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—got 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—the 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—the 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.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"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—the latter under my daughter's supervision—and 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?"

----------------------------------------

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–"

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—servant-nobles specializing in fields such as butlering, bureaucracy, and accounting—and 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?

----------------------------------------

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'—as he put it—doesn'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—hopefully genuine in his eyes—and 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—A 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."

----------------------------------------

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—fire, 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– 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– he– he– 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.