“Of course I feel bad for Polus. I was still just a runt back then, but I remember meeting King Dainsleif with my mom during one of his diplomatic visits. He was a good man: a kind man. Where us Caelum folk are loud and bristly, he was soft-spoken and had an air of grace. I liked that part of him. It was nice to be around some different - less crass - and though I didn’t really understand all that chivalry and honor stuff, I respected him.

“And then, mom died. And Xeros waged war against Polus for no other reason than to claim their land. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Hells, I participated in it; cut down their knights by the droves as I watched the legion pilfer and slaughter and raze that once-peaceful nation to the ground.

“Eventually, King Dainsleif died too. I guess even invulnerability can’t stop old age, and I… I was relieved. Because I didn’t know how I could possibly face him again: look him in the eye when my blade had long turned dark from the blood of his people. I despised that cowardice in me. I felt just like Xeros, excusing my wrongs for the sake of the ‘greater good’.

“One day, I hope I can make it up to them. Maybe they’ll never forgive me, and I’ve accepted that. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for Caelum’s sins if I have to. But I can only do that after Xeros is dead, and so I need this war to continue.

“I know I’m despicable, but I can’t stop here. I’ve gone too far and suffered too much to grow a conscious now. If I give up, then everything will have been for nothing. For nothing… I can’t have that. Even if it means more people have to die, I have to see through this grudge to the end.”

- Praetor Luxanne

———

Luxanne

Forty-seven days and forty-seven nights: That is how long Luxanne has been stuck to the Grand General’s side—constantly watching him. Constantly listening to his drivel. She’s sick and tired of it, but these days will soon come to an end.

Finally, home is within sight.

She looks out to the distance from atop the transport’s deck. The air is blistering cold, and the wind’s howl grinds against her ears. The soldiers clatter their teeth below, but they do so with familiarity: almost comfort. Only an hour more of steady march, and soon they’ll be able to bask in the heat of the city’s exhaust.

Luxanne can see it now: the filthy byproducts of the forges, billowing into a dark grey cloud that drifts high up and casts everything in a dull, dreary shade. The streets are oily, the people are dirty, and every speck of the capital is tainted by grime.

But it is home nonetheless. And though Luxanne currently lives above the smog, she remembers a time when everyone suffered the pollution together.

Caelum has always been a nation of sweat and elbow grease, but that’s its charm. The people aren’t exactly nice, but they’re kind, and underneath that cold and rugged exterior is a warm heart you can always count on. At least, that’s how it should be.

Now, it’s survival of the fittest. Everyone’s a cutthroat waiting to pounce. You can’t even trust your neighbors anymore, and why? All for the faintest chance to ascend those stupid layers. Luxanne doesn’t understand; just what about him has caused this nation to go mad?

… It’s not as if I don’t see the appeal myself. Why shouldn’t hard work be rewarded? But—this isn’t the way. How can a person’s worth be defined by only what they can contribute? Not everyone has to be special or some great leader; sometimes it’s okay to wish for a normal life.

I want a normal life, one where I don’t have to deal with this political garbage anymore.

But, is that even possible? Once I get rid of Xeros, how can I trust that someone else won’t take his place? The only choice left is to become Grand General myself. Am I capable of creating the world my mom always wanted?

I don’t know. But even if I don’t, it doesn’t change that he has to die.

In his pursuit of purging the unworthy, how many have died without ever having the chance to fully show their potential? Not everyone thrives from competition, but Xeros doesn’t care.

Serve, or die.

Excel, or decay.

That man has never once done anything out of the goodness of his heart. Love is but a vice to be smothered.

So why does he keep Luxanne so close to him? It’s been twenty years since he’s forced her into service: educated her, taken her under his wing for reasons she still does not really know. Xeros does not care for her, never has he shown even a shred of affection, and yet… wherever she goes, his watchful eye is not far behind.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Is it because he feels guilty about what happened to mom?

No, that man doesn’t know how to feel guilt. For better or worse, his will is greater than anyone when it comes to realizing his ideal world. Luxanne can’t help but groan, for why must such a determination belong to one so cruel?

This world is just so unfair.

“Your brow is furrowed, Luxanne.”

She jerks in surprise and turns around, only to discover the worn face of Xeros, waiting. It gives her the shivers how quiet he can be sometimes: a sneaky, unassuming old fart.

“A-Ah, pardon me, Grand General. What brings you out here?” How he knows of her face behind all the armor is a mystery, but nonetheless she salutes him and puts on her best ‘diligent little soldier’ charade. “We’ll soon arrive at the capital. It’s best you stay within the transport; the smog is fierce today.”

He stares at her, eyes sharp and obscured in shadow. It’s unnerving, and even after twenty years she still can’t quite discern what’s going on in his head. Does he know about her grudge? That she plans to kill him? No matter how well Luxanne thinks her acting to be, there’s this nagging feeling inside whispering that Xeros knows more than he lets on.

“Hm, so it would seem.” He walks in front of her and sets his gaze towards the far-out city. “Ever the charming sight. Much has changed for Caelum, both in appearance and soul.”

What would you know about soul…

He stops for a moment and strokes his beard. Strange, Xeros seems amused by something. “Tell me, what do you think about our nation?”

Again? I’m getting real tired of this old man’s games.

Still, she plays along like always. “There is not much I can say besides that it’s growing. Thanks to your diligent efforts, there’s no shortage of workers and recruits for the army. We’re only becoming stronger with time, and once we conquer Polus, I doubt there’ll be any nation in this world that can withstand our might.”

But even after all the praises she’s sung, the Grand General isn’t satisfied. There’s one more thing she has to add at the end.

“But, we cannot be complacent. Overconfidence is a fool’s curse. We must always strive to be better, and to seek progress no matter how prosperous we become.”

Xeros is never content with what he has. Even if the entire world is within his grip, he will always want for more. Desire for more.

For that is who he is: a man of endless ambition, whose eyes are set towards the starry sky above.

“Quite so. Quite so,” he muses. “There is no such thing as a perfect nation, Luxanne. You must look ever onwards as a ruler, for there are always improvements to be made. True progress is an unending cycle.”

Luxanne can’t count how many times she’s listened to this speech already. On and on and on, he goes… maybe it’s only natural that she one day snaps.

“What about you? What do you think about our nation?” she replies in a rare fit of annoyance. Luxanne regrets saying the words the moment it leaves her lips, but this back and forth of theirs has gone on for far too long. She wants to hear about his thoughts for once.

Surprisingly, despite her sudden rudeness, Xeros only chuckles and rubs his chin. “The same as I always have: that it is not enough.”

The Grand General looks around for a moment, and eventually he bids to descend the transport. Luxanne hesitantly follows behind him, her body tense as the man wordlessly makes his way towards some unseeable destination, but her worries go unfounded.

He stops, lowers to his knees, and grabs a handful of dirt—molding it into a ball for her to see. “We are as many as these grains of dirt. Individually, each speck is minuscule in nature, barely visible before the naked eye. But, together, they clump to form one whole.

“I despise Polus’s weak-hearted ideals, but I must admit their core adage is quite notable. ‘Together, united as one,’ or so they say. And indeed, these little grains can combine into something truly greater than themselves. However…”

Xeros picks out a tiny crumb different from the others. This one is lumpy and even, sticking out and ruining the mound’s smooth surface. “There will always be outliers such as these that ruin the unity. But unlike mindless specks of dirt, humans spread their nature to others, turning them hideous just like themselves. Unsatisfied with their own weakness, they seek to drag as many possible down with them: to add onto the ever-growing heap of defeat. When these miserable specks multiply unabated…”

Crush. He pulverizes the dirt, letting the remnants trickle from his hands and blow away into the wind. “Collapse. The once perfect whole is destroyed. Its legacy, the people, and the wretched fools alike shall all be blown away by the winds of time. The accumulation of our history and the innovation created over the course of this nation’s life… all of it will have been for naught if we do not root out the sickness in our nation.

“It is an endless endeavor, and a thankless one. But it is necessary. I only hope that I am able to succeed in this lifetime so that my duty shall not need to be passed on. That is why I toil so hard, and so ruthlessly, Luxanne.”

Luxanne is quiet. Specks… to think that’s how he views humanity. Although there is some sense, twisted though it may be, in Xeros’s words, she disagrees with the idea that imperfection should be cast aside. Humans are special because they are so different.

Of course, Luxanne doesn’t tell Xeros that.

“… I see,” she whispers.

“So you do.”

Xeros strides by, and he pats her shoulder. He looks different from usual: not like a ruler or a stern general of an army.

But an old man. A tired, feeble old man.

“I am not heartless, Luxanne,” he says. “I know pain and loss more than any other, and I understand the misery wrought from mine ambition. However, someone must take this role. Someone must cause suffering in order to bring about change. Life is cruel, and if you wish to survive, then be cruel as well. Mountains of bodies shall lie in your wake, but if it is for the pursuit of your ideals, then you must be willing to commit each and every atrocity to achieve it. If you let your heart waver, then all the pain you have caused, all the injustice and misery thrust upon you, will be for naught. This world is not a fairytale; good shall never prevail by itself. There needs be a necessary evil.”

Luxanne bites her lip, struggling to keep silent. How disgusting that his words mirror her own, but he’s right about one thing: You can’t stop, or else you’ll lose everything.

Xeros lets go of his grip, and he beckons her back towards the transport. “Come, girl. Let us go home.”