“So we have a large predicament in our hands,” Zen mused out loud as he trailed behind Devan through the corridor

“Of course. The situation is grim, and time is of the essence,” Devan said, as they walked into an open office room. Once they were both inside, Devan closed the door behind them and walked to the desk in the back center of the room, before sitting down at the desk’s chair. “Come, have a seat,” Devan gestured, pointing at another chair at the front of the desk. “This is kind of like my office, where I sometimes do some logistics and discuss defenses with some of the fort’s leaders. For now, we will use this room to discuss our next moves about the death of Jacky.”

Zen nodded and sat down, making himself comfy in the plush weaves of the chair. The room was fitted with potted plants, a simple glass window behind the desk allowing the last glimpses of evening sun to seep in. The walls were lined with maps and documents, and several bookshelves stood tall over them all. The room felt quite cozy.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Zen said, holding his hands together and leaning them on the front of the desk. “How are we going to manage the supply line, solve the issues that are blocking the path, and make sure Chan doesn’t go insane?”

“That’s the thing Zen. I don’t know. How about we brainstorm for a bit?” Devan said, tossing some scruffy parchment onto the table and pulling out a jar of ink and a quill.

Zen stared at the papers and the other writing materials before slowly moving his eyes back towards Devan, who was leaning back into his chair without a care in the world.

“Why are you giving this monumental task to me? Shouldn’t you help too?” Zen asked, confused and perplexed. “I’m just a newbie after all.”

“I will help out when the time comes,” Devan said with a shrug. “For now, as your senior, you are to brainstorm an idea that will save the fort, and probably your own legal skin too. If you do manage to solve the crisis, I will award you by giving the adventurer’s guild my highest recommendations about your skill and expertise as an upcoming professional adventurer.”

“But that doesn’t pass the fact that this task is huge! And I don’t think I even know how to write! I just woke up like a day ago? What are you doing man?” Zen sputtered.

“My boy Zen,” Devan said, standing up from his chair before walking around the desk and placing his hand on Zen’s shoulder. He would look a lot more self-imposing if it wasn’t the fact that he was at least half a head shorter than Zen. “I’ve seen your prowess on the battlefield, in your rush of spirit and fortitude. You will do fine, and your skill and muscle memory from your previous life is a great asset. So I do not doubt your abilities. Now let me ask you something. Can you feel pain?”

“Pain?” Zen asked. “Of course I can feel pain! All the times where you lugged me and pulled my ear? That hurt!”

Devan hummed to himself, putting a finger to lips in thought. “No, I have to make sure,” he mumbled, before he began pulling on Zen’s ear, hard.

“Ow Shit! Let go of my ear!” Zen yelled, in mild anger, practically being yanked from his seat. “Do you do this to all of your adventurers you supervise? If that’s the case you need to change your teaching style!”

Devan let go and smiled slightly. Zen rubbed his ear. He honestly had no idea what this short supervisor was thinking. “It does seem like you can indeed feel pain,” Devan said with a grin. “That is unique, and very good. Do you want to know why I did that Zen?”

“Yes I do—” Zen began to say before Devan cut him off. “Rhetorical question. The reason why I pulled on your ear so hard is to test whether you were a scholar or a soldier. You see, as a Moro, and an experienced one at that, I have gone all around the land and seen lots of truths, and lots of valuable information you see. Let me show you.”

Devan pulled out a folded parchment of paper from the nearby bookshelf and let it hang from his fingers. The map extended out to show a diagram of a pie chart, with one large segment making up nearly four fifths of the chart pointing to a bulky stick figure, while the remaining sliver of the chart pointed to a stick figure with glasses.

“This is the demographic of the Moros that mostly come from the Cowry mountains, where you came from. As you can see from this chart,” Devan said, as he pointed to the bulky figure, “About eighty percent of those who come from containment cells are usually soldiers. These people were implanted with powerful enhancements that increased muscle power, made them extremely agile, or heightened their optic abilities. The trait that is synonymous with almost all of these athletic Moros is that they cannot, I repeat, cannot feel pain. These people are specially designed super soldiers. They are essentially fearless, and most times can destroy whole armies.”

Devan moved his finger so it now pointed towards the scrawny stick figure with glasses. “This is the other twenty percent. This part of the demographic does not have any enhancements to their physical prowess, and a major trait is that they can, I repeat, can feel pain. However, most scholars seem to have underlying combat training and can read and write in most languages so your worries on whether or not you can even write is nothing to worry about. Those who are scholars usually find their own path to glory, and sometimes bring great things to the world.”

Zen wowed before holding his head with a few fingers. “So, I’m some sort of rare unique chosen being? And you trust me with my hidden skills and knowledge? Am I like some sort of chosen one?”

“Heh! Chosen one. Funny words.” Devan snorted. “No, you are not the chosen one. It’s true that you are unique in your own way and you may become victorious in some aspects, but you are not the chosen one. Every Moro has their own stories, and lots of Moros have come before you have become more famous, glorious, and supernatural than the last. So if a Moro is the chosen one, and the world is filled with Moros, does being the chosen one really mean anything? Not really. ‘The Chosen One’ is an empty title. It’s mainly used to give self-confidence, but it can also bring anxiety and overindulgence in power, so do things my way.”

Devan folded the pie chart map back up and slid it into its original slot in the bookshelf, before facing Zen again and clasping his hands together. “You may feel bad you’re not all special, but don’t feel bad about it. You aren’t destined to fight some evil boss or raise the world from some terrorist dark age. You are an adventurer. You can do things your own way. Like exploring, meeting new friends, seeing how they live, and generally seeing new things. You are free to do what you want, and I feel that’s the best part about being a nobody. A normal adventurer. Your own path, not a path that’s already set.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Wow…” Zen said in mild awe. “That… was actually a pretty good inspiring speech. I’ll try to live up to that, and thank goodness. I have a feeling that if I was ever a chosen one, I would’ve panicked at all the responsibilities! I’ll take your advice to heart.”

“Good,” Devan said, sliding back into his seat behind the desk. “Now, are you ready to form a plan? You can do this however you want. There’s a rolling chalkboard just outside the door. You can bring it in to demonstrate your plan to me.”

Zen opened the door, finding the chalkboard indeed right outside the door. How had he not seen it. He swore there was nothing out there when he first came in. Zen mentally shrugged, before rolling the chalkboard into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Alright. So.” Zen started, picking up a piece of chalk. “We have about three to four days, right?” He scribbled the amount of time on the board. “How does Jacky and Chan even communicate with each other ever since the supply lines were stalled? They had to have some way of keeping in touch.”

“That I can answer,” Devan said, holding his finger up from his chair. “Chan began using carrier pigeons about two months ago when the supplies stopped coming in. Jacky would write a short letter, attach it to the leg of the pigeon that had arrived with Chan’s letter, and send it back. It’s a pretty good alternative when the imperial post isn’t an option.”

“Great!” Zen said, scribbling a picture of two small cities with a little bird flying between them, indicated by two arrow lines. “So is there a way we can hold the bird hostage, or keep it so it can’t go back to Chan?”

“That’s not a good idea Zen,” Devan said, shaking his head. Chan’s pigeon is extremely quick, and Jacky and the pigeon had a specific rendezvous place and time. Any instance of not seeing Jacky at all, and that bird is out of here to tell Chan of the devastating news. So we have a definite three to four day time limit.”

“Wait, hold on.” Zen mused, touching his lips with the chalk stick. “How do all your soldiers send mail back home too?”

“Like I said, we use carrier pigeons.” Devan said, tapping the quill against the side of his desk. “Only some of us are rich enough to have carrier pigeons, and some of their families send pigeons to greet us occasionally. We even have a pigeon room of our own. Albeit, we only have like three available birds.”

“Ughh.. God this is tough.” Zen said, placing a hand on his forehead. “Now we know for certain Chan’s probably gonna lose it when he hears of his brother’s death. How are we gonna tone it down?”

“Well, I have some input. Chan is a royal guard, and he’s currently on leave, like a vacation. He’s currently living in Tampatown as one of the three main managers of the supply line to this fort. And Jacky’s and Chan’s family are a minor noble family that have been working very hard for glory and honor, even though they rank low in nobility social status. That’s why Chan works so hard. To bring honor to his family.”

“But if Chan and Jacky’s family are doing this for glory and honor, why did Jacky decide to guard this random ass fort, in like… the outskirts or the empire?” Zen asked.

Devan raised his eyebrow at Zen.

“Ah. Right. To bring glory to his family. Is this about the idea that protecting this fort would place the entire empire’s fate into their hands?”

“Exactly.” Devan said. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Max.”

“Ah. Keep going though, you’re doing great.”

Zen put his hands to his temples and rubbed. Until, a brilliant idea came to his head.

“I got it. I know what we’re going to do.” Zen said with excitement, with a big grin spread on his face. “How big is Tampatown, and does it have a sort of way to communicate with the masses?”

“Tampatown has a rough population of sixty thousand free citizens, excluding slaves. And yes, they have one major newspaper. One that Chan doesn’t read.”

“Nice! Chan doesn’t need to read, the news will spread on its own. Now tell me, how dangerous are these crosserfangs, including their variants? Like the hulkers, acid-fangs, and the heaters?”

“Ah. Now here’s why the soldiers and guards are so impressed with you. The crosserfangs are one tough cookie. Their hide is exceptionally strong, their stingers and mandibles exceedingly sharp, and their flesh utterly delicious. However, in open battle against regular people, they are monsters on the battlefield. Each crosserfang can wipe out whole platoons in the right circumstances, and the variants, like the ones you said before, could rank from B to A when agitated. So you killing a whole bunch of them on your own? You’re like they’re newfound idol.”

“But just a few moments ago I saw you teaching some rookies!”

“Nah, they weren’t really rookies. These guards and soldiers are actually pretty good, it’s just that teaching them the spear is a much better choice when dealing with crosserfangs.”

“Okay. But can you descriptively tell me how powerful these variants are? Are they like, mega dangerous or something?” Zen asked.

“Alright. Let me tell you a story.” Devan said, waving his hands in the air. “One time, long long ago, a group of crosserfangs for unknown reasons became incredibly agitated and three variant crosserfangs burst from the woods and charged a small settlement. They were an acid crosserfang, a heater crosserfang, and a shadow crosserfang. These beasts, utilizing the shadow crosserfang’s abilities, snuck into the town unnoticed in the dead of night, and opened fire on the town, their maws foaming with fire, acid, and piercing needles. Half of the town was slaughtered before the imperial guard could arrive, and the guards were only about a quarter mile away. But it was too late. The spiders had fled, and the town was in near ruins.”

Devan coughed, before continuing. “That town was Tampatown, about forty years ago. It’s now a thriving city, but that first attack bore scars into the people’s minds. They have grown to love the taste of crosserfang flesh, because it gives them some taste of vengeance. But also any sighting of active crosserfangs not participating in a migration is seen as an imminent threat.”

Zen whistled. “That… is insane. I feel really bad for those innocent people. And what was that about… A shadow crosserfang? Are they like thieves or rogues or something?”

“Something like that,” Devan answered, nodding. “They use their pitch black camouflage to blend in with shadows and also use a masking fog to support other crosserfangs. Pain in the ass, because they’re so hard to spot.”

“And why do crosserfangs become agitated anyways?” Zen wondered.

“Crosserfangs are only agitated if someone attacks their nest, which never happens for any sane person, or a crosserfang queen has become active. And it’s most likely the latter. A queen awakening is horrible news. So news of agitated crosserfangs would probably cause a mass panic.” Devan stretched, popping a few bones.

“So, how can we tell whether a crosserfang is agitated?” Zen asked.

“Oh you’ll know.” Devan said with a solemn stare. “Agitated crosserfangs usually froth at the mouth and have glowing eyes. So that acid crosserfang you killed? That one was agitated. Another point to your future as a hero.”

“But that’s the thing Devan,” Zen responded. “I don’t want to be the hero. Instead, let’s make Jacky the hero of the story. We can replace the story of me killing a lot of crosserfangs and even some agitated ones with Jacky. That way, his story of killing all of those horrible monsters will gain honor and glory for his family, and Chan would probably want to avenge his brother’s death. We can use the carrier pigeons and send them to the Tampatown’s newspaper with stories of the major battle and how Jacky definitely killed like… I don’t know… five agitated crosserfangs? It may be a stretch, but we can use the other guards to back us up. The fate of the empire and these soldier’s jobs are dangling by this plan. We need to make sure it works.”

“Ah! So a propaganda plan! I like it!” Devan said, giving Zen a thumbs up. “No doubt, if we manage to mold this perfectly, it could actually work. Jacky would probably be nominated as a hero, for killing multiple high ranked monsters. It’s a good plan. Are you ready to discuss the plan with the rest of the partying guards and probably break their spirit?”

“Er… that’s a stretch on how to spread the news, but there’s no other way is there?” Zen mused to himself. “I have one final question before we leave to break the news. How come when I shot like countless arrows at the acid sacks they barely made a dent, but when I shot the iklwa spear from the short bow I picked up it went through easily?”

“Oh, that was a gifted spear.” Devan said, standing up from behind his desk and making his way to the door. “Chan gave Jacky that spear, and it pierced so easily because that spear head was made of adamantium. That alloy is extremely light and strong, and some say it’s acid resistant. So it could totally pierce an acid sac.”

“If that spear is made of adamantium and it’s acid resistant, couldn’t we go back to the battle site and see if the spear is still intact? It’d be an extra memento ornament to give to Chan.” Zen asked Devan.

“I only said that it might be acid resistant.” Devan responded, who had already walked out the door and into the hall. “Now come on. Time’s a wastin.”

Zen walked out the door of the office and took a good long look at the chalkboard he had written on, scribbled with a whole mess of designs, drawings, and diagrams. Zen turned back to Devan, nodded, and closed the door, getting ready to enter the mess hall and turn the once joyful mood into a far more terrible one.