s appearance was changed. It absorbed my horrible personality and disagreeable emotions. So when the sword reunited with its other half, those emotions of mine flowed into Pride as hers flowed into mine.


    Pride, alone, was the first and only person in this world who has ever tasted my emotions in full. I would say that she knew me more than my allies did. Pride savored every bit of my reluctance to admit that. Reaffirming herself with that knowledge, royally pleased and proud Pride was. Intoxicated by excitement, she pushed me down on her gaming chair and the Lioness slowly yielded her reign of power to our alchemy.


    Mandated by our alchemy, our body lines and thought melt as one. Aroused she was forced to admit by the imperial order of the new monarch, but Pride was unabashed in admitting it. She even took joy in admitting it. Her fingertips meandered through my cloth, stroking, fondling my chest and back according to the mandate of the new monarch. Her breasts fell on top of my chest, hot, swollen and hardened with arousal thought, but ever pleased and proud by the sight of my own painful stiffness below. In that haziness of alchemical steam, where my fingertips blindly melt into the gorgeousness of Pride¡¯s golden curves and the taut loveliness of her flesh, Pride¡¯s euphoria over the brief reunion with a part of herself, which she has lost to me, poured into my head. There were moments when our lips parted, and yet, somehow, our emotion was still one. I heard her accidental purrs when pleasure took her when my lips traced her fair neck with ardent kisses. I relished Pride¡¯s casual acceptance of her undeniable hotness for me and her desire to make me pay for everything that she had gone through. Pride savored what I felt about her frustration and disappointment in her own losses, her hunger for a win, as well as her hidden grudging satisfaction from being beaten.


    It was a back and forth affair until the two of us casually dethroned our monarch from his unruly reign. Our short-lived monarch did not understand the concept of power or knowing how to control it. But we did. Our arrogance was similar, we listened to ourselves and ego, we gave into our intoxication for lust because we could wrestle our consciousness back at any moment.


    We gazed into each other¡¯s eyes, chuckling. Our lips connected again, a true victory kiss for me this time. Only then, as per the dictation of our agreement, the Golden Sword of Superbia, now whole, worked its miracle effect, parting a random Authority of Pride and giving it to me. When our lips parted, ¡°Are you by chance not aware of the ultimate consequence?¡± I looked into Pride¡¯s dazed eyes, asking. ¡°You cannot keep losing this game forever. You know that right? Or must I explain the math myself?¡±


    Every time I got to crank this Gacha machine, there is a chance that I would be able to pull the <Superbia> card out of a deck of over forty cards. And every time I pulled out one card, that card is mine and my chance to pull out the <Superbia> would increase with the next.


    Another one of Pride many Authorities, the <Crafter of Divinity>, has just been deposited to my dominion. This Authority, at the moment, had no use to me. Neither my soul nor my flesh nor my ethereal body was that of a God, a Demon Lord or a primordial spirit. I could not part my flesh or soul like Naharis had done to create an immortal being. Half of me was disappointed while the other half was relieved.


    There was a half of me wishing that Pride would rescind her challenge and admit her losses. There was a chance that she might lose the other half of her <Superbia> in the next 5000<sup>th</sup> loss.


    Fortuna had a will of her own, a maddened gambler like me was clear about the will of Fortuna more than anyone.


    <Crafter of Divinity>, what I considered junk at the moment, was still a part of Pride. Losing a part of oneself, no matter how small, hurt. I knew from my experience.


    ¡°Do you believe that I could be dissuaded with that argument? I will take back what¡¯s mine.¡± Pride scoffed and blinked her eyes while flexing her passion seasoned flesh through the shambled state of her dress. Her voice was half-filled with the barbs from the sore of her latest loss and half laced with ardent steam.


    I inadvertently gulped while trying to clear the fog inside my head. ¡°Do you know why I told how I defeat Heavennet?¡± I asked. Good luck taking that Authority back from Wrath, I thought, imagining the moment when Pride realized that I no longer had her <Will of Civilization> with me.


    ¡°Because¡­¡±


    As I have expected, Pride has carelessly been baited to answer this stupid question. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid,¡± I cut in. ¡°I¡¯m not Heavennet. I am much stronger than it. You will have a much harder time defeating me than I had when I defeated Heavennet. That, I promise. That, I swear on my banner.¡± Pride wore a displeasure look on her face from being interrupted. I fixed Pride¡¯s dress first then my own, pausing for but a second to the question of how did my shirt came off, questioning if it was the work of my own hands or Pride¡¯s.


    Then, as usual, we bickered back and forth while on the way back to Pride¡¯s mansion. We reviewed the game and made mental notes to improve it.


    Pride was aware that if we kept playing this game, over and over again, that day would come, the day when she would find the way to defeat me. There was a part of me wished that the Lioness would keep challenging me until the end, and be it through a calculated or miraculous feat, conquering me the way I had conquered Heavennet.


    The other 19 All-stars played against Heavennet to win and to learn the AI¡¯s winning moves and statistics in addition to earning some extra dollars. Those three AI nerds, the creators of Heavennet and public its face, would provide the All-stars with the data, history log of Heavennet recording of the right plays and wrong plays for their team¡¯s analysts to work. So, as the All-stars were improving Heavennet¡¯s logical reasoning with their knowledge and experience, Heavennet also empowering them with its learning. It was a win-win for every party involved.


    Though that event was well-documented by the league in a 40 minutes clip and later glorified by various Esports writers and content makers, only over three handfuls of people have learned of how I had truly defeated Heavennet. Some found out on their own ability. Some knew due to my disclosure. And some were my accomplices. They all learned that victory was not an enduring testament of mankind¡¯s greatness and untapped potential. It was not that I had outwitted Heavennet¡¯s calculation ability. And it was not purely luck.


    My victory over Heavennet was the result of my intimate understanding of it and my preparation for it. As good as they were, FY, Superior and Nightmare could only win against Heavennet before its second birthday. The other All-stars, too, hit their limit against Heavennet for their lack of understanding and preparation for it.


    Heavennet began with Thu? D??ng. Thu? D??ng had decided that she did not have to play the ROC or be good at ROC to kick our asses at this game. She started working on Heavennet, pages of codes at the time. Since that moment, Ph¨²c and I had schemed to foil the ultimate work of our goddess just once. Ph¨²c has devised a strategy when Thu? D??ng first wrote the codes for Heavennet.


    Neither Ph¨²c had seen the effectiveness of his strategy nor Thu? D??ng had real-time the completion of her project.


    What they started, I completed. I hired those three AI developers with my own money through a third party. With their help, I intended to realize Thu? D??ng¡¯s vision. And when Thu? D??ng¡¯s vision is realized, I intended to test Ph¨²c¡¯s strategy.


    Though it was not nearly as much as the number of games that Heavennet has played against itself, I had played 39,807 matches with Heavennet, nearly twice the combined numbers of games that the other 20 All-stars have played against Heavennet. Whereas they would lose some and win some, I only win one match.


    I have only won one match, the one that counted the most.


    I taught Heavennet to be prepared for one scenario and one single scenario alone. I taught Heavennet to go after my stationed warlord when I abused my hit-and-run to deny it of a conclusive battle. The 39,806 times that Heavennet has gone for that opening against me, it won every single time. I taught Heavennet¡¯s learning program to flag that move as one of the winning moves for that exact situation. I taught Heavennet to counter my play style and to win against me.


    Ph¨²c¡¯s strategy was base on ancient philosophy, ¡°Cultivate an army for three years, use an army in an hour.¡±


    Preparation is everything.


    Using Ph¨²c¡¯s strategy, I played against Heavennet, willing and repeating that exact scenario to develop 39,806 times and lost to the AI 39,806 times. By paving the road with the stones of our accumulated defeats and losses, we had a clear, direct path to victory.


    On that day, the day when Heavennet crushed ten of the top Mythical Ranked All-stars and worked its way to demolish the ten Immortal Ranked All-stars of the league, the world gasped and watched in the scene in horror.


    I, being the disagreeable bastard that I was, rejoiced for Thu? D??ng¡¯s success in secret. When FY, Superior, and Nightmare was beaten, it was time for me to put my faith in Ph¨²c¡¯s strategy and myself while assuming the mantle of mankind¡¯s final defender.


    By relentlessly pushing my assault and extending the combat situation with it, I informed Heavennet of the composition of my army. Heavennet, being its logical self, defended and carefully built an army with units that countered mine base on the provided information. Slowly, Heavennet carefully accumulated and built an army that I could not afford to engage in direct combat. Therefore, I could only avoid to engage in combat with it through hit-and-run and left my warlord in the final fortress for safety measurements.


    That was the scenario, the exact scenario.


    In that exact scenario, Heavennet followed the script that Ph¨²c has planned for it four years ago, going straight for my warlord and final fortress. Heavennet learned to counter my playstyle. It learned of my army¡¯s composition. It learned many things. But it did not learn how disagreeable I could be.


    What Heavennet did not learn was the existence of my siege troops, the witches. I kept them a secret, constantly hid them in the fog of war until the final hour. I taught Heavennet everything that I needed it to learn, but not the one that it should learn, the most important lesson. That alone was the sprout of Heavennet¡¯s greatest downfall, its greatest strategic and tactical error made on that day. The remaining task was the execution of my own tactics to defend against Heavennet¡¯s counterattack and a little bit of currying Fortuna¡¯s favor for security sake.


    The final 20 seconds of that game, I managed to see what my other half had foreseen four years earlier, I saw Heavennet¡¯s fruitless stalling the inevitable. The AI knew of its defeat but still, it struggled to delay that crushing defeat. An asshole I was, humiliating the AI even further, queuing-action to a win. Before Mistress Death graced both sides of the screens with her appearance, I have already run out of the glassy game booth, howling and screaming like a madman. I was intoxicated with emotion and thought, the arena erupted, howling the defeat of Heavennet. They cheered for my success in defending mankind¡¯s dignity against a piece of machine.


    I shouted and cheered for their victory. Amidst the deafening cheer of the crowds, I was as loud as I could possibly be.


    That day was Ph¨²c¡¯s victory as much as Thu? D??ng¡¯s victory. She won the war. Heavennet had proven itself. It would only get stronger and more complete from there. Her goal reached. My other half won the greatest battle of that war because that was the only battle that counted, the only one that mattered. He and I knew that she had the war in her book. History has proven again and again that AI and robot would win and pave the future. Therefore, we only schemed for one victory, the victory that mattered the most, the one that would become an important milestone in history. His strategy and my execution worked against that monster of an AI.


    Only when the rush of emotions was over, I realized that I did not win my battle. He remained silence inside me, unmoved and unawakened.


    While the Golden Arena was thunderous with applauds, being the loudest that it had ever been, I experienced my greatest lost yet. I had no idea how else I could hear his voice again. Only when that realization hit me like a truck, I howled a madman and cried a teary laughter while my body still being tossed in the air. The world believed that those were the tears of joy. For them, that was the truth. That was enough.


    That day, that was the last time the Prince of The Alliance was in tandem, at least in terms of functionality, when he handled the strategy and I handled the execution of tactics.


    ¡°If you wanted to have the Prince of The Alliance, earn him. Conquer him first and his service is yours,¡± I kept telling Pride.


    I did not ask her to defeat me. I did not ask her to defeat Ph¨²c. Defeating me meant that Pride has only defeated Fearless. Defeating Ph¨²c only meant that Pride was bullying a man who has fallen into despondency and grief.


    I demanded Pride to lay waste to the Prince of The Alliance. A ghost, our ghost, his and mine.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The newest average time for the two us, Pride and me, to complete our match was around four days. When I mentally did the simple math, 5000 times four, around twenty thousand dreamland days have passed. I could barely feel the passage of time anymore, thanks to the experience I had accumulated through this endless dream and the lack of adrenalin rush nowadays.


    In a blink of an eye, it was yet another decisive battle, another inevitable for Pride. Her ownership over her Authority was once again being put on the guillotine.


    5000 matches of blindfolded ROC in the real world would be labeled as ¡°many,¡± but not in dreamland. No amount of games or matches was ever too many or too much inside dreamland, as long as they were conducted with purposes, which the two of us had more than enough.


    ¡°You can still stop now,¡± I suggested.


    ¡°Today marks your fall,¡± Pride declared before the game.


    ¡°I will fall to the ground laughing at your loss,¡± countered I, having the final word as usual.


    Pride was confident because she was armed with a new weapon or two. If you have a trump card, save it for the right moment. And Pride had certainly revealed it at the right moment. It was not an ingenious scheme or tactic or anything huge.


    For once, the Lioness stopped being stubborn about using the dark occultist to defeat me. She swallowed her words. That alone was an improvement. Pride had perfected a method to rest her mind and restored her freshness while playing the game. It was something so insignificant, just a mechanical skill, and yet, a game-changer. Combining this skill with her developed micro-controlling skill, Pride willed our battle into that of attrition battle while directing the point of her attack at my Achilles'' heels.


    Though, our side had already learned to communicate through hand sign and code outside of oral command to save us energy. It was not enough to keep up with the physical demands of the blindfolded games when they could last to a month.


    Isonos and Ember were Pride¡¯s primary targets. Ember, no matter how much training I had subjected him into, had a limited threshold toward pressure and quick thinking. Ember was if I would word, a normal person who had overachieved his normal status.


    Not every person could solve a hundred problems in twenty seconds. That, I had accepted. Not every person could be like FY, not everyone could overcome his weakness to pressure simply by getting used to the motion and constantly putting his mind and body to the meatgrinders of pressure. Not everyone can overcome stress by exposing himself to more stresses. Not every slow person could train himself to be fast. Not every person could butt his head against the wall and expect the wall to fall down. Such absurdities of tasks required abnormal people to address.


    Isonos could not meet the insane physical demand of the job especially when Pride had exposed his physical handicap and narrowed down her attack on him. To scream, yell, communicate, and think for twenty-seven days straight without stopping to rest, Isonos lacked the physical demand to do that. On top of that, Pride had finally put her own analysis and scouting reports on Isonos¡¯ commanding style into proper use for the first time.


    Her patience was to be feared. Since that night when Pride had discussed with me of her analysis of Isonos, over 10, 000 blindfolded games had been played. A true hunter the Lioness was, only struck when she was sure.


    Within nineteen taxing days of endless, high octane and high mobility combats and repeated barbaric slugfests, Isonos for the second time in his life were absolutely crushed. The one wing Garuda suffered failures upon failures upon failures. His tactical decisions were read. His planned moves and even impromptu moves were predicted and countered. He was toyed and crushed mercilessly. Isonos was exhausted in strategy, willpower and emotion.


    When I realized Pride¡¯s game plan, I resorted to my oldest trick and pulled my staffers out of their duty to rest them in shifts and rotations. Losing teams of helpers to energy-management was painful, as painful as losing eyes and ears, but losing a tactician of Isonos¡¯ level and a strategist of Ember¡¯s caliber on top of that hurt... a lot. I would rather lose my eyes and ears than losing my brains.


    I had a chill during that moment when I first pulled Isonos out of the game in a losing moment on our side. The veins in his misaligned eyes were bulging, dark, and pulsating with fury and hatred for his own disability and weaknesses. The last time I have seen this look of Isonos was when I crushed him in ROC alongside his dream team. Back then, Isonos had Sasengun to handle my offense, Faugus to man the strategic positions and resources, Meireen to contest APM and high mobility combats with me, Searek to mount the offense, and Isonos himself as the mastermind of the team. Back then, when I demolished his dream team, Isonos also had this crushed look.


    I diverted my attention from the fight by leaving the command to Searek and Sasengun. I crowned a cold, white towel on Isonos¡¯ feathered head, ¡°Never forget this moment,¡± commanded I.


    Isonos¡¯ complexion hardened. The one wing Garuda nodded his head, cracking his taloned knuckles.


    What doesn¡¯t kill you, only make you stronger, I grinned at the face of my success.


    Even the monsters of logical reasoning and foresight like S0rr0w and FY experienced utter defeats. But what made them the monsters that they were, my equal and better, was their willful rise from their defeats. Every time they suffered routs, they return a stronger monster. Attempting to defeat them was like trying to defeat my own mirror image. They refuse to go down or stay down.


    The landscape of the pro-league of ROC has always been a constant arms race. It was never about how strong a team was or could be. Being stronger and more developed at every moment is more important in an arms race. That¡¯s the spirit of every competitive sport and Esport. War is a similarly constant arm-race. It was good for a genius like Isonos to suffer failures and shame at this level.


    I created a monster out of Pride and fought her for many reasons.


    Smart people would shoot one arrow at one bird, and one thousand arrows at one thousand birds. Stupid and insane people like me would shoot one arrow at a flock of one thousand birds, hoping that arrow would miraculously land all of them.


    To conquer a monster, a person needs to be as strong, if not stronger than that monster, be it in might or in wit, which I needed my generals and commanders to be. If I could make Pride submit, good, I would gain a monster size of an independent warlord. If I was submitted by Pride¡¯s sword, also good, my generals and commanders would be even more driven to realize my goal. For them, it would be a personal business with Pride and whoever involved with the Great Game. URLOX¡¯s stupid prophecy would be hilariously proven wrong. Win or lose this blindfolded game against Pride, the Great Game would end by my design.


    Everyone involved with this stupid game would receive the ¡°FUCK YOU¡± in Fearless¡¯ style to their face, I thought and grinned.


    When I pulled Isonos and Ember out of the roster to let them rest in rotation, even a battle seasoned orc like Searek had a difficult time to go through that kind of shouting hell. Not every human had the physical makeups, skills or experience to scream, yell, communicate while forcing our mind to work for weeks without resting like Sasengun or me.


    The fact that the two of us were fully capable of going through with the demand of this insanity of a task could be attributed to our history with insanity. Just like old-time, Sasengun and I had to do most of the heavy lifting for our side throughout the match, especially whenever I rested Isonos or Ember. It was nothing new or novel. It was the same old trick of ours. When everything else failed, I took over the offense scheme while she single-mindedly ran the defense setup and everything else. I cut any unnecessary information off my attention and doubled down on causing as much damage to Pride¡¯s faction as possible.


    Just like that, our side persevered. Our quagmire of perseverance absorbed Pride¡¯s waves of assaults. Her waves of assault were endless, our perseverance was bottomless. Our clash was a contradiction of ideas. And just like all contradiction of idea and ideology in the world, illusions, lies, and holes in human perception, our clash was.


    When Pride ran out of troops and good generals to toss at me, I spearheaded our force to victory.


    Another Authority of Pride fell into my open palm, <Abyss Lurker> an Authority which granted me the ability to traverse the abyss and the lightless corners of the world. The possession of this Authority contributed significantly to Pride¡¯s dominance over Acr?a in their catfight.


    ¡°Do you want to withdraw now? Now is the perfect time to withdraw from this game,¡± I honestly advised Pride from initiating the prologue of my fifth gacha roll.


    ¡°Try me,¡± scoffed the Lioness, confident in her chance and in her newly upgraded weapons. Seven days we traded lives in our giant, simulated battlefield. Pride fought valiantly. But valiance alone would not save her from defeat.


    , a most villainous Authority, rolled into my possession early as though Fortuna told me to become a mastermind villain in a hurry. Ever Fortuna¡¯s faithful disciple, I learned to master this Authority within two minutes.


    Same Authority, but every Immortal and Mythical ranked


    had his own method and tool. Sanguine controlled his puppets through his tentacles and venom. Thrall moved inanimate corpses by projecting a part of his ethereal body into their rotten fleshes. Flok¨ª toyed with his victim through his mind corruption power. Similarly, I was given a Miracle to summon an immaterial mouse and keyboard.


    <Destroyer> was next, followed by <Corruptor>, falling into my possession one by one.


    Of all the villainous evil and injustice in the world, these two Authorities have certainly fallen into the most corrected hands, thought I. Maxing my ceiling at the Conqueror rank in these two Authorities was not even remotely a challenge.


    Hurt, but Pride could still laugh at her losses back then. Her losses fueled her hunger for a win. The match where Pride lost her <Guardian> Authority was the straw that broke the camel¡¯s back.


    My side was strategically superior but her side¡¯s execution of tactics was far smoother. Fortuna was sick of rooting over me for once and favored Pride. My dark art of stupidity backfired and I had to rely on logic and my staffers to weather the storm. The tide of war was on Pride¡¯s side throughout the length of the game. The Lioness did everything right. Until the very last moment, she was. In a race to see whose warlords would go down first, I completed the race ahead of Pride by a margin of five seconds.


    I had a much needed dosage of adrenalin and thrill that I had starved for at the expense of Pride. For the first time since we have met, Pride looked truly shaken and vulnerable. I was a game that has successfully escaped her claws and fangs even when everything was on her side. The Lioness sat on her chair, deflated and crushed.


    ¡°And I thought I am the one who has a serious issue with gambling. Apparently, you too, are having this issue. It¡¯s about the damn time that you cut your loss and put this issue behind you,¡± my arrogance compelled me to issue my warning to Pride yet again. But I doubted she would listen.

 Side story 3: Of Justice, Injustice and Truth

    Of Justice, Injustice and Truth


    Before the Creators went out of their way to announce his arrival, I knew him¡­ nay, I was told of him.


    Beloved of Chaos, he was a human, decidedly mortal, albeit was the strangest of a man to be classified as a ¡°human.¡± Among the Champions of Chaos, he was feared as a Royalty among them. A star of chaos and destruction, he was the Prince of Chaos whose existence was predetermined like the coming of destiny.


    On the contrary, I was a God. As laughable, loathful and contradictory as my entire existence could turn out to be, I could not deny what I could do and who I was. A God I was, born and immortalized from miracles, concepts of and Authorities. Born for the Throne. A God I am and will be, until the day the whimsical Creators would undo my godhood and charge someone else to fill my role.


    He was born into Chaos, raised and trained by Chaos. I was conceptualized from codes of Order and Principles. The two of us, we could not be more opposite.


    By the time he learned of me through the Creators¡¯ various works. I had already long expected to see him and his arrival for many bleak, flame-bounded eons.


    To his awareness, I merely existed in the still-and-animated pictures, the cryptic texts written by the Creators, the accumulated lore built by the researchers and scholars of his dimension. I was a figment of someone¡¯s imagination. I was merely an inconsequential part of a greater game.


    But for me, he was as real as destiny. He was as real as Death herself. On my one-hundredth birthday, the day when I became a man, I heard of him, my destiny.


    Of all the four cards made from the bone of Chaos, I drew mine as my siblings drew theirs.


    ¡°A mortal man shall be your greatest foe, a human who you could never smite with your hammer. The Worst of the Five Blazing Hands, and the Worst among the Six Royal Champions of Chaos, the most beloved Champion of Chaos, the greatest villain. A Prince recognized not by birthright or blood right, a Prince who was feared for the trail of fire and destruction that he left behind. A Prince who was raised by Chaos and shaped by the Hands of Chaos, a Prince who bathed in the favors and love of Chaos.¡±


    Naharis, my father, darkly spoke of his prophetic vision. He was one of the ancient heroes who defeated Chaos and his spawns to bring order to the realms, and thusly, charged by the Creators to be the king of the realms. He was gifted. He could read the will of destiny. My father could saw things existed in different dimensions from ours and even things that existed in a higher dimension. He could identify the abomination of wanton destruction that would leak out of the Green Moon from time to time to give us an edge in our confrontations. He could foresee destiny before destiny arrives. And he foresaw my destiny.


    ¡°Human, but his heart is as strong as yours. His mind is as sharp as mine and Eogaill¡¯s. His gifts are as many and great as those of your brother. He is as persistent and adapting as Niwdar. He¡¯s as lethal as Death. A universe of abominations and an army of Chaos¡¯ spawns that you and I had vanquished could not be his match. Even the Chaos of olds, in the flesh himself, is pale before this Prince. I saw you facing him alone, your greatest enemy. I saw you were on your knees, undone, and him smiling mocking at your defeat,¡± cried my father, speaking of the fate that the Creators had drawn for me, my inevitable ending. Immortals would not age after their coming-of-age, blessed to be eternally youthful. But my father seemed to grow old into the wrinkled oblivion of mortality when he spoke my prophecy. Blood-red, harrowed tears of despair wetted his eyes and stained his face. ¡°Wonten, he is your destiny, your Undoer.¡±


    The card vanished when the prophecy ended, what was taken from Chaos returned to Chaos. Just like that, on the day I became a man, my inevitable defeat had been foretold before I got to face him on the killing field.


    Why me?


    Eo was destined to uncover the Creators¡¯ greatest secret. Sinintee was fated to succeed in the Creators¡¯ greatest dream. Niwdar would, one day, overcome Death¡¯s authority through her miracles.


    Whereas Eo, Sinintee, and Niwdar received a prophecy that told of their successes and greatness, I was secretly pulled out of the party to be told of him, my undoer.


    Best 100<sup>th</sup> birthday ever¡­


    A God was supposedly an Immortal. My time was as lasting and infinite as the universe. But since the moment I heard of him, I began to realize just how finite the amount of sand that I had left in my hourglass. Since then, my time had already streamed downward to the zero of doomsday.


    Before he was the Creators¡¯ Prince, before he was someone else¡¯s Prince, I had known him as the Prince of Chaos, my undoer, my inescapable doom. A Prince of destruction, war, and chaos. A Prince who was raised by Chaos in another dimension and shaped by his Hands, long I had known and dreaded of him, sooner and ahead of the prophecy that announced his royal arrival to the realms.


    Long I had tirelessly steeled myself, my body, and my hammer against the macabre forms of his ghost, haunted by his impending arrival.


    I did not know what the Five Blazing Hands of Chaos were like. I did not know what horrific destruction the Six Royal Champions of Chaos were capable of wreaking. I could only imagine that they were nothing good, and the Prince of Chaos, most beloved of Chaos, he was the Worst, the ultimate weapon and most destructive of them all. With my poor imagination, I conjured his phantasm image from the image of Death, and the vanquished Chaos of olds, and the worst chimeric mass created from all the abominable spawns of chaos leaked out from the green flickering moon that I had ever fought and vanquished.


    I had no desire to just give up and be undone without a fight. So I trained and prayed that I might conquer my own destiny. Inside the Phantom Lodos, my fortress of solitude and castle of solace, I trained, and trained, and trained and trained some more with all of my desperation. I trained and fought against him, the phantasmal ghost of a Prince.


    His deceiving appearance was decidedly human, cultured, likable, loveable, but hiding a dark and impossibly colossal mass of everything that was wrong and atrocious, a destruction-infested body combined from the spawns of chaos that I had laid wasted. His appearance was alien shaped, chiseled and loved by the Hands of Chaos, and bearing a smile of Death. He stood like a stretching shadow, always smiling at my futile effort and rage. My hammer phased through his body, touching neither his astral shell nor physical shell. For all of my strength, I could do him no harm. I could not even touch him. My father had armed me with endless arrays of weapons and armors imbued with different miraculous properties. None of them worked. None of them could touch him.


    It was as if no weapon or miracle or authority of this dimension could hurt him. As unfair and incomprehensible as reality appeared, I had to accept the abnormality. If his makeup wasn¡¯t like that, he would not be the chosen one of Chaos. As I fought against him, I tried to develop miracles that could tear a hole through this dimension.


    But the real horror was his invisible inner self, the cunning of Eogaill, gifts of Sinintee, the resilience of Niwdar, and my zealot strength. He probably could, but he did not employ any great miracle or hitherto unseen authority to defeat me¡­ He had always trampled over me with a better version of my own methods and tactics and miracles. He was like my own mirror image, but way ahead of me in everything. He was playing with me, always.


    Despair I was at my own mortality and doomsday. If I could not defeat his ghostly phantasm, how could I defeat him? But an imperial parade of every immortal spirit existed in the realms could not beat this pandemonium of a ghost, and I must face the real man alone.


    He was like the ultimate doom of the universe and the end of the dimension that we lived. He was like the Creators¡¯ expressing their discontent and disapproval of us and our universe. He was the doomsday of our universe standing on two feet.


    And I must face someone like that alone.


    Long I had repeatedly fought against that ghostly phantasm of a man who I could not defeat inside the Phantom Lodos. Yet, I knew not of his truest appearance or weapons, strength or weakness, miracles or authority, only that he would undo me without fail.


    Long I had lived loathing his accursed existence, fearing him and his impending arrival for as long as I lived. I feared him and his ghost as much as I had cursed my own destiny. Facing his ghost, I felt my own fragility¡­ how helpless and weak I truly was¡­ how mortal the world had always been when abhorrent creatures like him had always existed on other dimensions.


    I was a God, the God of Strength, or so I was.


    ¡°Don¡¯t smile. Don¡¯t smile. Don¡¯t smile. Stop smiling, please. Please,¡± I cried and begged shamefully, hammer swinging in an ever fruitless manner. The moment he smiled, my defeat was but written in stone. Me, Wonten, a warrior, a God, cried because of him. I dared not admit. I dared not tell. I dared not show. Before his ghost, I was humbled and shamed, crushed and defeated.


    Strong I was not. Brave I was not, and definitely not God or Warrior.


    I hollowly wept for my own mortality by the time I had lost count of my defeats. For all of my strength, fighting experience and miracles at my command, I darkly howled like a fearful, helpless child in front of his smiling revenant. No matter how strong I had become, how many skills and tactics that I had developed, no matter how many strong foes I had felled, no matter how armed I was, his ghost always smiled a nonchalant smile. His smile was one that only felt sadden and betrayed by my own helplessness. ¡°Is that the best that you can do?¡± It was that kind of smile, one that spoke of his confidence in the strength that he hid beneath his human shell.


    The titans and the other mortal races praised my name and invoked my sign for strength and courage in the face of their greatest trials. But strength and courage, those mortals had more than my exhausted share. Strength and courage, I had none to spare for them when I was already shamefully crying before I had to face my greatest trial. Inside the Lodos, I threw up when I heard their prayers.


    I felt my mortality approaching whilst facing him. I was an immortal who lived fearing my destruction. I yearned for more time¡­ I yearned to be the master of my own fate. I yearned to live. But he shall arrive. Today, tomorrow, next month, next year, next eon, I knew not when, but Destiny shall arrive.


    I don¡¯t want to die.


    Nobody could run or hide from destiny. Destiny could not be opposed. He who destined to be vanquished shall be vanquished. He who was fated to live shall live. And the one who was ordained to undo me by the Creators will come.


    By the time my insane swollen eyes told me what I had been doing for years, I was already accustomed to plowing the ground inside the Phantom Lodos with my hammer whilst facing his ghost.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡± ¡°Someone please save me.¡± ¡°Why me?¡± The sacred training ground of the Phantom Lodos was littered with angry and fearful carved titan runes. Shamed I was, from the realization of my complete surrender to fear and the thought of someone might discover how fearful and wretched I had become through words. But I could not bring myself to erase them. With time, those runes replicated themselves, but angrier and more craven by each passing day. Every day, I bit my own knuckles and clawed out my flesh to feel the sharp, waking hurt, to feel alive, to do away with my fear while waiting for his impending arrival.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± I repeated the words while I still could.


    Long I had known that no matter how much I trained myself, destiny would arrive. I told myself that I would face my destiny fighting to protect my pride as a warrior and a God of Strength. But the more I fought, the deeper and darker the despair inside me became. Weapons I had amassed, miracles I had stocked, authorities I had mastered, but the ghost of that Prince of Chaos did not get any weaker and the gap between me and him did not get any shorter.


    And then, I resigned. Long I had been waiting for him, with the resignation and acceptance of a defeated man.


    Yet, I slowly found my courage when I resigned myself to the hands of destiny, accepting it for what it was. No longer had I thought of myself and my survival. Like those mortals who approached their mortality thinking of their legacy. I, too, thought of mine.


    What kind of legacy did I wish to leave behind after I was undone by him?


    When that question had fully seeped into my head, I was filled with hope.


    I knew he had a mind like that of Eogaill, which meant he was fully sentient, completely unlike any disposal spawns of Chaos that leaked out of the flickering green moon. They were non-negotiable, without a personality or soul or conscience. They were like soulless automata crafted for destruction and destruction alone. But this human, this Prince of Chaos, he was different.


    If he could talk to, he could be negotiated with.


    I only hoped that even if he was the worst of evil and chaos combined, I could talk him out of the path of destruction. My greatest hope was that I could turn him to a force of Order and good even if that was the last thing I would do.


    I pictured myself kneeling before him, submitting myself and asking him to spare the world of the destruction that he was capable of if I must. If making war with him only brought forth inevitable destruction, I would make peace. If a submissive act of cowardice like that was the last thing I would do as Wonten, I would. If I, myself, would be undone like that, I shall. For my family, for Coeles, for Escana, for the realms, I would be remembered as a coward. And I was bafflingly satisfied with that result, for what the world considered as an act of submission and cowardice would be my bravest, final act. At least, in that manner, I would be remembered. A coward who submitted to spare the world from destruction, I was, I was at peace with that mere thought.


    He was like what Death was to mortals. He was like what Chaos was to the titans. He was not an enemy that I or anyone of this dimension could fight, or should.


    I laughed at my own ignorance and inexperience. It was the best laugh that I had ever had since I was born.


    I learned how men made friends and how the defeated made peace with their enemies and their conquerors. A fighter I was, but I learned how to lose against him without fighting. A warrior I was, but I learned to submit. A God may be omnipotent and perfect, but nobody was above gaining new wisdom or learning a new lesson. So I learned to lose. I learned to accept how powerless I truly was. I learned to stop fighting against his haunting ghost inside the Phantom Lodos. I learned to think like a mortal.


    For all of his concerns, I was a being of fiction. I was not real.


    But, the longest and the most real of my nightmare he had always been, a foe who I could never defeat, the one who had always smiled at my defeat. The longest of an imaginary friend, my imaginary friend, he had been, the one I should make friend with, not war.


    A human he was, his existence was as fleeting as a glimmer of light. A God I am, immortal, I could wait forever for the moment when he finally arrived. Or so, I had always fantasized.


    What I did not know, my undone came before his arrival. If only I realized that I was not the only one who was trapped in the waking fear of my own approaching destiny and mortality¡­ I had eyes back then, but they were as good as blind. While trying to look into the yonder future, I lost sight of things in the presence.


    ¡­


    I lost sight of myself and what I had become. What I am, a God or a slave, I could not tell. Evildoer or lawmaker, I no longer could tell.


    ¡­


    The moment my destiny had finally arrived and stood before me in a miracle-denying jail, I had been long undone and defeated, but not by his hands.


    ¡°Let¡¯s pretend that I am an absolute fool for not realizing that you are quite deaf and obviously mute. That or let¡¯s pretend that I am a rude motherfucker for mocking an obvious disabled. I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,¡± in a light, joking tone, said he, the Prince who had successfully cheated Death.


    Long I had expected of my meeting with him. I did not doubt his success or survival. Destiny was like that, his arrival might be slow but unstoppable.


    I was entranced by the sight of my greatest fantasy became one with my destiny. He was just like I had always imagined, and more. A cultured, likable physical shell to cover an impossibly large astral shell, a human shell with a set of two astral bodies hiding beneath. And beneath his astral bodies, even more secrets.


    As I was becoming one with silence, curtly and sharply, that lightheartedness in his voice disintegrated. From there, only deep imperial words of power could be heard. ¡°You have five seconds to introduce yourself, 10 seconds to kneel before me and tell me that you are sorry for giving me that shitty test, 2 seconds to rise, and 30 minutes to deliver a presentation to explain your intention behind that test and who else helping you to design it.¡±


    My own eyes were flame-bound, but through the spectral magic eye that Eo has engrafted into my soul, the two of us could clearly see that my destiny was smiling like my imagination. Eo could see him as I saw him. Even if Death and every Immortal of this world were having my back, that smile would not change.


    Like I had always fantasized about this moment, my knees slowly caved in. But before they hit the floor, he caught me by my shoulders.


    ¡°The kneeling part was a joke, was my cue not obvious to you. Only my enemies kneel before me.¡±


    I did not know that destiny could be so panicked.


    ¡°Seriously, what are you even thinking inside your head. If you are indeed the Defender of Justice, stand until the end. Kneel not to demon, worm or injustice. Bow not to wrongdoers and evildoers like me. Stand straight and defend what is right until the end.¡±


    Arrogant was his voice, but the thin, telling curve on his lips spoke of a different story.


    ¡°Is that not what justice is about? Unbowed, unbent, unyielded, uncorrupted, uncompromised?¡±


    It was a smile free of fear, an accepting smile, one that was at peace with the consequences and retributions of his action. Oozing out from his words was bravado and a warlike temperament, yet his smile was peaceful. His was a smile of a man who had come to terms with himself and the absurdity of the hand that fate dealt with him.


    It was the most fearless smile that I had ever seen.


    Destiny had a will of his own. Prophets may foretell of him and his arrival. The Creators may draw a path for him. But he was his own person. He paved his own path.


    Destiny followed his own goal.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Two days I have been jailed inside a miracle-denying Divine Dream conjured by Death.


    ¡°Forget about those slimy-tongued bastards, the like Flok¨ª and Envy, the liars and deceivers of the world they are or so they claim, but none of them are on my level, and never will they be. Therefore, do yourself a fucking favor. Learn to doubt everything I would tell you. No matter how convincing my words might sound to your ears, doubt them. Ask yourself, ¡®What is his purpose by telling me this? What is he hiding? What is he after?¡¯ Take everything I say for but a grain of salt, ALWAYS DOUBT MY ACTIONS AND MY WORDS.¡±


    I have learned that he was a liar who was proud and unashamed of being a liar.


    ¡°Make a mental record of everything that I had told you. Learn to profile me, keeping tracks of my lies, truths, consistency, and inconsistency, drawing out the patterns. If you can profile me, there is no reason that you could not profile every other liar and deceiver. If you can uncover and destroy my trickeries, their kinds would be an easy walk. If you could see through my traps and layered illusions, there would be no reason for you to not be able to see through theirs. This shall be your first lesson, my man, DO NOT MISJUDGE OR MISIDENTIFY YOUR ENEMIES AND THEIR PURPOSES.¡±


    I have learned that he was fully convinced that he was, without competition, the worst personification of evil and injustice.


    ¡°When you can finally distinguish if I was trying to trick you or not, we will move on to discuss the next important objective.¡±


    Hitherto meeting this man, I had trained men and women through Divine Dreams. This was the first time I was being trained inside a Divine Dream, by a mortal nonetheless. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


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    Locked inside that miracle-denying jail, he had done nothing but talk while I had done nothing but listen.


    ¡°Lucky for you guys, you got me and not FY. If FY was here instead, you braindead morons would have a giant, fat Zero as your chance for victory. The fight ends before it even starts. Unlucky for you guys, you got me and not FY. Unlike FY, I am no pacifist. I am vindictive, cruel and petty, especially when someone was trying to rob me of everything. Someone picks a fight with me, I show them war in an exact manner that they had picked a fight with me.¡±


    A talker he was. He could talk for hours and days. Days turned into months. Months transformed into years, but he had never run out of topics, breath, or energy.


    ¡°You are not my brother, my lover or my family. Our relationship is that of people with a common interest, partnership, give and take, you-scratch-my-back-and-I-scratch-yours kind of relationship. I am not teaching you for free. I do expect something in return. So start thinking about how you should pay this tuition fee from now.¡±


    If there was a race of humans who could talk and keep on talking unto the end of the world, he was the first of his specimen. The world would end first before he would run out of topics to talk.


    Once in every now and then, he gave me short breaks so I could restructure my notes, review and draw out the patterns. And when the breaks were over, he was back to talking again. But I noticed that something had changed inside him with every break. The changes were small and invisible until I clearly detected the existence of an Authority within him. Someone, either Sinintee or Niwdar or one of the Demon Lords, had lost an Authority of theirs to a human. A gift, which only an Immortal had been entitled to, was now owned by a mortal. The foundation and normality of the world that I had known were being undone in front of my face. The ghostly phantasm that I had conjured inside the Phantom Lodos, either by coincidence or by destiny, it slowly became real in front of me. One Authority became a pair of Authorities. A pair became a trio, and a trio turned into four, and that number kept adding up at an accelerated rate.


    Someone, if not many, was learning the same lesson that I had once learned during the time when I was still locking myself inside the Phantom Lodos. But unlike me, who was only fighting a ghost of my imagination and fear, this person was turning that ghost into a reality. Somebody was making the doomsday of our universe real.


    ¡®Eo, had we, immortals, always been this foolish to you?¡¯


    I was a blind fool, but someone out there, who was also trapped inside this Divine Dream conjured by Death, was even more blinded and more foolish than I ever was. Yet, I took no comfort in that thought, only fear.


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    Neither the faithful pull of gravity nor the firm drag atmospheric resistance could deny his passage or slow him down, for his lack of material flesh. Completely unhindered by the boundaries of the material world, a mighty spirit flew out of Escana at meteoric speed. Invisible was this spirit to the naked eyes of the unascended, those who could not see through the barriers of the material plane.


    On Escana, only a numbered of those, whose eyes could see through the restrictions of the material plane, would recognize the identity of this spirit by the appearance of his astral body. His astral body was one that stood through the greatest trial of fire, forged and built from crippling black and silver fire. His body was one that clad in tales-tell ancient horrors. His face was flame-bounded, a spelling, faceless mask without eye, or nose, or mouth, an icon of impartiality, a symbol of Justice. His scalp burned, a telling picture painted from patches of scars and fringes of damaged hair. Mortals had worshipped him with many names and titles. The God of Strength. The God of Justice. The Mighty One. The Warrior. The Defender. The Protector. The Faceless God. He was Wonten, the lawful patron deity of the Faceless God Temple. A person could not talk about Wonten and not link his name to Principles and Laws.


    The <Defender of Principles and Order> he was, his unique Authority was, the purpose of his existence had been. Laws and Principles were his greatest domain. Justice first, Might second, he had been. As smooth and mechanical as one of those automata created from his brother¡¯s Etherium Forge, Wonten rose to the stratosphere of Escana, unhindered by any physical boundary, and approached the invisible Martias Edoline. His astral body was on a straight course to the Golden Moon, the place where the Golden Hanging Garden of Coeles was hung.


    The Faceless God realized how much he had wished that he was an automaton, a golem without consciousness, a faithful instrument without a conscience. But an automaton he was definitely not. A God Wonten was. That was a reality that Wonten could not change.


    He was a God, The God of Justice, as ironic and laughable as things could possibly be, as Wonten often thought of himself.


    Once, he had been the manifestation of Justice, the symbol of ultimate good. His body, both the physical body and the astral body, and his even consciousness were the faithful instruments of Justice.


    His strong heart only beat for the innocence and the good.


    His blood fueled goodness and cleansed evil.


    His body was miraculous strength, a tireless servant, an unwavering defender, a true lawful protector of Justice. His body was strong enough to be the shield to stand before the weak and the innocence.


    A faithful executioner of Justice his hammer was, strong and unwavering to smite the very definition of injustice and its devil spawns.


    Assembled from the complex bonds of miracles, his eyes were supported by the very supreme Authorities that created and shaped the universe. They could peer through the fabrics of reality and judge the world with impartiality. Evil and unjustness would reflect in his miraculous eyes in a swirl of corrupting light. It was a corruption of light, a conflagration of darkness. The graver the evil, the more aberrant and sickening that darkness would reflect. Radiating darkness, but aberrantly bright and reflecting as though light. The greatest injustice was as dark as the abyss, but unlike the abyss, it had life and a will of its own. It encroached both light and darkness, twisting and corrupting them in a dissembled reality where the light was inverted. Innocence was transparent, colorless. Redemption was a complex conflagration of colors just like the fiery inner self of an opal, true but hidden.


    But it was his discerning mind that made Wonten a Defender of Principles in every sense and meaning. He could always differentiate right from wrong. True to his miraculous manifestation, he had been a God of Justice and Strength. Every breath of air, every living moment, he lived dedicating himself to defend justice. But, no longer.


    Since the end of the First Divine War, his mind had been as blunt as his hammer. What he is now, what he is defending right now, what he should fight against now, not even Wonten knew. His justice-searing eyes had forever sealed behind the molten darkness, not that Wonten would want them to open ever again. His ghastly lips were once paired, but now flame-bounded and welded as one. Their inseparable oneness had certainly played a vital part in preventing him from talking for the last hundreds of eons. But even when his jaws could open, even if his tongue was unboiled and his lips were unsealed, Wonten doubted that he could say the words. ¡°I am Justice.¡±


    ¡°I am Justice,¡± three simple words, any man and woman can utter that. In fact, countless mortals had declared that. Not Wonten, not him, no longer him. No longer could he voice such a declaration with the steadfast belief he once held in the past.


    ¡°I am Wonten,¡± he would address and introduce himself as such if the need arose. No God of this or Defender of that or anything else; Just, ¡°I am Wonten,¡± that was sufficed for an introduction. Any more than that is pure falseness and fallacy, Wonten believed.


    ¡°The personification of concepts, authorities, and miracles, a God is. Missing either one of the three, you are a God no more. Do not ever lose sight of what you are,¡± his father has explained that to Wonten and his siblings once at the dawn of time.


    Just like his three siblings, Wonten knew that his manifestation was divine. Both his physical body and astral body were the conceptualization miracles and authorities.


    Eogaill was the manifestation of Truth. Her eyes could separate the truth of the world from its falseness. If Eogaill bled, the truth would pour out of her flesh. Civilization was Sinintee. The conception of Civilization, its evolution, its past, presence, and future, became Sinintee, its face. If Sinintee was in any way, harmed, the same would happen to civilization. If civilization was warped, Sinintee, too, would. Niwdar and Nature are one spirit in two bodies. If nature is hurt, Niwdar languished. If Niwdar was damaged, nature suffered.


    But justice, it is¡­ incomprehensible¡­ what is it? What is justice?


    Eons Wonten has languished, mulling. Eons, he seemed to know the answers and yet was emptied of a clear, defining answer. Wonten knew that he is the manifestation of justice. And yet, when he bled, aberrant substance seeped out of his wound, neither colored in the essence of justice nor strength. Justice first and Strength second, he had been. In the olden past, Wonten has once known what he is. He was the embodiment of Justice and Strength, has been. What he was, who he was, Wonten was no longer so sure. A God he was, that he knew. But ¡°A God of what?¡± The faceless God could not answer this question.


    Dark, troubled thoughts and perhaps madness as well, accompanied Wonten¡¯s forlorn form through his travel.


    Wonten¡¯s dark, depressing thought only become darker when the sight of the miracle-slaying black wings, Death¡¯s messengers and familiars, impeded his spectral third eyes, signaling his impending closeness to the Martias Edoline, a disarming zone which he has played a large part to create.


    Martias Edoline was an invisible spherical area surrounding Escana, where no immortal participating in the Reign of Chaos was allowed to cross with their physical body without Death¡¯s seal of approval and any Immortal who crossed this area must inform their identity to Death. This zone was guarded and patrolled by Death¡¯s familiars, impeding world-altering miracles from entering or escaping Escana. Martias Edoline was first created and defined as soon as the First Divine War concluded.


    The Martias Edoline separated the world of immortal and mortal, limiting the usage of Miracle and Authority that could potentially undo Escana. It was meant to be an invisible barrier to limit the damage dealt with Escana by Immortals in Wonten¡¯s original vision¡­ meant to be¡­ The Martias Edoline existed because Wonten wanted it to exist. And it was just as great a failure as he was, Wonten had realized eons ago. Now he was forced to look at it through his spectral eyes.


    For every law that was ever created, either by mortal or by immortal, there was always imperfection, holes, and flaws, to be exploited.


    Death has originally stated, ¡°Beyond the Martias Edoline, no Immortal or Demi-Immortal is permitted to pass through with his/her physical body. Beyond the Martias Edoline, no world-changing miracle is permitted.¡± She defined the Martias Edoline as a disarming zone.


    Flok¨ª, the Smiling Demon Lord was the first to find the exploitation of this law. With the help of his demons, Flok¨ª had sent his soulless physical husk to enter Escana first and then moved his astral body second to reunite with it. His action went against the spirit of that rule but the Smiling Demon Lord did not break the law. He did not cross the line with his physical body. His clown-like flesh had certainly crossed the Martias Edoline without his soul. The sight of Wonten stood helplessly and impotently watching Death refused to penalize Flok¨ª¡¯s exploitation of the laws put a wretched smile on the clown¡¯s face.


    Wonten had certainly foolish enough to try to fix all the flaws and holes in the rule by adding more rules and laws. On his side, though Eogaill and Sinintee could not bother to lend their effort, his siblings supported Wonten for the reinforcement of the law with their votes. One of them could see through the fruitlessness of Wonten¡¯s effort. The other could predict his failure ahead of time with his own experience dealing with the laws. On the other side, the Demon Lords elected four leaders to represent their common will to cast the votes to change the law. Four votes on Wonten¡¯s side and four votes on the other side and one vote from Death herself seemed fair on the appearance value. Death was the only person who was allowed to cast a blank vote. The voting process did not go through. It always ended in a draw. The vote had gone around, and around, and around. And when both sides agreed with the change, the changes that Wonten had envisioned and wanted to implement had become as misshapen as he was. In the darkness of failures, Wonten was forced to learn how useless he was, again, again, again and again.


    Alone, he was the only one who was frustrated at how the laws were handled.


    He, alone, was the only fool who had intended to respect the law as the laws were intended. He, alone, was the only person who was frustrated by how the laws were being disrespected. He, alone, felt helpless for his surrender to the rise of laws which went against his codes and belief.


    Wonten realized how alone he was in everything since the moment the first round of the Reign of Chaos started. The Game, which Eogaill and Sinintee had created to put a limit on those Demon Lords, has shackled Wonten¡¯s freedom and abilities just as much as anyone. In the Reign of Chaos, where the miracles and authorities of an Immortal were limited, where the Death was the Judge, law enforcer, law defender, and executioner, the Arbiter, the law is beyond his control.


    He was the God of Justice, the Maker and Defender of the Laws, who could neither make nor defend the laws.


    When Wonten tried to put beings that manifested from destruction like Wrath or Xaara under the control of the laws, he, too, was subjected by those same laws. The Faceless God realized when he became a player of the Game, he was¡­ no longer a defender of any laws or protector of the order. He was¡­ just another cogwheel for the Game. But Wonten also realized that if he took himself out of the Game just like Eogaill did, things would not improve, only worsen. Neither Niwdar nor Sinintee played by the rules. And if they wouldn¡¯t, the other sides, too, would drop their pretense. Escana, since the end of First Divine War, had constantly been saved by pretense and pretext. An escalation in the destruction of these pretexts and pretense would lead to horrific results. Things that Eogaill could do effortlessly, quitting, Wonten could not.


    Standing on one side of the Martias Edoline, Wonten bathed in the result of his greatest failures and hypocrisies yet.


    Patricider.


    God of Justice? You butchered your own father.


    Poor him. Poor old Naharis.


    Neglected by his children.


    Unloved by his children.


    Butchered by his beloved children.


    O Justice, Where is your punishment?


    World-altering miracles, which had been stopped by the moth-built Martias Edoline and kept outside of Escana, devolved into layers of words and pictures painting around it like cruelly designed decorations. Graffiti. Mockeries that turned into drawings and words, they were. Jeering sounds that should not transfer through the vacuum of space yet did, they were. Words that came alive and dancing by spells of evil as they were fueled by miracles and mana, they were, mostly the works of Flok¨ª¡¯s faction, their idea of what a joke was. Written in truth-altering spells, corruption, blight, and illusions, they were words that the mortals of Escana could not see or hear but every spirit of the nine realms could. They were words and sounds that were immortalized in the dead of space by miracles. His shame, defeat and despair, all were in full display.


    Why are you there?


    On the wrong side, You are.


    We are avenging his death.


    We are Justice.


    Among the written words floated paintings, vivid and telling paintings depicting the horrors of that day. The insane world reflected in Naharis¡¯ eyes, the hurtful sounds which escaped his mouth, the reconstructed past from the third person point of view, the undoing of everything that was right and just.


    Die. DIE. DIE.


    Tearful eyes and unclothed body, Niwdar twisted her healing miracles for hurt, filling Naharis¡¯ body with ever-spreading tumors. Sinintee howled in savagery as he hacked and slashed in blind hurt and shattered disillusion. Dark was Eogaill¡¯s visage as she condensed light particles from every light source within the ten realms into swords and weapons inside her hands and cast the world to a lightless state. A fool was Wonten, his fighting experience lost, his forged muscles watered, his disciplined strength misdirected, his fa?ade of laws and principles undone with the wild, bludgeon swings of his hammer.


    WHY? WHY? WHY?


    They were miracles that made Wonten relived the atrocity and horror he committed on that day whenever he entered Escana.


    We are beings born from his dismembered fleshes. Hitting us, you are hitting his corpse.


    Corpse defiler.


    Murderer.


    Pretender


    Kill yourself, that is justice, blind fool.


    The Defender? The Defender of what? Your little sis over glamorized hymen? Your Father? Your family? What did you defend? Who did you defend? You defended nothing. You have protected nothing.


    His eyes were blocked, sealed by scars and molten flesh, but Wonten saw them correctly, the mocking, the jeers¡­


    Slowly noticed of Wonten¡¯s presence, the black moths flapped their wings and opened a starlit path for him to cross. For a brief moment, Wonten hesitated on crossing the path that the black wings had opened for him. Laws upon laws upon laws, upon laws, had constituted this zone which no mortal could see. These laws were not what Wonten had intended to create to protect Escana, but here they existed under the pretext of fairness for both the Gods of Coeles and the Demon Lords of Kharigan. And yet, only through the fragility of this wall of pretext, Wonten could grant Escana his protection. This zone was a failure of laws, pretense and pretext with no real value. As long as Death was impartial toward the wellbeing of Coeles, Kharigan and Escana, there was nothing Wonten could do. The Faceless God could understand that, yet, could do nothing to change or improve it.


    For Escana¡­ Wonten had forced himself to listen to such a lie for a very long time. For Escana, for the greater good, for peace, for the many¡­ They were lies spoken to ignore a person¡¯s inability and helplessness, saving his godlike ego. They were spoken repeatedly until Wonten became sick and fearful of such abominable, filthy and dishonest sounds, ¡°Greater good.¡±


    What is the greater good?


    He was the God of Justice and Strength, and yet he became afraid of two words, ¡°Greater good.¡± He was a God, sure, but definitely not the God of Strength or Justice. Wonten was not as bright as Eogaill or as ingenious and creative as Niwdar or Sinintee, but he understood the concepts and need of Laws well.


    Without respect, the laws that were created by Immortals to govern the Immortals, they only had an appearance value. Trying to reinforce that imperfect law with more laws would do nothing even if Wonten could enforce the laws as he has intended. No set of laws was ever perfect, without holes or flaws, and an Immortal has all the time in the world to find the exploitation of the laws. If an Immortal did not respect the law the way Wonten respected the laws, that Immortal would eventually break that law through exploitation or outright disobeying it, one way or another. That was something Wonten had been forced to recognize, for it had repeatedly slapped against his face.


    Sometimes, Wonten mulled why he would bother trying only to fail and fail, again and again.


    Wonten wished that he could slow down reality itself as though the reality was but a Divine Dream. Wonten realized that he has spent many passing eons to think before he could pass through this Martias Edoline and returned to the realms of spirits inside that person¡¯s dream. But it was not enough.


    Wonten was about to be on a one-way trip to break down all the laws that he had upheld. The Faceless God had mulled about the catastrophic result of his action and he has seen them enough. He was not ready to oversee such a catastrophe. Escana was not ready for such cataclysm. None of nine spirit realms was ever prepared to face such an apocalyptic event.


    Mortals invoked his name in exchange for bravery, but bravery was something Wonten had none to spare for himself, let alone sharing with them. The Faceless God realized that he was afraid, now, more so than ever. Even though he was looking at one of the greatest failures of his life, he could not find the courage to act and correct it.


    Rationally, the Faceless God knew what he had to do. ¡°The right thing for the greater good,¡± the things that people had always expected of him, Justice, and yet, his heart was full of doubt and darkness.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t know what justice is, simple, I will tell you. It is everything that I am not. It is everything that I had refused to do, and everything that my enemies tried to pervert and corrupt. Simple, right? Confused? How about I tell you some stories instead?¡±


    If Destiny had a voice, he was clearly raving mad, but darkly convincing. Destiny had no doubt in himself or his path.


    ¡°Is it not enough, or must we wait until URLOX send the King of The Alliance here to tell you in your face what justice is?¡±


    Hundreds of thousands of stories penned by madness and tragedy, Destiny had told Wonten, but not the one story that should be told. Destiny only spoke of the suffering of others but never himself or his other-self.


    ¡°Destroy this twisted foundation of laws and rebuild it anew. If the main pillars supporting your house are rotten and termite-infested, and your house is a shit hole of structural defects, you demolish the ENTIRE FUCKING house, hire some Goddamn authentic construction company and reconstruct the whole damn thing from the start. I don¡¯t need to earn a FUCKING bachelor in engineering to know this shit. If this world order is fucked-up, destroy it and rebuild a non-fucked-up one. This is the right thing to do, is that not simple enough? We are currently having every necessary thing to do this. Me, the fucking demolition man, you and your shut-in sister as the engineer.¡±


    His voice was like a phantom specter of madness that only Wonten could hear. Even now when Wonten should not be able to hear his voice, his immaterial eardrums were still drumming with the echoes leaking out of those rage-blistered lips.


    ¡°You make this appear to be an impossible-to-solve problem, but FUCK YOU. It is not. I am STUPID but even I can see the most obvious answer. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOUR ENTIRE DISFUNCTION FAMILY, YOUR FUCKING ANCESTOR, YOUR FUCKING DISTANT RELATIVE FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO SOLVE SUCH A SIMPLE PROBLEM AND MAKING ME SOLVING IT FOR YOU. FUCK YOU ALL.DO I LOOK LIKE A SOLVER OF PROBLEM TO YOU? YOU LACK THE COURAGE TO SOLVE THIS PROBLEM? FUCK YOU. DO I LOOK LIKE A SELLER OF COURAGE TO YOU? I SOLD THINGS IN THE PAST BUT NEVER COURAGE.¡±


    Words and echoes constructed from world-altering miracles seemed dull and quiet to the loudness of a human¡¯s voice. Among all the phantom whispers that Wonten heard, the brazen cursing voice of his supposedly-opposite rang the truest, angriest, and¡­LOUDEST.


    ¡°Kharigan must be destroyed first. Why? The first reason, I can destroy it. Thusly, I will. Make sense, right? The second reason, Kharigan is their symbol, their home, their birthplace, their fortress, their pride. Of course, I would destroy it. Who do you think I am? The third reason, without Kharigan, these brain-dead fools must actively seek a new home. Maybe, they will settle for one star outside of this galaxy. Maybe they would find a planet outside of this system to rebuild their home. But I am willing to bet that they would try to settle down on Escana. Why? I meant why would they settle down on anywhere but Escana when Kharigan is but gone, and when Death is out of the picture? It¡¯s easier to rob someone¡¯s home for yourself than rebuilding your destroyed home. It¡¯s easier to tell yourself that ¡®Because the world is cruel to me, thusly I will be cruel to the world. Because the world scarred me, I have every right to scar the world right back.¡¯ This kind of excuse, I had heard enough. This kind of excuse is the exact kind that I would use to defend my wrongful deeds. They would come to Escana, playing dirty and ignoring every rule. It is just a matter of how and when. And on Escana, I have lots of freedom to trap them and butcher them however I want. Someone has to instill them fear.¡±


    His voice was an arrogant, tyrannical voice, one that was unconcerned with the judgment of whoever listened to him. Echo, the Banshee Queen claimed to possess the loudest and most heard of a voice. Her voice was the voice that even a deaf man could hear and even creatures that possessed no sound receptor could listen to.


    ¡°Bad, terrible things, the worst of atrocities, I do. Good, inspiring, heroic things, you take credit.¡± But the world would judge that Echo was very wrong the very moment when they listened to the Prince¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Why? Only an ultimate villain could unite a world that has been divided by chaos for he is their greatest fear and despair. Conquer him would be people¡¯s greatest interest, thus they will look past their differences, goals and bloody history to unite against him. I will play the role of this ultimate villain. Why? Because only I can, thus I will. Because I still need to earn my negative karma points to go to hell. Apparently, Gods and Buddha had judged that I was not evil enough to send me straight to the pits of hell¡­ This is a give-and-take relationship, don¡¯t feel bad for me. Now, in order to reshape and rebuild a world to its correct path, the world needs an ultimate hero to inspire them hope. An hour is called the darkest hour because once it has passed, things would get brighter. Similarly, once the so-called greatest injustice has all but expired, the world is filled with good and justice.¡±


    His voice was a ghostly voice oozing with sarcasm, yet filled with resolve.


    ¡°Therefore, you must be the one strike me down at the end of my path. Whoever he was, whatever his past was, he who struck me down would become the ultimate hero for sure. But whether you like it or not, the destruction of this fuck-up world comes first. Its rebuild comes later.¡±


    Listening to that voice, Wonten found his astral body returning to Coeles in forlorn muteness.


    Two of the Valkyria, his nieces, and biological sisters, accompanied by dozens of Sinintee¡¯s latest military purpose automata were on patrol duty, greeted Wonten as he returned to Coeles. Their soft-spoken, musical voices were a welcoming change to Wonten¡¯s ears. Wonten only nodded his head, silent as usual. Neither of them detected the air of foulness waffled around Wonten as he entered the hanging garden.


    Wonten would blame neither of them for it was unimaginable, even in the worst of the nightmare. He could never imagine himself to bring chaos and destruction to the garden. The Golden Hanging Garden of Coeles was a complex series of monuments gifted to Wonten and his siblings by none other than Naharis to celebrate the first birthday.


    Eogaill was given the Forbidden Library to satisfy all of her curiosity. Eons had come and gone but Wonten could still remember Eogaill¡¯s radiant smile when she received her first birthday gift. Sinintee was gifted with the Etherium Forge to realize his curiosity and imagination. There, Sinintee was able to create his first automaton. Sinintee could not stop grinning. His smile made him appeared like an innocent child in grownup¡¯s body. Niwdar received her Eternal Greenhouse to test and explore her miracles. She was so happy that she leaped into Naharis¡¯ arms to kiss him. Wonten, himself was granted the Phantom Lodos for him to forge his body and mind from trials of strength. In the Phantom Lodos, his worst fear would take shape and test him until he could conquer them.


    His immaterial form should not be affected by gravity, and yet, Wonten felt how heavy his footstep had gradually become. The Faceless God felt like he could understand what that human Prince has gone through when he set his old house on fire. With every leaden footstep, Wonten realized just how much he had wished that he could rewind time and undo all the wrongs and mistakes of the past. And with every subsequent step, the faceless god realized that his wish would never be granted. He could bend time inside a Divine Dream. He could bend reality through the miracles and authorities given to him. But he could not change the past. Wonten realized that he could only learn to move on.


    Wonten entered the Phantom Lodos, where he had left his material shell and his hammer behind.


    ¡°First comes destruction, then the reconstruction.¡± His ears were filled with maddened echoes of an angry human. ¡°If you could not destroy Kharigan, sit back and watch. I am fully capable of doing it myself.¡± His spectral eyes reflected two unconnected scenes. His eldest sister was, again, urging him to dirty his own hands and lest that angry human does the deed. Eo forecasted an even more horrific result in the case Wonten would let that angry human do the job.


    Wonten did not doubt her forecast.

 Side Story 4: Broken Sword and Unreality

    <Madness has a name> was the ultimate ability of Sanguine. It was a passive ability that gave Sanguine a chance to inflict his victims with <Berserk>, <Marked> negative status through his normal attack and damage-dealing abilities. Units inflicted with <Berserk> status would deal an additional 30% damage to enemy units at the cost of receiving 50% more damage to themselves. Units inflicted with <Marked> became unable to use their stealth ability and had their position revealed to opposing player until the <Marked> expired. On its own right, this ultimate was nowhere as powerful as it should be. However, the moment Sanguine managed to unlock the perk <Sanguine¡¯s stigma>, which add a unique <Sanguine¡¯s stigma> debuff to Sanguine¡¯s normal attack and damage-dealing abilities, <Madness has a name> became a game-breaking ability. It forced the victims inflicted with <Sanguine¡¯s stigma> targeting the nearest targets suffered with the same status for 15 seconds, 20 seconds and up to 30 seconds on the final ability upgrade. If there was no target with <Sanguine¡¯s stigma> within range, the victim would attack itself.


    In the Creators¡¯ words, <Madness has a name> was the evilest, most horrifying, living liquid to ever exist. Men know not terror until they see the flesh-eating miasma of Pestilence. Men know not evil until they taste the sweetness of the Kiss of Death. Men know not horror until they see Thrall¡¯s dance of decay.  But a thousand terrors, a thousand evils, and thousand horrors could not match three drops of cerise slime fall out of Sanguine¡¯s body. Once a man marked by Sanguine and the slime of madness, he is beyond salvation for not even Death would save him.


    ¡°It was supposed to be just a stupid game mechanic,¡± said he, describing the whole situation, though neither Meireen nor anyone else could understand his meaning at the time. Meireen often caught him repeated the same phrase over and over again, from time to time.


    He was a man from the Creators¡¯ realm.


    Thirty years of prolonged wars were but one short hour to him and his kinds. The wanton destruction, the never-ending killing, the billowing chaos that happened on Escana, they were merely aspects of a greater game to him, as they were to the Gods and Demon Lords.


    ¡°It was just a stupid game,¡± said he. Gods don¡¯t cry and surely, Demon Lords would not. Not even, the Merciful Goddess shed a drop tear for the chaos and destruction that she was partly responsible for creating. But he did. His dark, teary eyes swelled up with a billowing fury. Rosy lips twisted shouting angry curses. He was furious, but not for himself. Gods of this land, goddesses of that land, holy spirits, divine apparitions, regardless of their name or origin, would find their way to his curses, included in all creative sorts of profaned manners.


    When even the curses could not save him from his fury, he took it on the very shape of Madness. Every time he snapped his fingers, the victims of Madness turned their weapons on their once captor and slaver in a red blur of frenzy. It did little to lessen his fury. He knew it. But fury was fury for what fury¡¯s worth.


    The three shapes of Madness howled as they were being torn and mauled by their once victims. But boiling beads of fury still rolled like an unbroken stream. His hurt, bitterness, and rage remained whole.


    That evil thing, that red, cloudy slime was neither a game nor a stupid mechanic of a stupid game. For Meireen and those who have suffered the same fate as her, it was an abyss of despair and hurt.


    The mud of madness that came out of Sanguine¡¯s body was a concoction of eldritch nature, created for a malevolent purpose. Immaterial yet material, cruel yet sweet, amnesia-inducing yet memory-reinforcing. Its properties were contradictory and complex beyond words, but above everything, it had a will of its own, fully sentient like a miniature of Madness himself. It turned people¡¯s sanity into a toy for its master to play with, and to break.


    ¡°You think you know what madness is? Do you think you are madness? You think your sorry slime is the root of madness? Good, wait until I show you the true look, the true sound and the true nature of madness. I sincerely wish that when that time comes, your belief is still steadfast and firm.  An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and madness for madness. That, I promise you,¡± he swore as Meireen and his many followers listened.


    His understanding, his rage, and empathy was an appeasement, a consolation that Meireen got. That alone was enough for her.


    Just like the other slaves to the slimy mud created by Sanguine, those who tried to defy him through suicide, Meireen could clearly recall her final moment of clarity on Escana. It was among the most transparent pieces of memory that she still had, unaltered, untainted and unclouded. That malevolent red mud purposefully left this memory intact to mock her. It took great delight in making Meireen remembered all of that.


    It was a time when madness was an opponent she could naively fight off by having a pointy end of a dagger thrust into her flesh. As long as she could stay awake, she would remain herself, her mind would be hers, Meireen had believed.


    Little did she know how wrong she was. And the red mud reminded her of that at every constant.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Meireen could feel the immaterial substance inside her swayed with agitation and rage. It could no longer change her decision.


    For a person who was facing her inevitable doom, her visage, though darkened with fatigue and self-inflicted harm, contained no trace of fear.


    Her trusted swords, her partners for over seventy years, were gone from her sides. Her enchanted bow and quiver were elsewhere. Her dread-instilled war glaive, which has never separated from her side for well over 700 years, was missing from her calloused, scarred hands.


    Meireen clad in a white, modest tunic and an ankle-length dark, flowing skirt. She was without her armor. Her imperial-made full armor, a decorated vest weaved from rose-dyed Arachnee¡¯s silks with Titanite plates inserted inside and a purple lotus sewed outside, metal reinforced greaves, vambraces, and fauld with shiny Titanite rivets, a Titanite crescent-shaped helmet without a visor, all composed the infamous mold that put fear to the hears of the enemies of the Empress, the shape of the Sword Demon; gone.


    Without that armor, she has returned to be Meireen. Just Meireen. No longer a Sword Demon of the Empress, no longer the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods.


    Without the burden of her armor and weapons, a strange wave of liberation lapsed over Meireen¡¯s jaded frame. She had led a quiet, lonesome lifestyle for 700 years before she became known as the Sword Demon. This must be what¡¯s a homecoming is like, she thought. Meireen felt comfortable knowing that she would depart the mortal world, in a serene quietness and obscurity.


    Meireen reckoned that she has never been a person of many words. Her special-trained troops, her students, and even her liege often had a very tried and true time to interpret her intention.


    She spoke to weapons more than she spoke to people. She knew weapons and killing arts more than she knew the heart and the mind of people.


    Meireen was never good at expressing her intention and opinions. She was never a talker or a writer, yet columns of elven logogram endlessly flowed out of her crude, unembellished penmanship.  She, the Sword Demon of Chaasenods, the Valierra of the Empress, has descended on the world with blades in her hands, yet she would conclude her life with pen, ink, and paper. The brief recognition of the greatest irony of her life brought a small chuckle to her dry, broken lips.


    Meireen thought of her students. The Empress and her generals often deployed Meireen¡¯s students as her doubles on different fronts to keep her enemies guessing and confused. None of them have seen their second century yet. Spirited, ambitious and idealistic, they were, but still too young, too inexperienced, and too far from becoming weapons of the Chaasenods. Meireen suddenly regretted not spending more time with them. But life had not given her much of a choice. Between being a teacher of four or a sword of a nation, she could only choose one. The world needed a sword, and thus, Meireen had prioritized being that sword. Meireen had never regretted being that sword. She only regretted not spending more time with her students.


    Meireen thought of her still unrealized dream and her liege. She realized just how much she yearned to see the completion of her dream.


    So, this is how I would die, Meireen thought. Her greatest regret poured into her crude penmanship and reflected before her eyes.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Children, the worst fate that could happen to a Chaasenod¡¯s weapon is not a served limb or a broken bone, or disability or her mortality. It is her emotions. It is her weaknesses, the dissemblance of a weapon.


    Thus, the first thing that the children of the Chaasenods were taught to kill is their own emotions, their girlhood, and boyhood, that or they must relinquish the word Chaasenod from their name.


    To be a daughter or a son of the Chaasenods means to live without emotion. Without fear. With neither sorrow nor joy, neither lust nor greed, no emotion, as every weapon should be.


    A good Titanite knows no father, no mother, no sister, no brother, no relative, no rivalry, only her sworn master, herself and her foes. If our master commands us to slash, we slash. If our master commands us to kill, we kill.


    Weapons of the Chaasenods are held in the highest regard.


    We are Titanite in flesh. Therefore, we must live according to that reputation.


    A person bearing the Chaasenod name spends every breathing moment to become a weapon. But before that, every child of the Chaasenods was told of a story of three siblings.


    It was the same story that you all have listened to many times.


    Kardia. Mana, and Anima, the three siblings.


    Kardia, the body is the vessel to house Anima, the astral body of a person. They are twins. Identical in appearance, but their nature was vastly different.


    Mana is the soul, the sister of the twins. She is the knot and the glue that tightens the Kardia and Anima together.


    Anima is the spectral body that breaths life to Kardia and Mana. Without Anima, there would be no life. If Anima is broken, Mana ceases to be and Kardia would soon follow.


    If Kardia, the body is destroyed, Mana fades and Anima drifts into the void.


    If Mana is depleted, Anima would separate from Kardia.


    For such reasons, children of the Chaasenods were taught to treat Kardia, Mana, and Anima with equal importance. We were taught to learn about them intimately without neglecting one.


    Every son and daughter of the Chaasenods was taught to bond with these three siblings. This is the first step to become a weapon of the Chaasenods.


    Kardia is the strongest when the Great Throne lightens Escana in its glorious radiance. It is the time when daughters and sons of the Chaasenods would learn to wield a weapon of their choice among the 366 weapons listed in the Chaasenod Record, swinging that weapon in dull and joyless repetitions.


    By swinging our weapon repeatedly, we learn to strengthen Kardia to give more room for Anima to grow. Until we were allowed to stop, our blades must travel with cold discipline and impeccability at every breathing moment, that or canning, or denouncing the Chaasenod from our name. ¡°Children of the Chaasenods know no pain. Children of the Chaasenods know no pain. Children of the Chaasenods know no pain,¡± every son and daughter of the Chaasenods practices their blades, chanting that spell repeatedly to denounce the weaknesses of their Kardia. It is a spell that every weapon of the Chaasenods is familiar with, for we were made resistant to pain like that.


    When the light of the Great Throne has truly faded from the world, it is the time when Anima becomes most active and Mana would become more apparent. Children of the Chaasenods would be taught to communicate with their Mana and Anima. Children of the Chaasenods learned to disassociate their consciousness from their Anima and Kardia to observe of the circulation of their Mana.


    By tapping into our Mana circulation and reshaping her, we tighten and strengthen the bond between our Anima and Kardia. Our Anima would learn of the change of our Kardia and grow up with him. Our Anima would try to heal any damage done to our Kardia.


    Win over Mana, the twins would listen to you.


    A triple helix ring shape would form when Kardia, Mana, and Anima live and breathe in tandem and alignment. Once a daughter of the Chaasenods has experienced that indescribable feeling, she would never forget. She would feel a euphoric joy of being whole and complete. She would feel invincible¡­ like there was nothing in the world that could stop her or slow her down. And she was. Once she had experienced this joy, she would try to seek out this feeling again. This was the only stage of her training when she was allowed to feel and express her own emotions.


    That triple helix ring shape would be accidental as it was ephemeral when a daughter was still inexperienced with being a mediator for the three siblings. But the more experienced she would become with being a mediator for these three siblings, the easier it would be for her to form that ring shape. Only when a daughter of the Chaasenods could keep and maintain that ring shape naturally, without any conscious effort, without thinking, she is ready to go through the next stage of her training, to undergo a ritual to become a true weapon of the Chaasenods.


    Children, this ritual would be as long and painful as some of you would eventually learn.


    ¡°We, the Chaasenod, pray to no God for each of us is our own God and Goddess.¡±


    ¡°We are the master of our Kardia, Anima, and Mana. We don¡¯t offer our Mana to a higher, immortal being in exchange for miracles. We make our miracles.  We don¡¯t give them our bodies and let them use our bodies like mediums to realize their will. We are the master of our Kardia, Anima, and Mana.¡±


    I had lived through this stage of my training while chanting these sacred scriptures every day.


    During this stage, you will learn that no longer will we be the mediator between the three siblings. We must learn to command them like Gods and Goddesses. If they disobey us, we must punish them and teach them to obey our commands. And when they obeyed us, we rewarded them. At the end of this stage, the euphoric joy of being whole and complete with the three siblings would be removed our body and consciousness.


    When dawn arrives, we swing our dulled weapons at each other under the watching eyes of our teacher until our Kardia breaks. This is an important process that any weapon of the Chaasenods must go through. We practice our blades with the intention to improve our weapon skills while breaking our Kardia in the most orderly fashion.


    ¡­


    Muscles first, sinew and tendons second, bones third, blood vessels and organs last. This is a five-stage process. Each subsequent stage would be much more painful and dangerous than the last. You would need a partner to accompany and watch over you at every constant through these stages. If the training ever became too painful for you, children, a drop of Lernenan poison in every three days will help. Remember, one drop every three days, more than that you will die. You will find the concoction of this poison at the Potion and Poison Section in the Chaasenod Record.


    Dusk is when we are done with breaking our Kardia, we would hasten and widen our Mana circulation to its utmost stretching limits, enslaving our Anima to heal our Kardia and grow up with him in the most artificial manner.


    This is the most dangerous part of your training. You must not misjudge the limit of your Mana, whether it is her strength or volume. Only ask the exact amount that your Mana could offer, nothing more and nothing less. More and your Anima would leave you, you will die. Less and your Mana would grow complacent with every passing day, it would be harder for you to be the master of the three siblings with each passing day


    A daughter of the Chaasenods learned that everything that was broken through this process would be rebuilt stronger and tougher.


    Your calloused skin and toughened muscles would eventually be able to stop the point of a blade. Your reinforced bones would eventually stop breaking from those hammers...


    This was how weapons of the Chaasenods have been quenched. The more a Chaasenod quenched herself, the closer to a weapon she would become.


    Our body was refined over time. Like that, every weapon of the Chaasenods is quenched in that dull cycle of self-destruction and reconstruction at every dawn and dusk.


    ¡­


    We, the Chaasenods, are weapons. Our body is a weapon to kill everything with a material body. Our mana circulation is a weapon and even our soul is a weapon to cut immaterial objects. But being a true weapon of the Chaasenods means to embrace that dull ring of self-destruction and reconstruction at every breathing moment. That triple helix ring shape must form and complete as we breathe, its formation must not be dictated by the rise and fade of the Great Throne.


    That¡¯s how I had relentlessly quenched, tempered and sharpened myself for 700 years.


    Until the day, when Her Majesty visited me in my humble abode, inspiring me to use my sword arms to slice the chaos of the world, 700 years I had lived, only three friends I had made and trusted.


    Solitude was my first and oldest friend. For me, she has been the quietest friend. She quarreled with nobody. She betrayed nobody. She hurt nobody. She killed nobody.


    Solitude is a friend you must learn Alfea. Solitude is good for you to dissociate yourself from your Anima and Kardia to learn the circulation of your Mana. Without knowing solitude, you will never be able to form the ring of Kardia, Mana, and Anima. To advance to the next level, solitude is a friend you must make, Alfea. I imagine that for someone who was not born and bred from the Chaasenods like you, it would be very painful and difficult. But to overcome pain, to feel no pain, is a ritual that every Chaasenod must go through and solitude is a friend you must make.


    Widowmaker remained my most reliable friend. Most ridiculed Widowmaker at the first glance, for she was a most ordinary-looking glaive, an edge-tapered one wingspan of elven steel saber, two wingspans of Cloreon oil-treated Ironwood and a sharpened bolt at the end of the weapon. Unscrewing the bolt and Widowmaker could be broken into a three-sectioned saber whip, other than that, there is nothing special about Widowmaker.


    Widowmaker was crafted without any inscription or ornate details or imbued with powerful enchantments. She was just an elven glaive that any experienced bladesmith could make. And yet, she claimed more skilled and famed blade users than any weapon I had ever wielded.


    Widowmaker often reminds me that a Chaasenod does not have to master every weapon listed in the Chaasenod Record or wield an enchanted weapon without equal to be an accomplished swordswoman. One weapon is enough. Eldoroan, I have told you that many times before. And I will tell you again for as many times as I must. A child of the Chaasenods could spend a millennium learning a weapon and still know almost nothing about it. Trying to learn all 366 weapons at the same time would do you no good. One weapon is enough. Learning 366 weapons at the same time is as good as learning nothing. Eldoroan, you might believe that you have mastered the form and the weapon by remembering the stance, the attack, the feint, and the counter-attack. You are not. Child, the world calls us the Chaasenods, a lineage of prodigies, swordmasters, and Sword Saints. But there has been no record of a prodigy, master or a saint in our lineage. Only students. Only weapons.


    Eldoroan, it is always better for a person to intimately know many weapons. Know more weapons will always give you an advantage. But a weapon of the Chaasenods hold one weapon and trust that weapon. Trust your weapon as if she is your soul mate. Entrust your life to her, learn to become one with her and she shall never betray you. I had defeated many great foes who wielded Divine Relic, great weapons and magical artifacts with Widowmaker because I had trusted her for 700 years. One weapon is enough. Eldoroan. Trust your weapon.


    Albriza, to this day, Swansong remains my most reliable acquaintance. Swansong is an inseparable pair of Titanite blades that were married to each other by the Naharis himself, a husband blade and a wife blade. He is an unyielding Titanite long sword, straight and tapered, unbent, unbowed, undamaged. She is a full tang Titanite crescent, fair, thin, sharp and flexible. In his heroic presence, miracles would return to mana. No wound made by her edge shall ever heal. No distance or physical barrier could separate the pair for they will always find each other, faithfully returning to the hands of their master. No weapon or armor, unless a Divine Relic of equal power, could stop the point and edge of Swansong. I don¡¯t know Swansong enough to call Swansong a friend of mine. But it was an irony that because of my short acquaintanceship with Swansong that I became known as the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods.


    Beware Albriza, to be acknowledged by Swansong means that you would be feared as the next Sword Demon. It is a title uttered with more fear than respect. It¡¯s a heavy burden. A Chaasenod does not pray, but I will pray that you, Albriza, you will¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    Children.  May you succeed where I had failed. May your weapons restore peace to the world.


    I shall pray for the light of the stars to shine on your future.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Your Majesty,


    Forgive your Meireen for not being able to accompany you in this critical moment.


    Short-sighted as I maybe, but I could see that with just one last push, your vision would be realized, and chaos shall be vanquished of our elven world.


    It is my greatest wish to be your sword for one last time. But Meireen knows her limits. I know my limit. Meireen knows herself the most.


    My arms are still much able, once a weapon of the Chaasenods, always a weapon of the Chaasenods. But my mind has regrettably muddled much. My clarity comes and goes¡­ as fleeting as the winds. Every time my guard became lax, I heard the Whisperer¡¯s honeyed words polluted my mind. The more muddled my mind, the more transparent that vile shape of madness has become. I have seen things¡­ things that no mortals were meant to see. I heard things¡­ I know not what I am becoming.


    I fear not of my undoing. I only fear that I would become a burden for you, the generals and the troops. I fear of being the one to undo your noble dream in my muddle. I feel like I have become less of myself with every passing day. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Meireen has learned that there was nothing in this world could be more dangerous than that, a weapon of the Chaasenods¡¯ making that lead your army into battles with a muddled mind.


    Therefore, I want to conclude my life correctly while I still could. I want to conclude my life while I am still, Valierra Chaasenod Meireen, your sword.


    Forgive your subject, Meireen, for not being able to write a better letter to you at this juncture. Neither the words nor the ink and the brush has been my friend. I still have much to learn about them as everything else.


    ¡°Children of the Chaasenods know no pain. Children of the Chaasenods don¡¯t cry. Children of the Chaasenods are made of Titanite. Titanite has no tear. No heart. No emotion. No fear. No weakness.¡±


    Like many of my ancestors, I grew up reciting the same words until I truly understood what they meant.


    700 years I faithfully lived a weapon of the Chaasenods inside my house. Other weapons of the Chaasenods went to the outside world, seeking their master and fame. I remained inside the house, honing myself for 700 years. I only communicated and befriended with other weapons. I knew only weapons. I only talked to and with weapons. My heart is that of a weapon. I cared not for the fate of the world. I had no understanding of the darkness and the chaos of the world. I did not understand the world outside my house. I did not seek fame, yet fame sought me instead. Swordmasters of different schools came to challenge Meireen of the Chaasenods. So Meireen answered their challenges, my life was as dull and simple as that


    Your Majesty had not looked down on my insipidity or feared my bloodstained reputation. Your Majesty had shown me that even someone like me, a weapon like me could make the world a better place. You have said that the Chaasenods are weapons created to slice chaos from the world, a sword to end all wars. You have said that the world needs me and my sword arms. You have said that you need me to end the chaos ravaging our lands.


    In that noble vision, I believe. Since that day, fifties springs have passed.  Male bodies I cut. Female bodies I cut. Monsters I cut. Reavers I cut. Soldiers I cut. Heroes I cut. Generals I cut. Kings and Queens I had cut. Demons I cut. Miracles I cut. The other weapons of the Chaasenods I cut. I have reaped many lives. Many. Too many lives have lost to my hands, too many that I have to doubt if our path was the right path.


    Weapons don¡¯t doubt, but I have cut down too many bodies that I had to start questioning things. Only when I started doubting, I saw and learned things. I saw that our soldiers have regained their dignity. Our forest regrew and ripened with fruits. Our people have found their shelters. The flame of war is being vanquished from our land. The decaying smoke of chaos is being pushed back to the edge of the world. In your exalted dream, Meireen has trust and her trust has been honored greatly. There is no greater joy for me, for Meireen.


    It¡¯s unfortunate that I could no longer pursue that dream as I am now. It¡¯s unfortunate that I can no longer remain by Your Majesty¡¯s side as your sword.


    But lest Meireen¡¯s absence clouds your vision. Lest my departure halt your noble aspiration. Your Majesty, sadden not for my absence and departure. Sadden not for Meireen, your subject when she would face Death like a true weapon of the Chaasenods.


    Lest war continues. Lest our people continue to suffer. In my absence, my students would fill my spot. My students, even young and inexperienced as they are, they bear the word ¡°Chaasenod¡± in their name. They shall be your swords. They shall help you realizing your noble aspiration in my absence.


    Until this very day, Your Majesty remains the only person I could consider a friend. I am probably the luckiest of the Chaasenods to make a friend with a person. These days, I no longer fear my dissemblance from a true weapon of the Chaasenods. I no longer fear my own emotions, my own beating heart. I could finally see myself as both a person and a weapon, a being belonged to both worlds. That shall be my greatest joy as Valierra Chaasenod Meireen.


    Weapons of the Chaasenods pray to no deity, no immortal spirit, but I will pray that Your Majesty shall be the one to vanquish the chaos from our world. I will pray that your noble dream would come true.


    Yours truly, Valierra Chaasenod Meireen,


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    The warbirds, Meireen watched them flapping their wide wings and flying away. With them, the letters contained her regret, hope, and dream. Her imperial made armor, her prized pole-saber, her legendary swords and bow, Meireen have trusted them to able hands to reach her students.


    The Chaasenod Record has been safely passed down, from a teacher to her students. Her duty as the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods and Sword of the Empress had been mostly fulfilled.


    The final dawn of her life was on the rise. The Great Throne rose from the shimmering copper sea and erased the darkness from Escana with its radiance. Meireen etched that vermillion radiance into her eyes, knowing that her final hours have arrived. She could have ended her life earlier. But there was a tucking impulsion inside Meireen compelling her to depart from Escana in the radiance of dawn rather than inside the cold shimmering light of the stars. Dawn was when the weapons of the Chaasenods destroyed their body. Dusk was when they mended their broken body. Meireen thought that it was only fitting that she would depart from the mortal world at dawn.


    Meireen held the 108 Purifying Phoenix Beads tight inside her fatigued fingers, wrapping the opal-like beads around her throat. The phoenixes living inside the beads shrilled loudly. Their rejecting voices echoed inside Meireen¡¯s sleep-deprived mind. The crystal beads suddenly darkened into an angry shade of red, telling Meireen its sizzling rejection. Just like before, she was, again, deemed unworthy to wear the Phoenix beads.


    But she clung to the angry beads. She could feel the branding heat permeated from beads on her fair elven neck. But the burn hurt Meireen not. Pain was something every Chaasenod had become accustomed to in the process of becoming a weapon. The beads could hurt Meireen no more than her worst enemies had done to her mind or the damage of her own knives had inflicted upon her body to keep Meireen awake for a continuous twenty rising dawns. The purging fire hurt Meireen no more than any wound she had.


    The purifying phoenix flame poured out of the crystal beads in a reddened hissing fury.


    Meireen¡¯s flesh was screaming for her astral body and Mana to heal it. Her skin mended. Her flesh regrew.  Her body healed at an accelerated speed, refusing to be unmade by the flame. Her burns healed, just not fast enough to keep up with the anger of the purging fire. Meireen could smell the charred smoke came out of her rose quartz hair with the smell of burned flesh. Her astral body was being purged by the fire as well. Meireen could feel it.


    Children of the Chaasenods know no pain, Meireen internally recited her household¡¯s teaching. Her fingers refused to let the beads go. Her eyes sealed tight. The one hundred and eight phoenixes lived inside the beads sang their requiem and punished Meireen¡¯s insolence. They consigned her into a fiery, punishing death. Meireen felt the phoenixes¡¯ purifying flame destroyed her fair, chiseled body in the scorching heat. Her teeth tightened, allowing no weak whimper or moan to escape.


    ¡°Children of the Chaasenods know no pain. Children of the Chaasenods don¡¯t cry. Children of the Chaasenods are made of Titanite.


    Titanite has no tear. No fear. No emotion. No weakness¡­


    Inside that purifying flame. No lament. No word. No tear. Valierra Chaasenod Meireen died like that. Her life ended too soon, her reputation and hands tainted, but her dignity was intact and her pride was unbroken.


    She died the Sword Demon of the Chaasenods.


    But death was not the end of Meireen¡¯s story, not when her soul had been tainted with the dark mud that came out of Sanguine. The guiding wispy lantern flickered and cruelly faded into the boundless darkness. The garden of white Marthias flowers would not open to her presence. The flock of black moths flew away from her. The Queen of the Black Moon would not bestow Meireen her salvation and mercy.


    Her Anima remained bound to the red mire of Madness.


    Not even the sacred Phoenix flame could cleanse Meireen¡¯s soul from the vile stigma of that reality corrupting mud, it was then that Meireen understood. Her ghostly heart sank.


    In life, she was branded to be a slave of the Whisperer. In death, Madness claimed her as his trophies. Meireen fought, flailing at the specters of horrors without her swords. But even a Sword Demon of the Chaasenods could do nothing against a Demon Lord, alive or dead.


    Meireen did not know fear but her astral body tightened, her jaws closed to not call out to Justice himself like any weakly mortal would have done. Jagged tentacles violently seized her astral body, yanking and dragging her to the world of stars and spirits, to the red dustiness of Kharigan, and the very pit of madness.


    Insanity, Meireen saw their dark, pronouncing visages and shapes, all three of them, one that mentioned in stories and words at the hearth. The mouth, the brain, and the source of Madness. The Whisperer, the Projector, the Embodiment, they were beings of which only the most diseased minds could conceive. Insanity, there Meireen saw it, her inevitable despairing future. Those wailing bodiless heads, his bragging trophies attached to the Embodiment of Madness himself. Dark tentacles and chitinous legs poured out of their dugout eye holes and mouth hole¡­ It was truly a godforsaken place.


    Meireen instinctively understood that she was not the first and she would not be the last to be collected as a trophy of Madness.


    ¡°Be gentle. I quite like her. Don¡¯t break her yet,¡± those monstrous light-bleached, lapping mouths whispered in a pure and maiden-like voice.


    ¡°Tis¡¯ one a fighter among fighters. A worthy trophy for a worthy collector,¡± said the split brains with insect wings in a solemn priestly voice.


    Meireen then heard his guttural cackle. Sanguine, the source of madness himself, the one who branded that red mire into her Anima, he twisted her strong ethereal body with his many tentacles and sawed through her neck with his jagged edge. Her world was broken into pieces and fragments of itself¡­ her ethereal body into the Projector¡¯s gaping mouth¡­. Her head was dragged into a corrupted unreality.


    Dirty-red, slimy mire flooded her consciousness. The horrendous agony spiked through the very core of her existence. Pain was something that every weapon of the Chaasenods would scoff off. But this was something else. Weapons don¡¯t scream¡­ but in this mire coated unreality, they do. It was as if she was being unmade from the weapon that she had become. Tentacles coated with red slimy mire cruelly pushed through her earholes.


    Children of the Chaasenods don¡¯t cry. Children of the Chaasenods know no pain.


    As her consciousness rocked back and forth in that reddened chaos, Meireen heard her brain made skin-crawling squeaky, ruptured sounds. Every movement, no matter how tiny, was an avatar of insidious hurt. The agony was like nothing Meireen had ever known. The wick edge of a cursed blade, the point of barb-headed arrows, the sizzling touch of bone liquefying water, the purgatory blaze of a herd of angry phoenixes, none of them was comparable.


    It was as though there was a colony of worms and maggots crawling inside her head, scratching and poking and eating her brain. The Anima of a person would normally shut down to protect her Mana from this amount of pain¡­, and yet the reality violating mud kept things as they were. Meireen was no longer a master of anything.


    Titanite has no tear. No fear. No emotion. No weakness¡­


    Inside that reddened bowel, Meireen braved herself, gritting her teeth. Even when her brain was stabbed, poked and pulled, Meireen was determined to give the Demon Lords no satisfaction. The mire warped and tainted her memory. It dishonored her past. It dissected her life into unrecognizable pieces and polluted the pieces before patching up. Sometimes, she could not remember what her name was. But Meireen groaned not. She gasped not. She moaned not. She whimpered not. In life, she is Valierra Chaasenod Meireen. In death, she was still Valierra Chaasenod Meireen.  She determined to be so, no matter how vain and fruitless it would be. She glared at Madness and his insidious cohorts with hatred and defiance.


    She should have noticed the delight in them when she resisted the tortured agony and the branding madness. But she did not. Her resistance and defiance only fueled their sadistic madness.


    Chitinous legs, small and big, clicked in a clustered frenzy. Meireen made no sound. The pointy tentacle crawled and stabled inside Meireen¡¯s twitching brain, flaring her sight in the color of insanity. Meireen glared at them unflinchingly.


    ¡°Be patient¡­¡± The Mouth whispered an eerie reminder in her sickeningly sweet voice. ¡°Don¡¯t spoil this sweet little doll yet¡­ Pretty doll like her is hard to come by.¡±


    Trapped in of her branding agony, Meireen heard Madness himself rumbled, cracking laughter.


    ¡°I wonder what your real sounds are like. I want to hear them.¡± The Whisperer did what she was known for, whispering nothing good with her lapping mouths. She glided and knelt down on two knees next to Meireen¡¯s head. The Whisperer stroke Meireen¡¯s head in an eerie gentleness. Then slowly, her ghostly, cold hand reached out to a small feeler attached to Meireen¡¯s head. Her teeth gritted, Meireen glared at the female Demon Lord while the Banshee Queen pulled that feeler like she was pulling a lyre.


    A wave of unknown rippled through Meireen, bolting through her body, stabbing her. But it was not pain¡­It was something else¡­ It was the most sickened, nauseating feeling that Meireen had ever experienced in her entire life.


    ¡°I have always believed that the myth about Lust¡¯s sensual touch is highly exaggerated,¡± the lipless mouths curved, ¡°Don¡¯t you agree with me, little doll?¡± The Mouth of Madness said and pulled another feeler.


    There was nothing down there beyond her severed neck. Yet Meireen felt the throb of her body, the twist, the ache, and something disgraceful, something worse.  Meireen bit down on her lower lip and glared at the lipless demoness with a vehement hatred. Bolts of carnal depravity stabbed and violated the parts of Meireen¡¯s Anima that should no longer exist. Madness, Meireen was made to feel perverse presence it and rut with its defiled touch.


    Once a weapon of the Chaasenods, always a weapon of the Chaasenods.


    ¡°How could that featherbrained whore do this? I laugh,¡± the Whisperer laughed with dark, sadistic delight, playing with those feelers inside Meireen¡¯s bodiless head like she was playing a stringed instrument, except this instrument was determined to mute itself no matter what. ¡°This, this is art, don¡¯t you agree, doll?¡± asked the mouths.


    Cruel was clarity when clarity was madness for Meireen, in and of itself. Clarity was shame, disgust, loath and pure undiluted wretchedness.


    Children of the Chaasenods don¡¯t cry. Children of the Chaasenods know no pain.


    Those lipless mouths whispered to Meireen, encouraging her to yield to the probe of madness in a holy and inspiring voice of a Valkyria. ¡°Beg, doll¡­ You want more, don¡¯t you? Let me hear your voice. And maybe I will save your soul.¡± The Mouth of Madness would come and go, treating Meireen like a precious, little toy to waste away her boredom. However, those lipless mouths had once never forgotten to remind the Source of Madness to be patient with Meireen¡¯s silent defiance.


    Every time the Whisperer arrived, she played and molested Meireen¡¯s dignity, stabbing her consciousness with invisible hard bolts of depraved pleasure, ridiculing Meireen¡¯s womanhood and dignity as she twisted pain into perverse pleasures. Meireen loathed the depraved unreality that she could end herself with a slash of a sword.


    Then, in the changing cycles of clarity and transparent madness, an unsettling lucidity and quietness crept into Meireen. The familiar pain, the agony, the torture, the ridicule, the perversion were nowhere to be found in that inexplicable unsettling lucidity. Another ill-fated soul was being brought to the despairing bowel by those dark feelers.


    There, Meireen¡¯s hatred-engorged eyeballs almost exploded. She recognized the face of that tormented soul. Staring hollowly into the vast emptiness of the sanguineous pit, without fear, without hope, without thought, that soul was devoid of everything, just like a doll. Meireen recognized that soul. But that tormented soul did not recognize Meireen, or anything else.  Elet. Elettsra Ch¡¯ongkiona. The Empress of Ch¡¯ongkiona. Even when she had become a slave inside the lightless quagmire of madness, a sword remembered her master.


    ¡°A¡­aaaa,¡± a wordless, weak sound escaped her lips.


    ¡°O noble aspiration. O Liberator and Protector of elven kin. O exalted vision befitting that of a ruler. O sword whose fame alone could bring peace. O regal altruism. One whoring her mind to the mud of madness for prophecy and the salvation of her people. One sullying her reputation for peace. O Sublime Empress, Mother of Ch¡¯ongkiona, your nobility is unmatched. O noble Sword Demon of Chaasenods, your loyalty and devotion are unrivaled.¡± Yasubotay, the Brain, the Projector of Madness, pronounced in a priestly voice, ¡°O sweet ignorant pawns of chaos. We thank you for the charitable amusement that you have provided us. It has been a specular journey.¡±


    The three shapes of Madness laughed insanely.


    Rasahlu, the Whisperer cackled, gasping in dark delight, saliva trailing, ¡°From the beginning to the end, such sweet ignorance, such bubbly arrogance. A pair of mortals think they can vanquish chaos, not knowing that they were just pieces and puppets of chaos. Such delightful madness.¡±


    ¡°You believed that you were bringing an end to chaos? How can a blinded pair, one is a slave of chaos and the other is a mindless weapon of chaos, bring chaos to an end?¡± Sanguine applauded in his dark and guttural voice.


    Inside that despairing bowel, Madness was speaking. Insanity was dancing. Lunacy was cheering.


    ¡°Aa¡­¡±


    Children of the Chaasenods don¡¯t cry.


    ¡°Aa¡­Aa¡­Aa¡­Aa¡­¡±


    The Whisperer mimicked her sound, laughing, jeering.


    Titanite has no tear. Titanite does not cry. But Meireen does, at the greatest negligence of justice. Something inside Meireen just shattered when that tormented soul was being planted into the bowel of madness before her head, rooted by vile tentacles and dark chitinous legs just like her.


    Meireen began to sob.


    Tears or what appeared to be the astral projection of tears poured out of Meireen¡¯s sockets. Inside that sanguineous, despairing insanity, all of a sudden, she was no longer Valierra Chaasenod Meireen.


    Just Meireen.


    That sword, that weapon was no more. Broken. Shattered. No more a Sword Demon of the Chaasenods. No longer a weapon.


    Just Meireen¡­ and perhaps something even lesser than Meireen¡­


    The shape of her dream, hope, courage, and dignity was being destroyed, mocked and sullied before her eyes. The tentacles raised, wiggled in the air and delivered a cruel promise of madness.


    Her womanhood was unmade, dissected, mutilated, and wretched before her eyes.


    Madness. One word to describe everything. Madness. She was just one unordinary trophy among the many trophies of Madness. Weapons don¡¯t pray. But Meireen wretchedly sobbed for Niwdar to save her soul, their souls. Meireen pleaded Wonten to destroy her soul whole with a mighty swing of his hammer, ending her torment and shame. She beseeched Sinintee to incinerate her soul from the civilized world. Meireen implored Death for a merciful arcing great scythe. She prayed the primordial spirits of ancient times to undo her and everything else.


    But in this godforsaken unreality, there was only madness. The Demon Lord twisted his tentacles, commanding his trophies to laugh and mocked Meireen¡¯s despair.


    Madness was laughing, cueing the music for insanity to dance and twirl in that reddened pit.


    ¡°What did I tell you? Pretty dolls like this, it is best to keep them clean,¡± the Whisperer snickered darkly.


    Meireen helplessly watched her own heart being dissected, tortured and scrapped into pieces by those jaggy-tipped tentacles before her own eyes. Her dream and hope died with her heart.


    Madness and his vile cohorts laughed as they did vile, unspeakable things to her heart.


    The Brain revealed the details of his madness, the shape, the plan, the work, the end¡­


    Her ideal shattered. Her oath lost. SOMEBODY, Meireen howled with despair.


    But she wasn¡¯t the only one. Everyone else was howling, one way or another. It took a mad person to understand the language of another mad person. Hitherto this moment, she could not understand them.  It took one to know one. Someone, Meireen tearfully gurgled, drown in the rising reddened mud.


    The Whisperer darkly played that sickened melody on the body of her pride.


    Her pride broke. Someone, Meireen cried, end my torment. Her soul corrupted. Her will to fight lost. Her defiance tainted. Her dream was in pieces. Someone, end this madness, Meireen crumbled whereas her excruciating torment and insufferable madness remained whole. But her cries of pain could not come out when those centipede legs and slimy tentacles filled her throat. Even her cries belonged to the Embodiment of Madness. Her torment and suffering could only be heard when Sanguine allowed them to be heard. In death, Meireen became the trophies of Sanguine, the Embodiment of Madness.


    Madness, she was made to understand it. If clarity existed inside her cognition, it existed to give her insufferable pain.


    What was the past but the future? There was no difference. Madness was eternal, a loop without an end.


    Hope, if existed, was just another insidious plot being cooked to deepen her despair.  Clarity, she did not need it. Madness¡­ Meireen was meant to feel the despairing touch of its slimy tentacles, to court with its defiling mud, to be forever stigmatized as its plaything inside that despairing pit¡­ It was as if she felt better to be mad than sane. Somewhere inside the cold darkness of her despondent heart, Meireen has resigned to be with the Demon Lords¡¯ sadistic whim and mercy forever. And forever means unending an eternity, even to a demi-mortal high elf like Meireen, forever means an eternity.


    Her maddened despair would last until the unforeseen end of time, unto the prophesized end of the world, unto the imaginary end of chaos. Inside that malign bowel of madness, to that ¡°unending eternity,¡± Meireen cried out helplessly until she could no longer distinguish the difference between clarity and murkiness, between pain and pleasure, between time and timeless.  What she was, what she had become, a weapon, a woman, a sinner, a slave of madness, Meireen understood not, but the easiest thing for her to be was a weapon, as she slowly learned. But even so, madness would come to destroy her learning and laugh at her feeble resistance.


    Madness was one, its forms and names were many. Madness was everything existed inside that unending world of maddened despair. Madness was everything that existed outside of that muddy bowel and any God who allowed such madness to continue.


    Madness was the only hope and the only salvation, in and of itself.


    Someone, end this madness.


    Someone, end me¡­


    A despairing eternity, her muddled voice was unheard.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    An eternity, Meireen¡¯s ethereal eyeballs had been pushed out of her tentacle-filled socket, hung loosely on her cheeks, ever pendulous. Madness and his followers had found better fun and better toys.


    King of this, Queen of that ¡­ toys


    She learned.


    Great Empress of this, Venerable Emperor of that ¡­ puppets


    She was forced to learn.


    Heroes, scoundrels¡­ pieces and avatars of madness


    She had learned.


    That was what mortals were.


    She had learned... her lessons¡­. The lessons intended for every mortal to learn with time.


    Just like how she has forgotten much of her own past, they had lost interest in Meireen¡­ once she had learned her lessons.


    Once she was a prized trophy among the other trophies. Simply because she fought back¡­ when she no longer resisted, dancing to their tune, crying to their Madness, yielding to the despair, she was not so different from any other poor soul.


    Her eyes, they rarely registered anything else aside from the shapes of despair and the dancing rudiment of madness.


    But there he was, at the edge of her vision, a diffused blur of sanguine that bled itself out of existence and turned into something else. It was like midnight of the world has stood on two and assumed the shape of a man. In a world where only the maddened redness existed, he was darkness.


    That strange man, who materialized out of the air and stood tall at the center of the bowel of madness, he slowly stood at the focus of her world.


    His teeth were gnarled and twisted. His face, tear-drenched, snot dripping. His dark eyes flickered with unspeakable rage.


    Meireen did not even know who he was, or what he was. She did not know if he was just another delusion that her muddled, weakened mind had created to escape from her endless agony.


    Like oil to water, he appeared to be untouched and above everything that existed inside that world of maddened despair. He did not belong there, not inside that despairing pit of madness. But like an alien apparition, he sobbed into his hands and fell to his knees.


    Meireen knew not why he was crying. But, he was always crying. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I am here,¡± cried he, in a strange tongue. She should not understand what he had said at the time. But somehow, she just did. He sobbed with a tear and snot painted face, freeing one orc head from the vile clutch of madness. He was not afraid of that howling head or disgusted by the mud corrupting it. ¡°Just a little bit more. I am here,¡± he promised to a kobold head in a teary voice, gagging and crying as he slowly slaved his back through the vile horrors, freeing even more bodiless souls from the grip of Sanguine¡¯s tentacles. He was clumsy. He got his footing entangled with the tentacles and fell to the red mire. But as he fell, he tried to protect the heads inside his arms. ¡°Get it done, get it done,¡± said he, like he was encouraging himself as he stood up. One by one, the jagged tentacles were pried out. The centipede sectioned bodies and legs came off, clutching to that crying man¡¯s body before he gave them something bizarre and alien to latch onto in the place of the heads.


    It was as if Meireen has been dragged from one maddened unreality to another maddened unreality.


    Human, orc, elf, dark elf, high elf, titan, garuda, he saved them all. Arachnee, faun, nagas, draconian, he did not discriminate. Men, women, he apologized, and cried, and howled for them all even though their suffering was not his fault.


    He wrapped their head inside his arms, crying as he heavily waded through the thick muddy ground of the red pit. He did not just free them from the pulsating manacles of madness. He drained that maddened mire from their soul as he freed them. The mud of madness poured into his astral body and thickened with every soul he liberated. The sanguine mud thickened and solidified inside his soul. But he was as untouched by the mud as he appeared.


    That crying man was more of an alien abomination than the three shapes of Madness themselves.


    He appeared empty-handed and disappeared with heads in his hands.


    ¡°I will come back¡­¡± In a teary voice, he always promised to world that he would return. It was the weakest of promise to ever be vocalized. But he would return, true to his word. And every time he reappeared to fulfill his promise, he became more emboldened with each trip.


    He was crying. Tears streamed out of his sockets like a flood. Always crying¡­ He has always been crying like a child. It was doubtful that someone was crying so much could get anything done. But like a miracle, he always pulled through.


    Meireen did not know if he was another malign illusion created by the twist sadism of the brain of madness, another insidious trick to play with her hope and despair, a reality that she had become so used to¡­. Hope, if it existed, it was meant for an insidious plot of the Projector or the Whisperer¡­. She had learned many times that hope existed only to be crushed in cheers and applauses. She could no longer distinguish reality from madness. Kindness and vileness were just a different form of despair. Meireen was afraid of him, that crying man whose soul could turn the viscous mud of madness into a small solid emblem hiding inside his chest.


    His existence, his deed, his tears were too hopeful to be true. She was more afraid of him than Madness himself, or the Whisper or the Projector. She was afraid that he was a fanciful work of her fragmented mind hoping to save itself.


    In this sanguine-colored bowel of despair, he was the most insane thing to ever happen.


    ¡°I am here,¡± he said. He knelt before Meireen, ignoring her screaming, carefully freeing her soul from Sanguine¡¯s vile grip as Meireen bit his hand like a feral beast to chase him away. He held Meireen¡¯s head inside his lanky arms. She could not tell if he was real. But the radiating warmth of his fingertips permeated into her, the soothing sobs that came out of his lanky body, they felt strange to Meireen.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, I¡¯m here,¡± he sobbed feebly.


    Were his words meant to deliver to her or someone else¡­ Meireen did not know. She did not know him, or did she? Meireen could not tell. But she felt the meaning, the pain, the feeling, the weight behind every word he spoke.


    A gasping breeze weakly leaked out of her severed throat, but whether it was a wordless sound or a soundless word, it did not matter. Meireen thought that she must be howling, but that feeble, gasping wheeze was all she could muster. Had she always been this helpless? Long had her windpipes been clogged and filled with those vile tentacles and the muds and the slime. Those tentacles and centipede legs had long been her mouth and lungs. Meireen did not remember how to make her own sound. Long had she been reduced to a puppet of madness¡¯s sadism.


    His tears rolled, boiling her cheeks, his snots dripping, staining his cloth. ¡°It¡¯s all right. I know. I am here,¡± he choked in his tears, his forehead touching hers. She should not understand the meaning of his words. But inside this unreality, she just did.


    It was like he could understand her unspoken word. He wept harder. Every sob of his was hurt and torment like there was a ball of spikes clogged in his lungs. Every word leaked out of his lips was pain and tears.


    Her memories were a cloud of madness. Meireen doubted them. She could not tell if she had known this person in the past. But nobody had ever cried this much for her. But he, a stranger was crying for her. He was crying so much that he must have covered enough for her share.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am here,¡± he choked, gasping out the words. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am here,¡± he reassured Meireen as if she was just a hurt child, even though he was more of a hurt child than she was. She could feel his teary lips on her forehead. He was shaking with hurt... A weak reassurance, a declaration born of make-believe, ¡°It¡¯s all right. I¡¯m here,¡± yet he reassured her in a choking and hurt voice.


    Even if her soul was condemned to be drowned inside the mud of the despairing pit of madness again, even if her mind was once again fragmented to the endless torture and abominable mud, even if Meireen was no longer herself, his teary voice, Meireen would never forget.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am here.¡± In a sobbing voice, he spoke like proclaiming the end to the world that Meireen knew.


    Just like that, the world darkened to a serene end.