"I'll be back soon! I promise!" Laurealia calls out with a bright, reassuring smile, her voice loudly reaching all the people in the Pratus. The gathered citizens, some with worry creasing their foreheads, others with excitement sparkling in their eyes, watch her. They've temporarily forgotten about everything else as they strain their necks to see their beloved [Princess] walk away from the main event of the day and the homonymous pastry that's already taking Amorium by storm.

…

Princess Laurealia and I walk in tandem, our footsteps almost synchronized, trailing behind the towering Stan. He moves ahead with the grace of a giant, his broad shoulders cutting out an imposing silhouette against the afternoon light. The princess and I are by no means short; quite the opposite, in fact. But next to Stan, it feels like we're mere children. His countenance, usually calm and amiable, feels so intense it's practically palpable now. I've been in his presence several times, but the gravitas he's emitting today is unmatched.

[Princess] Laurealia follows behind Stan as we enter the storefront of the old Happy Bakery; its entrance has been remodeled to accommodate the new business – a shop and café hybrid.

As we step into the dimly lit store, I notice the new shelves and counter that they’ve placed here recently. Stan, without uttering a word, pivots toward the entrance. From deep within the grain of the door's wood, a vine emerges, slithering and wrapping itself tightly around the handles, sealing us in.

Stan's deep-set eyes find mine. "Joey," he begins, his voice low and resonant, "I need to discuss something of grave importance with you. Could you use your artifact to shield our conversation from prying ears? I've sensed its magic during our past encounters."

I believe he's talking about you, old man, I say in my head.

Done. I'm very curious to hear the full story, young Luciani.

Before I can react, Laurealia's face contorts in shock. "W—what?!" she exclaims, her voice an octave higher. Her eyes, wide from disbelief, dart between Stan and me. With a trembling hand, she points at me, "You're telling him?! He's a—"

But before she can finish her sentence, Stan effortlessly raises a hand, signaling her to stop. The princess, to my astonishment, is silenced instantly, her words trapped within and her gaze averted.

Stan's voice, thick with the weight of memories, commands our attention as he addresses the [Princess] directly. "Child, I demand you to understand. Joey Luciani is neither a [Spy] nor an enemy. There's a fire in him, a youthful exuberance that reminds me of my son's spirit. His qualities are as transparent as they are rare: a blend of rightful idiocy and unwavering honesty."

"Flattering," I mutter sarcastically from the side.

He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to sink in, and then turns to me. "Just as the old trees are rooted deep into the earth, so too does a man's character stand firm and true. As the catalyst behind the events that have thrust you two together, the responsibility falls upon me to guide its course…"

He turns back to [Princess] Laurealia, "will you challenge my judgment?"

The [Princess], with her purple mane cascading down her back, looks as if she's seen a ghost. With eyes wide, she quickly nods, her voice lost somewhere in the labyrinth of her thoughts.

Stan’s gaze softens momentarily as he turns to face me. "Let us proceed then."

"Joey Luciani," he sighs, a hint of regret tingeing his words. "I had hoped for a more fitting introduction by my benefactor. Regrettably, her duties have taken precedence. Unique events are unfolding in Epretos, reminiscent of the times when I bore another name."

Damn, I stand up straighter, trying to look more serious.

Stan, in response, draws a smile on his face, "it pains me to reveal my past. Not because of who you are, Joey. I'm just… ashamed. However, I have been forced to act in the interest of my people once again. Violence… I cannot operate with it ever again. But this? This is the least I can do. Therefore, I present you my old name, Joey."

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes briefly as if bracing himself for the confession. When he opens them, there's a newfound determination. With grace, he extends his hand, palm up. "I was [King] Tiberius the First. The [Great Prince] Vespasianus, he, whom history speaks of, was my firstborn. It was under my reign that the Extermination War was waged—the last of them, at least, as some [Historians] would have you believe. It was I who made the fateful decision to rid this continent of Humans."

…

Ever since shaking the man's hand, I've found myself drifting into a pondering silence, the weight of the revelation still heavy on my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I break the silence. "I'll still call you Stan, right? Has the [King] Tiberius name been abandoned?" I ask, trying to gauge his comfort with the name.

Stan inclines his head slightly, strands of his pearly white hair falling gently onto his forehead. "Yes, Joey. While I am indeed the blood ancestor of the [Princess], I stepped away from that title and all it represented long ago. The choices I made... they led me down a path of personal devastation. Anger, unchecked and unyielding, clouded my judgment. I became someone unrecognizable, even to myself."

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Taking a cautious step forward, I venture, "Stan, I'm not here to cast stones or pass judgment, but I've got questions that need answers. Mind if I ask you an honest question?" I shift uncomfortably, my unease evident.

With a nod, Stan encourages me to proceed. "Go on, Joey. Speak freely."

Summoning my courage, I ask the questions that weigh heaviest on my heart. "During your reign... How many lives have you taken? And how many of them were Human? And a tougher one: Did you ever take the lives of the innocent?"

The room's atmosphere seems to grow colder as he answers, "Directly? Tens of thousands. My orders, however, expanded that toll. And to answer your most unsettling question: yes. I've committed unspeakable atrocities—I've killed innocents."

My next question is interrupted by an outburst. "But the Humans, they—!"

Stan's voice, calm yet assertive, silences her. "Laurealia, hold your peace. This conversation is with Joey. I wear the scars of my past, visible or not. It's only just that I face inquiries regarding my actions."

A realization begins to form in my mind, connecting the dots. "Wait a minute... That's how you orchestrated my release. I had suspicions you were tied to the Royal Family, but I had thought you were an influential [Druid] or some stuff like that. I was wrong. You aren't just any [Druid]. You are the [Druid]. The Day of Blooming event that the [Princess] recounted to me... That was your doing, wasn't it?"

His nod, filled with a heavy sadness, confirms my suspicions.

"So, let me get this straight. The reason you were absent from our last bakery meeting — the one where we discussed the [Princess]'s affairs — was because you feared her giving you away?"

Stan, his eyes filled with a mix of resignation and weariness, replies simply, "Yes."

I shift my gaze to the [Princess]; it's evident she's struggling with the situation, uncomfortable by Stan revealing his deeds, especially to someone like me. Her face, though, shows a very interesting whirlwind of emotions: confusion, anger, and perhaps even a hint of sympathy for the man who stands as both her legacy and her burden.

She's got feelings, too, I think to myself. Then, I realize there's more to ask. More and… uglier.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I push forward with the question that has been burning at the edges of my consciousness. "Stan... the numbers... were they in the millions?" My voice wavers.

Stan appears taken aback for a moment as if he didn't anticipate the question. His brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Drawing another deep breath, I clarify, "The casualties. The lives lost directly or indirectly due to your decisions. Would you say they were in the millions?"

He hesitates, the weight of centuries and countless decisions pressing down upon him. With a sigh, he finally nods. "Yes," he admits, voice heavy with regret.

The magnitude of that single word hits me like a tidal wave, threatening to upend the foundations of what I thought I knew.

"I... I need a moment."

…

I would like to say that it's been a long time since these events took place, that this world has a different culture from mine, that it was war and a bunch of other excuses. I like Stan. He's chill—at least now. He's helped me; he got me out of jail, and he did a bunch of wonderful things for me.

I blink rapidly, trying not to let a tear out.

You know the famous rule of the internet, right? If a conversation goes on for long enough, the chances of Hitler being mentioned at some point are essentially unavoidable. I guess that should hold true for my own experience in this world—at some point, I was bound to have to compare something or someone to Nazis or Hitler.

Heh, actually, Stan's pretty damn close to Sta-lin…

If I had been launched into this world about four hundred years ago – that's how long ago I understand Stan did those things – I would have been exactly on the other side. I would have immediately sided with the Humans and tried to kill the man. Even in my foolishness, I believe I might have used all my capabilities to save some people.

Now, I'm lucky to have been transported into a time of peace, but…

What now?

I take a few deep breaths before talking to the man in my head.

Old man, would you mind cranking up [Mindful Clarity] a notch? Not the golden evolution, just the bold one. I need to think.

…

I exit the backroom of our renovated café and find Stan and [Princess] Laurealia standing where they stood ten minutes ago, looking at me. The [Princess] is gritting her teeth in silence while Stan is calmly awaiting what I have to say.

"I have heard that [Druids] were not around anymore. Did you kill them too?"

Stan shook his head.

"Alright, then, the class is something that requires a ritual they didn't know. Is that it?"

Stan's eyes go wide, "yes, Joey. How do you—"

"Stan, please, just answer the questions for now," I sigh. "I don't want to be disrespectful, but I need a complete picture here."

He nods.

"Classes can be passed down with rituals," I say, "You didn't pass yours down because… you were afraid it could be misused? I know that the Vanedeni used to have [Druids] as well, but then, they never got in touch with them and would have much less passed the class to a non-Vanedeni. Not that [Gardeners] couldn't become [Heroes], but that's beside the point. So… yeah, were you afraid of another slaughter?"

"Our [Druids] leveled up like never before," Stan says slowly, "many hit level 60. They were ready to storm the shores of Teiko—and we did. We razed several cities to the ground. Still, the Humans' heritage ran deep—that's why we retreated after some mutual devastating losses. I kept the key to the class in fear that the [Druids] would be used as war machines from that point onward. It's a… failsafe of our class. Not its goal. [Druids] were never meant to be indiscriminate [Killers]. But many got that class and worse. Much worse."

Stan hesitates for a second before adding something else.

"No [Druid] remains in the entire world but me. If I died, the class would naturally spawn again and begin a new circle in a hundred years or so. That is one of the few reasons I have decided not to take my own life. Elves would revive the Great Forests only to weaponize them against the Humans. Centuries have passed, but the hatred still runs deep."

"So, when you said that we needed [Druids] to cultivate that wheat…"

"I have considered it for a long time. You attract individuals who are much saner and better than I have ever surrounded myself with, Joey Luciani. If you decide that my presence here is still warranted, even after knowing my crimes, I would like for you to decide who's worthy of becoming a [Druid]."