ã€ŠHearts of Iron 4 Player&#x27;s Guide to Save the Isekai Worldã€‹


 Collie 1.10.3

    Revised August 2024

    ***

    Time waits for no one. It''s a law from some school of philosophy that not many care to know. One could argue that time is just another branch of the universe. An astrologer might take it up a notch¡ªthe moment you wrap your head around knowing you exist, the time you close your eyes for the last time, and that''s it. That''s the one second the universe gave you.

    That''s why there was nothing poetic about Erich Kasper''s death. The world has already been scarred by far more tragic fates lost in the memories of those who lived it. If there was any consolation to him, though, it was that this was not his world. And what he''s destined to do will turn his ultimate death into an epic.

    <hr>

    Erich gasped. A shallow breath was suffocating. A deep breath was gratifying. Mint was overpowering his nose, and his body twitched with each beat. Bear fur spilled onto his legs as he sat up. It was bulky, but it was soft and warm. He raised his left arm, clenching and unclenching his hand, twisting and bending the forearms, wrists, and fingers imaginable. Then he traced a finger down the arm and shuddered at the sensitive tingle.

    He''s alive. To make that assumption meant he was thinking¡ªthinking, hearing, seeing, feeling.

    Something tapped. A maid, french style and younger than Erich, was on her tiptoes. Her face paled, but Erich looked around and saw nothing. She then bolted for the door and opened it for a giant of a man in armor looking back. But the giant already had his sights on Erich. Once the fear kicked in, subtlety was the last thing on someone''s mind.

    "He''s awake! The hero is awake!"

    Usually, the Swiss Guards looked silly. Aside from the puffy clown costume, there''s the goofy helmet. But add thick blue plumes and a romanticized face shield that looked like a reverse Norman helmet lacquered in black, and they start to look a little less silly. Ornamentation took priority in their black-lacquered armor. It matched scarily with their white tunics underneath its shadow.

    A romanticized renaissance isn''t usually what one expected the brain to fantasize on its last neurons, let alone being called a hero. Sounds continued blending outside, shouting, clanking; everyone seemed in a rush. But it was a rather warm December day without the buzz of a heater. The place outside was too green, too peaceful, with no honking and whatnot.

    Erich got up and went to the window, and the brochure Niagra Falls stretched across the City of Verona and the massive lake. With a heavy breath, he wobbled back to the big bed and sat down, supporting his heavy head. It was satisfying, but his throat was parched. There was a pitcher and glass on the nightstand, the former full of condensation.

    Scooting over, he poured some into the glass, meeting the cold and swallowing the cold. It ran down the pipe and into his stomach, and he breathed out, refreshed.

    He set the glass back on the nightstand before the twitching on his hand stopped him. The bedroom was too sublime for someone who owed too much to repay the favor. Factor in the real estate and the building permits, and the price could make actual sense for once to break even.

    Then the clacking came¡ªfootsteps, and many of them. It was a cadence. The giant earlier snapped into attention, and a bear of a man entered, built like a Viking but groomed himself an Emperor adorned in aquamarine with broad shoulders and a beard as white as age, his superficial presence emanated imposition over a surrounding full of feebleness. Not even the giants joining him and their armor matched the same level of majesty.

    It''s as if the giants weren''t there to protect him. It''s as if they were only there because of what the man wielded he could not contain. The cadence stopped. The bear was looking at him, surely. Erich focused on steadying his breath to care.

    Then something scraped the floor, and Erich piled the tension into his fists. The man placed a chair close to him. Too close, as that gaze of his could choke someone. His expression was soft, but all the ornaments and fabric betrayed the facade hiding the backroom deals and paperless orders that allowed him those luxuries.

    "I am King Henry the Sixth of Cascadia. I am glad you have answered our plea for help, Honorable Hero."

    "Just kill me already."

    The king''s eyes opened, the kind of knee-jerk reaction akin to touching a hot pan. Erich sighed. It was getting ridiculous; typical fantasy bullshit, getting called a hero made sense now. It just kept adding weight to his head.

    "Just end this charade, pull out your sword, and be done with...whatever this is."

    His gaze softened, so Erich cherished one last deep breath and brute-force it. With eyes shut, his breaths got cut short. Something choked him, plugging his nose and mouth from nothing. He could gather air into his mouth, but pushing it down was another matter.

    A black mist fluttered where the king once sat, staring at him with red, glaring eyes, and Erich''s skin crawled. His bones rattled, his muscles screamed, and his lungs cried out for more air. Each attempt to draw in a breath ended in frustration as if his body betrayed him in their dire moment of need.

    Fucking finally.

    One last time, Erich closed his eyes. He embraced the breathlessness, fought against the urges, and let himself float. But then a hand grabbed him, the king''s hand.

    "Are you okay?"

    His words were also soft, trying to sympathize with an expression of care from the actions he made, that he treats everyone with equal dignity. It was terrifying.

    "I was supposed to be dead."

    "Yes. Indeed, you were. However, I believed it would be easier to show you."

    "Show what?"

    "For you? The impossible. But for us¡­"

    He opened his palm, and water shot out, circulating into a ball hovering over it as if Erich witnessed the formation of a planet from the billions of rocks forming orbit. Erich set a finger through the orb and pulled it back from the cold flaring from the tip, sending waves and signals through his arm.

    Erich buried his face into his palms again, supporting his head, and opened his fingers for his eyes. What is he even supposed to believe with all the pushing and pulling?

    "What you''ve just witnessed is Thaumaturgy. In your world, you call it magic."

    The King of Cascadia rose and went to the nightstand, gushing the sphere of water into the glass without losing volume, and offered it to him.

    "Please. It may not be on par with those who can fully harness Water and Light, but consuming it can help your body redevelop."

    Erich grabbed the glass, and the king sat back. "What do you mean?"

    "To conjure magic, one must be attuned to the mana. Your predecessors liken it to the air we breathe. If you run with all your might, you will start gasping for air. The same goes for mana. However, we are not so gifted that we can breathe in mana. Tell me, have you sensed something when I came?"

    "I don''t know," if his ominous aura had anything to do with it. But predecessors? There were those before him?

    "Did you not feel a little shaken? Scared, perhaps?"

    Erich gulped. He nodded.

    "That is what we call the aura. It is the mana surrounding a person. What you sensed was my emotion. Think of it as the most legible body language."

    Now that Erich thought about it, he couldn''t sense it anymore.

    "What does that have to do with my body?"

    "When you arrived, you were heavily injured. Headmaster Reginald York here," a man from the back stepped aside from the formation, revealing his pointy ears. "Can explain it better."

    The blonde, thirty-year-old bespectacled man''s pointy ears could not disappear no matter how much Erich blinked. His dark blue, scarlet-lapeled academic dress fit the notion of a headmaster.

    "Good day, young man. I am Reginald York, Headmaster of the Royal Academy of Cascadia, Archwizard of the Crown, and the last apprentice of the Hero Fenix. I''m also a High Elf. I''m glad to see you are well. Everyone will be relieved their efforts were not in vain."

    "What happened?"

    "We called for a hero. And what we received was you and the wounds you carried. Because you belong to another world, we had no choice but to flood mana into you."

    "Flood?"

    "Your body was not born here. It sees mana as something foreign, therefore rejecting it. We forced it to accept our world so we could apply its logic and react to the healing magic. We feared it would take a heavy toll on the body, but it appears our worries remained theoretical."

    "How long was I asleep?"

    "Half a day. It''s still too early for dinner, however, recovery demands flexibility. For now, you must focus on recovery. You''ve lost a few pints of blood upon your arrival."

    "I see," he did not. He cannot. "Thank you."

    The elf waved with a smile. "No need."

    Of course not. Kindness is an investment. If he didn''t know any better, the implications when one thought of a British elf was a simple stereotype. Maybe their race was a prideful bunch. Perhaps he''s a special case. But given Erich''s presence? Stereotyping it is.

    "We may not know your story, the friends and family we have stripped you away from, but you have answered our call. And we shall eternally atone for it."

    "It is as Headmaster York said. For now, you do not have to burden yourself."

    That''s because there''s a lot of it if being a hero meant something.

    "Take your time to accustom yourself. If you are hungry or need a change of environment, please do not hesitate to ask the servants," he rose. "Then, until you''ve healed, I shall call you again."

    Erich shook his head. There''s no point dwelling on whether it caused discourtesy or not. They had him surrounded, overpowered, and they held all the cards. What is a hero? What drove them to snatch someone from dimensions or galaxies away that has them so revered?

    "I''ll feel like I won''t have the time to rest when getting more questions than answers."

    The king smiled gently and sat back. Erich may not find the right answers. Hell, he might still be dreaming. But if he could get their version, he can start matching the alternatives once he''s looser.

    "Where do you want me to begin, sir..."

    "Erich. Erich Kasper. And I''d like to start at the beginning, if possible."

    "Then, Sir Erich, it would be my greatest honor to serve you as Lord Exposition."

    And explain, he did. The Kingdom of Cascadia, in the continent of Verussea, colloquially known as ''Europe With Some Jagged Edges Here and There.'' An easy illustration comparison would be ''A child trying to make it using lines in Microsoft Paint.''

    The past heroes must''ve had a chuckle imagining someone titled the Lord Exposition saying those things in explaining the unfortunate fuck, Erich, of the level of shit he''s in to get summoned.

    As for language and literacy, he''ll see it when he sees it, which should be a nonissue given the first people Erich met spoke the same language with the corresponding lip, face, and tongue movement. He just needed to catch the cues when modern words get mixed in. When in doubt, ignore it, as they advised.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    The thing he needed to worry about was the diverse races of Western and Eastern mythology that''d fuel the powderkeg of Nationalism for the next Balkans Expansion Pack that''d make Ancient European squabbles look like a playground fight under the reign of terror of eldritch abominations and hell''s agents that makes it preferable to die than have a second chance.

    But really, what is he going to do? Wave a sword? Unite everyone with a common enemy with a rousing speech?

    "Your Majesty, you said plea for help, but for what exactly?"

    The king sighed, and it wasn''t a pleasant one.

    "We''ve heard the stories before. Well, more like fragments of remarks gathered to form a rough idea of Earth''s history."

    "Why not ask?"

    "Prying for information on Earth has become a taboo after tragedies that grew from good intentions. A simple example would be powerful merchants to the west taking de facto control of a kingdom."

    Great.

    "But this time, it is clear. That kingdom had spurred the western region into a guild of nations known as the Verussean Union. With their capital, spirit of competition, and investment, their reach spans the continent. However, to the east lies the Belosean Empire. With their military might to rival and destroy the Union''s schemes, the whole continent is in a precarious situation where one stone may ignite a perpetual war, a Great War."

    "Not against a common foe, but against ourselves."

    The king nodded. "Your predecessors made a rough model of determining our level of technological advancement to grasp our state called Eras to stave any misconceptions from the semblance of modernity you may encounter."

    "And where is Cascadia now?"

    "We are in the Late Middle Ages, about to enter the Renaissance Era."

    "The architecture already looks Renaissance."

    "The advancement has always been uneven. And without reference, what we have may be a mix of old and new. What was disproven may have become a compromise between the footman and the knight, the stylistic choice of each House, and the old guards and the young officers."

    Erich massaged his head.

    "I know it must be hard on you, Sir Erich. We have no right to hold you captive to the selfish desires of the Otherworld, but please, I beg you," King Henry slid the chair away and took a knee. The knights and the headmaster joined him. "You''re our only hope for this infantile and foolish world."

    "Escape the consequences?"

    "If it means the safety of my own blood and the good people who wield power, then yes."

    He said it without shame because he knew it was shameful. Anyone would rally to the hero''s side against the demons from hell, the end of the world, but this was different. It was about the intensification of greed. The Coalition might win against France, but the ideas all keep coming back and get expedited a hundred years later.

    "You can''t put all your hopes on a child. I''m not a politician."

    Even if he were one, he''s no Bismarck. Practicality, sure, but it''d all lead to the same atmosphere that burned Europe to ashes twice. The treaties and counter-treaties, the dumb overpowering the educated, and the conceited predecessors destroying everything they''ve built.

    The king nodded at the headmaster. "Bring the tablet."

    An old nun entered. Nun because of the garb''s visual hints and her refined movement. She knelt before Erich, presenting a stone slab with intricate engravings as the giants closed the door and closed the curtains. Headmaster York then tapped his foot, and a transparent yellow parted from his shoe like a round plume.

    "Noise suppression. No one can eavesdrop from the outside."

    Then the nun continued with her ceremony. "Lord Hero, it is my great pleasure to present you the Catalog. By placing your hand on the tablet, the unknown great power you possess will be revealed."

    "I don''t even feel different. Maybe a little lightheaded."

    "Have you felt disgusted at the sight of a meal but find yourself surprised it tastes good?"

    The logic''s the same. The ceremony may be a trap. But then again, what other choice is there? Fifty-fifty chance it''s a nightmare, and he''s really dead. He won''t find it without moving. He thrust his hand onto the runes, and blue light glowed underneath his palm.

    It flooded the engravings with a stream of light, shaping what was carved. Then the light parted from the slab in the slab''s engraving. The symbols that made up the engravings presented themselves like holographs, each line shaping itself into an unknown language.

    Anomaly Spell Detected. Deciphering...

    Somehow, he understood the written script. ''Detected'' and ''deciphering'' were strong, analyzing words.

    Process Complete. Choosing an appropriate name...

    Choose? Choose what?

    Hearts of Iron IV

    He really is dying, isn''t he? Then the screen turned orange. The King and the Headmaster''s eyes widened.

    "So it''s Anomaly."

    "After studying through the texts, it''s still exhilarating to see it with my own eyes."

    While everyone was giving their praise, Erich''s mind was calculating possibilities. It was a Grand Strategy game about the Second World War, yet it''s his power. How does that work exactly?

    "What determines my power?"

    "We cannot prove it. Even now, our scholars in the academy endeavor to learn it, but the Predetermination Theory is the most popular among us, where the hero''s powers are suitable for the purpose of their summoning. It might as well be proved based on precedent."

    That would be correct, assuming the power was about raising armies, industries, and armaments. Instead of all the niches of the Grand Strategy genre; economics, civilization-building, and politics; he got war. War required tons of money. The cog that runs it was manned by individuals, each with their own story. They had a voice, too. Desires, wants, dreams; everything a war destroys.

    That is unless he was the ultimate deterrence. But that''s if he''s still alive. Anyone armed with a rifle is three steps ahead in becoming a warlord. And when someone becomes a warlord, they have two choices: go for the top or bend the knee. Feudalism will be there to stay for a long time, and thousands will die ending it.

    Erich sighed. He''ll need all the excuses in the world to get Cascadia Arsenal online, a mass movement of humanity to leave a trail when armies are raised, and about everything else until the lie lasts long enough for everyone else to reconsider. But one question remained¡ªcan he trust them?

    As the king and headmaster elaborated, Anomaly was rare amongst all magical elements of Water, Fire, Wind, Earth, Light, and Dark, even for the heroes.

    Erich imagined the logistics tab. It appeared vividly with a stockpile of a thousand guns and support equipment. Then he went to his profile. There''s the portrait of his good side in a black suit; none-aligned, no elections, no political focus set, and no national spirits. Laws and Government, R&D, and Military Staff were all empty.

    Political power ticked up by the day. He hovered the center of his imagination into the research tab and got hit with a wave of dizziness. He read the top left of the Infantry Technology tree a second time and matched it with the calendar¡ªthe year of Our Lord one thousand nine hundred and four. Wisdom born from the ashes of the Great War was still subject to the firing squad and secret police.

    It was not a simple Great War mod but a Greater War mod. The gap between the early-game and late-game tech was too wide, much longer for someone planning for World Conquest as a minor nation. The only unlocked plane was a hot air balloon for scouting. Still, it didn''t stop him from being a meta player. He filled the three research slots with Electrical Engineering, Early Machining Tools, and Construction I techs.

    However, it won''t rectify the shortcomings. People often find the Mauser Gewehr 1898 as a legendary weapon. From an engineering standpoint, it held credence. But it was a spear. Anyone with a measuring tape could give perspective. The original K98k variant, the AZ, was a 1916 Weapon III. However, when he delved deeper into it, a journal of it appeared.

    If it were a mod, it would be on the flavor side of things that put each tech into perspective¡ªan Enhanced Immersion Mod or so. It went into service in 1908 as a rear-line rifle. German High Command was fine in unifying weapons for coastal, artillery, and cavalry units, but not the meat. The logic doesn''t compute, but hindsight was 20/20. If he could somewhat service it into Infantry Equipment I, the representation for Weapon II, the Gewehr 98, may only serve as that¡ªa representation, utterly simplified to hold no nuance.

    But then again, the game itself was centered around numbers. Erich''s German, but everything was a mathematical calculation, from the effects of x-number of troops marching on a marsh in winter on a level 7 state infrastructure to a theater-wide battle in different environments and logistical conditions, making it hardware intensive at late-game. Then how does one quantify reality? Why devalue bonuses and upgrades as numerical values? That supercomputer would use up the whole universe to compute it.

    Perhaps what Erich does to adjust something as simple as arming an army with a short rifle relative to the time was only one equation among many that led to the same answer. The actions may justify the numerical figures. One decides to be a hero, a barrel explodes, and someone doesn''t get enough sleep. If the German tech tree hit a plateau from the fact that they lost, then what? Nazi zombies? Kaiserreich? Wehraboo cope?

    Questioning the consistency of the logic left him rubbing his head. If anyone learned their lives were quantifiable, Erich cannot imagine the psychological effect it causes. For now, he set a National Focus: New Chapter of the Liber Iudicum.

    The six off-map civilian and military factories, fifteen thousand manpower, and the luxury of not suffering from Consumer Goods couldn''t wait any longer. It''s a Starter Pack. Next, Erich willed the Recruit & Deploy tab with each division¡ªthe name of the deployed unit, not the size¡ªall named regiments, Infantry Regiment and Cavalry Regiment plus one for the Occupied Territories garrison. Each of them only had one unit or line battalion. The name ''Regiment'' was just a stylistic choice.

    He commenced training five infantry divisions, tanking both his logistics and manpower. And that was it. That''s the best first move he could think of. The clock ticked on the top right next to the date: 15:04, 6 August 1539 Anno Heroum Nostrorum de Terra, in the year of our Heroes from Earth.

    It was never supposed to be easy. It will take five long days for the National Focus to finish. The slab was merely an identification tool. The king and headmaster were ignorant of his true powers. Still, Erich''s in a position where he''s listening to the King and Headmaster''s words at face value. If they knew, there''s no guarantee they''ll let him go. And when they do, they won''t do it without some insurance.

    At some point, the King and Headmaster stopped their exposition and looked at him as a man with a plan. It must''ve shown on his face for a while. Erich sighed. It''s unbelievable he''s going through this route. But the goodness of one''s heart does not move nations, just the will of a single man with an army of investors looking for a piece of the pie. It has always been about compromises and risks.

    "Your Majesty, I''m willing to bargain with you."

    ***

    King Henry left Erich''s room with a lot of thoughts in mind. Reginald, too, despite his expressionless face. The elf had been on his side since his birth. He sat at his desk, and the headmaster touched the wall, conjuring a field shining across the study, preventing noise from leaking.

    "Reginald, what kind of...hero did we summon?"

    He almost said monster. Reginald slumped onto the chair and slouched. His eyes stared distantly at the ceiling.

    "A hero that will bring in a new era."

    It sounded good on paper, but the gravity of his voice said otherwise.

    The Second World War. There was a first. It may be the War to End All Wars the Hero Johannes partook in. The description of Erich''s war was almost the same¡ªsteel rain, muddy battlefields, and disease; it took everything for Henry to keep his composure in front of a boy talking about it so calmly.

    "Henry, I know we can agree on one thing."

    He''s dangerous.

    It was an old story, a hero enslaved by the Conclave after usurping their predecessor, the Kingdom of Laurentia. Deprived of everything and forced to commit heinous acts, his hatred broke the chains binding him and killed them all. With hate being his only reason to live, the hero went on a rampage, destroying Laurentia and the surrounding countries until a coalition was formed to end his suffering.

    In the ruins of Laurentia, as the figure of the Fallen Hero fell, the remnants traversed over the thousand corpses that led them to the center of the once thriving capital. There was no greed on that battlefield. Everyone returned to their homes with tragedy lingering across the continent of the story of greed destroying eons of work.

    "His power is a national undertaking. The nobility will have none of it."

    It''ll jeopardize everything they''ve been working intricately on for decades. Educating and meritocrizing the nobility cannot strike a decisive blow against greed and its lingering decadence within the institutions. The feud between the Classicists, Conformists, and Reformists was a generational struggle that would¡ªsooner or later¡ªspark civil unrest.

    "Let us not forget his manner of speech."

    His indebtedness for healing him and what he had to offer were separate matters. Goodwill held no power compared to the seal.

    "He is his own kingdom. As a reward for letting it flourish, Cascadia will receive wealth his world has to offer according to the period."

    The boy showed his card in a disastrous position. But he knew they could not ignore the forbidden fruit dangling on their faces with little consequences. He asked Reginald what kind of hero they summoned, but Henry already knew the answer. They have released a beast that will only grow, one which they cannot fully control. And yet that was the Cascadia''s goal.

    "My recommendation, Your Majesty, is to give the boy some privacy. Let us not neglect that we spirited him away while on the brink of death. I''m sure he won''t reveal everything this early."

    A knock came on the door. An almost identical version of Henry with blondish hair entered with an older gentleman.

    "Brother, it''s me."

    "I''ve come as per your summons, Your Majesty."

    "John, Stuart, you''re right on time."

    "How is he?"

    "He''s recovering from his wounds, albeit mentally."

    Henry then explained the hero''s power to the newcomers. It was sickening how a horrifying time in their world''s history was compressed into a game of Kings and Generals, a culture shock, and a disheartening conscience where such tragedies that followed became a moment of both sympathy and apathy.

    Henry grabbed a quill and paper from his desk and wrote.

    "I see you''ve begun your countermeasures. Pray tell, what does His Majesty plan to do with the hero?"

    "What we know of him is that he was once a Student of Government. Whether his intellect on the subject is good or bad, theoretical or empirical, it does not change anything he will bring to the world. I''m only doing my duty as the caretaker of the hero, as were those before me. But with the current state of affairs, I am preoccupied and cannot risk endangering him while he''s still in his infancy."

    "But we cannot keep his existence hidden forever, brother," the mana spike from the summoning alone would raise suspicion.

    "Indeed. The longer we hide it, the bigger the repercussions will be as soon as he''s discovered. We need a justification."

    "Your Grace, Lord Prime Minister, the hero also suggested the same, though it''s not more of a justification, but how we frame the context."

    Erich''s suggestion impressed Reginald. The two looked intrigued yet cautious.

    "And how do we frame his arrival?" John sounded doubtful. Everyone''s eyes were on Henry as he finished stamping his letter.

    "He is not a hero who shall lead us to salvation with the sword, but a National Hero who will lead us to a new era with the quill and paper."

 Phantasy

    Revised October 2024

    ***

    Morning, Next Day

    War is hell. But for once, it made things simpler. Erich got cozy on the vanity, snatched two of his notebooks and a fountain pen, and kept his hand moving on the doodle book as fast as the thoughts could stray on a page.

    And for the love of whatever ancient sorcerous empire that got him and many magicked into the world, he re-doodled a recoilless rifle as best as he could from the illustration of a monstrosity in an 1844 French patent and stapled the exposition.

    There''s something about a tube that lobs shells without all the manufacturing difficulties of adding a recoil system around it that captured the mind of Alfred Krupp and his canon double sans recul. There''s no escaping the jokes about wunderwaffe when the man proposed a goddamn 305mm recoilless gun in the mid XIX century.

    But the principles were there, and Erich revised the exterior akin to the American recoilless rifle. Now, it was up to the engineers and mathematicians to solve it. There''s still the query where steel represented the alloy itself or the conglomeration of leather, wool, cotton, et cetera.

    But first, Erich wracked his head for those fragments of memory of his grandfather''s hunting jacket. Cold War surplus was cheap¡ªgot him in his element, as he used to say. Nothing could go wrong with the Prussian Blues, and he was as sleep-deprived as the senior who went into a room full of up-and-coming sophomores by mistake, but he''s getting ahead of himself. Any uniform could enlist raw goods to train as disposable goods with enough choreography in Brandenburg Gate.

    Give a lazy person something easy to follow, and the least the rational ones could do was put up with their irrationality until the frontline needed more fillers. One eventually learns that a sheepdog is a wasteful expenditure over a flock that''d bah for the chance to get the Iron Dog Collar 1st Class for the pride rather than the resume.

    People are that simple.

    Scarcity, he wrote and encircled, gave a decorated piece of sheet metal recycled from a belt buckle factory more worth than money itself. It drives up the competition and ambition for something cheaper than a sack of wheat.

    Pressing and rubbing his warm temples as the hours and days ticked by in his head, Erich turned the ideas legible in his cleaner notebook and clicked his tongue. He pulled the fountain pen away from the puddle of a period and slid it away for the reading material the spymaster called a ''report.''

    Maybe if he bored himself in another dull review, the passive backlash of speeding up time may as well be white pain. If One-Speed gave him a migraine, Erich shuddered what Five-Speed would do. A stroke or aneurysm would be better than what it''d do to him, preferably if he acclimated himself to swallowing the finer details under the pressure.

    And that will take years, and the prior sentences began slipping his mind. Then he caught another lightbulb moment.

    He reached for his pen and notebook, jotted ''odd jobs = commodity/service voucher?'', and continued reviewing the report. It was an improvement, but he''d probably whipped it out during a brainstorming session. There''s also the printing press needing a techroll, and there''s the bankroll for the wages, transport, and reach before they could gain the confidence of industry leaders for ad revenue, the hero''s number one newspaper be damned.

    Erich squeezed his face. "My kingdom for manpower."

    He''s one labor crisis if he''s ever seen one. No matter how much red tape he cut, there were still different shades of red. Marrying someone or two important was almost tempting. Then someone knocked.

    "One moment!"

    He sighed, frowned at the reflection that sighed, and walked up to the door to a new face from the current attendants at his beck and call.

    "Yes?"

    "Sir Erich, His Majesty wishes to invite you for breakfast and continue the discussion from yesterday."

    The family gathering. "Give me a moment."

    He returned to the vanity, put up a poker face, and curved his lips at one degree. Even so, whoever decides to embrace the larp must''ve been dropped as a child and never learned to sew. Not much neck mobility, but why would anyone want their soldiers'' heads looking down? But then again, a Prussian tunic cheapened it when something demanded the highest formality and saved more on cloth for a tie and shirt.

    Sprinkling some perfume he willed into existence, Erich followed the attendant. However, the scent may have been more arrogant than the humble hallway. A Molotov needn''t do much. But finding the right spot in a place far bigger and taller than the Berlin Palace was always the fun part.

    The attendant took him two floors down and turned to the hallway in the same building, leading him into an open double door surrounded by knights to a dining room that''d make the topic of every social media and blog post in every new moon.

    "The Lord Hero, Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness."

    "Ah, the man of the hour."

    The king covered more ground than Erich. The man thrust his hand toward Erich and gripped it short from arrogance. Erich forced his smile to the eyes.

    "Thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty."

    "I''m glad you could join us, Sir Erich. I hope you didn''t force yourself to come. I believe this attire of yours came from your abilities?"

    And there it was¡ªthe probing. Nobody but the real pieces of work would consider a working breakfast.

    "I''m spoiled for choice on what may be presentable to the contemporary eyes."

    "Nonsense! You already grace us with your presence. Only coxcombs and dandies would find your attire lacking."

    "Does it help that this is a military uniform?"

    "All the more power to its balance of simplicity and style."

    So much for a professional opinion. "They are?"

    He beckoned Erich to the two strangers accompanying him with a pat on the back.

    "My wife, Diana, and my brother, John."

    Brother? He''s as blonde and chiseled as a propaganda poster and groomed himself as a wood chopper compared to Zeus. Even the queen could pass off as a brunette graphics designer or a stock photo model strolling with her afternoon coffee down a side street in autumn.

    The queen curtsied and offered the back of her hand. Erich turned it into a handshake. She was ready for it and paid a bow.

    "Good morning, Your Majesty."

    "Lord Hero, it is an honor. I hope you haven''t forced yourself to come. It would be rude to ask for your presence while recovering."

    "I appreciate your concern, ma''am. All the more reason to keep my stay here purposeful and put other priorities secondary to the purpose of my summoning."

    "Then I pray and endeavor to give you time for yourself."

    "Thank you.."

    Erich departed from one warm and welcoming handshake or public consumption to another.

    "John Numen, Prince of Cascadia and Duke of Estrier. A great honor to have you, Lord Hero."

    Estrier! In a world so antiquated that elevated the original maximum level of 5 to 15 to make sense of the lack of late 19th to early 20th-century public works, a level 1 infrastructure would be the best piece of real estate in a selection of bad ones.

    "You think too highly of me, Your Royal Highness. I hope we can work together so I can be worthy of your praise."

    "But of course. I hope the duchy can provide the necessary tools to meet your potential. I too shall endeavor to satisfy the demands."

    "Now, let us not stand idly by. Sit, sit. Please don''t hesitate, and eat. You need to stuff your belly if you are to recover."

    That was fortunate because the longer they dragged it, the superficiality might be taken under oath.

    He sat across the three. For a royal dining table, it lacked length. Louis would''ve had it in his Versailles hunting lodge. A ham omelet to set the mood; if it were a royal breakfast, there could be a tiered pastry tray, a vase, and some candles squeezed in. A personal one, possibly. Culinary diplomacy in its most intimate.

    Letting the attendants violate his freedom by the tea poured on his cup and napkin laid on his lap, the lull came. It might have been a few seconds, but it was long enough for the king to grab his utensils, and Erich followed on cue.

    Humble timidity if there ever was such a name, but the headache wasn''t doing much help dwelling on the implication of his seating arrangement or whatever the engraving on the silverware meant. Dumbing his focus on the meal eased the painful truth.

    That and the awkwardness.

    "I hope the meal is up to your standards. We took the liberty of choosing a familiar one for you."

    "It''s delicious," it put Erich''s hopes up about the local cuisine and set him up for disappointment once taking a stroll for the real deal. "It''s far different from the eggs and vegetables I bought."

    But that was all there was to it. The soft clump of warmth went down the pipe, and Erich deconstructed for another. He got four slices in silence and snatched a sip of tea until the queen reset it.

    "I''m surprised with how you conduct yourself, Sir Erich. Even with our differences in etiquette, I can sense the decisiveness in your actions."

    "Is it uncommon?"

    "Heroes have come from all walks of life. The rank and file soldier, the everyday man plucked by fate, and the pitiful ones who saw our world and a hero''s burden as freedom."

    Erich raised a brow. "Is that supposed to be a pattern?"

    "Yesterday, I told you that using a hero''s wisdom is taboo because it lacks the depth to even consider tailoring for our world," the king said.

    "It makes me think of a hero as nothing more than an overglorified warrior."

    "Yes. Powerful and brimming with vague ideas. But among them are an exceptional few. What made them different were the deeds that led this world to a new era¡ªthe teacher, the officer, and the gentleman. The fact you are a student of an intricate subject and the broad scope of your powers could indicate a new era of not just this world but heroes."

    Erich sighed. The three royals stopped touching the meals with expectant eyes. He''s half-tempted to be the odd one out and take a stress scoop.

    "I''m just a supplier. I only wanted to study and follow the principles because my parents were well-respected civil servants in my country."

    "Your parents must have held high positions to warrant your interest in these activities," the queen said.

    "I''ve learned and experienced a great many things from them than I should have that allowed me to do a great many things myself."

    "A noble and smart decision," Prince John said. "I can hardly imagine the fierce competition in a world with teeth on making education a right."

    "Indeed. I''ve served my husband as both secretary and in political matters, so I have seen the promise of your resolve bear fruit."

    Erich''s head was tilting, himself leaning forward with his forearms pressed on the edge of the table. He reoriented himself.

    "I appreciate the great expectations. I just hope what I have to offer may turn Cascadia into a beacon of prosperity rather than a bearer of conflict."

    "That''s no good, Sir Erich. Dwelling over the future this early is being unfair to yourself."

    The two royals beside the king nodded. Then Prince John followed.

    "Yes. If I were there when you awoke, I''d have told you right there and then that you need some excitement in your life to feel alive. Take it from me."

    "I''d love to see how much I could drink my sorrows away with Cascadia''s best cellars."

    "Oho, then you should pay closer attention to what passes through Estrier. Cellars will be full of barrels commemorating the year of your arrival."

    "I look forward to it."

    "As a step, of course," the queen interjected. "Not a solution. If I were to make a suggestion, Sir Erich, please go out. Roam around the city and enjoy what it offers to your heart''s content."

    "It''d make me uneasier if we don''t follow through with the discussion first. You can say I''m the sliver of the truth in stereotypes."

    "If you wish. But since we''re in this discussion, we can arrange for you to familiarize yourself with the city to pass the time," the king said.

    "I really should focus on my purpose."

    "Having a purpose does not equate to living a soulless life," the king raised his voice. He continued softer. "We have already imprisoned you into this world with a purpose. We will not stand for more unnecessary suffering."

    Erich can''t tell anymore. The three alone clocked more years of knowing from seeing. They may have already read his so-called playbook through contingencies.

    "Sir York once said he was Headmaster of the Royal Academy. I''m curious what it''s like there."

    "Is that so? It was one of Lord Hero Fenix''s last gifts to Laurentia in studying the arts. After the Fallen Hero broke free from slavery and destroyed the University of Laurentia during the Conclave Age, it now took its mantle in cultivating the finest lords and merchants in Verussea."

    "It also seems there''s a lot of history that I need to familiarize myself with."

    "We can enlist the help of scholars if you wish. I can''t see putting oneself in a rigid environment conducive to one''s spirit."

    "It''s a habit of mine. It eases my mind knowing I''m doing something productive."

    "If that is your decision, might I suggest you visit under the guise of the Cascadian Military Academy?" the prince said.

    "An exchange student?"

    "Of sorts. The Military Academy recognizes the need to cultivate the relationship between nobility and the military. Those who meet the academic requirements are free to adopt a flexible curriculum that allows its students to partake in classes with the Royal Academy."

    "Then I''ll be in your hands."

    "Formally, they are paired up with a guide of the same year and class so their duty may not compromise their studies," the king said. "You understand this may limit your opportunities?"

    "Is it possible to do it now?"

    "Classes an hour away, plus thirty minutes of homeroom, which is normally treated as a grace period, I believe we can."

    The king''s eyes rolled. The prince must''ve spoken from experience. The latter continued.

    "To what extent does your visit cover?"

    "Immersion. I''d like to see the future and read the past while working on my prose."

    The queen finished her tea. "We do have a department that educates the children of the landed nobility that meets the first two goals."

    "That should be enough."

    "Then we''ll have to send a request to the headmaster and prepare your belongings," she glanced at the attendants and stopped at her brother-in-law. "That leaves us with who shall be the hero''s guide."

    Prince John looked unamused. "My daughter, Annalise, is studying in the department as my successor. Given her status and position in the Board of Overseers as the Lord Speaker of the Student Forum, she could be of assistance should the situation deem it necessary."

    "If you judge it necessary."

    They had finished breakfast, and there was still much left to discuss. They can be as sincere as a Hero-Cascadia axis of friendship and magic. Still, if they wanted to turn their examination of him into a dissection, this was their opportunity, and pissing him off would be a mistake.

    "We''ve discussed your initial proposal with my council," the king said. "Prime Minister Stuart, the Marquis of Arrouette, wishes to convey his cooperation by maneuvring now rather than later and would like to apologize for his late appearance."

    "Anything I should concerned about?"

    "Some may view your sudden appointment as slight to the royal court''s authority. Sir Stuart and his allies will mitigate the effects, but you must understand they cannot do it alone," the queen said.

    "A tour across the realm, a tea party or two, plus a banquet and a factory in the territory to lower the unemployment figures and leverage the increase of skilled labor and decrease of skilled professions for the next annual national budget?"

    The queen''s smile strained, but it seemed like a kick from the specificity of each proposal rather than concern. "Something to that effect. We do hope you consult us beforehand."

    Even so, she had the leash ready.

    "Understood."

    The king continued. "Moving on, both Grand Marshal Severin and Lord Yaisakar of the Royal Treasury have expressed their interest in your ventures. They hope you can have time in the future for a meeting. The rest of the council has recognized the necessity to form a trade committee to acquire the resources you''ve listed."

    Of course, they will. Not even god can match the power of money. You just tell them you can build a factory and let the rest follow the snowball of implications to rationalize the quantification of reality.

    "As for my debut?"

    His arrival was a secret, but it didn''t take much to sense something fantastic as spiriting someone away from a different plain of reality. Otherwise, it''d make no sense at all.

    "Three days from now in the throne room."

    "That''s awfully quick."

    "We''ve harnessed magic enough for the ability to tame beasts and direct them to the receiver and back."

    The king sipped his tea.

    "More pressing concerns should be the rumors circulating among reputable mages across the kingdom regarding tremors in the atmospheric mana precipitated by your arrival. Suddenly assembling the royal court during the harvest recess for an important announcement might as well render your introduction a mere formality."

    "Then the issue that comes afterward, this Lord Mayor of Blaire."

    "I see you''ve read the report."

    "It''s a damning report."

    Count Horatio, Lord Mayor of the Chartered City of Blaire in the Duchy of Estrier. Suspected of corruption, espionage, conspiracy, and treason. Going any further than that complicates things, but he''s sealed his fate.

    "Frankly, I don''t understand why I didn''t find any conviction or a conclusion," too much money lost already. Drag it longer, and someone will toss the hammer of justice for the alleyway brick.

    "Lord Horatio was a promising man growing up. His father was an example of a noble who ruled with virtue."

    "The apple that falls from the tree rots unattended," Erich put his elbows on the table. "No choice but to throw it away or use it as compost."

    Give a dog a bone, and you feed it a day. Teach a dog how to load and fire a Mauser, and you feed it for a lifetime. If they want someone dead, he''ll humor it. Humanizing the man was a waste of time.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "Due to Blaire''s location as a trade hub, we''ve expected growth for some time now."

    But?

    "But at some point, it came quickly. The influx was too good to be true. The developments and the prospects of a prosperous city were hailed. When our investigators disguised themselves as scholars on a research trip to the city, they carried a survey with a specific question regarding their opinions of the Lord Mayor."

    "''The best Lord we ever had,'' ''Our lives became better under his rule.'' Tyranny."

    It was no different from organized crime and politicians. You get voted to deal with the problem and kill the competition so the former can do their business and behave to make the statistics and streets look safe for the average voter while getting a cut and getting set for reelection.

    "We''ve narrowed them down to companies specializing in luxury goods that use the city as a storage and redistribution facility. It''s not uncommon. Rather, it''s the perfect cover. Extra security, higher property tax, and perhaps compromise with shares from a more wealthy company."

    Erich''s shoulders heaved. The issue was more of a Spy Agency matter. Deciphering the prose in the novelette they called a ''report'' was exhausting. But sure enough, it had consistency.

    The king started. "We looked for where the coin might be coming from. Our conclusion led us to believe the Salaians, a kingdom to the north that was once part of the Kingdom of Laurentia, our predecessor."

    "Their policy?"

    "Reunification. The Houses Salais and Cascadia were Laurentian ducal families of the sword and pen respectively. Once the Conclave usurped the crown and enslaved a hero, we raised the banner of resistance hand in hand. Unfortunately, we both had a different vision of the new Laurentia; We fought, lost, resisted, and then crowned ourselves."

    Even setting aside the history, "I''m seeing fewer soldiers with the money involved."

    "Indeed. We cannot confirm with certainty who is funding them and why. But what we do know is that the count uses the city as a coaching inn for information to exchange hands."

    "And he''s still walking?"

    "Regretfully, moving in now would only eliminate the symptom. We have been feeding him false information vague enough to keep Salais guessing, but concerning enough to cause them to move and hopefully economically strangle them."

    "I''d go to war now if I knew you summoned a hero."

    "Indeed. Generals will be forced to rebuild their shattered strategies from nothing while assemblies will be in gridlock between members and chain their kings until deliberations are over."

    "Then the count''s outlived his usefulness."

    "The Royal and Estrier Orders of Knights are to raid his household following your appearance, but we hope you might add some wisdom," Prince John said.

    "I don''t think my opinion is necessary. I just have to walk in once the raid is done and take the credit, don''t I? Maybe execute the count myself and use my influence to liken the city''s prosperity as fattening the pig for an upcoming Salaian feast."

    "We appreciate your understanding, Sir Erich."

    "What else do you need from me?"

    "Since you intend to visit the academy, you must be aware that you will be in the same class as the count''s daughter," Prince John said. "You should be fine as long as you keep to yourself if you wish to proceed. Otherwise, we can reschedule your visit."

    "No need to reschedule," he needed a good long walk. That reminded him, "What about the rest of the family?"

    "The wife and daughter are nonfactors¡ªthe latter under my daughter''s supervision¡ªand we have the eldest son positioned as an officer in the Estrier garrison for my knights to apprehend. Now then, shall we prepare for your trip?"

    <hr>

    Royal Academy of Cascadia

    At nine o''clock Normal Time, the bell rang. Erich took another sip of coffee from his thermos and set it beside him on the bench. A king''s order didn''t disappoint. Nor did the tailors and the meritocracy of the Military Academy, prepared with a surplus of uniform sets for the frugal.

    He just had to step in and bleach the red uniform with his white one for a keen teaching assistant to ask. They then relay the grievance to the faculty and rattle the administrative chain. The staff panics, one plucks out the paper trail from nowhere, more panic, then a ray of hope shines in the chaos, and a favor comes to one of the most reliable students in the academy.

    By the time it reached the last step, all signs of life had become a distant memory''s echoes, and the light footsteps minding themselves with Erich and a student handbook from one the palace library. The latest one got louder and ceased in earnest.

    "Pardon me."

    "Yes?"

    "I''m¨C"

    He reared his head towards a girl''s voice, but the girl in front of him was not the successor to a duchy her father gloried her to be nor a speaker that commanded the dissenting views clashing in the same chamber. She paled. And as she heaved, something sparked in her eyes. Something like courage. Courage and something else.

    "I''m Annalise Numen from the Department of Civics and Statecraft. Am I right to assume you are the one I will be guiding for the day?"

    "Ah," wasn''t so hard, was it? "Erich Kasper. And I''m sorry for bothering you; you must be busy."

    "It''s fine. I so happened to be free today."

    "Really? I feel bad for using your time on such short notice."

    She waved. "None of us are to blame for the choices and mistakes of others. We can only accept it and learn to appreciate what it gives us."

    "I guess so."

    "Then, shall we?"

    A satchel slung and accessory saber strapped, "Not much of a choice, do we?"

    She nodded and took point. The department building wasn''t very far off, but each building was colossal enough that the academy had a transportation system drawn by the pickup truck breed of large horses with white furry socks and the hair of someone who made depression their entire personality.

    The pathway led them to another building. If the first one was the reception building, the one they''re in was something else. Expansive stained glass ceilings, five floors, and a subfloor of doors and railings; the academy was no Pre-Napoleon Oxford in Versailles if they really gave a damn, but it was getting there.

    "You could hold a large market here."

    "Admission is an honor, and there is no shortage of learners who wish to study here. It is the legacy of the Hero Fenix and the academics of the University of Laurentia. You can find that it has compelled the academy to expand its¡­superficial artistic liberties."

    One room muttered theories on land development from a settler''s perspective, the next discussed when to give and how to portion the carrot, and the other cautioned the landed noble''s complacency amidst daring alleyway capitalists.

    "This place is?"

    "The Business and Economics Department. You will mostly find non-heirs, merchants'' children, and profit-seekers inside those rooms. My department is just across it."

    They left the business department building, and Erich began. "Anything I should be aware of?"

    "Us nobles are barbarians who cling to power."

    Erich''s eyes darted to the stained windows, to the seats still tucked in the tea tables on the grass, and to the entryways.

    "What about those I don''t know about?"

    She stopped in the middle of the walkway, and there it was again, a beautiful girl''s sincere smile, the very smile that could drive a man mad. Then she eviscerated it, giving way to a pale complexion.

    "It depends on what you wish to do. The department does not divide domestic and foreign students. If you wish for interaction, know that students form their circles according to location, family history, estate, bureaucracy, or politics."

    "Which side do you belong?"

    "None. Choosing one with my background would fester conceit opposition cannot obliterate and bring disgrace upon departing."

    "I take it the neutrals are the minority?"

    "Only those that see it as a necessity."

    "Such as?"

    "The ministerials¡ªservant-nobles specializing in fields such as butlering, bureaucracy, and accounting¡ªand those planning to enter politics. Shall I continue while we walk?"

    "Please."

    What was even the point of stopping? Let alone in the open like that? A rumor for mid-morning tea?

    <hr>

    While the classroom fixated on the newcomer walking to the center of the board, Annalise breathed a sigh of relief that should''ve never been so savoring for a while.

    "My name is Erich Kasper. In relation to my studies, I have been permitted to participate in classes in this department. I look forward to learning with you."

    Short, straight to the point but vague in what those studies may mean; noteworthy for a promising officer cadet of his age but ensured any sliver of arrogance from manifesting from those who cannot fathom his presence in this prestigious department.

    "If you have any questions regarding the class, please don''t hesitate to ask your guide," Annalise readied a smile, but the professor busied herself with the textbook. "Miss Annalise, I leave him to you."

    "Yes, ma''am."

    The conversations continued. So far, the front seaters limited their attention to a curious glance before delving into their notes and last minutes of free time. Then he approached, and his presence smothered Annalise once more. Her stomach was full of air, but it wasn''t enough. It was never enough.

    She led him to the door at the back of the room and climbed the stairs to the visitor''s deck surrounding the seats on three sides.

    "Feel free to choose where to sit."

    He surveyed the students below at the hemicycle tables as he roamed the deck and settled behind everyone''s backs. A proper choice; a good view of the board, too. Still, he kept his eyes on them as he reached for his belongings.

    Studying the students in his ''working break''¡ªas he put it¡ªdoesn''t seem all that productive. But that was a matter of thinking. He''s planning for the long term. He did not count days, he did not count months; he counted only the results of his decisions spanning decades.

    His eyes met a random page in his book. "What?"

    Annalise sprung down, reaching for her nonexistent bag on his side, maneuvered the bag in place with her foot, and produced her belongings, opening a random page in her book. He began tapping his forefinger.

    Yes, her mind wandered. To her classmates below, she ogled him. That was her fault. However, the least he could do was be grateful for keeping it natural to the curious glances below. Still, for someone on a working break, it may have been unacceptable. Then again, she was the Heiress of Estrier, and that made all the difference in expectations.

    And there were the cliches the heroes who decided to author novels made that had received the real and playful mockery of their predecessors.

    "I was the Prioress Superior in the Altar of Ancients," his finger stopped. "It is an ambiguous role that makes me a volatile investment. Having a repertoire of refusing foreign princes, some already find it certain on my outlook in life."

    Then it happened again as he feigned engrossment in his book. Annalise swallowed the air, but her stomach filled up before she could reach that two percent. Even as she yawned, she could barely scrape it, the taste maddening. She checked her surroundings before continuing and feigned exchanging and discussing notes.

    "Sir Erich, you are free to detest me, but please temper yourself."

    "I''m sorry, but could you clarify that?"

    Annalise sealed her eyes and scooted away, inhaling just to get the words out. "Very well. If that is how you want it, so be it."

    She flipped through the pages of her book and occupied herself with the day''s lesson. Even if her reassurance led him to the wrong implication, there was a limit to how much she could endure.

    "You seem to have a very high expectation of me, Miss Annalise."

    Anyone would. Then the pressure vanished, and Annalise relished the air. She took a deeper breath just to be sure. He was looking at her book and pulled away.

    "Shit."

    "Were you not told of the Hero''s Will?"

    He raised a brow.

    "The aura, to put it simply."

    He shook his head.

    "Thousands have been swept by it at the moment that defined the era: the great charge, the last stand, the speech that paved a new age of prosperity. Who dares against it have fallen. Those ignorant of its true nature see you as someone with a high affinity to magic. The prideful will feel inferior."

    "And the hated?"

    "Political or emotional suicide."

    Annalise offered him another smile¡ªhopefully genuine in his eyes¡ªand kept to her side of the table, reviewing her notes from yesterday corresponding to the upcoming lessons until the bell signaled the end of homeroom.

    The professor spurred. "Whoever was assigned to recapitulate yesterday''s lesson, please rise and begin."

    "Don''t bother with the recap. The professor turns it into a question-and-answer segment for extra credit. It''s page sixty-seven, Estate''s Discretion."

    Annalise flipped her pages and then his, tapping on the page number in the Verussean script.

    "The first few pages of the lesson overview the history of contention between the crown and landed nobles following the Fall of Laurentia. However, the key points are that the crown holds dominion of strength and the Estates rendered to the dominion of prosperity."

    "Militarily, the original landowners have been defanged, but it opened an opportunity to grow financially?"

    "It is preferable to the Itinerant¡­Wandering Court that required the heirs of vassals to serve as squires and hold lengthier feasts when a town''s wealth surpassed that of the court after the Fall of Laurentia."

    Be it a cue from her tone or how she phrased it that ended it, he shifted his attention to the book and the professor''s discussion.

    "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask."

    But he never asked. He scribbled the alphabet around lines and arrows, sometimes too immersed in it than the discussion, and arranged his thoughts in his other notebook.

    All the students in the chamber belonged to or connected with the landed nobility. The class cannot prepare them for irrationality. It cannot harden their hearts or use them in harmony when the time comes.

    "I''m sure by now you understand most of these are theories and methodology first and foremost."

    He continued reading through the book and outlining his jumbled thoughts.

    "Passing means your skills and knowledge to serve in high office have been verified. Though, it doesn''t mean it is absolute. My father was known to be lacking in the classroom but compensated with his ability to learn through experience."

    "The best teacher."

    "I maintain notes while he or my mother administers the duchy. If you prefer, I could lend it to you."

    "I''ll consider it."

    To refuse or refuse with the giver''s dignity intact? He was more honest when choking her with his will. He continued arranging what he had in mind in his second notebook.

    As the discussions continued, the hands raised, the questions clarified, and devotion to the pages feigned upon a professor seeking input from a loaded question, the bell rang. At earnest, the room became lively. And from the corner of her eye, familiar faces giggled at them, but Sir Erich kept to himself as a bookworm. He paused, raising his eyes as though pondering, and continued writing.

    "Miss Annalise, they don''t happen to be your friends, are they?"

    "The daughters of nobles within the Duchy of Estrier. Heed them no mind."

    "Does the House of Blaire have anything to do with them?"

    A wave of cold breezed down Annalise''s back. "Are you here for her too?"

    "Just curious."

    Annalise put her bag on her lap and stuffed her belongings inside. "The stout one is Marie Blaire. The one with black puffy hair at the center."

    He sighed, keeping his hand moving. "Well, they do seem to be a gossiping bunch. Can they enter this deck?"

    "Only visitors and guides can."

    "Good," he set aside his notebook for his bottle. "Then I''ll stay cooped here."

    "Most of us go to the dining hall for tea. Do you prefer engaging with the one person curious enough to call for you or the rumors between a cadet officer and Estrier''s heiress alone in a usually restricted area in the classroom?"

    He snickered, covering it with a smile focused on his book. "It would be pretty funny if everybody got creative, don''t you think?"

    "Which will it be, Sir Erich?"

    "Once the curtain''s unveiled, I have to watch my weight."

    "What a coincidence, so do I."

    Annalise''s cheeks hurt, matching his courteous smile. He had to be in pain, too. However, something''s wrong. There''s always something wrong whenever Marie and her group flocked around her seat. They barely spoke, and the glances kept coming. Sir Erich wasn''t budging, and Marie rose.

    "Ah, that''s right. I still have student matters to attend to. If you would excuse me."

    He hummed, and Annalise walked out of the room. Upon reaching twenty or so paces, the door creaked open. Their eyes met hers, and Annalise continued.

    After a short trip, Annalise reached the usual alleyway by the stadium and waited. She needn''t wait. The chipper voices got louder and bounced at the entrance of the alleyway just as her heart was. Their footsteps suggested a leisure stroll. Annalise forced herself to breathe. As the smiling group turned up by the corner, she locked up.

    "Goodness, how many does this make, My Lady? The tenth this year?"

    "What do you want, Marie?"

    "You know what I want."

    Annalise dropped her head and sighed. "Seven times."

    "Hm?"

    "It was seven times last year; nine before that. Excluding the rest, how many does that make? You should have better luck with a gigolo than the heartbroken boys I sent you."

    A few fought against and hid their grins. Annalise waited as Marie''s shock turned. The wide eyes that were all too surprised and never expected to occur, eyes squinting and brows narrowing, the agape jaws closing to grind her teeth. Once the fists formed, it was complete.

    Annalise took a deep breath, and Marie stepped forward. She shuffled ahead, and Annalise exhaled everything. Marie swung, and a fierce, scorching, burning, cramping feeling swept through her core and shook her stomach.

    The strength on her legs went pop! What kept her knees locked just let go as though it was nothing. Annalise''s mouth began watering. She conjured a healing spell on her stomach.

    "Who would''ve thought the Duke''s daughter would make a good jester!" a hand pulled up Annalise by the collar. Marie was smiling, so eager. "But you don''t look like a jester. Ladies, why don''t we help her with some makeup?"

    "Let go of me!"

    Annalise jumped, catching Marie''s hair, and dragged it forward, pulling her back. But then Annalise''s scalp burned. The other girls tugged her away from Marie, and one''s nails pierced her arm, tensing it.

    They twisted her and pressed her face to the dirt with a shoe. Sweat began dragging the powder on Marie''s face.

    "Getting bold, are we?! What would happen if people learned your father betrayed Cascadia? Get her up!"

    Annalise choked on her collar as someone lifted her from the back of it. Once she got her footing, someone grabbed the back of her head and faced it towards the wall¡ªA thud, and then the world flashed white in an instant. The ground embraced her again, and Annalise''s glowing hand swept over the stabbing pain in her head, rendering it dull.

    She raised her hand again, then a foot stopped it.

    "What''s wrong? I thought you could handle more than that?" Marie smirked. "Get that harlot off the ground and heal her. I''m not done yet."

    <hr>

    Spoiled brats, Erich could handle. But political spoiled brats? All it took was a journalist predisposed to their fate talking about Mexico or a growing empty patch of land in the middle of the Amazon rainforest.

    Whatever secret the fat lady sang got enough leverage from a ducal heiress, but it didn''t seem like she was compromised. But the suppressed screaming couldn''t get any subtler.

    "Ay-ay-ay..."

    So much for the plan. Whatever that plan was. Erich willed for a Model 1902 Luger. A tight squeeze for the grip safety, but he stepped out of his spot and pointed it between one paling girl''s eyes, keeping an eye out.

    "Turn around. I will only say it once," she did, and Erich pulled her by the collar. "Any second thoughts, know that the barrel''s pointed towards a major artery on your hip. If you''re lucky, you''ll end up crippled for the rest of your life. Nod if you understand."

    Her hair bounced up and down.

    "Move."

    The corner got livelier. They probably put everything with the slap and punch at the start from the gasping in between. Usually, you have to work your way up to break someone.

    Erich pushed to the corner right as Miss Annalise''s head whipped to the side from a jab. Her elbows trembled, stopping her from hitting the cobble.

    Clothes were fucked up, some dirt and fabric pills here and there; if it was an accident, it was a spectacular one. But aside from a cheek burning in the shape of a hand, she was fine.

    That''s what it seemed like.

    One noticed Erich. He returned the favor by putting a barrel to Meat Shield''s temple, getting both singing for everyone''s attention.

    "You know how this works. Let her go, and I''ll give your friend back."

    The larger girl stared deep into Erich''s eyes as though judging whether he was bluffing or not, and veins popped out around her neck.

    "You two, make sure this harlot doesn''t escape! Break her legs for all I care! Do not let her go!"

    As Captors 1 and 2 moved, Erich wrapped his arm tight around Meat Shield''s neck and pulled the trigger, demarcating an invisible lead barrier from the Victim of Estrier and the rest of the girls. Then traces of red, blue, and green congregated on the girls'' hands¡ªfire, water, and wind. Meat Shield clutched his arm.

    "And you call them your friends."

    Erich''s second shot struck true, ricocheting beside Wind Talker''s feet. The fragments and whizz made her jump and shredded the green gymnastics ribbon circling her.

    "You wanna see me do it a third time? What about how desperate I can be if you don''t stop?"

    He glared at the timidest one, keeping a coin-sized fireball warm, and placed the barrel on Meat Shield''s temple. She began babbling with the tears, and Hothead blew the candle, convincing the rest.

    Erich grabbed Meat Shield by the collar and pushed her to her knees, barrel pointed at the back of her head.

    "What''s your name," the girl stuttered but couldn''t complete it. "Name!"

    "Beatrice! My name is Beatrice!"

    "Alright, Beatrice. You remember what I told you a second ago, right? Either blowing a major artery or living the rest of your life crippled?" he gripped her collar. "Remember?"

    "Y¨C yes!"

    "I forgot to mention one teensy little thing about bullets. If it hits something solid inside, it bounces around, destroys an organ or two, and the next thing you know, it pops out of your neck. Bullets are like that. I don''t know how it works myself, but why don''t we convince your friends? I''ll try to save at least one leg from amputation."

    "No. No!" Beatrice screeched and tried curling on the ground. "Lady Marie, please save me!"

    "That''s how it is. The choice is yours. Otherwise, turn around, walk five paces, lie on your stomach, and interlace your fingers behind your head. Now!"

    Erich pressed the barrel onto the back of Beatrice''s head, and her piercing scream forced the brats around and slammed their faces into the cobble. Erich pushed forward and let Beatrice go.

    "Join them."

    She dashed away and did so enthusiastically. Erich got closer and motioned Annalise over. But despite her lack of wounds, she couldn''t, perhaps didn''t. Erich trod onward, grabbed her arm, and pulled more body than soul. And the soul pulled her arm back and shot a glare.

    Erich sighed, holstered the pistol, and kneeled. At eye level, she whipped her head away. Erich moved and met her eyes again, but she averted it.

    "You''ve been through a lot, haven''t you?"

    Erich grabbed for her arm again, and she began trembling. He slipped his arm under her and hoisted pounds of walking tears, slowly drenching his tunic. He added a pat on the head for extra measure, and the girl''s arms slid to his back and tightened his clothes. Erich moved his hand down and rubbed her back, hushing her as she downed her screams with his chest.

    A few heads started moving. But what else could they do? The girl''s cold tears and warm screeches broke through his coat. Erich shot them a look, and they put their foreheads back to the ground. Then she got heavier. You''re fucking kidding?

    Her arms sagged. Erich shook her, but no joy. She cried so hard, she passed out. And just in time for a couple of footsteps approaching. A group of students turned around the corner. They looked at Erich himself with Annalise in tow and the rest.

    The tallest hunk stepped forward. "What is the meaning of this?!"

    "He¨C he¨C he¨C was going to lay a hand on her!"

    Oh?

    "Please, stop that brute!"

    Marie Blaire, a supposed spoiled brat that''d supply every revolutionary with ammunition for years to come. Based on earlier, was that all there was to her? Erich squeezed his Grip Safety, and for a moment, it occurred to her. However, a voice interjected.

    "How dare you lay your hands on them!"

    Erich''s knee bent forward. His arm got seized from his back, and Annalise''s weight vanished. Everything went fast. One moment, he was looking at the sky, and the next second he was staring at the ground, arms pinned, his pistol pried, and weight over his back.

    "Don''t think you can escape!" Marie Blaire sprayed, barely hiding her grin behind beads of sweat. "For laying your vile hands on His Royal Highness'' daughter, you will be condemned to death! In fact, allow me to do it myself!"

    Erich moved, but the seniors'' grip was cured concrete. Strength Magic or whatever bullshit they got. End of the road. The Hero''s Will be damned. Normally, it''s the monster that chased you to a dead end, that ominous pause and subsequent walk that resonated with each step. Dreams are like that. But this? This was a fucking nightmare.

    "Cease your magic on school grounds!"

    The voice came out of a stereo in a quiet hall. Erich raised his head and turned it to the other side. The new arrivals gave way to a gentlemanly professor towering over them, and he was angry. Everyone could sense it.

    "What is all this ruckus?!"

    "This deviant tried to lay his hand on Lady Beatrice! But Lady Annalise took her place and received his abuse!"

    Erich set his head back. As usual, the girls got their stories first. The old professor looked at him. His voice got quieter, and his aura suppressed.

    "And what do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

    He scoffed.

    "Take him to the dungeon!"

    Fuck them all.

 Dis/Improve Relations

    Revised November 2024

    ***

    Royal Academy of Cascadia

    Afternoon, 2 days earlier

    The bell drowned her steps, as were the faint voices of instructors and professors within their halls. A lull within the toll, a swarm of voices rumbled across the concourse one after the other, and then the educators retired from their lectures. The students emerged, emancipated from the attitudes beholden within their red uniforms.

    "Good day, Miss Annalise."

    "How do you do?"

    Indeed, they took their fresh breath of freedom and straightened themselves the most gentlemanly and ladylike, cleared their throats as the most poetic, and offered a slight but solemn bow of the most loyal. They have come to this world innocent, taught and separated, and through their younger years, return divided and congregated.

    "Following the revelations of the Parliamentary fact-finding commission''s analysis, the Lower House will be convening an emergency session and officially announce a popular package slated for implementation before the end of the quarter."

    "And which statutes have fallen prey to these regulations, bills, and amendments, Liaison Officer Dreck? And should the developments concern our noble friend, Treasurer Tassol, and his responsibilities?"

    "Chiefly stricter budgetary allocations and limitations, the creation of a permanent Oversight Committee to investigate and supervise the trend and frequency of extracurricular activities held by the Student High Societies and other after-school programs."

    "Has the House provided the Board and Upper House copies?" Student Chairman Buredesy cycled through his catalog.

    "No, sir. They have invoked the Confidentiality Clause of the Particulars of Legislation Act on the grounds of potential voter manipulation and intimidation."

    "I''ll expect reproductions on my desk for tomorrow''s session on the grounds of the range these bold accusations cover. Lord Speaker Numen, After-School Program. This Incident Report regarding their Forum."

    "The Budget Execution White Paper, Mister Chairman. I have noted emergent symptoms of belligerency among other associations and clubs."

    "The cause being?"

    "Peers-Commons relations; Reactionary sentiment and Common grievances crossing swords over the matter of wasteful and unnecessary expenditure, holding their leaders and associates in contempt, threatening disorderly conduct charges for Provocative Speech."

    "Preventive or reactive?"

    "Preventive, sir. The rest can be found in my report. I still have to meet with the Academy Secretary to submit their Motion of No Confidence against me."

    Everyone stopped what they were doing and cast their eyes on her. It took a while to sink in.

    "The petitioners?"

    "Our passionate friends from both benches. With my tenure as Lord Speaker challenged, I will have to recuse myself and discuss with the headmaster as his Honorable Appointed."

    "Very well. Given the reasons stated, I would like to posit a vote in favor of endorsing Lord Speaker Annalise Numen against the Motion of No Confidence."

    All members of the Board of Overseers raised their hands.

    "Good. Miss Numen, you are free to dismiss yourself and do about your proceedings."

    Annalise rose, bag slung, and papers stacked and firm. "Thank you, Mister Chairman, my Noble Friends."

    "Now, Treasurer Tassol, about your proposals for the End-of-Quarter audit."

    Smiling, she shut the door behind her and tossed her mask.

    Annalise strolled under the watchful gaze of her distinguished predecessors immortalized; of times when there was no Board nor Parliament, simpler days under a Student Council greeting and arranging everyone and their monthly functions, a moment when the academy had life beyond the constricting monotony of slithering snakes.

    Climbing one floor, she knocked and entered the Headmaster''s Office. The academy secretary beamed.

    "Ah, Miss Numen. Has the meeting ended already?"

    She raised a brow. "Are there matters that warrant my attention, Sir Persecer?"

    "The headmaster requires your presence. Perhaps you have unrelated businesses related to the office?"

    "Yes, indeed."

    Annalise summarized the debacle plaguing them, the funds, the class conflict, and her seat. The secretary nodded, unperturbed.

    "Very well," the secretary motioned to the door. "Now, if you could."

    She knocked and entered with a sweet smell greeting her. "Headmaster, I have arrived."

    But amidst its flowery scent, Headmaster York faced the mirror¡ªhis long platinum hair down, false eyes removed in favor of his true white eyes looking at her¡ªin white ceremonial garb and staff flanked by his two elven kins of similar grandeur.

    For the first time.

    Annalise snapped to a curtsy. This was not the elven headmaster of the Royal Academy of Cascadia, but Thaumaster Reginald York, the High Elf of Ashes, Laurentia''s Echo, The Last Disciple of Fenix.

    "Raise your head, Young Annalise. The sooner you clear your thoughts, the better your heart prepares," he waved his staff, and an illusion of his usual self materialized. "Please, take a seat."

    She could sense the heaviness of his aura if she dared for the door. Only a handful could affect him this greatly as he sat, hands clutched together from winter.

    Annalise sat across him, and his elven attendants poured tea unaffected. Headmaster York helped himself first with a sip and sat back, staring at something distant inside his cup. He looked at her as though surprised.

    "Perhaps we can save the pleasantries next time."

    She nodded and warmed herself with tea. The words she wanted to say burst into flames in her mind mere moments ago, but now they seemed to have snuffed away. Is it that time again? The Lightshippers wouldn''t dare test her boot against a holy cloth. Has the Dusk Prowlers waged their next move?

    "Tonight, a hero shall descend to this world."

    Oh.

    She set her cup on the table and buried her breath under her hands. How long was this in the works for? Why withhold this from her? Does her father know? She willed the words out of her mouth. But it remained stubbornly empty.

    Even if this was her fate, she at least had the right to know. She could already see it, the grotesque sculpted across cathedrals and palace walls spouting rainwater, shedding their stone skins, their haunting cackles and flapping wings in the night, relishing in the screams of women and children for the Lightless Horde once more.

    "What did they do this time?"

    "Demons?"

    She nodded.

    "Child, I have been on this plain for a thousand years. I have seen those vile beasts when they sprouted from the corrupted land and became no different from us. No, the demons are not involved with this."

    Huh?

    "Those entities were only a hindrance and tried to usurp the inevitability of our shared existence."

    "No."

    She recalled all the points she wanted to make and the vows she took within the Altar of Heroes, but her mind felt like a foggy void. This has to be it; the reason for all the compassion, tenderness, and all the things cowards covet among the faithful and true who had endured their tests of conviction, Annalise received.

    "I don''t need to remind you of the consequences should you relinquish your title as the Prioress Superior. However, from the moment you enter the ceremony and carry out your vows, your freedom is all but forfeit in ways so slow, you may not see and hear the chains rattling."

    "Headmaster, is apathy an answer to clear my thoughts?"

    Headmaster York''s eyes narrowed, and Annalise fought against a shudder. "Don''t subject yourself to one school, Miss Annalise. You are much better than that."

    "Then what is our reason to fight? Why must we fight?"

    "So that our hubris may not bring an end to everything we''ve fought for."

    "And you do so by controlling the bloodshed to choose which blood to shed? How can you assure this may be the harbinger of everything you fear?!"

    Father, uncle, and everyone must be pressed by something beyond her understanding. But was she to play the guardian angel who preaches the hero''s glory to whom they orphaned and widowed or, perhaps, be the lover manipulating him?

    What insanity.

    "I swore an oath," Annalise reached for the necklet cross, squeezed it, and her palm burned. "And you were there when it was written."

    She threw it on the table, blood tainting its white finish and blue medallion. She won''t play this game. Nobody should.

    ***

    Present

    Lighting struck Annalise, its roar ebbing further into the archive of her memories. It''s been a while since she felt a body with less tension.

    If the ceiling ever gave away where she was, Annalise couldn''t tell anymore. Her heavy eyes closed once more, retreating to the superficial contentment of the cozy bed and warm blanket.

    Still, she recalled her name and position as the heiress to the Duchy of Estrier Duchy. What else was there? It will eventually come to her. And yet, the heaviness had gone, and millions of needles pricked her. Annalise gasped for air and threw the scorching hot hay off her. She sat up and blinded herself in a healing light. No prankster sought for baseless definitive torment. Where''s the entertainment? This was different. It had to be.

    "My Lady, you''re awake."

    Annalise jumped at the familiar voice, turning her around. Marie''s smile was so sweet it was repulsive. Wait, Erich? She scanned the infirmary, but he was nowhere in sight. She turned back to Marie, a wider grin painted on her face.

    "What have you done?"

    "Hm?" she smirked. "Is this what we get for saving you?"

    "Save me from what?"

    "Oh, my poor, poor Annalise," Marie said, sitting her down and pulling her into a hug. Annalise shivered from the warmth, and Marie began pinching her cheek like a distant aunt. "A beautiful girl like you against a man like him; it must''ve been so scary."

    Annalise''s head dipped, and she pulled Marie into her deep embrace, caressed her hair, and cherished her warmth. It may be the last time she''ll ever feel it.

    "Have you no shame?" her voice trembled. "At long last, have you left no sense of shame?"

    Marie grinned. "Yes, don''t worry, Annalise. As you''ve said, we''re just two sticks in a bundle. So if you could junk those commoners'' bills¨C"

    Annalise slammed her forehead against Marie''s nose, and for a moment, the two shared a look. But then Annalise hurled a fist toward Marie that connected at the cheek, sending Marie spinning to the other bed.

    "You bitch!"

    Annalise snatched the pillow and straddled on top of Marie, hiding the disgusting scowl that showed her returning to her senses.

    Marie screamed, "Get your hands off me!" and the sort. But as she dragged on, the air in her stomach could no longer pierce her words through the pillow. Despite that, she continued to gurgle it out with bubbles. Annalise screamed at the image in her mind.

    "Shut up! Just shut up!"

    Annalise put all her weight on it and winced as her scalp stretched out of her head. She curled and hopped, knee first into Marie''s stomach, then relief returned over her head. Marie''s arms flailed around with bits of Annalise''s hair.

    "You think I endured years of your cruelty out of fear?! You think I forgot all those years together?!"

    Marie''s arm locked. Long nails hitting the seam at the wrong angle, Marie''s muffled wails barely got out. She struck Annalise''s side, who writhed from the strength and cycled through healing and power into her arms. A fire emerged from the girl''s palm. Annalise hopped again, kneeing her abdomen, and snuffed the flame.

    Her tears ran free. "Stop! Please, just stop! Don''t fight it! Just don''t!"

    Then Marie clutched Annalise''s arms. Her muffled groans turned to pleading yelps. But Annalise shut her eyes and looked away, masking the noise with heavy sobs as she shoved Marie to the bed once, twice; she lost track of how many, but the shaking dwindled, the groans diminishing until, finally, Marie''s arms gave out.

    Annalise pressed the pillow once more. Then a second, and a third, but not even a jerk. She let out a cathartic breath and backed off, the other bed catching the back of her leg, and slumped.

    At long last, she''s done it.

    Annalise buried her face into a pillow and screamed, tossing it aside as it withered into uncontrollable sobs suppressed by wheezing for air.

    The annals of history will praise her murder and parade the corpse across the land where the hero''s spirit touched. They will recount her revocation of shame in the tales, glorify damnation in the plays, and discard all dignity to those who may drag the source of their sorrows to the very depths of insanity.

    The ceiling glowed yellow. She blinked, but it remained. Annalise squinted, and the shape of the light matched it.

    Oh no.

    Wherever she looked, a yellow glow illuminated. Annalise rose and faced the mirror on the desk between the beds.

    No-no-no-no-no. Why now? Not again!

    A monster masking as herself reflected, irises shimmering gold. It shared the terror in her face, the passionate tears dripping down her cheek, and the scars. Then the mirror shattered. The monster matched Annalise''s fist embedded in the millions of burning shards. It shared her pain, mimicked her mouth that muttered her spell, which expelled the shards for new skin.

    It continued staring back at her, eyes golden as the sun''s rays. It was disgusting. Annalise punched the glass again, and water ran out of her eyes. The form of her fist crumbled, yet it continued peering from the fragments of the mirror, and Annalise thrust for another. Then a second, a third, until blood seeped into the wood behind the mirror.

    Her bloody hand glowed, and a million tiny needles slithered out of her skin and disappeared into the dust. The blood spilled and stained pulsed, all its essence down to the metallic stench assembling above the tip of her forefinger and motioned out to the window, meeting its lustrous demise.

    Annalise sighed and set the trash bin beside the desk, sweeping the glass. She sat and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She''ll save the excuse for the missing mirror later. Annalise set the pillow over Marie''s face aside. Her stomach rose and fell, and a wave of relief hit Annalise. Yet her first clenched, imagining her neck. She hoisted Marie straight on the bed and under the blanket.

    Healing her wounds, Annalise dashed out of the infirmary. Her steps echoed through the arcade, and a few doors swung. It''s only a matter of time before Marie and her lackeys face justice not seen in many eons. But now wasn''t the time for it. Students and professors from all five floors and bridges looked at her as she rushed down the second-floor stairs and vaulted from the mezzanine.

    "You! Halt this instant!"

    Yellow manifestations of dust appeared in her sight, visualizing them merging into a thin inclined platform. She conjured as she foresaw, catching her fall and sliding down to the subfloor.

    "No magic in the hallway!"

    "Ducal matters!"

    People always called her the ideal student. A Student Council member running down the hallway warranted some praise. The quick excuse just added more teeth. So she kept running.

    Nearing the other end, she conjured a staircase to the ground floor, and Annalise arrived at the courtyard. She gasped for air and shielded her eyes as the sun neared its peak. The Great Court were the engaged columns embedded in the wall, partly projecting from the surface and the stained windows of the academy''s towering administration building.

    Annalise ran on her last legs, slowing to a crawl in front of the door waiting for her, and entered. A well-dressed gentleman stared down at Receptionist Liah. Baron Coralis, Beatrice''s father. Another work trip, perhaps.

    The receptionist, Madam Liah''s long ears twitched, but her face stayed stoic. Whatever the baron said must''ve amounted to beyond the thousands of people that came and went during the elven woman''s hundred years of service.

    "My Lord, our detention facility has been meticulously designed under the Hero Fenix''s wishes in reprimanding unruly students and intruders."

    The elven receptionist leaned down at her desk and handed a form to the baron.

    "If you have concerns regarding the headmaster''s orders, I am happy to provide you with a grievance form directly to the palace. Until then, the suspect is under academy jurisdiction."

    The man froze. The receptionist then took the chance and glanced at Annalise. She didn''t give her a reprimanding look¡ªbut a curious glance before entertaining the baron again. Then Annalise snuck into the corridor and sighed in relief.

    "That man has lusted for both my and the Duke of Estrier''s daughter. Surely you do not mean to revoke justice of my own?"

    Annalise stopped. Justice? For a ministerial tasked with handling Blaire''s financial affairs, he would be one of the first people to experience justice firsthand. She forced herself to continue. Now wasn''t the time to clash hidden knives.

    ***

    Tower of Ancients, Palace of Cascadia

    Evening, 2 days earlier

    It had finally occurred to her on the eve of the ritual...if there were any left. Green beacons manifested across the city amongst its artificial lights. Annalise may have counted a mere fraction of it, but the sharpest eyes in possession of whatever encrypted map flashed a series of codes within the clock tower.

    Regardless of meaning, the whole altar moved. Ancient sigils and powerful objects decorated the room. A giant polygon blazed in the center of the chamber under the canonesses'' control, its complex lines and scripts pulsing with ethereal power unlike any seen in books.

    Her uncle, the king, and her father draped themselves in the finest clothing. They and the headmaster discussed something that molded within the cacophony of voices begging for reassurances and last-minute inspections. But there was someone else missing.

    Fortunately, their discussion ended, and her father approached.

    "Father, does Aurelia not know too?"

    He shook his head. "There are too many variables beyond our control and sight. It''s unfortunate timing, but we cannot afford to squash years of preparation even on the mere curiosity as to her sudden withdrawal."

    "I understand."

    If she herself was unaware of this, then it could only mean they recognized how mad this was. It may be selfish of Annalise, but having her dear cousin would make this a bit bearable.

    "Headmaster," the Canoness Superior approached him. "The instruments have been infused. The circle is stable."

    "Good," Headmaster York drummed the butt-end of his staff on the circle. " My children, open the veil!"

    As the court magicians chanted in unison, the air crackled with energy. The chamber trembled, and a shimmering portal materialized within the circle. A figure lying down emerged from the portal, bathed in a radiant light. It was the hero they had summoned, a being with a destiny intertwined with their own.

    It looked so easy. The records have always said of a grand ceremony following an awesome incantation that shook the world. Perhaps it was another victim of embellishment. But were there ever records of the stench of blood?

    The Canonesses gasped. "Goodness!"

    Headmaster York jumped toward the bloody corpse at the center of the circle and rolled it over, blasting it with a ray of light.

    "His body cannot embrace the world''s mana instantly! Heal! Heal!"

    Annalise stepped forward and extended her arm. "Tranq¨C" stopping herself from muttering the spell. Both her father and uncle glanced and said nothing, joining the headmaster as mana reserves shoving a dying man with essence foreign to him.

    "Potions! There are stocks of it in the laboratory!" one of the court magicians said.

    Mages, sisters, and knights flocked towards the circle and released their mana. One of the canonesses set her sister on the floor, unconscious from mana exhaustion. One by one, they, the wizards, and mages followed, leaving the headmaster left.

    The door swung open, and dozens of footsteps broke through. His voice became desperate. "Quick! His body''s rejecting mana!"

    She turned away. She swore an oath to the hero, not their hubris. And on the center of the polygon was not a hero, but a victim of their greed. Death was more merciful to a life of pleasure amongst barbarians.

    ***

    Present

    She snarled and shielded her nose with a handkerchief. The single handful she visited the dungeon, and the fat and proud cretins always seemed to leave a mark on their methods of coping.

    Annalise shuddered and held on to the damp stone wall, taking her time on each sloppy step over overgrown light mosses growing out from their torches clinging to what little mana was in the air and bits of her aura escaping the field.

    She conjured light and peeked at the first cell. Several eyes shimmered and retreated into the cavities on the wall.

    Then a sneeze thundered at the dark end of the dungeon. Annalise hastened, leaving no cell unchecked, stopped, and hurried for her handkerchief. She sneezed, and Annalise widened the orb, swallowing her.

    Dimming and setting the transparency, she continued and reached the end of the dungeon. A heap lay at the far corner of the cell. She approached and grappled the bars and intensified the light, and a pair of glowing eyes stared back at her.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "No..."

    A lump formed in her throat. Annalise slammed her head against the bar, shattering the light, hiding the horrendous sight in front of her, and controlling her descent to the floor. It wasn''t supposed to be like this.

    The chains rattled, and she curled. The strength in her legs had gone. Stopping in earnest, she caught a glimpse of his cuffed legs, his knees, and then his sullied coat rid of its splendid buttons. His face cloth went loose.

    A man''s face spared from abuse had never brought so much pain. It left nothing hidden. There he was, the great hero who shall bring forth salvation to the world, rotting behind Cascadia''s bars.

    The hero sniffed. His face got closer and he did so again and traced a finger on the back of her sensitive hand. Annalise winced and pulled it away. He looked at her for a moment, and his fingers coursed through her hair; a gentle, tingly, and rhythmic sensation as they moved across her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine, and she leaned forward for more.

    "I''d say you ought to take it easy," he stalled. "But can you?"

    For whatever reason her father and uncle had him sent to the academy under her supervision, Annalise just had to sit still, look pretty, and prop up her best smile. But the more they smile, the more secrets they hide. And that alone was enough.

    "I''m sorry."

    "I don''t remember anything worth apologizing for."

    He seemed expectant in her response. Indeed, what was she sorry for? A hero saved the damsel in distress, even if it meant leading to his imprisonment. But then again, how could a group of unruly children have the backbone to relentlessly attack a heiress to a duchy?

    "Even so, I want to say sorry. I''m so sorry, I can''t even find any other word to express it."

    "Let''s hope you keep it in words then," he patted her shoulder as he perched on the floor and dragged himself to the corner beside the bars. "So, what brings you here, Your Grace?"

    Annalise could have all the sincerity in the world, yet everything still led to that one curious question reserved for one of many faces of a person, one that may determine the fate of thousands.

    "I could ask the same for you, Lord Hero."

    But she''ll reserve his compensation for later. The hero shrugged, his eyes wandering somewhere beyond this world.

    "It keeps me sane."

    What?

    "I realized I wasn''t dead. Well, more like I refused to believe it."

    What a horrible man he was. Something pierced her chest. It was easier to tell from how empty it had been for so long.

    "Should you be telling someone like me this?"

    He rattled the chains on his legs. "The real thing''s a waste of metal, don''t you think?"

    The same panging feeling struck her again. He was too dangerous. Annalise got back on her feet.

    "I''m sorry, but any more than this, they''ll nudge things to direct me into a specific path."

    She hurried away from his sight.

    "That''s only if you don''t consider everything I''ve said in this room a trade."

    But the distance she needed to cover to escape was too wide, and he capitalized on it immediately. For once, getting courted was leagues better than putting herself in an inquest.

    But, "Trade?"

    He responded with silence, but it was enough to lure her back. However, he replied without a reply, and that made it a more appealing trap. Annalise sat down, pressing her back against the wall partitioning the adjacent cell. If he''s willing to test the kingdom''s good faith as the hero like this, then perhaps she thought of the role her father and uncle tasked her too little.

    "So be it. From one vulnerability to another."

    There were many things she shouldered, some raw, some concrete. But if she offloaded wrong, she ran the risk of tipping. However, one could always throw everything and hope for enough time to escape.

    "I hate you."

    "One less woman to worry about."

    She smirked despite herself. One would think one of the heroes'' woes was the scarcity of unadulterated trust in a partner from the moment they met to the misfortunes that revealed their true selves that brought them together. Yet, the life he''ll have felt lonely. It felt restless.

    It felt unfair.

    "I envy your world. No hero to rely on, no excuses to be made, you either live or die by your hubris."

    "No demons, too."

    "Did your world ever need them?"

    She took his silence as a yes. Annalise sighed.

    "This world has gone drunk possessing a power that could bring a force to save them. For every inch of land that could be liberated from the demons, the hero had to tour the hinterlands and gather a heroic crusade from great armies idling while the frontline kingdoms received blow after blow. Yet the poets and bards will lament the fall of a kingdom that fought valiantly as the hero''s vanguard from ungrateful realms that had fallen to the demons prior."

    "Humor a question: How much heroes'' blood does the nobility have?"

    Annalise extended her hand and conjured a lustrous white orb. "It''s hard to tell these days. Normally, you pass off the fifth child of your fifth wife as a happy little accident among many and marry them off until it dilutes far enough down the tree that someone is suddenly born gifted and has the potential to become a saint to a religion somewhere, so you escape into another convent."

    "Sounds rough."

    She nodded despite being out of his sight. Perhaps that was enough pleasantries.

    "I wished you died that day."

    He snorted. "Oh, I wished they didn''t stop me."

    Annalise gulped. The directness¡ªeagerly growled. She snuck a glance, but his eyes met hers.

    "Aren''t you tired?"

    "Are you?"

    "Everyday."

    It was difficult to pinpoint when the thought came to mind. It just happened, and she''d carried it daily for the last few years.

    His gaze softened. Already, Annalise could tell what kind of face he stopped himself from making, the choice of words he''d pick onward, and his true thoughts contending with her consideration. He blundered. So Annalise capitalized on it.

    "No need to dwell on it. If you need me for something, you just have to shower me with love, and I''ll be over the moon with you."

    He was quiet. Quiet and thinking; Annalise''s legs curled. Who would even dare consider trading knowledge of each one''s vulnerabilities? To have a laugh when they actually use it against him?

    "Sir Erich, care to barter a favor?"

    "In exchange for what?"

    "The reason why a count''s daughter could raise her hand to a lady of a duchy."

    He thought about it for a bit. "Alright, I''m listening."

    "It happened when I was little."

    Annalise remembered the violence through her senses¡ªthe items on the shelves shuddering, the chandeliers dangling, the ground rumbling, and the maids shielding her and themselves, whispering to her sweet nothings in tense voices until the catastrophe of the senses stopped.

    It was the first and most devastating earthquake she''d experienced. The chasm tearing apart roads and buildings, the remains of defaced walls and towers burying structures and the unfortunate mother, father, son, and daughter underneath it; and the homeless begging for food from the bad harvest after.

    "We couldn''t risk another disaster. My father wanted to find other means, so he struck a deal with the neighboring kingdoms and merchant guilds."

    "How bad was it?"

    "Our army was supposed to reach the Gunpowder Era ten years ago," and they couldn''t hope to outfit a single regiment.

    "And they profited more than you would allow?"

    "Transforming Estrier into a distribution hub in exchange for marginal tariffs."

    "Preferential tax rulings."

    Annalise shuddered. Their world always had a word for everything. It sounded so technical, so precise, she dared assume such a topic fell on a humble title, degree, and rough ideas of one''s mind.

    "They called it the Miracle of Estrier. Blaire City was already old as it was, so it was only a matter of making a new one. They hid it well, helping fund repairs across the kingdom, emphasizing the route."

    "And the rest either got a crumb of it or left to fend for themselves."

    She nodded. "It''s expensive, but when you think about saving a few coins for decades, you start to see how profitable it is. As the center of it, the late Lord Mayor of Blaire had no better choice."

    "The late count will kill his son in the afterlife."

    Annalise smiled sadly. To see progress and money pouring into Estrier and exploit none of it¡ªthe pain and grief of the late Horatio Blaire the Elder in his audience with Annalise''s father, enduring shame and embarrassment from kneeling to investors and merchants for a trickle of gold for the realm¡ªmust''ve overwhelmed his heart and steeled the Younger''s.

    It must be around that time when Lord Blaire II resolved himself and babied his children from the disrespect the kingdom and the merchants brought to his family. Annalise imagined her father and uncle giving the house more flexibility in their methods to make up lost profit. But to prostitute themselves to Salais? A tragedy. And now she was to be the instrument to its conclusion.

    The Lord Mayor and Marie Annalise once knew were dead. Perhaps she can find solace in that.

    "Marie was my friend. She wasn''t always like that¡­maybe I gave her the benefit of the doubt. But when I was made aware of her father''s crimes, I volunteered to watch over her and told her, hoping to spare her from judgment. I was a fool."

    He shifted, resting his head against the bar, pondering. It was news to him, and he needed time to adjust. Annalise could only wonder how much. No greater shame had ever befallen the host ever since the Conclave. Surely, her family will pester her to show some sincerity. The worst part is that he''ll humor it.

    "Tongue out."

    "What?"

    "Tongue out," he squinted, trying to look for something.

    She did so hesitantly, and he snuck something in. Annalise lurched back from the sudden intrusion, but something sugary invaded her tongue. She took out what appeared to be an advancement of boiled sugar on a stick.

    "There is no hero. As far as anyone''s concerned, a cadet officer under your supervision tried to lay his hands on you and was caught by your friends."

    "But I¡­" Annalise gulped sugar. "I choked her."

    The chains rattled calmly, but his voice barely contained what his body did.

    "Is she alive?"

    "Yes," she shuddered.

    He sighed. "Alright then. Look, the palace is sending knights to get me out of here before lunch."

    "What do you intend to do?"

    "Get me out of here during lunch in style."

    Get out in¡­

    Her eyes went wide, and Annalise slammed the bars. "No! You can''t be thinking of shaming yourself?!"

    "Got a better idea? I want to convey to your old friend that the incident between you two was merely a¡­burst of passion."

    "But your plans..."

    "Are nothing more than a child''s ideas thanks to hindsight. I still need to learn the lay of the land to know what I''m dealing with."

    "But, Lord Hero..."

    "Save that for the public, and just call me Erich."

    "But¨C"

    "I''m not asking. This place can only do so much to keep me sane. I''m going crazy here just hearing it. Treat it like week-old bread in its last hours if you have to."

    "I''m sorry."

    If they were strong enough, they wouldn''t have to rely on those they abducted because of their cowardice. In every great crisis¡ªevery great trial, salvation is guaranteed at the cost of their growth. Only the dead know how far the act of summoning a hero has sowed their culture of complacency.

    Had the tragedy of the Conclave Era taught them enough?! That only the inhabitants of this world can be the masters of their destiny, not a ''God from the otherside''? Look at him! If the kings and emperors want to sing praises and glory to the hero for heeding their call, they ought to do it here.

    The world, united, brought mercy to a hero before. Against ferocious and unchained fury against his slavers and all living in this world, mercy. Even so, where has it taken them now?

    Only time will tell once Cascadia unveils the unthinkable to this relatively calm world. All the chaos, all the madness, it will all descend upon him.

    "Anna."

    He looked at her incredulously.

    "It''s what the closest ones call me. Call it a snack you can have any time if you have to."

    His voice came indifferent. "You don''t say?"

    Annalise squeezed the bars. "Once this is over, I''ll show you the city! I''ll introduce you to my favorite shops and places, and...and if you ever visit my town..."

    "I''d love that."

    Her spine chilled as the words cut through hers. Simple, written; an appropriate response for a misstep. Perhaps Erich was eager to know more about their world through the academy, and here they were, squandering his freedom.

    "Sorry," his tone shifted as if noticing.

    "No," she shook her head. "I''m sure you wouldn''t want to waste precious time in unnecessary fraternization."

    "Well, I''m already feeling offended by that accusation, Miss Annalise," he did not look offended. "But that''s beside the point. As far as I''m concerned, you owe me."

    "Yes."

    Here it comes.

    "Take a break from school and say that you''re too traumatized to continue for a while. If strangers ask, blame me if you have to."

    Damn him? After everything, "I shouldn''t. I''ve brought you enough pain already."

    "And what about you? No one to talk to, confide with; keeping your pain to yourself."

    If she didn''t, how would she bear to hear the mothers weeping over their dead children, execute fathers and brothers who resorted to banditry to survive, and rule over the next generation, repeating that vicious cycle?

    "Look, you fucked up and spent years making up for it until the end. You''ve been burdened with guilt and pain for so long that shouldering nothing feels like you''re doing nothing."

    She frowned. "Don''t you dare talk to me as if you know more about myself."

    He dropped his head and spent his time looking around. "Maybe I shouldn''t have. I wouldn''t wish others to be like me. It will make their life easier."

    "What do you mean?"

    He looked away. Somehow, it agitated Annalise. Like it extended far outside this whole farce into something¡­real.

    He heaved a breath as though slighting her. She slammed the bars and pulled herself up. Then a squeak echoed from the other end of the dungeon. A ray of light illuminated the stairs, and dozens of footsteps clanked.

    The Royal Knight Order''s elite paladins, with their gold-colored helms, flowing blue robes from head-to-toe, and halberds, approached in ceremony.

    "Your Grace, we are here to relieve the Lord Hero."

    She turned towards him, halberds and fists trembling, knees staggering, heads almost touching the floor, and words stammering under gritted teeth.

    "Oh, wrathful hero, this heinous act will be forever engraved in the very essence of Cascadia. The depth of this original sin, committed by her children, transcends mere words, defying description as it casts a long, dark shadow over their collective soul."

    "Then take me to the palace dungeon, or whatever, and immortalize it."

    Their heads shot up. "My Lord?"

    "You heard me. Apparently, a cadet officer tried to lay his hand on Lady Annalise."

    And he told them the setting, the scene, and the rough script moving forward, all for the great tribulation that awaits his punishers. But the palace''s dungeon housed the vilest of scum, political prisoners ripe for torture. The paladin reasoned with the fact, but Erich''s smile got wider.

    "Good," then he offered his hands. "Cuff me."

    For a second, the paladins hesitated. "By your will."

    ***

    The bell tolled for lunch. Thousands of voices mixed and hummed the air. And through their march out of the academy, hundreds of students and their professors basked at the sight of their hero walking in Cascadian chains. Their whispers rippled through squares and hallways. Very soon, it will all turn poetic.

    "My Lady, please do not lag behind," one of the paladins whispered, and her tears ran free.

    She couldn''t even match their pace anymore. Worse, her tears may ignite an even deeper fury aimed at him. How cruel it was for him to offer her comfort, only to make her feel the same pain again¡ªdangling hope before her, hope in his strength.

    What about him? Will he be okay?

    The procession dragged, and it came from Erich. The paladins escorting him paused as if hesitating. Erich''s head turned his way ever so slightly and got yanked forward.

    Annalise pressed her nails deeper into her arms, and her sleeve became a bit redder. With a little healing magic, she pressed on. It''s what he''d want from her.

    But then a thought came to mind. A selfish one. If his suffering continues, if the torment shatters him, who will be there for him, waiting to pick up the pieces?

    ***

    Dungeon, Palace of Cascadia

    Sometime later

    An 8mm Mauser fired from a sub-20-inch barreled G98 was seeing someone getting kicked at the balls. One can feel the recoil and smooch it gave to the shoulder that probably had it buried and firebombed forty years later.

    It was not as terrifying as the bureaucracy, however. How does one even designate it? The K98k? The Forest Carbine? And that''s assuming a standardized version came when the only difference between the cavalry and artillery was a stacking rod.

    But rechamber it to a 7mm Mauser spitzer bullet, and maybe they only need to worry about the precision tooling for the semi-automatic rifle.

    Erich finished jotting the details, and the rounds and carbines arranged next to the moldy slab on the floor disappeared. The king, flanked by his brother the prince, continued.

    "As far as we''re concerned, our knights corroborated one of the floating theories regarding a certain deplorable individual''s presence here. I give it a day to spread across the kingdom, but are you sure this is necessary?"

    "It helps with the immersion."

    "I understand, but you must also understand it does not¡­sit well with us to have the hero endure in this dungeon for saving my goddaughter."

    Yeah, neither does he. The world''s hit a new low with a hero being framed for sexual assault. But it''ll be a cheap price to peek at what''s behind all those pretty, mercury-powdered faces and see how much they''re willing to give once the ruse is over.

    "Indeed. I am grateful that you saved my daughter, Sir Erich, but even if we set that matter aside, nobody will believe you imprisoned yourself or you only did it to exploit the collective guilt."

    It''s amazing what the two were doing, the king of a kingdom and his brother, both in a damp dungeon pleading to a boy that a toddler in the world could snap like a twig. Erich turned to the king. He should know better what Erich''s thinking. King Henry set his hand on Prince John''s shoulder.

    "It appears we cannot dissuade you."

    The prince sighed, resigning. "Popular sentiment within the student body has developed into an academy-wide protest for your swift, public execution. It has become a very emotional environment outside. Of course, the headmaster is working to downplay their emotional tirades."

    From the looks of it, the world never really had much entertainment. Operas and plays get bland without market studies until the next Beethoven appears, so a supposedly chivalrous student being the suspect of a sexual assault case was stimulating. Due process could go out the window if it means making it more entertaining.

    "The question now is how to move forward. My people in Blaire have spotted a familiar flying adjacent from the capital arriving at the count''s household. Sometime later, a carriage left with escorts equipped for travel, taking the Capital Route."

    "He''s coming."

    "Another rumor has reached us, too, and it''s as we feared," King Henry said. "Word of a hero''s arrival has spread outside reputable mages. You should note how creative people can become with recent facts and conjectures."

    "I didn''t know they were that bored."

    Erich massaged his head as time sped up by one tick. A C96 Carbine chambered in 9mm Export Mauser could be a good contender against the Forest Carbine or an angry bicycle tube.

    "Are you alright? Should we call a healer?"

    "No need."

    Erich gripped the bars and pulled himself up. What he does need is a wunderwaffe battalion and a large reallocation of workers'' compensation.

    "If they want a public execution, they can get one. I''ll introduce myself during the trial at the academy."

    Prince John''s face turned stiff. "You can''t possibly be thinking..."

    "As I''ve said earlier, I''m just a supplier. If an incident occurs, I shine only two times¡ªbefore and after, not during. I can''t fight on the battlefield, much less duel for the life of me. But I can put on a good show," just as they liked; predictable.

    It makes one wearier to imagine Erich becoming unpredictable. Unpredictability leads to desperation, desperation leads to chaos, and chaos leads to money wasted. At least when being predictable, it gives them a door to fix things and continue making money. International Relations 1.

    "Then we shall commence the raid at the same time. Once this is over, you can entrust the politics to us and focus on introducing your products."

    Erich nodded. "Is that all?"

    "For us at least."

    At least?

    With barely enough time to clarify, the two lowered their heads, and the king began. "We shall make preparations now. If you wish to leave, we shall be ready to receive you."

    Heads raised, they glanced towards the steps before being on their way. Erich pressed his forehead on the bars, and a new face appeared from the corner passing by in a cloak carrying blankets.

    Erich pulled back, pressed against the wall, and slid to the floor. The person stopped next to him. As the door to the dungeon banged shut, she slipped the blanket¡­no, two blankets through the bars, blanketing him. He put it on his lap, then a third one smothered him.

    "Get comfortable. The nights get worse here," the Heiress of Estrier walked out of view again, brought back another pair of blankets, and unfurled them across him.

    "And why are you here exactly?"

    Making her bed and lying in it, "I reckon you''d get cold and lonely here."

    Erich sighed and did the same. "I appreciate the concern¨C"

    "You''re welcome."

    "What do you want?"

    "What I want doesn''t matter, so just be grateful I''m here to keep you company."

    He shook his head despite himself and finished rolling his pillow. "You told them."

    "Just what they want to hear."

    "And your father?"

    A pause. "Like I said, I told them what they want to hear."

    ***

    Morning, next day

    Four of Cascadia''s strongest wyverns glided above the shimmering lake, their scales catching the sunlight as they transported a pristine white box decorated with intricate decorations. The coachman at the front skillfully manipulated the ropes, producing lively bursts of golden light that pulsed rhythmically with each strategic tug.

    As they neared the expansive courtyard of the palace, the wyverns descended, and the box''s four sharp, outward-facing legs pierced the soft ground. A small party of servants and knights rushed and lined up between the door. It swung open, and the party bowed.

    The Air Equerry raised first, drawn by his liege''s daughter''s dirty boots, hand replacing her rapier''s nonexistent holster, and loose hair almost that of a greying hag rather than the crown princess of the kingdom.

    "Welcome back, Your Royal Highness. His Majesty was eager to see you since yesterday."

    "Unfortunately, criminals do not share his enthusiasm. I will be taking a short errand before I answer his summons. See to it that he knows."

    "By your will."

    And so Crown Princess Aurelia veered off from the path to the palace, left the dollhouse through the main gate, crossed the street, and walked into the walls of Swordsmound Barracks. Wandering knights straightened and gave way upon eyeshot.

    Once past the sleeping quarters, she reached a door manned by four inconspicuous knights letting their minds adrift and, like the others, snapped to attention with her presence. Paladins; their mana could not escape her. Everyone must be incensed. If it didn''t, pulling the heavy metal door did.

    Once it shut behind her, the metaphors finally escaped her. She shielded herself from its blazing air with mana as her creation fought against her with blue manifestations of mana pulsing around her.

    The kingdom had no shortage of lowlifes. Her only regret was failing to find those from within. Her eyes were on the man a few years older than her. Despite his dirty clothes, she wouldn''t mistake the military uniform. Aurelia unsheathed her sword, clashing it on the bars with slow steps.

    The man who laid his hands on her dear cousin shifted towards the bars, half-awake. A ball of bright blue flame appeared behind her back, lighting the dungeon as the princess unlocked the cell door. His eyes were wide open as the heat of her fury reached him.

    The criminal rose, now eyeing her with well-kept worry hidden in a facade of unsurprised scrutiny. Aurelia doesn''t need to state her name. Her white hair, only distinct to the firstborns of Cascadia''s rulers, was enough explanation.

    "Who are you?"

    Even so, he had the gall to mock her. Balls of blue flame appeared around her back, contemplating whether he was worth her blade or magic. As she stepped closer, an object appeared in his hand. Her flames emblazoned the dungeon.

    He shielded his eyes from the sudden flash within the dark dungeon, and Aurelia strode and grabbed the weapon, a pistol, and thrust her rapier''s hilt into his abdomen. He squealed, clutching it on his way to the floor.

    Conventionally, it looked strange. The barrel''s diameter matched a stiletto and treated the wielder with a grip suited for a king.

    "It seems the academy has gotten some new toys. Still, I expected you to hold on a little longer than this. Have some of you grown reliant on it?"

    Aurelia snickered despite herself. Now, of all time, was this the future of their military? To be infested with scum? Then he thrust a leg between her and pulled it back upwards, dragging hers with it.

    Her elbows flared, catching most of the impact. The man staggered to his feet and reached for his weapon. Aurelia intercepted his hand with a belching flame. He jumped, he screamed, and Aurelia frowned as she got up and retrieved her sword and the pistol.

    "Save your voice. This dungeon is imbued with noise suppression magic."

    The man trembled as he stared at his blistering hand turning red. He held the pistol with his right hand. Surely, it must be the same hand that violated Annalise the most. Aurelia knelt at eye level and smiled. That''s right. The despair was not yet over.

    "Chin up. Not everyone is worthy of staying in a place blessed with the cries of the vilest men," she turned around and put more distance from him. "Rise."

    She turned, finding herself face-to-face with him. His hand gripped her sleeve, the other steadying her by the belt at the back of her tunic. In a swift motion, he thrust forward, leveraging his grip on the latter to send her spinning through the air. She hit the ground hard, blowing the air out of her.

    His movements were sluggish, and Aurelia recovered her breaths. Without a wounded hand, it would''ve hurt. He realized that as he ignored everything and ran for the exit. Aurelia drove her foot to the ground and bolted out of the cell. A red fireball ready, she let it loose and crashed it onto his back just before he reached the steps. And once more, the dungeon has been blessed with the scream of fresh scum.

    "I have no idea why they left you untouched for so long. But that''s more willpower for me to chip."

    His mouth opened to say something, but Aurelia stepped on his groin. His face turned pale with agony as he cried his heart out. Another pistol appeared in his left hand, and she kicked it away and stomped on his hand, most likely a rare storage spell. Aurelia will have to see if the academy is missing some firearms.

    "Where did you get these?" she waved the first pistol. His sobs turned faint, and it seemed he was already reflecting on how lifeless those eyes were. "How many do you have?"

    He averted his head. Aurelia struck his side with her sheath, earning a quiet groan with barely any reaction. She squinted. She gave him another powerful hit. Again, no response. She then stepped on the side of his face.

    "You are speaking to royalty," a paler flame appeared on her palm. "Reflect on your behavior when questioned."

    The fire splashed his chest and dispersed into thin air, and Aurelia stepped away for the magic to happen. The door echoed open, but she heeded no mind. The man''s breath became heavy. Heavy and faster. Eyes darted around his body, but the unmistakable sensation was more than enough to refuse reality.

    He sang another chorus, wriggling as though fire had engulfed him. But he kept breathing. He''s still seeing. And he''s still feeling.

    Something shattered with a loud crash, sending shards of porcelain flying down the stairs, while the clattering of cutlery dragged a jarring symphony amidst his screams. Freshly baked loaves of bread tumbled down the stairs, which blended with the rich, comforting scent of tea.

    Aurelia went to the base of the stairs and raised her head. Annalise and the paladins shared a frozen state and horrified expression. The man''s screams reached a refrain, and Annalise rushed down and slammed Aurelia against the bars. She didn''t consider how strong it was as her focus was on the man who defiled her.

    Her body jolted at the sight of his burnt back and instinctively draped him with a healing light. His cries became that of agony, and he began slamming his head on the ground. Annalise clamped him with her arms and flailed on the mercy of his manic state. Annalise looked back at the paladins. One snapped back to the stairs and blew his lungs out.

    "Healer!"

    Another threw his arms around the man, restraining him. The man reared his head and struck the paladin, who broke away, grasping his nose. A second paladin covered for him and grappled the man''s head and upper body, but not the legs.

    "Erich, listen to me. Listen to me¨C!"

    His frantic legs connected with the side of her stomach. Annalise didn''t take it personally. Instead, another paladin secured it, and the light got brighter. However, it was no longer the cry of pain but someone tired. She focused her light onto his burnt hand, but it did nothing.

    "My Lady, what''s wrong?!"

    "He''s-he''s-he''s rejecting it! Without enough mana to overpower it¡­" her hands curled into fists. "Keep him still."

    They opened, and mana surged with the fiery light. The paladins'' eyes went wide.

    "My Lady, this is¡­"

    Aurelia stepped forward and grabbed her. "Anna, this is dangerous¨C!"

    "Don''t¡­!" she shrugged her away, "stop me."

    Aurelia couldn''t see her face. But whatever expression she made convinced the paladins. She reached for the man''s cheek, flinching from her glowing palm.

    "If I don''t make it, tell him the favor will have to wait."

    The paladin holding the man''s head gulped but gave her a nod, and then the light intensified.

    "Echoes of Days, heed me, a sinner."

    Aurelia shielded her eyes as the light intensified and slowly enveloped Annalise. Scripts of a once-forgotten civilization, styled from the days of wax and clay tablets, manifested and circled Annalise. She motioned the paladins away and latched onto the man despite his growing resistance and cries.

    "Let no shadow deep within my heart remain. Listen to its plea, for no paltry words can describe its woes. Cast upon me your judging light and bless the man I cradle with your scrutiny. I pray you that by heeding this heretic and blasphemer''s prayer, grant me your power so I may expose the darkness that ails him and heal his wounds."

    The light''s serenity reached Aurelia, and she bit her lip. Indeed, a poet may sing in the altars and temples, for they have been gifted with words. But to the farmer who sacrifices part of his harvest to his master, the child who sings for plenty, and the stray who has returned to the flock, it was the beating of their hearts that lent weight to their words.

    "Wield me as your sword, bless me with your almighty power, and release it with one ultimate swing so I may vanquish sorrow and disease. Only then can you deliver me to my fate. Let the angels, archangels, and spirits be my witness as I cry¡­tranquility."

    A boom erupted. Everything flashed white, and Aurelia shielded her eyes. The mana surge threw her against the cell and raged a river. The light was gone, and the usual dimness had returned to the dungeon, but the blur took decades to recover.

    Nevertheless, Aurelia squinted at a hazy golden patch within the dull background, crawled towards it, traced her fingers, and felt its silkiness. Annalise. Aurelia buried her face in the fair parts of it and felt the chill within it, tears.

    Why?

    Eventually, Aurelia''s vision sharpened. Annalise still latched onto the man who would''ve scarred her, a man she''d set her life aside for. And for what?

    "Lady Annalise? Lord Hero?!"

    Aurelia''s heart thumped. It had to be a lie. Hero. The single word jabbed a stake into her heart. The paladins gathered around the two. The one with a bleeding nose winced and expended his mana on Annalise. The other two joined him, but without a concentrating instrument, more mana went loose than gathered.

    The paladins'' faces got paler. Their hands, guiding their mana flow to Annalise, trembled and let loose more mana than concentrating it on her. Finally, more footsteps rushed down. A mage knight slowed down upon basking in the sight.

    "What is the meaning of this?!"

    Aurelia still had the presence of mind to heed the knight''s words. She could tell them her cousin had used a godly spell. So godly, it had drained her of all mana, and she was dying; a simple explanation, yet the word hero still latched onto Aurelia''s mind.

    "Lady Annalise¡­mana¡­deprived!"

    The mage knight''s sword screeched. With a blue glow, he directed the tip of the blade to Annalise, further concentrating mana towards her. Many joined the knight. Those who cannot did not hesitate to transfer it no matter how much excess they released into the air.

    "We need more healers now! Even the mages!"

    "She sacrificed herself for the hero. Get the headmaster here now!"

    "Yes, even the squires! Anyone with a mana pool!"

    The alarm bells tolled as every boot in the barracks struck the floor, gathering in the very room. Aurelia stepped back, seeking a moment of distance, yet her mind remained trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts. A revered and celebrated hero has appeared in this world and lay imprisoned in this grim dungeon, punished for trying to sully her beloved cousin.

    The weight of betrayal hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint scent of damp stone and despair. But there was something wrong. Why would her cousin sacrifice herself for him? What favor did he owe her that evoked a dying soldier''s broken promise?

    A farce.

    Aurelia tossed her sword away without a second thought. The mere catering to that conclusion sparked something inside. The thought of picking it up disgusted her. Wielding it once more? The idea repulsed her, and a part of her hoped it would remain untouched. Maybe ever.

    He''s the hero.

    It is beyond question regardless of the reasons for blessing this land with his presence once more. It is the truth, and what she did was unforgivable.

    Her father had summoned her, the contents of which were unthinkable, and one could not help but set aside everything and clarify. Whether the accusations were fabricated by design or from a scheme, the hero confronted Aurelia, asking her who she was. He fled when he could not reason with her, only to cling to hope once more, only for her to smash it.

    There''s no point in keeping up appearances anymore. Aurelia curled up next to the laid-down blankets. They had a scent that was so sweet and feminine, but familiar. She going to be sick.

    What have I done?

 Melancholy

    Revised December 2024

    ***

    Cascadia Palace

    Her father hunched over his desk, consumed by his and his advisors'' exchanging thoughts and words. Aurelia stepped forward and locked her joints, embracing the drill and the wooden wall furnishing behind his seat.

    "We shall continue this matter later. You are all free to go."

    As they bid their liege farewell, the advisors degraded themselves to Aurelia with a curt bow. The door shut, and her father''s shoulders heaved. He glanced her way, shook his head on something, and began arranging his desk.

    Her palm cried from the nails driven into it. She should''ve been quartered in the same cell and stripped of her rank, but here she was, still the princess, dignified above righteousness.

    "Why didn''t you tell me?"

    "Why would the king, who has tolerated his impulsive daughter''s escapades, forcefully recall her all of a sudden?"

    Nothing as important as the air they breathed and the living tragedies haunting them to this day mattered¡ªmaybe never.

    "Is a sudden betrothal any better?"

    "It would make the prairie hoods cast aside everything once they learn who might be the groom."

    Just like she ''cast aside everything'' once she learned what happened to Anna?

    The pretense caught her attention, sure. So did the mother who pushed Aurelia away and continued cursing and digging alone her husband and child''s graves for raising their pitchforks against bandits.

    The voices may be hoarse, defiant, or hopeless, but it was the same cries of the innocent; the little child told not to look back by his brother as a pack of hungry dreadhounds that had ruined their village gave chase, the father seeking justice against the corrupt lord''s hands on his daughter, and the children tricked into slavery still clinging to promises of peace inside a burning dungeon.

    "The contrast in cultures and customs has already begun to bring unease among us. On one hand, we are apologetic. We seek to offer him compensation."

    Her father settled on leaving some clutter on his desk.

    "On the other, he recognized what occurred was due to miscommunication and reassured us that the incident would not affect our relationship."

    Heroes throughout history have accepted sentimentality as a form of reparation. But why?

    "Why must we be troubled over it?"

    Aurelia maintained her disciplined posture, avoiding eye contact, and she was glad she did. Or else her father''s searing gaze would''ve burned her where she stood defenseless to it.

    "''Just kill me already.'' Those will be the first words uttered in this era."

    Aurelia tensed. Already, something welled up inside her stomach, bloating and going up¡­ and there it was¡ªa sharp, constant, burning prick straight to the heart. History has shown the Hero''s Will as vindictive. A raw fury that burned the weak-willed and emboldened the zealous. But this was neither.

    It was¡­ disgusting.

    She only knew he was suffering, not why. It would continue as long as she didn''t break away from broad strokes and enter into finer ones that truly painted it. Aurelia broke from her posture and clutched her chest. The thought he''d hide it scorched it, meaning she was a step closer to unraveling it.

    "You should''ve seen the defiance in his eyes. It was like staring at a powerless boy facing monsters with his little sister behind him." He sighed."What a sight to behold."

    Her heart, every pulse from head to toe, pounded.

    "He came to us at the brink of death from a thousand cuts¡ªtorture, amateurish. Personal."

    Her legs went weak. She forced her breath through it, her stomach rose, but it went into nothing. Aurelia slumped to a seat and held her head from the floor. Her chest was on fire. The tiny, burning prick in her heart became hands that spread it out hollow.

    She''s dying. She had to be. This was not the sharpness and chaos of a knife, nor was it the claws of a demon digging through her chest, it was a devastation unbecoming of noble blood, a responsibility that must never overwhelm her and leave the candle burning closer to another tragedy.

    Damn sentimentality! Damn the thought that always ''counts''! Why can''t heroes just accept the world is too barbaric for such immaterial luxury? Even those with good conscience learned it wasn''t that time yet.

    If only the heroes were more greedy and less hesitant to accept their apologies, there wouldn''t be a need to fret. If need be, thrusting it toward them almost always got accepted. But how can they¡­ how can she thrust something she cannot understand? Only a child and the insincere would do that!

    "Why did you have to summon a hero?" her breathlessness and hands over her face silenced her words.

    "The old world is dying."

    She shook her head. Her father should know that wasn''t her speaking rationally, but he continued.

    "Your uncle and I under your grandfather''s rule witnessed its dying breaths during the Plemeniti Crisis almost two decades ago."

    "The Union bought the mountain and forest tribes and threatened the fertile plains that fed Belosea''s eastern conquest, and nobody wanted to test each other''s bluff at the eleventh hour," she paraphrased her reading materials.

    "And both forced the kingdom and the untamed tribes to form the Plemenitic Commonwealth."

    Aurelia glowered. "Is this supposed to be a remedial, father?"

    Now of all times? The hero wished for death; she almost carried it out and clutched onto an inkling of his pain in Aurelia''s chest, and Annalise paid the price for those who opposed it.

    "What I''m trying to say, Aurelia, is that we have reached the threshold where mankind can no longer worry about the demons. However, because of the heroes'' influence, the natural order of our society has been in disarray. And we no longer have a distraction for those who embrace ideas not yet mature for this world."

    "So you called for a hero to rein them in?"

    "We were certain war was inevitable during the crisis. Union representatives masquerading as merchants approached us. Belosean assassins followed and turned the capital into a battlefield of intrigue. We and your grandfather felt so helpless."

    Her father''s brows tensed, trying to recall it.

    "Whispers across the land have begun speaking ill of the informal neutrality stance within the region. We readied for a hero''s arrival. Even after the continent could sigh in relief after the two powers could reach an agreement, we no longer placed our hopes on others."

    "Why couldn''t we leverage the capability¡­? You could''ve reined the signatories with that."

    "Do you really believe we can do it alone?"

    It is easy to judge and learn recent history with a cup of afternoon tea, but it is different for those who have lived through scheming the end of restless nights. Arguing day and night, evading from the flames of war or treading through it; embracing an idea born out of desperation that blurred the lines between lunacy and boldness or the grim reality and entry into a new era as a shadow of what Cascadia once was.

    "We did devise strategies without a hero. However, that is expected of us. What we needed was an illogical move to evade a logical response. His presence alone will sow unpredictable chaos in the world and force its inhabitants to tread each step carefully. And when the shock has settled, he will have bloomed. Only then, can he direct the chaos."

    "Why did you call for me?"

    What''s her part if Cascadia was to be the Madman of Verussea?

    "You''ve done the Summoner''s Creed upon your ascent to military training."

    "And I broke that creed the moment I burned the summoned."

    "You''re remorseful."

    "Curse the traditions!" had it not occurred to him? "What about Anna?! She saved his life, yet you would choose the one who tried to take it?!"

    "Anna¡­ Anna would rather let everything burn than enable our hubris. She made her point when she left him for dead at the summoning."

    "Then why did she visit him?"

    You don''t bring breakfast to the avatar of the world''s hubris, much less embrace him as if it were her last. It was something more. Something¡­ like there was a fire in him that broke Anna''s conviction.

    "Our leading theory is gratitude for saving her."

    Theory? Save? "What happened?"

    Her father''s habit began to emerge. He rose from his seat, strolled to the window overlooking the lake, and readied for his monologue.

    "To kill the shepherd, we were supposed to offer the hero one of his rotten lambs for the slaughter as a stepping stone and solidify his sympathy for the Cascadian people. But he''s not a simple man. He exposed pieces of his powers that would arouse our interest and subtly emphasized that it will all go away if we turn against him."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    He never trusted them from the beginning.

    "He offered us our peace through his war. But to achieve that, he will possess intricate authority over Cascadia''s foundations and lands to ensure the carnage it brings is executed well. Those fabled trains, factories that produced thousands of weapons in a week, and great ships; their peaceful purposes may bring prosperity the late Kingdom of Laurentia could never imagine."

    A hero in politics.

    It is already difficult to determine the opportunist within a ministry full of loyal professionals who humor every minister''s vision. Now they had to fret the implication of one''s every shrug and sigh. And yet who were they, who has deprived someone of the death they desired, to be so worthy to reap such privilege?

    "We invited him for breakfast to discuss our first agenda and assess him as a person¡ªVery goal-oriented, but he was no different from envoys. Upon waking up, he immediately demanded an explanation and acknowledged this incident as an unfortunate misunderstanding. Calmly, the paladin added."

    "Why?"

    How much ambition was left from someone who''d rather die to put up with¡­all of this?

    "We do not know. He traced his lineage to his parents, who were distinguished within their nation''s bureaucracy. So far, he has been cooperating with us as a representative of an entity rather than himself. And to hide his powers, he suggested establishing his office."

    Rather than an aristocrat within the assembly, a bureaucrat, hidden beneath layers of ink and paper, can nudge appointed ministers to a desired outcome rather than falling under the eyes of enemies within and outside.

    "Preparations for his induction will take time, and he wanted to know the academia to bide his. However, we could have never thought Anna was suffering."

    She squinted. "How?"

    "The House of Blaire. Anna did not know that rotten lamb was the sacrificial lamb, and was supposed to keep watch of the eldest daughter. But her friendship was stronger than her duty. If it weren''t for him, she would have to suffer longer."

    This was no longer everyone''s self-interest for the kingdom. It''s become personal. Yet her father continued as though it was insignificant. The hero''s plan for the ceremony two days later, its focal point, and its ultimate goal may be to humor himself and others. It''s not strange for someone to be reckless at that stage. But what is there left to humor when they went to his aid until he was healthy enough to reveal themselves as slavers?

    "Where is he?"

    "He should be in his room, but he will be leaving the palace before noon. I offered him accommodation, but he simply asked for money to last him a while in an unnamed inn."

    That could barely cover a night''s stay in an inn in the residential district!

    "And you didn''t stop him?"

    "There was nothing to stop."

    Aurelia stormed out of the room, but her father stalled.

    "Guardians have historically supported the hero through limited Crown Authority and informality. As Guardian Plenipotentiary, you will be the greatest seal that walks the land; your will will be the Kingdom''s will, every word you utter will be law; all for the hero''s sake."

    But what use was it to an emperor of emperors but the first of many envious hands feeding him?

    "How far can I exceed my authority?"

    "You have seen injustice firsthand. You should know when to use tact and treason."

    Too vague¡­ unless that is the goal.

    It''s not the lawbreakers they should worry about, but those who can bend the law without snapping it. He''ll have to conceal the lies from the competent ministers and aristocrats of the parliament with the help of the opportunists of policies, good and bad, well-carried out.

    "You are strong, Aurelia. There is nobody else we can trust with this."

    Of course, there are. "You just want me to be a scar."

    Aurelia stepped out, and the paladins roused.

    "Take me to the hero."

    ***

    The paladins arrayed themselves with another team in a defensive envelope around a door. Taking one deep sigh, she curled her hands for a knock, then it occurred to her: will his heart endure her presence? What is she even supposed to say about that?

    What kind of torment had the hero endured to utter such words? And why did her father tell her all this? To understand him, or to warn her?

    The knight to her right looked away after sneaking a glance, and Aurelia''s forehead met the door. This has been a foolish cause, wasn''t it? Something draughted her head, and she moved without thinking. Again.

    The door handle clicked, and Aurelia pushed inwards. She struck something soft, and papers fluttered. She dropped to her knees and gathered them.

    "S¨CSorry!"

    "I-It''s fine, Your Highness," the bureaucrat joined her.

    She arranged them by the imprints of seals from the appropriate department on the top left: Internal Affairs, Court Inspector, Treasury. She skimmed a piece on trends and national investments. Huh? She cataloged it and double-checked with the rest: military assessments and expenditures, and foreign relations.

    No. Oh no, no, no, no, no. What is the meaning of this?

    It''s too early. It was too much work. Aurelia plucked the documents according to the seals and page numbers and handed them to the bureaucrat, earning her a curt nod. Aurelia waved¡ªor at least she did as the door shut behind her¡ªand snatched a few more scattered on the bed. If the goal was familiarization, this was outright inconsiderate as were the hopes this world had for him.

    What does he see in the beauty of the falls as he sits alone in the chair facing the window? Was the comfort around him that superficial? Or was it a cage he locked himself in? Tomorrow will be a big day. He needed rest. Her conscience wasn''t worth his restlessness.

    He groaned, wobbling to his feet, and Aurelia took one step and reached her hand out to him, and then he shot a glare. Aurelia tensed as a pistol appeared the second his right hand moved out of her sight, and let loose a little as he holstered it in a pouch under his left arm.

    "I won''t be acknowledging an apology. Apologizing is for when we can''t work for it."

    And for the first time, Aurelia sensed something real. But the burning leaving her left her no time to cherish it. It left her so easily. It can''t be.

    "What have I done to earn your absolution?"

    "Everything''s better as long as everyone''s useful, don''t you think? How many things could we accomplish if we all swallowed our pride? Yes, there was a time when I was going to kill you twice, and there was a time when you wanted to kill me slowly, but that''s beside the point."

    And what is the point; with a smile that never reached the eyes, a limp towards the bed, and a groan as he slumped and reached for the papers?

    As he stopped, canvasing through his stack and scanning those in the bed, Aurelia joined him and laid out the ones she picked. He raised his head, and Aurelia lowered hers. Just seeing his face bludgeoned her heart with a club that knew no armor.

    It''s less than getting choked by hands that''d silence her and a lover''s warm lie that''d embrace her with hope. His silence was not an affirmation, but a resignation. He had no reason to help them for what she had done, but here he was still.

    If Aurelia had an answer to gathering the papers, organizing them page by page, on the subject, it could only be to find an answer¡ªto give his new life meaning. A simple "hi," asking how he was on the dullest hour of the dullest day, but it''s only natural. Regret was an emotion only the heart could feel and a facade for the mind to doubt.

    Everyone weighs her blood in gold. Some venture for it; some fear it. They say there can be no true love between Lord and Lady, and by the same token, there can be no true friendship, just bad memories.

    "What does His Majesty want?"

    Her hand froze, and the grating flow between taking and arranging the pages exposed it.

    He stopped. "Let''s start over. I''m Erich Kasper, the unlucky bastard who got caught in a summoning ritual, and my job is to enable the world''s hubris. You?"

    "I am Aurelia, Crown Princess of Cascadia."

    "That''s it?"

    It''s the only name you''ll bother to remember. "His Majesty ordered me to assist you politically and personally as Guardian Plenipotentiary."

    He sighed and continued arranging pages. "What I need is someone bearable. I can guarantee that from a spy caught stealing from my drawer with a written complaint. But what do we have here?"

    With an exhausted look, the bridge she doused had burned away with his anger.

    "Do whatever you want. So go back."

    Taking the arranged papers, a squeal escaped his lips as he rose and walked towards the door. Aurelia didn''t dare look back, lest he''d see the face she was making. He was too weary to hold animosity; too tired to care about many, many things. However, he gave his blessings.

    By his word, she has become the hero''s guardian. And yet it was disgusting.

    "I''m sorry..."

    The door swung shut. He still shouldered all his emptiness. His loneliness was still the truth, and the pain and misery of the future were his to bear alone. Aurelia''s opportunity had long slipped from her grasp the very instant she raised her hand. Her anticipation reached no further.

    ***

    Tower of Ancients, Cascadia Palace

    Within the halls of the Tower was a hospital from the Order of Hospitallers of the Cascadian Red Cross. There, the canonesses of the Altar of Heroes knelt in prayer under the watchful eye of Headmaster York and his elderly students of the Household Mages, their collective focus directed in hushed supplication of auras flowing like a web of rivers of translucent lime, enveloping Annalise''s in a luminescent cocoon.

    And in this sacred ceremony, among the Kingdom''s greatest healers, the last person Aurelia wished to encounter took notice of her. Her uncle, Duke John Numen of Estrier, separated from the assembly and gestured for her to join him in a quiet corner.

    She quivered from the firm hand descending onto her shoulder, silencing the simplest of words. She couldn''t bring herself to meet his gaze.

    "The roots will heal with time. Sir York was able to guarantee it. Now, it''s time for us to make haste."

    Aurelia''s eyes fogged with unshed tears. There had been moments when she tolerated empty customs, but not on this day, perhaps never again. She deserved all the scorn from the esteemed nobles and the ordinary folk, all holding their tongues in dread of retribution that was her birthright. And yet, the one worthy of raising their banner had cast it away.

    "She smiled, uncle. She welcomed death with a smile."

    She sobbed and sobbed some more as her uncle put his arms around her. All this time, she envied Annalise''s life. How could all of them not foresee her suffering?

    "Annalise loves you, Aurelia. And I do not need to know if you return it. However, the choice to burn the past you both shared is not yours alone. If what you''ve said is the truth, then we cannot leave her final wishes in vain. Do you understand?"

    Aurelia weakly nodded.

    "Do what you must, and she will naturally see your sincerity. You are his Guardian Plenipotentiary. If you find tools that may support him, you have the power to seize it."

    She didn''t deserve those words, forgiven or not. Aurelia had lost all right to love her sister.

    "Where do I even start?"

    "Paladins will supplement my knights to what must be done tomorrow. They are conducting their final hours of weapons familiarization in the barracks."

    "What will they do?"

    "A raid on the Blaire residence tomorrow morning. We''ve already the evidence to arrest them, but the paladins taking the forefront and the hero casting out judgment will present a show of unity."

    "Then I know what I must do."

    "You don''t have to push yourself, Aurelia."

    She clasped the hilt of her sword. "If I don''t, then what is the purpose of wielding the Sword of Covenants?"

    She had inherited its responsibility with forged steel that had tasted the blood of the deserving since the Laurentian heirs. If she were to be his guardian, then she would accept as it were the Blood Communion. To repent from almost spilling the blood of the hero, rivers will turn red, children will become fatherless, and mothers will sing their wails. This is her vow, her sacred duty, whom she shall torment until her final breath for failing to seal it.

 A jolly good show

    A gentle tug on his forearm stirred Erich from slumber. The nauseating cheap perfume jolted him awake.

    "Midnight is upon us."

    The hand grasping him parted ways. Erich ceased the fitful thoughts with a sharp headache that would last him the day and sprang up, knuckles pressed into his back and his Guardian Spook silhouetting herself from the magic lamp, set to eye-prickling brightness.

    Midnight, the code. The sunlight had yet to reach the window, but the blue was getting lighter.

    "How long till it starts?"

    "Four hours, sir. The carriage is ready for you at the stable."

    "I reckon there was a curfew until sunrise."

    There''s no point in knowing when she snuck in or how many spooks surrounded the inn. The nobility locked in on this lucrative trade, and anything lower than one owned by a ministerial noble targeting the rich middle class was begging for security and food safety issues.

    "To prevent crime, not to punish the honest tanner''s good evening."

    "And what are you supposed to be?"

    "Your night''s companion."

    "I don''t remember paying for extra."

    "Purchasing referrals is unnecessary. As far as the inn is concerned, they''ve secured a portion of my profits," a perfect cover story.

    That means he''s worth that much to the house, or the spook has a reputation around here. And if it''s the latter, Cascadia can get eyes anywhere. For all he cares, the establishment might be a flytrap for foreign spies trying to be sneaky with some standards.

    The hallway and lobby were as quiet as the forest, hiding something. Erich had a Model 1906 Luger tucked in his overcoat pocket; however, the spook showed no elevated alertness. They left from the backdoor, made a few turns in the tight alley, and met the stable boy, coachman, and passengers.

    The spook stepped aside and bade Erich a farewell bow, and he waved.

    A hand extended from the back of the carriage, and Erich grabbed it. With the horses trotting and the carriage shaking, one of the spooks reached for the wheat sack at the corner and handed Erich an officer school uniform.

    He frowned. "I said dirty and worn."

    "His Majesty wants to remind the cadets that this can be them."

    "The nobility needs to be reminded of what they did to a hero," threw it to the floor. "Now, if you mind."

    He and the spooks fought for space for the boots, trampling on the snow-white tunic, digging dirt deeper with every step, and grounding it against the wooden floor.

    "Tear the hem of the trousers apart, limit the knife to openings, and do the rest by hand. And spare me the boots. I need to stain my feet."

    They followed suit, and Erich began buttoning up the shirt, only to pry it open and scatter the buttons. Some might see a maniac, but Erich saw it. He saw the struggle it forced him to endure, the sweat and exhaustion.

    Soon, he will expose the hypocrisy hidden beneath the veils of the enlightened.

    <hr>

    Blaire, Duchy of Estrier

    4 hours later

    Once the city had shaken off its morning grogginess, it became busier. And they let that busyness go for another hour. The carriage rattled less, trapped between the caravans of faraway merchants. The diversity in the block ended with the masonry and steel separating greenery and nature in the city center.

    The knights tossed aside their robes while Aurelia was two carriages away from the main gate.

    "Step aside!"

    The gate guards froze. However, the aquamarine cape, the armor, the metallic finish, and the great aura emanating from the gathering thawed the guards and followed the order. Aurelia disembarked her carriage and strolled to the gate, where a paladin struck it with his halberd and kicked it open to blow wind.

    There, she unfurled her aquamarine hood, then her white hair, and put her back against future gossipers. She settled with the stance while the first squad entered the residence and turned to the perimeter of Estrier knights cordoning off the gathering crowd and redirecting traffic. She caught the whites in the crowd''s eyes one last time and went it.

    A handful of servants, guards, and maids huddled under cold steel supervision, with more funneled out of the mansion. Ducal knights secured the foyer, and there was more yelling than clanging, most coming from the second floor, which she followed. Aurelia had already memorized the floor plans. The paladins dragging the ministerials on the other side of the twin staircase was simple choreography.

    They came across another group of household servants, and the paladins shielded Aurelia. They neared a door, and one blocked and inspected what the first group missed. Stumbling upon a puddle of blood from a beheaded servant wielding an assassin''s favorite flame-bladed dagger, Aurelia wiped her hobnails as much as she could and closed in on what sounded like rummaging.

    Stripped open were the drawers and cabinets inside the study, anything resembling a frame gutted for any false bottoms and hidden drawers. A paladin knocked sections of walls for that hollow report, and papers crunched from more stacks jammed into sacks.

    "Found something!"

    A knight pried off a cover inside the wine cabinet. Another joined and illuminated it, exposing a book.

    "It appears we''ve found the financial records. It came from a false bottom beneath the wine cabinet."

    "Put it in a separate bag with the official record as a possible double-bookkeeping."

    "Yes, sir¡­ I''m looking at numbers, names, and some companies. It seems like investments and transactions between Salaian fronts and collaborators."

    " Coralis, Libengun, Hentworth, and¨C"

    The knight glanced at Aurelia. She frowned. The sudden stop aroused more of everyone''s attention as though in deference to her.

    "Yamasashi."

    Huh? Aurelia grabbed the book, tracing her finger down, and stopped at the name, pristinely written with ink that had long settled in the book already at a ripe age from its musty scent.

    "Your Highness..."

    "I''m fine, Captain Pintarsen. Carry on."

    She shut the book and handed it back, for she, a sinner, had already vowed to vanquish the hero''s enemies. Whether her heart was ready or not was irrelevant.

    <hr>

    Royal Academy of Cascadia

    Same time

    Heavy.

    The knights threw a sack into his head and locked his weighted cuffs with magic. One glowed his halberd, causing the yellow gem emblazoned on the cuff to pulse.

    "The stone''s not for show?"

    "It chains the mana, My Lord Hero. Fret not. It cannot hope to chain yours."

    As the double doors opened, sunlight beamed into the passage, and his eyes adjusted to carouse the sight of the Cascadian nobility¡ªesteemed sons and daughters in red and the honorable ladies and gentlemen in their colorful garments occupying the seats.

    Erich gulped. If the academy referred to the arena as a stadium, Erich couldn''t help but see it as a far grander and magnificent arena that hosted the most prestigious Spanish bullfighting events.

    "Sir?"

    "Hm?"

    The knight had worried eyes. "Do you need a moment?"

    "No," he shook his head. "It just seems reality is far bigger than I thought."

    The atmosphere was electric for their posh standards. Conversations echoed off walls and meshed amongst one another as spectators spilled into every available seat and upper arches. The energy must''ve surged as his door opened, but the interior had muffled the noise for so long that he couldn''t tell.

    "Do it."

    The knights dragged Erich to the light, and the arena turned and hosted Ancient Egyptians calling for a cat, but that cat might be among them. The rumors had spread like wildfire, igniting excitement and drawing in attendees far beyond his expectations. The poster girl of the Royal Academy and the descended hero about to bring justice¡ªno fluffy love story could compete with that.

    Still, Erich never stated the hero would do that; merely the emergency summons coincided with the trial. With the rumor of a hero appearing circulating, it''s better to let the rest do the work. It gives them the pleasure of stimulating their minds as pseudo-intellectuals beyond fancy words.

    A group was already present before the best seat in the arena, facing a platform connecting the grounds to the stands where kings observed and champions kneeled. And in front of the group, as though representing them, was a rotund man in his late thirties, but appeared in his fifties, flanked by a lady and the chief suspect of the case.

    Sir Valent, Erich recalled, the Knight Commander of the Cascadian Royal Knight Order emerged from the passageways.

    "Household company, present arms!"

    The old man''s powerful voice marshaled the arena''s silence. The armor clanking from the formation of knights arranged meticulously within the grounds and seats legitimized it, for their liege lord had appeared.

    King Henry did not bless everyone with his presence through a reverie of grand tunes emanating all the glory a trumpet bearer''s lungs could hold. He appeared to everyone with no point to make, for the aura emanating from him had done that for the most prideful.

    Flanked by his brother, the Duke of Estrier, and the Headmaster of the Academy, they took their seats. Then the Prussian followed. Dressed in a striking blue tunic adorned with vibrant red collars and piping and topped with a gleaming pickelhaube, he stood confidently, drawing the attention of many onlookers.

    His dignified position beside them ensured that he captivated the crowd, momentarily diverting their focus from Erich. As he commanded this attention, a group of attendants entered the scene. Their refined yet cautious movements and whispered exchanges hinted at something concealed within the passageway nearby.

    Of course, Erich had a guess. And his guess was right. Sleeping Beauty woke up, her golden hair fluttering free, a humble yet daunting red cape adorning her. She even put on the white gloves!

    The same can''t be said for her legs, making do with a garden wheelchair. Once the bag came off Erich''s head, the judgmental eyes burned him more than the light did to his eyes. He narrowed it to her, turning to a servant holding a saber, her saber.

    Then she crossed the line the moment she put all her strength into her sword and used it as a cane, leading her to Erich. And there they were, staring each other down. Then what? Did she even consider an escape plan? Did she consider how it would appear to the public? A power move was a sign of weakness, and she knew. Erich glared and made sure she knew.

    Erich turned to the decoy. The disguised paladin stepped down and grabbed her arm, something akin to "It''s not worth it," and returned Erich''s glare. What''s the point? Everything''s in place. They can''t screw the execution now.

    "It is unfortunate that such a crime has befell my dear goddaughter. But on this day, we will make it right. Bring the accused forward. Lord Blaire, your testimony."

    "Yes, Your Majesty," a mage amplified his voice.

    Count Blaire joined Erich before the king, away from the group, alone¡ªvulnerable, while the knights stopped Erich at defendant length. The Lord Mayor reached for something inside his teal coat and unfurled a paper scroll.

    "Written in this paper are the testimonies from the affected of that day. We, the parents and guardians, express great distress following the news about the incident. However, as much as we detest putting our daughters in a position to recollect it in detail, they resolved to be the ones to speak."

    One by one, the lackeys stepped up, fumbling their words, pausing their words, and even shooting a glance at Erich. Some were good; some just said their scripts to the point. But who cares? They''ll squeak the monotony as a coping mechanism. Then came Meat Shield¡­ Beatrice.

    She followed the same playbook: violated, PTSD from grogginess, and the nightmares¡ªthose cold, cold nightmares that woke you up in the middle of a stormy night. Her tone was heartbreaking. If she wanted a break, she paused; top it off with a blink, gulp, or deep breath. And she was good at it.

    With cheekbones like hers, Erich could picture her hiding a smirk with a folding fan thirty years from now. But those tears were dangerous. They were pure and innocent; nobody would suspect her of being a deceitful woman.

    At her closing statement, the two locked eyes, and she winced with an "Eep!"

    Erich sighed. Now he''s having a headache for a different reason.

    "Shameless brute!"

    "Execute him!"

    Fists began raising and waving.

    "Kill that disgrace!" the words pierced through the roars.

    Over and over again, various jeers echoed across the arena until, ultimately, the words "Kill him," plain and simple, overpowered the rest. He could sense its savage nature, a growl when uttered.

    He took a deep breath. The truth was as fickle as it got, but even the living law of the land''s support couldn''t stop Erich from shivering. The power of the mob was frightening, and rightfully so when it was the delirium of the society that formed the intelligentsia.

    His ideology shifted communism by ten percent.

    Conscious as he was to the realities of the world, it begged to wonder why. Ten percent was no small amount, but correcting the decrepit system of fools who think of themselves as God''s anointed and breaking the illusion of their privilege as their birthright did feel satisfying.

    Who knows? Maybe half of it was spite. Countering radicalism with radicalism was just equilibrium. But what even is the point of ideologies? With Erich''s powers, he''s not creating a middle class; he''s building a war machine.

    It could be the rift among his future troops, that slight difference in beliefs that will gather every agitated red together and write the manifesto by memory to plunge the continent into seizing the means of production when the means of production hasn''t existed yet to start demand.

    Experience has taught Erich the consequences of leaving the candle next to the curtains on a windy day, yet wiping a smug grin off someone''s face was satisfying. All the nobles heard was ''hero'' and became blind men making fanfics of an elephant. However, Cascadia will become more of a laughingstock than they could handle if the nobles continue embarrassing themselves.

    It dropped by five percent¡ªnot bad, but not enough. Ten percent for being pissed is a terrible design. But if feelings are more powerful than facts, Erich loaded irrationality into the revolver and tried his luck. There''s a specter that will haunt Verussea, but not that one.

    The king, duke, and headmaster knew how to put on a poker face. The least they could do was look disappointed, then maybe Erich could feel some raw connection. That leaves Annalise.

    It''s always the girl, isn''t it?

    The saber rattled under her clutches. There''s no way she''ll look away from her sin. Maybe she was holding back more tears. Maybe she was about ready to weep in silence. And perhaps she''d cry for him.

    Maybe.

    The knight captain''s heels behind him clacked, signaling the coming slaughter. It wasn''t just an audible cue, either. With the knights'' feet apart, he stuck out. Then Annalise''s hands went to her chest. Her face was no longer hiding it. What a pitiful girl.

    And that''s where his pity ends; the pie''s all gray. Anything more, and it''s off to fantasizing about dating, marrying, and raising kids with every girl that complimented you. Some gratitude is in order, however. She''ll go far¡ªfurther than him.

    The king raised his hand, and the arena fell silent once more. "The hero will now personally carry out the execution."

    Everyone watched in bated breaths for the story''s climax, and the cuffs clicked. The knight to Erich''s right walked one pace forward and faced the right, securing his left flank as the weighted cuff clonked on the ground. The other stepped back and did Erich''s right flank.

    The curious count, curious as he was, exposed his chest for Erich. So he slipped his right hand into his coat, materializing his offshoot Walther/Makarov pistol, and racked the slide. He curled his finger with his arm straight and rigid, and the hammer slammed the firing pin. Then out came the shot heard around the world.

    The lord mayor twisted away, got one step further from Erich, and tumbled on the second. Even the red deers at Hessen had more fight left in them. The hot bastardized .380 ACP tore a hole where the left lung should be.

    But why was he, a man of reputable pedigree and position, amidst the society he was well-embedded in, clutching against the searing pain on his chest slowly getting warm and damp? He forced his hand off the pain, wondering what it might be, tensing from the blood¡ªhis blood¡ªslowly staining his expensive coat. Then cries came.

    "Father!"

    "Dear!"

    The two Blaire women came into view, dropped to their knees, and tending to their father and husband.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Please! Send a healer!"

    Knights dragged the mother-daughter pair away. However, Erich raised a hand, and the knights released them. The same cannot be said for their counterparts. The other nobles and their daughters found themselves facing the kingdom''s finest, had the back of their knees kicked from under them, and frisked for pocket knives and wands.

    "What is the meaning of this?!"

    But like the Blaire ladies, the nobles'' words were littler than the wind.

    Lady Blaire''s gaze darted around the grounds, her restlessness growing with every passing second. Yet her frantic pleas went unnoticed, even by her husband. His earlier shock had dissipated, replaced by a quiet resignation from the sleepless nights spent peering through window curtains, constant glances on every stroll, and attention to each passing alleyway, which had steeled him for this very moment.

    Now, as he lay in a pool of his own blood beside his wife and daughter, he cherished them the most. His eyes, although lifeless, pleaded for that final moment. And Erich counted by the tapping of his Commission Pistol 1907 on his lap. He reached the fifth, and the count pushed his family aside.

    The mother-daughter pair glared at Erich, but under the watchful eye of the sword, there was little they could do but cry for the man they called husband and father. The same husband and father that had endangered countless innocents, and buried and will continue to bury unsung heroes. They wept as many will weep for Cascadia from the crimes the count had done.

    With another squeeze, the count''s head slapped the ground. And there, he lies in a puddle of disgrace, and the arena listens to the man''s wife and daughter''s fiery wails. That was it. The man''s dead. Such a trap had no elegance. Regardless of how sophisticated the spring of a mousetrap was and how intricate the carvings were, it served the same bloody purpose.

    "Lord Hero Erich Kasper."

    Erich clicked his heels, went for the quick slot, and embraced the larp. He could''ve sworn the Heer''s coat was a lighter gray than his.

    "We owe you a great debt for your instrumental support in rooting out the head of the serpent who has forgone Cascadia for Salaian gold and for discovering and delivering my brother''s daughter from the years of torment she had endured to see its swift end."

    And thus, he proclaimed under a widower and fatherless child''s chorus to an anthem of the victims of Cascadia''s fury.  If a prey resists death, mercy first; damn the meat. And that''s enough mercy he''ll get from him. The traitor was dead, and he carried out the deal. That''s all that matters.

    "Praise alone cannot reward your efforts as King of Cascadia and godfather to my niece. You have made your reward known to us privately, and we have agreed, in principle. However, as you have been informed, customs must be kept. Now is that time."

    The king waved his scepter, and a light show circled his neck for his voice to propagate across the arena just as the king did. Erich again repeated his laundry list for the court to hear.

    "Then, as I''ve said before, I ask Your Majesty to renounce my title as the hero."

    Of course, he still had to make history to be effective. The king dragged the silence between the exchange.

    "I understand. But like many of us, we would like to hear your reasoning, Sir Erich."

    "As Your Majesty is already aware, my strength lies not in the traditional interpretation of a hero based on strength in magic or the sword, but the one who will give a reason for those strong in magic and the sword to fight on our side."

    "And what reason can you convince them to side with us?"

    "A life worth dishonoring yourself to keep."

    Distant footsteps crunched without the accompaniment of clanking metal. Erich''s eyes rolled. A bastardized image of the Heer marched to impress like its imperial light infantry predecessors without any promises of getting at least a coffin for their next sally.

    But that wasn''t the point. It''s the firing squad''s Gewehr 98 kurz¡ªthe love child of the sinful time travel erotica between the Karabiner 98az and Karabiner 98 kurz¡ªand the hint to a sequel, the officer''s Karabiner 98, or the thirty-nine-inch flashbang stick.

    "A compelling offer, but how can you guarantee the success of such an ambitious goal?"

    "One month. Grant me one month, and I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty."

    "And if you fail?"

    "I won''t," Erich smiled.

    The marching ceased, and the hushed commands were replaced by school bullies squirming at the subdued growl in the accents.

    A pause followed, giving time for reflection, forming opinions, and witnessing the hero''s audacity. Then the king snickered. It was spine-chilling, not because of his authority and consecrated image, but because he found it amusing despite repeating the same questions inside the backroom.

    They did not hide whether this was a performance or the first act of a play; the nobility was not blind to the indirect warning of how futile their resistance would be. If the hero masquerades as a criminal to eliminate a traitor, imagine what would happen if he stayed quiet for a week.

    A spiteful enemy is a pest, a complying enemy becomes a vassal, but a fearful enemy becomes a puppet.

    "As you have heard, my fellow noble friends, the hero has offered us his services. Who are we to refuse, especially since he is willing to show us if his vision bears fruit?"

    Instead of the burden of hosting the hero and ending up giving nothing, thus undermining Erich''s supporters, they instead will go for a trial run to gain more confidence. There was no loss. There won''t be.

    "I recognize that the demands for your plans to be realized require the coordination of the kingdom''s civil and military institutions. You have agreed that my daughter, Princess Aurelia, shall serve you as Guardian Plenipotentiary¡ªa role which harkens back to the days when we summoners guided the heroes through their journey¡ªtherefore, there will be no need to appoint anyone further. Her will is to be treated my will and her judgment will be my judgment."

    "Understood."

    Erich got it; they still have a reputation to boost. Her judgment almost got him killed, so she wouldn''t even show her face for a long while if she knew any better.

    "However, renouncing your title as the hero is disheartening. The kingdom cannot see it as our form of gratitude."

    "Then, with my authority as the hero, I hereby declare a new title and would like to offer Cascadia the opportunity to be the first to recognize it."

    "What may that be?"

    "A National Hero¡ªone who serves not through the sword, but by the pen. Heroes are made on the battlefield, but National Heroes are those who shaped their homeland to become something worth fighting for. "

    His voice rang. Erich was sure the knights increased the volume for dramatic effect.

    "They are the philosophers of wisdom, people who instill unity through their dedication, passion, and work within the functions of the country. They are the silent and easily forgotten, those who retire and live in obscurity; they are the everyday work that makes the land thrive."

    It was not an abolition but an evolution; Erich can never escape its traditional origins. But it is within those traditions that redefines what Erich was against an enemy of the world that had never thought of after centuries of the Demonic Scare.

    King Henry stepped down from his throne, leaving his cloak behind, and clasped Erich''s hands, concluding this act of the charade that will be romanticized in history with prose, swagger, and exaggerated, throat-sparing cries.

    "On this day, Cascadia mourns. To unravel the conspiracies lurking within our esteemed institutions and leaders, the hero endured the unadulterated shame of Cascadia! This shame will be forever etched into Cascadia''s soul for many generations! However, today, Cascadia rejoices, for a new hero rises! A National Hero!"

    "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

    the knights drummed the ground with their halberds, filling what should''ve been the glorious cheers of witnesses seeing history.

    "Then I will leave you to proceed with this affair," he glanced at the implicated families. "It should''ve been ours to start."

    If anything, with what happened, he''d be more invested in their farce. Blood for blood¡ªthere''s no shortage of those types of people. It''s a fuel exactly because it is feasible. But time? There''s no way Erich''s getting that back. He has too much nuance to tackle with hindsight. And the people responsible were lined up waiting for him.

    Despite his presence, it did not deter them from bouncing worried glances.

    "Those jewels, those little¡­ I can see them sparkle from afar. It must be expensive."

    They paled, especially as Erich at the shiny stones with his pistol. He got closer to the family heads and kneeled at eye level.

    "You must love your children. I hope you wouldn''t mind if we repossess them and convert them back to coins."

    He motioned the knights and huddled the family heads, still facing their daughters. And with Erich lowering himself shy from their level behind them, he continued.

    "Now, precious metals deposited as jewelry¡­ aren''t as safe as a bank. The wearer gets sentimental about these things, it can experience wear and tear, and the feelings get passed down to their descendants. You know why?"

    Erich gave them a second to think. Their timid expressions were far more honest than the ones he''s used to seeing.

    "Because these accessories are a symbol of love. But love is blind. Love can make you believe anything. Anything, gentlemen. And my parents loved me so much."

    He shifted his tone.

    "We know what you''ve done. We know whose gold you stuffed yourselves in. The only question left is whether this cabal of yours is limited to Blaire or we''ll need to have a heart-to-heart with everyone who breathed the same air as you."

    He broke off and put himself between them and their daughters again, enough time for the spectators to grasp the implication of his words.

    It was bold and vague, acceptable for a political threat. Those who even met the count and his associates were suspect. Fear would keep the nobility in line and further strengthen his influence. That fear would turn the true culprits and their remaining cronies desperate enough to leave tracks.

    "But this isn''t about betraying Cascadia anymore. You raised your children with that gold, and here they are, guilty of enslaving Miss Annalise with the kingdom''s secrets. Specifying their crimes would take us all day, and there''s no need to ask how many wounds the victim concealed with her gift."

    One good and longing look at her, and Erich continued to seal it.

    "She''s much more of a hero than me. But enough being poetic. Let''s be honest here. They didn''t hesitate to accuse me and had the princess so convinced that she broke a rib or two and was roasting me alive."

    He let the facts echo on and resonate for a while until they were faint enough to continue in everyone''s thoughts.

    "Thus, we conclude with Miss Annalise''s present state. To save me, she turned her gift into her cause of death, so your children just tried to kill both of us and disgrace the princess," Erich raised his hands. "Wonderful. My Lords, ladies, I''ll let you pick who gets to live."

    "Huh?!"

    Erich broke away from the unrest. This wasn''t his knife¡ªit was Cascadia''s, and he was merely there to twist it. But his thoughts were abruptly cut short as shards of glowing glass exploded around his neck. A mage standing beside Annalise lowered his staff, its tip still glowing faintly from the spell he had just unleashed.

    "Hm," his voice was no longer under an amplification spell.

    The king, duke, and headmaster still held their poker faces. Again, she rose from her wheelchair using her saber as a cane. Again, she struggled down the steps. She''d gotten used to it and increased her pace, but her strained face told Erich something else. Her attendants were ready for it, and Erich got to her when it happened.

    With that speech and the way he looked at her earlier, he wasn''t escaping the fanfics just as she wasn''t escaping him without an explanation.

    "What?"

    "You don''t have to spill more blood on your hands."

    Erich scowled. "Whose is it then?"

    Her gaze started to harden.

    "You''re insane."

    Annalise looked down. "I started this. I should be the one to end it."

    "You''re prepared to live with it for the rest of your life?"

    "I do."

    "To harbor the pain and guilt it brings you after believing carrying out justice for their crimes would liberate you from the suffering you have experienced in their hands?"

    "I do."

    "Can you say that as you look them in the eye as they cling to the life you deprive them in front of their families in the name of justice?"

    A second passed. "I do."

    "Then are you prepared for the nightmares, answering their manifestations and the cries of their families created by your mind through your self-doubts, to absolve yourself from guilt for what has become of them as someone you''ve played, cried, and grown together?"

    Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

    "I can''t trust any of you. But I still owe you for risking your life to save me. If you don''t want to, then don''t."

    "Marie was my responsibility. I can never call myself a noble if I run away. Everyone will lose faith in me."

    "They can try not to."

    "Then I will lose faith in myself," her grip tightened. "You owe me a debt of gratitude, and I am here to collect it."

    "What if I don''t?"

    "Then I will embrace you. I will run my hands around your back, press myself against you, I will put my ear next to your mouth and shudder from sweet nothings, and I will overpower your hands and force them onto my body."

    Erich tensed. The things he''d do if the king or the duke were that stupid to use that move. So if it weren''t them, it could only mean this was all her.

    "Are you sure about this?"

    A pained smile formed. "Don''t pity me; I might fall for you."

    Erich scowled, and some life appeared in that smile.

    "How cold. I''m just the victim of this play seizing my right to closure. An exhilarating form to the public, no?"

    "The line between a broken girl and a merciless heiress is a thin one for someone who built a reputation for modesty and kindness."

    "Perhaps," Annalise straightened herself as best as possible. "But it is oddly idealistic of you to show concern over my thoughts."

    "And it''s strange that someone who loathes my existence would kill herself to see me alive."

    Her smile got brighter, but her eyes carried a hint of exhaustion and snark. "Opening your eyes was the worst moment in your life."

    Fair point.

    "What do you get out of killing them?"

    "There are better ways to snare someone''s heart, you know¨C!"

    Erich squeezed her arm and supplemented her saber to catch a glance at the nobles and their daughters. Something tells him there''ll be more parents buried than parents burying their children, but none of that mattered to Annalise. Her eyes matched her cunning smile, yet she looked down, almost pressing her head against his chest. She glanced once and avoided his existence.

    Is she¡­ Is she blushing?

    "Oh dear. If you are that bold, I might be unable to control my feelings."

    Erich stopped it. She''s going mad. At least it''s better than a trap.

    "Have you fired a pistol before?"

    "Yes. I assume it will be a symbol of unity?"

    "Then I''ll keep it simple. You have eight shots, plus one," Erich slid the magazine out, slid it back in, and pulled the breech ajar, exposing a cartridge, "in the chamber if you reloaded without expending the magazine. Always assume it is loaded, and never point it at anyone unless you want to kill them."

    He flipped the safety off and on and pulled the trigger thrice.

    "This switch is the safety. It locks the trigger and prevents the weapon from firing if you squeeze it by accident. Up means safe; Down means you''re ready to fire. Your dominant hand."

    She offered her right hand, and Erich opened her palm, but Annalise squeezed his. Her legs were trembling. He positioned himself as the gentleman in a waltz, interlacing her fingers with the pistol while his other hand stood ready on her back in case she buckled.

    "Wrap your hand like this and only insert your finger when ready to fire. Keep these rules sacred. Dominant hand, stiff; arm, stiff, and secure it with your non-dominant hand. But for this one, you can shoot with one."

    "Why?"

    "Two hands is doctrine. One hand is a message."

    Annalise gulped. Erich continued.

    "This is an execution, not hunting. A shot to the head, and they are dead before they hit the ground. But don''t look your prey in the eye if you want them to suffer. You''ll get attached to it."

    "The girls I knew in the past are dead."

    "Do you really believe that?"

    Annalise said nothing.

    "Make sure the front and rear sights are centered. Focus on the front one and shoot during the pause on the exhale. Just don''t pull the trigger. Just concentrate on curling your finger."

    "Understood."

    Then Erich commandeered her sword, took over carrying her, and scoffed off her questioning look.

    "Make no mistake, I''m not trusting you to fall properly."

    "Why?"

    "One bad drop, and it fires. A student gets shot, and we''ll be forced to compensate the house and embarrass ourselves because a vengeful, wheelchair-bound lady saw the need to stand up and carry out poetic justice by doing it herself."

    Annalise gulped and halved the circulation going into Erich''s forearm. All that was left for him to do was match her pace and be her cane. Upon arriving at the execution grounds, one of the knights'' halberds glowed, and a light show gathered around the two''s throats. It settled, and their voice echoed.

    "Done choosing?" their hugs got tighter. "That''s good because there''s been some changes."

    Erich elbowed Annalise, and she shooed the family heads away with the pistol.

    "Separate them."

    "No, Father! Help!"

    The knights and Erich''s men separated the parents and daughters. Some of them, scraped their elbows, reaching for another.

    "Wait, wait, wait! My daughter! Please, My Lady, have mercy!"

    "Silence them¨C"

    Annalise squeezed his arm and overpowered his voice. "No. Let them scream. Let everyone hear it."

    Erich snuck a sigh. How sweet it tasted for Annalise or how much she hungered for it was not his concern. Marie and the others sealed their fates before Erich''s descent. All he did was expedite it and accompany the victim to her feast.

    They stopped in front of Marie, her defiance still burning strong. They say the difference between reality and fiction is that fiction has to make sense, but this is reality. This was a product of the count''s decisions, a glutton in both mind and body who discovered and waved the kingdom''s dirt on an heiress to do her bidding.

    Then Annalise raised her pistol. A thunderclap deafened Erich''s ears, and a woman''s cry echoed, Lady Blaire''s. There were no words, only cries in their rawest, and the rest of the girls joined while Annalise stared at Marie''s lifeless body.

    Erich almost clicked his tongue. Was he right for letting it become a face-to-face execution? There was nothing poetic about it. With a single shot to the head, the mastermind of Annalise''s suffering crumpled to the ground, lifeless. That was her life story. From the day she first cried into the world, the day she first scraped her knee on the grass and experienced all sorts of things her upbringing offered, this is how it ends, with a bullet through the head from the person who once saw her as a friend.

    Annalise dragged Erich to the next, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the next girl, Beatrice, was forced into view. She trembled violently, her wide eyes darting between the pistol and the man she condemned very well.

    Annalise raised the pistol again, and the girl''s screams tore through the air, high-pitched and desperate. Erich''s men moved in, pinning the girl in place, her struggling limbs no match for their strength. And the echoes of her cries were silenced in an instant, replaced by the deafening crack of the gunshot.

    "Beatrice! Unhand me, you cur! My daughter!"

    Erich frowned at the noble cuffed behind his back jumping and worming his way, only to get pulled back by the legs. He sighed again, and they were off for the next one. It''s almost amazing. The girls broke her. They broke the person who stood against the disease that ruined the natural flow of the world''s development and brought it to a state that would lead to its darkest age.

    And so he just let himself feel the emotions running in Annalise''s head with the next squeeze of the trigger. The lull in between their deaths seemed like the victim relishing justice served, but Annalise didn''t show it. The cries, while fewer, only got louder.

    But not as loud as the ones she had for him, the existence she despised. So loud, it''s unbelievable it came from the one who didn''t hesitate to execute the girls and etch the cries of grieving parents into the minds of the nobility as if it were less than Annalise''s pain.

    Maybe that was what was left of the vulnerable girl before she risked her life for him. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Does she not have some self-respect, or was this the long game to hook him in?

    With another gunshot, the last girl dropped dead and followed the crater of the bullet behind her. There was no pattern of whether they embraced the dust or it embraced them just as there was no difference to Annalise. However, her burden was released. And with a click from the safety came another. Annalise''s grip became tighter. Her weight began pulling him in. Erich pulled her closer, counterweighing it. The magic circling their throats shattered.

    "Erich."

    "Yeah?"

    "Nothing."

    "Anna," she looked Erich''s way. "I won''t try to force my thinking on you, but you need to be strong. This is just the start of something big. Killing someone is easy, but living with it is hard."

    Annalise forced a laugh. "How are you a philosopher for this with the blood of only one man?"

    "Because this isn''t the first time everyone called me a hero."

    She washed away her grin. "I''m sorry."

    He shook his head. This wasn''t about him. Erich took the lead and stopped in front of the family heads, deprived of grieving at their daughters'' corpses to care about their presence. A mage among the knights mistook their arrival as a signal to imbue Erich with sound-amplifying magic. He shrugged.

    "There is no greater peace than the one after you overcome the fear of death. I hope that gives you some peace of mind. Regrets, on the other hand, is something you contend with. But that was your choice, and this is the price you pay."

    Erich motioned the knights to pick them up and nodded at his men.

    "Ready!"

    He dragged Annalise away from them with the knights in their wake.

    "Aim!"

    With the last of the knights away, the officer swung his sword bayonet down.

    "Fire!"

 Bishops Opening

    Administration Building, Royal Academy of Cascadia

    "You can expect a rise of people asking for an audience with you. We intend to refuse them in your stead and have our allies in the royal court absorb them."

    Erich spent the rest of his morning catching up, and the bath did little to soothe the dull pain around his head. Work merged with lunch, and King Henry and his brother were no strangers to it.

    They were on the terrace at the top floor lounge. Heading back to the palace or visiting the court was a delicate situation that required careful consideration and awareness of potential challenges. In other words, it was a pain in the ass.

    Erich was there with him.

    "Will that be enough?"

    "I doubt it. That''s why I''m asking if you are open to the idea of accommodating them."

    "I am through my staff; They need the rapport. Please make it easier for them if possible."

    "Of course. Additionally, if you are receptive to it, you can open an internship for students in your office. It should minimize the adults flocking you."

    "I''ll be fine with that. Socializing, on the other hand, is out of my hands."

    "Understandable. As king, I have to balance between close and distant. It''s like walking a dog. Let it roam free, but always know when to pull the leash."

    "I appreciate the advice, Your Majesty."

    "Now, I''d like to discuss your residence."

    "I get to have a house?"

    "We call it the Lake House. You should have seen it during the walk to the academy. The building by the lake at the square?"

    The one that looked like the back side of Versailles Palace? "I thought that was the royal court."

    "The court is across it."

    Erich''s eyes rolled. He can already imagine the mad midnight dash of stahlhelms and jackboots if they had the extra steel and leather.

    "Can I start assuming the most important buildings are by the lakeside?"

    "That would be a correct assumption. The Cascadian Shield around us is a formidable natural wall with only one narrow passage further away that leaves room for agriculture. My forefathers went to great lengths to convince nobles to build their vacation homes here."

    No different than every palace in Europe becoming either a museum or the legislative. He only glanced at it once, but it should be big enough to house his staff.

    "What do you normally do with it?"

    "As a banquet hall and museum. Once a law is passed, the Prime Minister declares it to a crowd on a balcony. It''s also where I oversee parades and¨C"

    A dinosaur roar cut him off. Erich squinted. Four lizard-headed pterodactyls migrated from the east, carrying a white box shimmering gold.

    "Our knights'' flying carriage," the king said. "They must be returning from Estrier."

    Erich expected more flying pumpkin carriages instead of putting too much trust in ropes and lizards.

    "Your Majesty, if that house has attendants, they can take the rest of the day off. It''s time I assemble the rest of my staff."

    One look from the king and some of his knights left.

    "Once again, I hope we can establish a good relationship."

    "I hope so, too."

    "Following recent events, I have taken the liberty to consult with the Abbess of the Altar of Heroes and the Royal Keeper of Articles and Personal Effects, the purser of heroic relics, and we have agreed to give you possession of an item that may serve you well."

    King Henry waved a group of paladins forward, one holding a decorative box that had seen better days. They opened it in front of him.

    "What am I looking at?"

    "This, Sir Erich, is an insurance."

    A woman''s necklace? "Who''s the unlucky lady?"

    "This is the Necklace of No Regrets. It cast a strong shield on the wearer that could negate even the King of Demons'' attacks."

    Erich sliced clean through his meal, smacking the plate.

    "It was said to be made from the essence of an ancient dragon, hence the deep red gem."

    "And you just have one lying around?"

    "A hero''s authority is necessary for it to function. Otherwise," King Henry grabbed the necklace, "it''s nothing more than a piece of jewelry. It may not be much, Sir Erich, but we hope it will save you when the time comes."

    "Not much?"

    "It''s a gift handed down between heroes from a predecessor so ancient that his name is forever lost, made to protect the ones they love."

    "What happened?"

    "The leading theory is he lost his lover during the culmination of his era. Heroes have made it the likeliest reason from the semi-permanent note left alongside it. But as you can see, it has outlasted the spell."

    A paladin offered a tweezer, one to flip it to the other side. It''s written in English:

    I spent my entire life learning magic to program¨C enchant instructions so that you may never know the loss I had. Betrayal or widowed¡ªcontingencies have been made.

    Forget about using this necklace as your shield. On you, it''s better than nothing. On them, you will not settle for less. Your greatest shield will, and always will, be knowing when to step back.

    "A romantic through and through."

    "Generations of researchers have studied it," Prince John said. "Even now, we are still trying to unwrap the complex web of magic that could trigger the shield even if an assassin were to kill you in your sleep."

    He can''t blame the guy too much. If an invincible hero starts walking around, everyone will be troubled. However, the wording the man left¡­ ''program.'' The word always gets thrown around in genetics and the like to argue it might be a key to the secret of magic. But never mind that. All contingencies have been made.

    If a strong companion were to wear it, "Are there any records saying their companion became stronger upon wearing it?"

    "Not necessarily, but it does allow a person limitless potential. For instance," King Henry placed a hand on Annalise''s shoulder. "If my niece were to conjure a powerful spell such as Tranquility again, she could theoretically absorb mana at the same rate as she depleted since that would be considered a danger."

    With how heartbroken the guy was, there had to be a failsafe in case the next loser was desperate for a girlfriend. Whatever, Erich loosened his tie, unbuttoned the two top collars, and put the necklace on.

    The red gem glowed before resuming its shimmer in the sunlight. Then, he felt the barrel of a Mauser pressed against his head.

    "What''s the meaning of this?!"

    A raised finger stopped the paladins, giving the guards behind Erich the chance to lower their bayoneted rifles toward them.

    "I appreciate the intentions, Your Majesty, but I''m not too trusting. I''ve seen the slaves during my walk. I saw the glowing collars."

    "Sir Erich, enslaving you would be Cascadia''s death. That''s how Laurentia fell."

    "I''m open to being corrected, but I don''t see much evidence other than words."

    Rummaging came from Annalise. She placed her bag on her hip and produced a textbook from class. She jumped off her seat and thrust it to him, opening it to the first few pages.

    "The introduction. It begins with a cautionary tale when the Conclave usurped the Laurentian throne."

    Erich dulled his glare. She''d be the last person to help out, and she knew it.

    He read past what she said. The Conclave or: Dutch and English Parliamentarians. Then, he came across the enslaved hero and imperialism. Whatever they forced him to do broke him and his chains to rampage, leaving the rest to rise in a third-rate Grand Coalition to end his suffering.

    Erich flipped more pages to underline bits and pieces of each lesson worth remembering for the exams. He let it drag on for a moment, gathered Annalise''s face, then her uncle and father, and shut the book.

    "Karlheinz, let''s postpone my death for a while."

    The barrel moved away from his head. Erich''s guards shouldered their rifles.

    "I apologize for the scare, Your Majesty, everyone, but it''s as you said earlier¡ªinsurance."

    <hr>

    Swordsmound Barracks, Royal Knight Order of Cascadia

    Aurelia''s legs sprang at the hint of the carriage reaching a creaking stop. She broke for the gate and crossed the road to another. The knights guarding the palace gate straightened before her presence. The one posted at the smaller gate opened for her. Aurelia stopped short.

    "Have they returned?"

    "No, Your Royal Highness."

    She turned to the post clock near the gate. The hands matched the rumbling in her stomach. Hopefully, they noticed the carriage earlier. Crunching boots came from the small gate. Dozens of knights emerged, their white uniforms seamed with the black piping of the Spymaster''s Third Eye. They exchanged curt bows/nods and went to the barracks.

    Aurelia sighed. "If they return, tell them I''ll be eating outside."

    "Yes, Your Royal Highness."

    For a fleeting moment, she wondered if a meal outside would suffice. There was a good place near White Square. A hero like him needed a lot of space to work with. Where else would he go next? Her legs and sword were drawn to the conclusion.

    It was just a few minutes'' walk, and the restaurants were full for lunch. She settled with a burrito, told the attendant to add more meat, and idled beside a royal knight on sentry duty by the Lake House''s portico. The eventual glance came, and Aurelia shrugged, but his head snapped forward once he noticed her white hair.

    She was already half-done with her meal; she swallowed most of the flavor. A drink would be nice. Aurelia retraced her steps and lined up at another store. The one in front of her wandered his eyes where he stood and offered his spot. Aurelia waved him back in.

    "That won''t be necessary."

    By then, the fruits inside the dispenser were no longer swimming. The attendant got up on a stool and conjured a water spell, and Aurelia too wandered where she stood. Three new shiny figures marched through the square. Odd. It was still noon. The shift has just started. Aurelia broke away from the line and hastened her steps.

    That could be it. The new paladins'' faint commands spurred the sentries to a formation, and then the inaudible voices followed. The one on the right turned Aurelia''s way, and the newcomers straightened themselves.

    "Your Royal Highness, you''ve returned!"

    "What is this?"

    "We were about to relieve the attendants of the Lake House for the day at the National Hero''s request."

    National¨C "The hero''s coming here?"

    "He has told His Majesty that he shall assemble his staff."

    Staff. It must be his ability. "Very well. I shall accompany you."

    "As you wish, My Lady."

    <hr>

    The smell of horseshit smacking Erich in the face and slapping his ass on the way to White Square left a lot to be desired.

    He unholstered his notebook and pen, jotted down tram and bicycle into it, adding a line on the latter, and encircled the word ''subsidized.'' The side streets were a haven, but that wasn''t saying much. The zoning needed some diversity to overpower the stench with bakery yeast.

    He and his guards turned at one corner, and the street expanded, Versailles Palace''s ass end at one side. The other across it also filled up the whole block, so it must be the diet. The place had an old vibe that''d make you live out an upper-class Victorian fantasy without smallpox and¨C

    Erich stopped twenty meters short of the Lake House and popped out his notebook again.

    "To complete a survey, what do you all think a soldier wants?"

    "Victory, of course."

    "Glory to the fatherland."

    "Coming home to your woman."

    And so they say.

    "What about a good toilet?"

    The guards looked at each other as if they had never considered it. Erich wrote it down for now. He''s not doing a Number Two anytime soon, but he already pissed into a pot to give a damn because a hero''s piss somehow made the soil more fertile than anyone''s piss.

    Knights guarding the entrance presented their halberds upon arrival, and the foyer was nothing to write home about since it was his and his predecessors'' home. And that meant something.

    "Lord Hero, as requested, we have relieved the attendants for the day."

    "Good."

    "The Steward of the Lake House, the chief of the household''s staff, has left dozens of books and accounts that may be useful in your study."

    "His Majesty told me this building''s uses, so I''m assuming the three know of you where it is."

    "Right this way, sir."

    The paladins took them to the humble hallways of the first floor. Portraits of past heroes lined up, their names in the local script, the Latin alphabet, Cyrillic, Chinese, and Japanese. The art style varied between Da Vinci and Medieval English.

    They stopped at a double door. Someone had already beaten them to the room.

    "Oh, Your Highness, you were here."

    Erich went around the desk to his right. Although there were many books to unpack, there was still space for his two notebooks. The table sandwiched between two sofas matched the entrance, with the French doors leading to a big balcony. It was even bigger than his old living room.

    He started looking over what the steward had left. The biggest one was the upkeep¡ªno surprises there. What seemed to be reports and proposals were bound in tape, but those were for later and not for him. Erich joined the princess at the table with five unrolled A0-sized pieces of paper displaying the floor plans.

    He stopped at the biggest square shown and waved to the door.

    "Someone grab the floor plans. We''re off to the ballroom."

    Erich took point and led them to the ground floor. Too much natural light entered the ballroom through the tall, arched windows displaying the waterfall. The sight will be the face of a paper bill, that''s for sure. Fortunately, there was a height difference between the ground floor and the lakeside street, so nobody could see anything without someone noticing.

    He turned to the three knights. "Gentlemen, if I can gather your names."

    The paladins started from right to left. "I am Ierus of Polset."

    "I am called Valdor of Lapitaine."

    "Harthoine of Siltefon, Lord Hero."

    Erich wrote their names down.

    "Sirs Ierus, Valdor, Harthoine, you are free to report what you see to His Majesty. However, what is about to happen is a secret you must bring to your grave. For the sake of Cascadia and this world, can you promise me that?"

    They looked at the princess.

    "The paladins are our family''s first knights. Their loyalty is to the House, not the Crown."

    Erich imagined his User Interface. While busy with the eternal migraine, he accrued 200 Political Power points. He filled up an advisor slot, dropping it by 50, and willed what was real into reality.

    The air around the spot became fuzzy¡ªa heat haze or the distorted air above a candle''s flame. It reached around the height of his guards and rippled like a drop of water into a bucket full of it. It expanded and bounced back, but none of the ripples clashed. He''d call it a kaleidoscope, but it''s not something he could explain in a sentence, let alone a paragraph.

    As the seconds passed, more droplets hit it and crossed each wave unimpeded. It became chaotic. That formed the silhouette of a man. Soon, the body, legs, and head became black; the face became rosy pale. The black suit and fleshy features appeared.

    Thomas Laughlin was a man a few years Erich''s senior, mid-twenties at best, British¡ªa new blood with bright ideas. But the fierce eyes behind those eyeglasses showed his soberness. It was only a base expression while the ripples died down. Once it had ceased, he looked at Erich and the rest nonchalantly as though his existence a mere twenty seconds ago had exceeded twenty years.

    "Thomas, I''m glad to have you with us. Now get in line."

    He caught on quickly and did so. Erich willed the rest and counted at least twenty-two before the kaleidoscope effect merged them into one. Spy Agency heavies appeared on his right, rigid and at formation; the meat appeared on the left, reserved, youthful, and armed with paper; and the center, the brain, the rotund mustachioed and stoic gentlemen in penguin-back suits seen in black-and-white photos that make one wonder what mark they left in history.

    The bespectacled gentleman in his fifties, well-renowned as his belly, from the center group stepped forward, thrusting his hand to Erich.

    "Sir, Emmanuel Finch, Director of the Center of Intelligence Services."

    Erich replied with both hands, "A pleasure, Director. Welcome to the Lake House," and prompted him to Thomas''s side.

    "Gentlemen, this is Her Highness, Crown Princess Aurelia of the Kingdom Cascadia. She''ll be a familiar face from here on out, so get used to it."

    The three exchanged bows/nods. Erich motioned the guard with the floor plans and set it on the ground.

    "Alright, Director. We''re all hands on deck. Have you been briefed?"

    "We understand our priority is the creation of an extra-legal military force under the guise of general development to deter outside powers?"

    Capitalists with a freikorps. The thought hasn''t sunk in yet, but it sure had a lot of icebergs on its way.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "Paramilitary. The simplest synonym would be Militia. Anyway, this place is supposed to be half a vacation house and half a function building. The original staff of this Lake House has been relieved for the day, so get the offices and departments sorted. I have priority in the study room. Princess, you already had it open before, so you should have a favorite spot by now."

    "I do."

    Erich frowned. She pointed to the hallway outside his study with her sword.

    "That''s for my secretary."

    "I''m your Guardian Plenipotentiary. I am both your shield and liaison to the Crown. I once liaised with the departments of the Chamber of War, so it will not be strange."

    "My paternal grandparents got used to having political officers ready to stab them in the back if they don''t dance to their tune, so don''t be modest."

    She looked at the floor plans, giving Erich and Emmanuel time to share a glance, and back.

    "I''ll set up a desk for you in my study. Since there are over thirty people here, we need to justify their presence. Does a midnight convoy to the stables sound reasonable, Emmanuel?"

    "It should."

    "Then, Princess, I will have to impose on you."

    "Yes. Of course. Please excuse me."

    With a bow, she brisked away.

    "Emmanuel, Thomas, with me to my office."

    "Pardon me, Lord Hero," one of the knights said.

    "What can I do for you?"

    "Forgive me for imposing, but it would be wise not to speak anything in relation to stabbing one in the back with Her Royal Highness."

    "Reason?"

    "That was how her fiance fell."

    "Fell?"

    It was an awful choice of wording.

    "When Her Highness was just nine, she was betrothed to Sir Lukyan of the Ducal House Yamasashi, which traced its lineage to a hero with the title of Sword Saint."

    That explains the soy sauce.

    "One House''s jealousy reached its threshold as to paint it as a Salaian assassination attempt. Sir Lukyan defended her as expected, fought long enough to time the guards'' arrival, only to get stabbed in the back in front of Her Highness and make it appear the plot failed."

    Erich sighed. Emmanuel showed the same concern. If that''s how everyone complained, he won''t see the end of it.

    "Is this mere pity, Sir Knight?" Emmanuel said. "Or are there any repercussions that occurred that we should be aware of, given her connection with our superior?"

    "The amount inside the royal coffers had always plagued our transition to a musket-fielded army. With Salais breathing down our necks, we grew desperate and bowed to a mere Verussean Union kingdom for their weapons when they began to replace it with newer models."

    One of the paladins nodded. "It was meant to be a Personal Union with Normant''s second prince and Her Royal Highness."

    Normant, their western neighbor, one kingdom away. Mere was an understatement. It looked like the size of a Bavarian regierungsbezirke (Governmental District) or two at RP Amiens.

    "What happened?"

    "Her Royal Highness swore to inherit the title of Sword Saint in the wake of Sir Lukyan''s death, so the Duke of Yamasashi put her in hell. Six years later, she learned the Normantian prince shared the same passion as her, but he made one mistake. He was too passionate. He mocked Sir Lukyan, and he now has a deep scar on his face."

    "Will that be a problem?"

    "Fortunately, the matter has been settled, and for the last three years since the incident, we''ve only faced a few tut-tuts and Her Royal Highness labeled with distasteful titles. However, she has remained protective of those she loved ever since."

    That means she was either holding back with Erich or got sadistic.

    "Good to know."

    A surprise, sure, but there was no need for one. Princess Aurelia was an over-glorified messenger with a force of adjutants across the Ministries of the Crown and compilers preparing everything for the king''s stamp. Why would the princess, who spent dozens of boots and tunics on the ground, suddenly start wearing high heels and frilly dresses?

    It will not be lost to everyone what the king has done. Nobody was stupid, but they''ve forced everyone to hazard a guess. Entrenching the Hero in Cascadia, the Hero has fallen in love with either or both ladies in the line of succession; it was a Bishop''s Opening.

    Its strengths lie not in its development but in sowing uncertainty.

    <hr>

    "Thomas, have you ever considered building in a desert?"

    "Are we, sir?"

    "We have a ton of real estate to work with."

    The amount of building slots for a country the size of Belgium did not lie.

    "I promised the diet for results in a month, so we''ll start by introducing rail to major points in the kingdom. This world turned it into a fairy tale, so they''ll know its worth. What''s important is that we build up our industry."

    Erich unrolled the map on the table like a hologram. The scuffed painting aroused a brow from his Captain of Industry and Spy Director.

    "We are here, the Kingdom of Cascadia, the white one occupying the Luxembourg-Saarland-Nord Lorraine area. Any secret mention of locations will henceforth be known as reference points and the name of the place in our world."

    "Lots of colors."

    "Tons of painters. The fastest way to break the barrier is arms trading, but as you can see, I''m just a baby with too much responsibility to know what''s good and what''s bad."

    Erich pointed his pen at Estrier.

    "We have RP Trier on the east. It''s a trade hub that some big merchant guilds and companies use to funnel goods for cheap due to a secret deal. If you want something, you can find it there."

    "Your wording is rather hinting at something, sir," Emmanuel said.

    "Bread prices have gotten cheaper there, but if we contextualize the fact this is Old Europe stained with ideas they aren''t ready for, we''re seeing an economic capitulation to foreign owners that may or may not be secretly nationalized."

    "Did lower tariffs affect the kingdom''s premier industries?"

    "I''m the supplier. I don''t bother with the details. That''s why I called you two here."

    In fairness to Erich, he could hazard a guess: Cheaper imports would beat local industries, putting the artisan and farmer in a bar together and kicking off the next peasant revolt. The duchy would then resell the goods to other lands with a higher markup to cover the losses.

    It had to be far worse than what Annalise told him, but there were more pressing matters to care about one more conspiracy.

    "Cascadia is a relic of a once prosperous Kingdom of Laurentia, so it''s naturally graced with portions of Viae Laurentia, Laurentia Roads. They''re rugged enough for megafauna larger than the elephants you imagine roaming Shangri-La."

    "Praiseworthy enough to focus on rail infrastructure?"

    "I heard there''s Tin Mines by Saarbr¨¹cken."

    "Tin? Are we going for market dominance on canned food?"

    "That''s a good pretense. But it''s not the metal we''re after. It''s the impurities."

    "Tungsten," the word came out of Emmanuel''s mouth as an afterthought. "Artillery."

    "Exactly. Thomas, I need you to make friends and look around for more. The king''s council is setting up an Interministerial Council on Cascadian Development and is already making moves to acquire iron."

    "I''d like to meet them at earnest. I''m sure iron is not the only good we''re in dire need of."

    "Nonetheless, I must ask, sir," Emmanuel said. "We''re moving too fast to make sense. How do we justify the speed?"

    "When I arrived in this world, it sent a wave in the atmosphere, their mana."

    "Moses?"

    "No, not Moses! Stamina! For their magic. Anyway, when in doubt, that wave was just a boast. I appeared long enough to gather all of you."

    Thomas nodded. "What are the prospects of telegraphy and telephony?"

    "I''m still wondering whether we can use magic as an alternative to coal power plants. I''m also wondering how cheaper that''d be, slavery and all."

    It made the video game aspects of reality more humbling. Laurentia Glimmers, the Cascadian National Spirit, gave them a 15% buff in Civilian Factory and Infrastructure Construction. It appeared overpowered for a Spirit, and it was for their level. How it''s portrayed is guesswork. But be it coal, nuclear, or geothermal, they all make the same steam to spin the same turbine.

    Erich''s Economy Law, Total Isolation, and its six off-map MILs, CIVs, and the non-existent Consumer Goods won''t last long once the first factory goes online. But it''s a price for tapping into Cascadian manpower and sharing factories rather than relying on the immaterium that is his powers.

    "I see. And how do we refer our security for our businesses here, and what resume do they have to wield a rifle?"

    "You''re too modest. Emmanuel, I hate to burden the CIS with unrelated work, but I''ll rely on your help raising the Internal Security Service''s image."

    "What group are we advancing, sir?"

    "Mercenaries and freedmen."

    Emmanuel''s eyes drifted to Thomas. "That implies many things."

    "The king promised me a lump sum to keep up the image of consistency, but we can''t rely on one purse. Monopolize the railway, set up a consortium with the landed nobility on civilian factories, have our share¡­"

    Erich wrote down ''Trade Unions''.

    "Use stocks as collateral for a loan and be stingy on the definition of a wage until the factories make a profit before a specter haunts Verussea."

    "Frankly speaking, it would be difficult to stay in a fiscal deficit with the arms industry," Thomas said.

    "An easy leverage to obtain mining rights."

    "And a security risk pending discussion."

    "Is a break-action shotgun a security risk, Emmanuel?"

    "Don''t play semantics on a jager, sir."

    Erich shrugged.

    "We''ve digressed far enough. The Internal Security Service will be the umbrella of a collection of agencies designed to provide security related to the Cascadian Development Plan. We have my security detail, the railway police, factory security; we''ll work our way up to gendarmerie and border security until enough time has passed for the smokescreen to disperse and call it for what it is."

    Someone rapped on the door.

    "What?"

    A guard entered and clicked his heels. "The prince and his daughter wish to see you, sir."

    Erich tossed his pen before he could crush it. He summoned a flask of beer and took a shot. The awkward looks from Thomas and Emmanuel sobered him.

    "Let them in."

    A barrel to his head should''ve been the escalation they needed to back off and think for a moment before making their next move.

    "I instructed my guards to pop my head in case I got magically enslaved." Their gazes got dimmer. Erich removed his tie and unbuttoned his collar. "Turns out it was a protective charm."

    The eventual knock came, and the three rose and let their lips naturally curve.

    "Come in!" the guests entered. "Your Highness, Your Grace, welcome! Unfortunately, our staff doesn''t know where the tea leaves and snacks are, so I must apologize."

    "I figured there would not be a housewarming, so we came to visit." Prince John grinned and set aside his jest. "Truthfully, we wish to thank you for your help. However, did we come at an inopportune time?"

    "If anything, I''d like to receive your gratitude more than ever."

    "Oh?"

    "Your Highness, this man is Thomas Laughlin, my political advisor on civil infrastructure and industrial affairs, and Emmanuel Finch, Director of the Center of Intelligence Services."

    "Gentlemen, it is a pleasure. I thank you on behalf of my brother, His Majesty, for coming."

    "I don''t want to take any more time off from you two, but do you find a hero that was summoned long before I actually arrived a good excuse, Sir John?"

    "The ritual is a national secret, but we will be tackling inconsistencies regarding a well-recorded process spanning eras. The question is whether our descendants can endure the consequences of twisting the truth."

    "Emmanuel, it looks like we''ll be political on arms sales after all."

    "I will have it noted."

    "Sir Erich, if there is any concern, we will focus our attention even if the sun sets and rises again.

    "I appreciate the commitment, sir, but I''m sure you will have your attention focused somewhere else."

    Prince John chuckled, setting his arms around Annalise''s shoulder. The latter smiled and looked away, embarrassed.

    "Indeed. Unfortunately, it appears that time has become too scarce to permit it. And I will do what I must to support you. Nonetheless, that is natural. We owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my dear daughter."

    "I don''t feel greedy today, so I''ll collect it late¨C" A lightbulb lit over Erich''s head. "How public do you have to show your appreciation?"

    "It appears I cannot hide it from you. I''d rather say it to you privately now when the time comes that I must boast this debt to you in front of my peers."

    So that''s the missing link.

    "Miss Annalise, a job opening just came up. It''s part-time so you won''t miss classes, but the pay won''t be much."

    "I could never receive anything for what you have given me and for what you are giving to Cascadia."

    There goes that idea. "Then we''ll think about it later. Emmanuel, Thomas, are you both free for the day?"

    "I can leave the work to my assistant."

    "I can''t work if I can''t speak, sir."

    "Then, Sir John, I''ll have to ask for your time to speak with them. I''m sure they have more to say than a figurehead."

    Prince John looked wry. What? If there''s anyone more self-deprecating than Erich, she''s right there.

    "Hmm. Then, if you two gentlemen could."

    "Of course. Let us take this discussion somewhere else."

    "Annalise?"

    "You may go on ahead, father. I wish to speak to Sir Erich in private."

    The man looked back at Erich. A worried look, some might say, but no. Truth and lies, they''re all the same¡ªwith a purpose. It was foresight at best and a bad habit at worst. Erich pretended not to notice. After all, it happened as fast as the blink of an eye.

    "As long as he permits it."

    "I don''t mind."

    Erich returned to his seat and fiddled with his pen, hovering over the doodle book.

    "Then take care," and he gave Erich a farewell nod. "Sir Erich."

    Prince John, Emmanuel, and Thomas left the space, discussing exploitation in its broadest definition, and left the plant as if she hadn''t executed dozens of her classmates in front of everybody.

    Erich doodled a tight junction with a side street going left at the northern side and put the bullet at the right end. There''s something poetic about adopting the MG 15 n.A''s father, the Bergmann 1902 machine gun, in lieu of the MG 08 and its German Maxim elders.

    It was a choice between the ideal gun later or a gun you could use now. This dilemma led to the creation of the Null-Acht/F¨¹nfzehn, a mobile (albeit questionable) gun developed from a proven system. After all, change was a prosperous and dangerous idea in attritional warfare. And he needed a machine gun now.

    "What are you writing?"

    "Things you hate."

    Annalise perched on the side of his desk. She wasn''t helping her spine, trying to keep herself in his general view. But so did the days in his internal calendar speeding up. Erich''s certain he''ll inflame his temples at the rate he''s rubbing them. Deviating away from the base tech must''ve made it worse, but was the price he''ll pay to experiment worth it?

    "Are you okay?"

    Of course, there''s still her, too. Erich got up and opened the cabinet behind his desk¡ªnothing. Besides the sophistication of mahogany furnishing and philosophical mysteries on the bookshelf and paintings, there''s nothing special around the room.

    "Don''t worry too much about those you hate, Miss Annalise."

    "Who says I hate you?"

    "Next moment, you''ll tell me you actually liked me."

    "It''s not impossible," she began gathering the clutter of paper over his desk. "Have you ever heard of peace marriages?"

    "No."

    "It''s a political marriage to bring about a peace treaty."

    "You know, loving yourself is the first step to sanity."

    He moved away and knelt in front of the wine cabinet at the side. Again, nothing. Annalise chuckled.

    "My gift is heresy to the Temple of the Golden Shard. I was forced to flee to the Altar of Heroes to escape its zealots as a lady-in-waiting to an existence that never was and balked when my family thought your arrival would kindle my nonexistent sense of responsibility."

    Erich one-plus-one''d what he''s known about her so far. If it wasn''t being deployed to the Middle East, it was fighting Christians like it''s 1517 with brass instead of nailing 95 theses on doors.

    "Something to do with that suicide¨C I mean selfless magic?"

    "Heroes of old weren''t surprised. One had the gall to stereotype the temple as corrupt men veiled in golden rays and white holy cloth. ''It''s all on the belly,'' they say. Now that I''m discarding my duty as Prioress Superior, more people I care about are in danger."

    That''s one illustration for the future kulturkampf. Nevertheless, Erich was not blind to what Annalise wanted from him.

    "Good friends, then."

    He gave her a pat on the shoulder and stopped. Something was¡­ weird. It shouldn''t be possible.

    "Uhm¡­"

    Annalise''s shoulder got stiff. He pulled his hand back.

    "Oh, sorry. Back home, we normally show affection by not criticizing you constantly, so I must''ve over-corrected when I noticed how touchy you people were."

    "Oh, no, no. I¨C I''ts fine."

    He took a deep breath. It was the most bullshit he''s seen in the world. It had to be a fluke.

    "Considering we''ll be very good friends from here on out, we need a consistent theme to show our friendship."

    "It''d be easier if you''re courting me after the show and break it off once your strength grows profoundly."

    "Should I lecture you or your extended family about something called ''subtlety''?"

    "There''s nothing subtle about why I''m here with you."

    Erich raised a brow.

    "Don''t be alarmed. We share the same concern for prying eyes. As for how we are to conduct ourselves." She perched on his side of the desk. "Wouldn''t it be fine not to concern ourselves with outside opinions?"

    "That depends on what you define as ''outside.''"

    "Goodness, and you complain about subtlety."

    "It helps that I''m the one standing between the kingdom and tons of wealth."

    She smirked. "If only you were a simple man¡­"

    "If only. Now that we''re so-called friends, how about lending a hand with the paperwork? Consider it as your internship."

    "Are you sure you''ll open your office to internships? It will give the undeserving a solid repertoire."

    "Really now, Prioress Superior?"

    "Former. Or are you trying to woo me by monopolizing my attention as your personal secretary?" she teased, yet she dragged a chair to his desk and unraveled the paperwork. "Should I summarize this?"

    "Yes, but shouldn''t you have classes today?"

    "Mm-hmm. But with the entire student body chanting the hero''s death, what''s the point? You should''ve been there to feel the mood."

    The reveal of a hero? Or the blood on your hands?

    "How''re you feeling?"

    "Must you ask me this question? I''m fine."

    "Anna, don''t lie. You look pathetic."

    "Am I not pathetic?"

    "You can be what you want to be. Isn''t that the luxury of being free?"

    Pages fluttered. All those movies and shows were paying off. Erich doodled the last, finer bits of the American helmet icon representing the basic infantry unit.

    "Don''t pity those you do not trust."

    "What if I do?"

    "Then are you really trying to woo me?" she sneered. "No, you can''t do this to yourself."

    "Don''t expect highly from people if you don''t want to feel disappointed. You don''t know if they lived a life full of disappointment."

    "Is that how you see yourself?"

    "I tend not to look at myself."

    "Then where are those eyes looking at, I wonder?"

    Annalise leaned closer with cupped cheeks, dog eyes, and a cuter smile like how the Asian does it. It''s so off-putting how she and many looked no different to someone in Erich''s timeline. He expected more fat people and sixteen-year-olds looking like thirty after a few years in the coal mines.

    "You went for the clearer notebook."

    "We''re friends now. Clearer goals."

    "Why?"

    "Does it matter?"

    "It should."

    A hand stopped him from writing the third dash of the ''Prevent accidentally dating a Cascadian'' list. It insisted on his pen and replaced it. Erich could pull away from Annalise''s gentle grip, but that''s the problem. She made it a choice.

    Then it happened again¡ªthe strange sensation when Erich patted her shoulder.

    "What are you doing?"

    "I''m seducing you."

    "Why?"

    "For playing with a woman''s heart."

    "You still have a heart?"

    "Jealous?"

    Using her hands for leverage, she sprang from her chair, twirling gracefully in the air during her thousand-mile journey to him, ultimately settling on his lap with her ear pressed against his chest. Erich lifted his hands and surveyed the area. If there were any repercussions, she wouldn''t have insurance coverage.

    "This is?"

    "Our niche."

    "Niche?"

    "Yes. You know, something specific you can do with a specific friend."

    "That''s a lot of work to unravel for the lazy ones. I wouldn''t blame them if they settled for a simple guess."

    Annalise shushed him and pressed her ear to his chest. "I can hear it beating faster."

    "There''s tons of reasons why."

    She yawned. "Can we stay like this for a while?"

    Erich''s eyes rolled, and he ran his hand through her hair and continued writing with the other.

    "That''s just cheating."

    "You woke up too early, didn''t you?"

    She growled. "At least tell me to stay like this for a while. Tell me you''ll be there for me. Tell me you won''t leave my side¡­ even if it''s a lie. That way, you don''t have to waste effort being suspicious towards me."

    Sometimes, Erich can''t get a read on her. A part of him believed she was free to manipulate as she told him, that she was humoring a fact just like someone might make fun of oneself by telling another that they''re shy with utmost confidence.

    But it more or less confirmed his suspicion. Headaches come and go gradually. One-speed was a dull, aching sensation everywhere, ranging around three to four on the pain scale. Two-speed caused a dizzying migraine after a heavy night of drinking. God knows what Three-speed does.

    With Annalise, he was at 2-speed with 1-speed effects. Recalling the times Erich had physical contact with Annalise, the pain was at its peak, so it went unnoticed. And if the effects of 1-speed were truly mitigated, it would take time to know once the pain subsided.

    The Power of Friendship was starting to make sense. But he couldn''t care anymore. Seeing time moving fast without consequences was a worry off his mind, although it only worked on one tab and one tab only. That means he can''t speed up construction and army training consecutively.

    What a fucking joke.

    "You should''ve left me for dead the second time."

    "Maybe I should''ve. But I still owe you a tour around the city and my town, remember?"

    "I can''t do anything about it, can I?"

    "Liar."