Maximilian saw one of the lower-level Earthlings, barely at level fifteen, being torn apart by the huge two-handed sword of one of the Ahalis in the front row.

His name was Andrew. Andrew Capicchioni, from Chicago. He remembered him well because he had a strange surname, and he had taken the piss out of him many times, and now he couldn't even feel sad about his death.

Anthony and Lucas were the ones who had made friends with him the most. All three of them had spent the evenings together, laughing behind a house or training.

And now, those two idiots were screaming, after witnessing the end of their companion. They went on a rampage, broke the formation they had been placed in by Tukker, and were eviscerated over the next fifteen seconds.

Maximilian waited for their death to touch him in some way, to awaken him from the torpor that had hit him. But the more he looked at the blood on the ground, the less his presence on the battlefield made sense. Someone else, in his place, would have lost his control in the face of so much suffering and pain for a loss. But he had been in more pain than that - and he had caused much stronger pain, too.

If there was a motivation capable of moving him, Maximilian was not sure that he could find it in the outside world, nor did he have the strength to look for it in his heart, in his memories: only there were the people who had been able to change him deeply.

Instead, he was only witnessing the umpteenth massacre. Someone else would have wondered what could be more dramatic and touching than this, someone who had never experienced the vision of death.

Maximilian couldn't say the same. He had been death, he carried it inside every day - and he had lost all knowledge of what it meant to live.

Still, the curse he had been condemned to was the only solution to the conflict between Vanedenis and Ahalis. The Londoner knew perfectly well that his presence in Kome had damaged, someway at least, the Harbingers' ritual. Too much magical energy had been spent transporting him to that world, equal to what it would take to transport thousands more - people to train and sacrifice in combat.

The Earthlings arrived in Ankon, on the other hand, were few and most of them had not reached a level high enough to be able to fight against the Ahalis. Andrew's, Anthony's and Lucas's death had just proved it.

How many others would die?

Maximilian's eyes were attracted by the fluid movement of a spear. One of the Ahalis had tried to skewer Todd from behind. The Texan dematerialized, only to reappear behind his assailant and hit him. He was fighting with bestial ferocity; he was scarier than his huge enemies. He looked just as strong as the soldiers with much more advanced training and much more experience.

But his opponent had managed to scratch his shoulder with his pointed spear. Maximilian could have healed that wound in a matter of seconds and avoid him from slowing down of due to pain, and any possible infection. But the question was: was it worth it? Why should he help the Earthlings, when he felt nothing, when death was the only rest he aspired to, after so many years?

…

"Max, tell me what the big plan is."

"So, don't think I'm crazy, Rob."

Maximilian and Robert were outside their college; the latter looked at the former with superb amazement. How he could think of a woman for six months nonstop and study with such concentration as to know more than the doctors who had questioned them, only God knew. During the Internal Medicine exam he had requested that he be asked more questions and had threatened to keep talking nonstop until he was given the laude he deserved.

“I send her updates on my life, like a mini-podcast lasting a few minutes, every day. I saw that she listens to them, or at least presses play on the messages. Something will change sooner or later, right?"

“So, let's recap. She doesn't give a shit about you. You send her audios because...?"

“Because it shows her how much I care for her. I think she doesn't trust relationships very much. It's all a matter of understanding each other."

“Ok, Lancelot. So, for three months now you've been texting her to make her feel your presence - and come on, don't look at me like that - but she replies a couple of times a week, without telling you to fuck off, but with perfectly normal 'how are you' kinda shit, and then she doesn't answer you anymore. What a mess she is, too. Max, I am moved by the idea that perhaps at the psychiatry exam you should have asked to do a thesis with the professor. Not as a trainee, however: as a patient."

"Come on, Rob, don't be an idiot, please. This is serious."

“Very serious, Max. So serious that if Paola calls the police for stalking she'll not only have evidence, but also a witness”, Robert said, pointing to himself.

“Listen, Rob, I told you it's not just a crush. Paola made me feel great."

“For twenty-four hours. Sixteen, if we want to be precise, then”, Robert knew him very well. He was seldom a reckless boy, usually very prudent, but not one of those unbearable-and-strict-to-exhaustion types. What had gotten into his mind after meeting that girl on a dating app was absurd to say the least. At the moment, Robert had been tempted to have his blood tested for possible narcotics: it was not to be excluded that that girl had something bad on her mind, considering the unexpected effects she had on his friend.

"Rob, again: if I'm wrong, I won't make you pay for a dinner in your life anymore."

“Bro, I'll get diabetes from all that eating out, then. Let's go, the tube in July, sweaty and full of immigrants and gypsies, awaits us. Maybe that'll make you forget Paola. This time they'll mug us and take everything, even your romantic film love ."

In those excited months, Maximilian had tried to explain several times what he felt to his dear friend, his only true friend. There was something about Paola that had made him feel alive for the first time, that had put wings on his feet.

The months that Maximilian had spent sending empty messages had been one of the darkest periods in his life. He had understood more and more that he was not a person, but a half-full container, who could never have real emotions, if not catalysed by someone else.

…

Mummer seemed to be doing pretty well. With Matthew at his side acting as a tank for the biggest and most dangerous enemies, the old man thrashed right and left with Warbreaker, the legendary axe he had extracted from the centre of an Ankon street. It had been quite a surprise to discover that the artifact came from Eudokia's own loot, just like Strith's sword.

Matthew activated two abilities capable of attracting the blows that should have ended up on Mummer. Thanks to the armour that Neri had produced for him and the Enchantments that Maximilian had put on it, the Californian had managed to survive the equivalent on Earth of a rifle magazine to the chest.

If Matthew had had a more balanced shield, perhaps he would have been even faster. He moved well on his feet and danced around large enemies, having already knocked some of them to the ground.

Unfortunately for the two of them, they were still facing normal units, while the elite warriors stood on the side-lines behind the ranks, watching in amazement as Ankon's best warriors gave their soldiers a hard time. However, none of them was above level 30, the line between newbies and veterans, the same distance between heaven and earth for some.

…

Maximilian was in business class, reading article after article on his laptop and taking notes on his iPad.

He saw the Skype video call appear on his tablet just as he was about to type something.

Paola.

“Hi honey, sorry I didn't come home, I had to take the first flight to the conference. Habermann stirred up a lot of bullshit about my latest research and I had to call them to get on tomorrow's panel; this bastard is trying to ruin me. He's afraid that I can overcome him—"

"Maximilian."

"Yes?"

"Maximilian Clarke, it's our anniversary."

“Honey, Habermann—”

"Maximilian, you hopped on a plane without saying anything to me, on our anniversary, after promising me that, for once, you would not have thought about that idiot and would have given attention to me."

“My love, I know. But you see, if this time I can prove that this poser has changed the significance levels of his latest articles for fear that I would surpass him in citations —"

Maximilian saw the Skype call cut off abruptly and stared at the screen with Paola's photo for a few moments.

The scene froze in front of present-time Maximilian.

There had been a long time in his life, since he started college until his fifties, when he had been so competitive that he thought of nothing but work, or his own personal success. And it was not something that Maximilian had done on purpose, nor was it an impossible chain to break. It was like driving straight on in the dark, without any the five senses, in total emptiness. It was easy to realise, impossible to break the curse.

Those were the most fearsome strains: inertia, a consummate sloth in doing, in wandering towards the right thing and missing it again and again until one's life is extinguished, feeble. And only then, you do realize how much time has been wasted thinking about the wrong things. Or, when you lose something more important than life itself...

He had put everything aside, even the woman who, finally, after suffering so much, had agreed to be with him.

After struggling like Hercules to get Paola out of the shell of ice and stone in which she had locked herself up, Maximilian had abandoned her.

…

“You are a pathetic human, Maximilian. You promised to show me something amazing, right? If this is what you meant to show me, I can only confirm my suspicions about your race of worms."

Eudokia was talking to him as he watched the battlefield without lifting a finger. The calls for help from Themistocles and Mummer had also reached Maximilian’s ears, with no result. They had been thrown into the fray in the worst possible way and needed his help. The strongest warriors had finally come into play and Strith, who had performed a deadly dance and cut through endless flesh, had finally been stopped.

Three warriors above level 35 were attacking her relentlessly. They had been five, but she had relied on the superiority of her artifacts to kill two before they could understand what was going on: they had tried to stab her, she had let them and then, when they hadn't even scratched her armour, first she had beheaded one, then, grabbing the other, she had stabbed him to death a dozen times before dropping him lifeless to the ground.

What a strange sight. An ant had killed two elephants.

“You promised, Maximilian. And you broke your promise. When this battle is over, we will finish what I started when you disturbed my rest."

The Londoner reflected and concluded that there were worse ways to die. Being roasted alive wouldn't have been so bad.

He turned to Eudokia, who was probably trying to figure out what was going on in his head. He would have been happy to give her an answer, if he had had one.

How many times he had wondered why the emotions had been totally ripped from his soul, why it was so difficult to wear a human mask since Paola was no longer with him.

He had done unspeakable things when he hadn't spent his life alongside the only woman who could transform the monster he was into a real human, capable of feeling.

And what was there to live now? What could he really experience about this world that, in another way, he had not experienced in the previous one? What experiences would fill a chasm larger than the huge gorge that divided the north and south of Kome?

The only person he had ever loved wasn't here.

He saw the strongest warriors among the Ahali take Strith and finally be able to knock her down, disarm her and tie her with ropes that looked like… no, they were dragon sinews, usually used by [Dragonslayers] to capture their gargantuan enemies.

Strith's armour and sword were powerful, but they were still tools. It was a shame that the girl was not of a very high level or of great weight. If he had judged right, Strith would soon acquire an ability that could artificially overcome the weight of her enemies, provided she didn't die in the fight.

Damn, had he added an Enchantment for gravity? Or not? No, he had added it, but he hadn't explained her that it could be used specifically in combat against people much larger than her.

Having a perfect memory didn't mean that you could remember everything at all times. The Londoner had explained it to Eudokia, also explaining to her what a RAM memory was: it didn't matter how many things his head could contain, if he was able to process only a small part of them at a time; this small part, of course, was infinitely larger than the normal capacity of any other living human or creature.

Uhm?

Maximilian perceived the Enchantment on the door of his tower being deactivated from the inside. There were a couple of huge enchanted windows from which civilians would be able to watch the battle progress. That hadn't been a good idea either, it seemed. Now, the Ahalis didn't even need to wait for the eventual intervention of the Harbingers; they would have exterminated the Vanedenis until the last one.

…

Maximilian was in his office, intent on scrutinizing the latest clinical trials he had conducted. There was no doubt that this time he would humiliate Habermann. Not only had he replicated two of his trials without any match with his opponent's words, documenting it all with a Hollywood-like crew, but he had also made a series of discoveries and hypotheses that would have earned him tens of thousands of citations. He was on the verge of changing the world of orthopaedics forever.

He saw Paola's video call on the tablet and answered, sure that nothing could put him in a bad mood.

"Maximilian, did you send the invitations for Penny's birthday?"

"Ah? Sorry, honey, but I forgot. I'm sending them now, my assistant should have them. Remind me of the date and I will have them shipped immediately with priority. In fact, I’ll have them delivered one by one by hand. I'll call the slaves, the trainees, to do it."

Maximilian immediately took hold of his smartphone, ready to show his wife what a good husband he had become. Unfortunately, he didn't even have time to dial his assistant's number. On the other side of the video call, her daughter Penelope peeped in with a birthday hat on her head, a big pink nine written on it.

"Do not get home."

Paola closed the call in his face.

Maximilian stretched out in his chair, trying to grasp what had just happened. It hadn't been something about his wife, but that angel of his daughter.

He had been able to forget his daughter's birthday.

He had been able to not give Penelope a birthday party. He had forgotten to distribute the invitations and had allowed her daughter to have nothing but a cake to eat all by herself.

Maximilian looked inside himself again, wondering when all this had begun. He already knew the answer, which he had searched millions and millions of times, but he still went to look where he had begun to lose his mind.

Then, one day, his spiral of apathy would lead him to that fateful day, the birthday of his daughter, who would forever hate him.

No matter how hard he tried, Penelope hadn't forgiven him, not even after Paola's death. How much his little girl had suffered. He was the one who had made her cry so many times.

Penelope's ninth birthday had been the dividing line between love and hate. That day marked the beginning of his divorce and the second darkest period of his life, the day he realized that happiness was not to be taken for granted.

…

"Max, why aren't you sleeping?"

“Sorry, honey. I'm thinking about the numbers from the latest surgical trial. There is something wrong. The bone should have healed much faster. I don't understand if I did something wrong, if the pharmaceutical company took the piss out of me for the pre- and post-operation or if maybe it is due to interindividual genetic variation."

A young Maximilian was thinking aloud. Talking to Paola, even when he knew she understood half of the things he said, reassured him. They had gone to live together a month before, a week after his twenty-sixth birthday. He really couldn't have asked for a better gift.

“It's three in the morning, Max. Don't you think it would be better to rest?"

"Well, my eyes are closed."

Paola laughed and punched him on the shoulder.

This was one of the first moments in which Maximilian had begun to demonstrate his madness, the incredible need for victory even when he was at that woman's side.

Competitiveness was something deeply rooted that he had to take out as the most insidious of parasitic weeds later in his life. And it had taken him years to do it.

“Max, try to get some sleep. We also have to go talk to the gas company tomorrow, the last bill was incorrect. I think they missed something in the last reading. And their office opens at half-past seven. We have to go together, since the power bill must be checked, too, and someone had the brilliant idea of putting different names on them.”

“Well, woman, cohabitation. We divide all the responsibilities in two.”

“I would like to help you worry less about work, then. Will you give me half of your thoughts?" Paola approached him, who was resting on his back and put her arm around him.

“Sleep, Max, you need it. Please."

"All right, honey. I'll try."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek before slowly slipping into a deep sleep.

After kissing her, Maximilian kept thinking until it was time to go to work.

That was one of the first lies he had told her so as not to worry her. In hindsight, he realized how much harm he had done first to himself and then to Paola and Penelope. Hiding his discomfort from her, the fact that he often couldn't think of anything else but work, that he couldn't stop.

If he had instead told her everything, perhaps Paola would have helped him. Indeed, Paola would surely have pulled him out of the pit of putrid tar in which he had gotten stuck.

His first life had been so incredible. He had never been able to stop for a moment. Although Paola had given him all the humanity he needed, it was as if he were a dynamo, unable to stop and not generate more energy, without dying at least.

...

“Don't you feel even a little ashamed? Can't think of what this all means? Nothing burns in you, nothing at all? Don't you feel the need to lead, to be the best when you know you can be, to sacrifice whatever pain you carry with you to be the guide everyone needs?"

Eudokia was continuing her tirade, but it was not very successful.

There wasn't much she could say that would move him. There was nothing that interested him at the moment more than his own memories. Not even the death of the companions he had met a month earlier. Neri came out of the black tower, now conquered by the Ahalis.

He charged the enemies with strength and determination, but his eyes were red and tears were running down his cheeks. It didn't take long for a rabbitmonkey to shoot a [Fireball] right through his chest. The conflagration opened his ribcage in half, killing him instantly.

Matthew ran to him, lifted him up, smeared his armour with blood.

Maximilian, Maximilian, help him, the Californian was saying, dull screams that found a resistant wall in front of the ears of the [Necromancer].

The Vanedenis were dying like flies in front of Maximilian's dull gaze.

Tukker and Lucier continued to move ferociously on the battlefield. They claimed victims one after another, but were soon surrounded by other enemy units.

Lucier didn't even stop when a spear struck him in the side. He killed the Ahali who had stabbed him and continued his murderous intent. It was truly amazing how these people could really fight until the last second.

In another battle, any other army would have already run for it. The Vanedenis of Ankon, on the other hand, were losing their lives at a very high price; this was one of the main reasons why the Ahalis had never wanted to push their enemies against the extreme wall of extinction, content to let them rot in the arid south of the richest continent of all.

It was then, that one of the Ahalis lifted Lucier off the ground with both arms while one of his companions pierced his chest with a second spear. But not even at that moment the Vanedeni was willing to kick the bucket: he grabbed the spear that had hit him in the back and was out of his chest and pushed it, with the last motion of his life, into the neck of the enemy in front of him, leaving him to bleed to death on the ground.

Bollocks, they were really something to behold.

"Tukker, watch out!" Themistocles' voice boomed across the battlefield.

The Athenian threw himself in front of the [Captain], who was about to receive a magic dart straight into the stomach. He threw his spear at the Ahali woman's face and killed her.

Themistocles wore a very light leather and hide outfit, enchanted by none other than Ankon's most famous [Necromancer]. It was light, but strong enough, made of dragon skin and intestines.

The Greek pulled another spear from his duffer bag, quickly killing the one who had stolen Lucier's life. He put his back against Tukker's for a moment, exchanging a few words with the man.

What they were saying, Maximilian did not bother to understand.

Not even them, the people who trusted him, were important to him? Didn't he care about saving their life?

What was wrong with him, what could make him so apathetic? It was then that the same elite warriors who had survived Strith's fury and who had just disarmed Mummer, leaving him in a pool of blood without his weapon, close to death, found the last Vanedeni resistance.

Once the two minds and two hearts of the conflict were eliminated, even their people would fall. The [Captain] and the [Commander] had to be slaughtered.

Todd kept disappearing and reappearing from the shadows, faster and faster, angrier and angrier. He led the last warriors, Matthew and Anna, closely followed by Valeria who cried, cursed and healed all three of them with the last drops of mana she had left.

Todd slashed at two of the elite warriors with inhuman ferocity, snapping their sinews in their legs with a malignant air.

Had he levelled up?

Had the idiot taken and used one of his abilities, [Cave of the Void], a dimensional space in which he was able to hide for short periods of time, to level up in the interludes of battle? Or maybe he had escaped and then returned? Or maybe, again, had he simply passed out?

In a battle this was called...

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Counter-Levelling

Todd struck another blow, breaking the encirclement around Themistocles and Tukker, allowing Matthew, screaming, with red eyes and a murderous fury never seen before in the so mild Californian, to throw a punch with his glove of very hard steel to the face of the enemy in front of him.

Had Matthew just gouged out the face of a monster with the build of a gorilla? Now, this was interesting...

A sudden heat crossed the Londoner's body, which reactivated the ability that allowed him to spy on the levels of those in front of him. The only limitation was that he could not see the levels higher than his own and those protected by the Enchantments. But imagine if there was someone stronger than hi-

[Paladin of Lost Causes - Level 38]? What...?! At dawn that morning Matthew had not even been at level 30!

Maximilian moved his eyes to Valeria and noticed that the girl had a golden aura around her.

[The Calm of a Flower in the Midst of Battle]

He then looked at her class.

[Cleric of Marigolds - Level 41]

Ah?

What did Valeria have to do with the noble family of the Marigolds? But then, weren't they in Brig? Maximilian tightly clenched his fists. He felt a rush of blood run through his veins. With the other hand he took the cloak and almost began to bite it. Valeria had levelled so much for her main role.

At the moment, her contribution was allowing people on her side to level up freely even without having to stop and rest. Plus, her abilities continued to heal wounds that should have been fatal - and her aura could do that too! Maximilian almost tore his hair out of excitement.

But...

Matthew was stopped by what appeared to be the commander of the Ahalis, a beastly creature that had to be at least two meters thirty centimetres tall. In his hands he held Warbreaker, the huge axe that had been wielded by Mummer until recently.

The blow hit Matthew's shield, the one that had been lovingly forged by Neri. It would not have withstood the blow. Matthew was doomed too.

Dong

The shield had parried the deadly blade.

How could it be possible?

With the help of some skill, Maximilian studied the big monkey’s weapons and... blood. They were covered in Neri's blood!

Maximilian would also have betted his fantastic black cloak on the fact that there must have been some magical reaction. Spirituality in this world was something incredible. Levels and skills were only a small part of the whole. There was knowledge and there was also a kind of esoteric faith. A promise and a dream had more strength than an Earthling would ever have understood in his past life. Here, at least.

Maximilian's blurred vision cleared.

Half of the Earthlings had fallen. And he realized it only in that moment.

Neri, Lucas, Andrew, Anthony… he had seen them die but only now was he beginning to process what had happened.

Camilla was missing, too.

He scanned the battlefield and found her body, headless, trampled to the ground and already unrecognisable.

He hated her the way you hate a mosquito that buzzes around you while you're trying to fall asleep, but even her death didn't shake him.

Not even seeing Tukker's weapons snap against those of his enemies shook him.

The great [Captain] of the Vanedenis of Ankon, a simple and composed man, big in heart but small in stature, impeccable father and husband, was cut in two from groin to shoulder.

He took a few steps with wide eyes and stretched out a hand. Not towards his friends, but towards the enemies from whom he wanted to save his family.

Thus fell Tukker, [Stormbreaker Captain] of the Vanedenis.

…

Maximilian looked at his hands, stained and wrinkled by old age. He feared what he would see right now. It was not he who had decided to see that moment in his life, it was some part of his subconscious that wanted it, something he feared from the depths, a recess in his memory, a memory that he had betrayed so many times, that he had not respected, which caused him deep feelings of self-hatred.

"Max? I told you I don't want you to come here so early in the morning."

He raised his eyes to Paola. She was old. Only a faint yellowish hue remained of her golden hair.

"What? Sorry, honey, I can't hear well.”

The Londoner smiled one of his mischievous smiles. Even at his age he would not have changed. It had taken so long to become the person Paola had loved. So much to get her back after she left him.

They had spent together the best ten years of their entire lives, albeit in their old age.

"Max, don't do—"

Paola leaned forward on the bed in a fit of coughing, immediately making the smile disappear on the face of the man who had slept in the next room, hiding from his wife who would have had a heart attack if she had known. In his old age, Maximilian had become frail, not as sharp as he used to be. But this didn't matter. He had spent so much money bribing nurses in order to sleep in the facility, and he had hired two bodyguards with one of the bank accounts he'd kept hidden even from the woman in his life.

He would be by her side until the end, until the last fucking second.

Cancer was eating her lungs and not even the most advanced techniques of transplantation and chemotherapy could save her. For all the leaps forward that medicine had made, they were both too old. If they put her under, there would be only a minimal chance of survival.

For a moment, Maximilian thought he had to invent the elixir of eternal youth.

“Max, look at me. No worries, ok? "

The woman, recovered from the fit of a cough, took his face, which Maximilian held extremely close to hers, in her hands.

"Honey, thing is I -"

Maximilian felt his eyes fill with tears.

“I told you it's enough for me if you come and see me for a couple of hours a day. You don't need to stay here all the time, please. And don't even think about studying. You retired. You promised it. I don't want treatment, I don't want anything. I want to see my beautiful husband here with me to keep me some company. If you could also get along with Penny, it would be even better. When I go, just promise me —"

Paola had to make an effort not to cough again. It took almost a minute and then a glass of water gently brought to her by her husband, before she could resume.

"Promise me you'll try to make peace with Penny."

"Honey, it's not my fault your daughter is a bitch like you," he smiled at her, squeezing her hands.

"Come close to me, because I can't see you well."

Maximilian immediately took a step back.

“Last time you slapped me, no thanks. The older you get, the more bitchy you get, bollocks."

Paola laughed and shook her head. If there was anything she was happy about were these last few years. She had never thought it possible that a person could transform as her husband did.

"Will you at least promise me that you won't start studying how to bring me back to life when I take my leave?"

“Don't worry, honey, I'm not as competitive as I used to be. Nor a necromancer. Better still, I'm not a competitive necromancer."

“Thank God." Paola closed her eyes and murmured a prayer. “I had never heard you promise it, yet."

"Honey, you're really only thinking about promises today, bollocks?"

The woman's eyes went cold for a few moments as she stared hard at him. In a moment, Maximilian saw the Paola he had met, the one who had made him suffer like a beaten dog before giving him a real chance.

"Okay, okay! Repeat those promises to me now, my God."

“That you will not return to what you were before the divorce. That you will make peace, or at least you will do everything to try to make it, with Penny."

"I promise."

Maximilian gave her a kiss on the forehead with his now wrinkled lips, still a little fearful of a slap, however weak.

“Another thing, Max. Do you remember when you first told me about your problems after the divorce? "

"Of course. You only remind me every three milliseconds, love of my life and woman of my heart."

“Promise, Max. Promise that you will never feel like that again, that you will take care of people, that you will never feel life flowing past your hands again while you feel like an empty vase."

"I don't think I have control over my neurological and possibly psychiatric faculties."

"Max."

“Oi, alright. Listen, you cop of promises, I promise you that I will no longer feel empty, that I will take care of people and whatever you want."

“That you will be happy even without me, Max. Promise."

"That I will be happy even without you."

At that point, he took out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, since that woman was so obstinate in wanting to see him cry at all costs. He wiped his eyes for at least thirty seconds. His tear glands also seemed to have burst after so many years of not crying.

Lowering the handkerchief, he found Paola with her eyes closed, with an expression of peace on her face.

"Oi, sleeping beauty."

He touched her wrist, only to find her skin cold and stiff.

"Paola? Paola? Honey? PAOLA?!"

Maximilian screamed at the top of his voice, with all the strength he had, he asked for someone to help her. Still, the woman's instructions had been very clear. No resuscitation. She wanted to leave in peace.

…

The two mountains that were her bodyguards cleared the room from the doctors and left him alone with her.

The man closed his eyes with unprecedented force, hoping that, when the tears had cleared away, they would find in front of him the woman he had always loved, who had given him a place in the world, who had healed him from a nameless disease and who had made him a human being.

The amount of pain he felt on him could not be quantified. He felt surrounded by pain, immersed in pain, he felt the pain coursing through his veins and filling every cavity inside his body.

And the worst thing was that even now, with his wife's corpse not even underground, he felt the grip of something around his heart, of the old monster that had held him for so long. The glacial grip that had muffled his emotions, made the world always opaque before meeting Paola and, unfortunately, even when he had been with her, was returning to the surface.

He felt that the only thing left to do was see if magic really existed, if it was possible to get his youth back, bring Paola back to life and live forever with her.

While planning how to create the impossible, go against all reason and rationality, he took a couple of steps to the window and opened it.

Fortunately, they were on the tenth floor of a well-known private clinic. It was practically a royal suite.

He could have frozen the body to ensure maximum preservation. He would immediately call one of those cryogenic services and order a capsule sent by plane to that same hospital, without caring about the cost.

Life as a doctor at his level had left him more than rich, with enough funds for the biggest extravagances.

He began to calculate the possible decomposition which he would have to face, then to think about where the more obscure esoteric artifacts might be found. Maybe the Vatican? He had contacts that would get him there without any problems.

Yes, he would do that. That was the moment when he had begun not to respect the promise he had made to Paola.

Maximilian looked at the bucolic panorama that the clinic window offered. He smiled. He jumped.

If there was one thing he could do not to betray the word he had given his wife, it was this.

…

Did he really need to be a hero?

The Londoner watched the last group of Vanedenis being routed.

There was something greater than anything that would ever exist, a promise that he had made and that only now, perhaps, he could keep.

Those people needed a hero, they needed a Maximilian who had only existed alongside the woman he had loved so much as to make him human.

If there was a reason why he would fight, lead and become what everyone needed, that reason was Paola.

He saw Themistocles stumble and fall to the ground as the enemy commander raised Mummer's axe over him.

His motivation was Paola and the promise he had made her: the possibility of finding true happiness, caring for people and reaching true humanity. And these possibilities were all there, in front of him. If there really was a place where he could become what Paola had always wanted for him, it was this one. Maximilian rolled his eyes as he adjusted his cloak over his shoulders.

“That I will be happy even without you, I promise. Besides, I'm not a competitive [Necromancer]. And this time, I mean it.”

…

Themistocles held the wound on the side of his chest; it would have made him bleed to death had he not been about to die due the same axe that had killed Tukker.

The Greek closed his eyes, cursing the gods for giving him such a cursed fate even on this earth. And just so, gone was his chance to redeem himself.

He had had only one extra chance, only one. He didn't think they would give him a third.

This was yet another victory for his enemies. Aristides, Artaxerxes, the Spartans.

He imagined their laughter mocking him when, for the second time, he fell from a position of prestige into a puddle of misery. In Hades they would mock him forever, and his ineptitude.

They had exiled him first, then poisoned him. There hadn't been a world that could hold his presence, a person that could understand him. And even when he had deluded himself that he had found someone who could, he had been deceived by the most malevolent deities.

Only now did he blame himself for having placed the weight of his ambition on Maximilian's shoulders. Perhaps it was really his fault that the Londoner had lost his mind and, even in the face of his companions who begged him, had remained almost catatonic.

Joking with gods was something he shouldn't have done, provoking a divine lineage and its fruit even less. If he had still been surrounded by the most famous poets of his generation, he would surely have been the subject of a new tragedy, one of the cruellest.

He had not taken his own life with honour like the noble Ajax, nor had he been deceived by a wicked fate like Oedipus. No, Themistocles had been disgraced by none other than Themistocles.

This mistake, he would always have it tattooed on his chest. If he ever survived, he would first teach future soldiers in training not to rely too much on a single person, because no one can turn the tide of a conflict alone.

Once again, probably in the throes of an anaemic delirium, he felt the mocking laughter of his enemies fill his ears.

He opened his eyes.

The laugh he had heard was not a figment of his imagination, but true, vivid, real. And it was Maximilian's.

His pitch-black cloak fluttered in the breeze of battle, creating a figure larger than the real one, like a god holding out his hand to his faithful devotee who has been making libations for him every day.

That image deserved to be remembered by posterity for an indefinite time, alongside the tales of Kings and Heroes.

Whether Maximilian were one or the other, Themistocles still didn't know. What he knew was that a white, enamelled arm, not of weak flesh but of pure bone, blocked the axe raised above the head of the enemy commander.

"Oi, bollocks, sorry if I'm late," laughed the Londoner.

Themistocles really saw regret in his eyes. Maximilian knew that there would be a reckoning with Vanedenis and Earthlings later, but now...

Now was the time for Heroes.

“Drop your weapons and I'll spare you the slaughter, idiots. Subdued or dead, choose."

The enemy commander had barely heard the man's words.

The axe he wielded was a priceless artifact, one of his enemies' legendary weapons. And if he had managed to disarm the warrior who had used it against his men it had been only due to sheer numerical superiority. If he had faced him in a single duel, with such a weapon in the hands of the enemy, he would have been torn to pieces without a doubt.

Yet a gnat, infinitely shorter than him, held the blade tightly in an unnaturally white hand, which looked like — no, it was really made of bone.

He tried to dislocate it from his hand and pull it back. But Maximilian tightened his grip on the edge. It didn't matter that there were several tons of muscle pulling, a two meters and thirty gorilla-like body, that their ancient masters had created them to be the most physically powerful humanoid creatures in the world.

The man with the bone arm was there, with a smile on his face.

"Cunt, are you throwing these weapons on the ground or not?"

"Vanedeni, your lineage remains as arrogant as ever."

The enemy commander wasted no time and kicked the newcomer. He didn't know what trick he had used to stop a slash that would have mortally wounded a small dragon, but it didn't matter.

His legs contained a force impossible for a mere human to quantify. Even their best warrior had been put on the defensive when the commander had begun to fight with his whole body, not just his weapon.

Maximilian raised his other hand to block the kick. The gesture almost made the Ahali smile. But when he felt the hand of flesh grab his foot and squeeze, the rabbit-monkey commander shrieked in pain. Not only had his kick been blocked, but the grip had shattered several bones.

"My class can also be used to break 'em bones, cunt."

"Soldiers, finish them all!" growled the commander.

He didn't know who his enemy was, how he could be so strong, and what his intentions were, but none of that mattered. The people of this pathetic village had almost been exterminated, it was not long before the conflict would be over. Most of the enemy soldiers were bleeding on the ground: there was nothing left but to finish them.

"Really, cunt?"

The Londoner released axe and foot and snapped his fingers, a decidedly unfamiliar gesture for the Ahalis, who had never had anything to do with the [Necromancer]'s melodramatic nature. “If you really want to fight, then fight against the dead. The time to waste the lives of my future subjects is over. There are countless lives to be restored - of humans, Ahalis and dragons,

Knights and Heroes – crashing into what terrifies the world,

to become the nightmare they fought against,

dragging the noble creatures into the lowest ground, sinking."

[Enhanced: Undead Revive, Higher Rank, Increased Rank - Skeletal Form, Nightmare Form, Infernal Form, Knightly Form, Dragon Form]

The ground shook under the feet of all who could still walk. A miasma spread through the air, making breathing a more difficult task than it ever should have been.

The Ahali Commander did one thing that went against the military and behavioural training he had received: he turned his furry, rough face to the side, toward a crater that was opening to the ground.

“Cunt, what did you think, that I only fought with my hands? Sure, that's my specialty, but in my spare time I'm also a [Necromancer]. Not too competitive, though, mind you."

A huge skeleton, at least two meters tall, climbed out of the crater, while the bodies of all the warriors were absorbed by the ground in which other craters later opened.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked the frightened commander.

The newly summoned undead were not the ones the Ahalis had fought in the past. They weren't normal zombies, stupid skeletons, or minor abominations. They weren't even Death Knights or Putrefied Nobles, the first true threats capable of controlling large numbers of lesser undead.

No, those were monsters the Ahalis commander would not be comfortable fighting, not even alongside a real [Dragonslayer]. They were a child's most terrifying nightmares, which only a perverse person could have awakened.

Their bones were not white, but pitch black and full of sharp points. And their eyes were not made of the simple whitish light that characterized most of the undead, but of flames that travelled from the skull to the thick ribcage.

They were covered with an unidentifiable metal, a real armour, black as the darkest of nights, which mixed with the natural colour of their bones.

The skulls were not those of mere humans or elongated like those of the Ahalis, but they were powerful, frightening and had razor-sharp fangs. Those were dragon skulls.

An aura of pure terror emerged from the ground along with those monstrosities and surrounded the Ahalis.

The commander of the Ahalis felt a gut feeling, which came directly from his experience: those enemies were on his level.

He could have smashed one, or maybe two, with any luck. Four or five with the legendary axe in his hands; yet, even with that weapon he could not have hoped to defeat the dozens and dozens of monsters that [Necromancer] had just summoned.

It was then that he looked closely at the [Necromancer], who had put himself in a strange position, like a boxer.

He shifted the weight of his body onto his good foot, ignoring the excruciating pangs caused by the other, and prepared to get rid of the man as soon as possible. Once killed, there was a fairly high chance that the summoned creatures would either lose the mana needed to sustain themselves or lose most of their intelligence.

The Ahali would not have been impressed by some beast made of bones. Although he had not yet reached levels beyond forty, he had faced enemies stronger than him and triumphed. He had no doubts that he would also come out victorious from that bat—

His head hit the ground.

He blinked and saw the sky. His ears were ringing and he could feel the mud, blood-smeared earth, behind his back.

He felt something crawl around his limbs and suddenly found himself glued to the ground. Not even his mighty size could do anything.

…

“Well, bollocks, got one. Oi, don't die on me, though."

Maximilian turned to Themistocles and the others. Tukker was gone by now, along with many other warriors, but all the people who had even the last breath in their throats, the man decided, would not die.

[Enhanced: Coagulation]

[Enhanced: Flesh Sculpture]

[Enhanced: Regeneration]

Maximilian activated three abilities in quick succession, targeting all the Vanedenis he could perceive with his augmented vision.

Meanwhile, the undead he had summoned were slaughtering the enemies.

"Whoever throws their weapons on the ground will not be killed!" he announced.

He already knew his plan wasn't going to be popular with the Vanedenis, but he wasn't in the mood for objections. Shedding unnecessary blood had been a habit of his past, but now he was a different person.

He put his hand in the duffer bag and pulled out one of the best potions he had produced in the month of his stay in Ankon. He shoved it into Themistocles's mouth, ignoring the man's grunts and protests.

"Drink, tanny."

The Athenian's wounds healed much more slowly than they should have. Not only had Themistocles resisted his magic, since he didn't have much life energy left, but he had already gobbled up so many potions that he had become temporarily immune, a very common side effect.

After making sure none of the others were at risk of dying, Maximilian was on the verge of teleporting, when it occurred to him that not only the Ahalis but also the Vanedenis were quite aggressive towards their enemies, especially after a mutual massacre like the one that had happened.

"Well, bollocks, don't get angry at me."

Maximilian proceeded to create chains anchored to the ground to block all the Vanedenis and Earthlings close to him.

He immediately jumped into the fray. The creatures he had been working on for a whole month - because, again, most people seemed to have forgotten about his class - were tearing apart the Ahalis too efficiently.

“My teeny-weeny skulls, avoid killing them if you can, and just disarm them. If they keep annoying you too much or they can hurt you, kill them."

The order came out with a seraphic calm, as if Maximilian had not just ordered a possible genocide.

Appearing next to Mummer, he noticed that the big man, despite the heavy blood loss, continued to breathe, albeit faintly.

The marrow in his bones, after all, was not human.

Maximilian healed him and chained him with very thick shackles.

He found an Ahali, one of the elites, who was trying to attack him from behind, hoping to put an end to the [Necromancer]'s rage.

The fact was that Maximilian had never promised not to kill anyone. No, he had promised not to kill anyone unnecessarily. Was an Ahali preparing for an ambush from behind, after he had already offered a chance to surrender? Well, that was a pretty useful kill.

The warrior saw the human disappear from in front of him and sensed that it had reappeared on his left. It was the last sensation his brain gave him, because Maximilian had put much more strength behind his fist this time, literally making his brains explode.

"Like the good old days in the operating room," was the comment of the man, now covered in blood, "pieces of brains and bodily fluids."

If any Earthlings had been in a slightly less comatose state, they would have wondered what kind of operations he had performed on Earth.

After having chained nearly a hundred Ahalis in less than a few minutes, Maximilian started ignoring those who had knelt down and had thrown their weapons to the ground. They no longer posed a threat.

"Strith?" he called.

The girl was tied to the ground by several ropes made of dragon sinew, from what he could see. It was a technique similar to the one he was using to prevent the Ahali and Vanedeni warriors from continuing to tear each other apart.

Maximilian freed her of such restrictions and, a moment later, he had to dodge the sword which, once again unsheathed, had been almost stuck in his eye.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Strith yelled at him.

“Bollocks, I'm making the enemies surrender and prevent the other idiots from continuing to slaughter each other. If, on the other hand, you are referring to the huge number of people who died because of me, I had an existential crisis that would have guaranteed the death of all of you at the hands of the Ahali and mine at the hands of that woman down there." He pointed to Eudokia, who was descending towards the ground. “It certainly wasn't the nicest thing in the world, I have to admit it. But at least I can guarantee you it won't happen again."

Strith pulled off her helmet and planted her light blue eyes in the [Necromancer]'s dark blue ones.

"May the ancestors be my witnesses when I say this, Maximilian: I've never seen a person as mad as you."

He smiled and hugged her.

There was a time to suffer, a time to judge and punish, but it wasn't this, not for Strith. The girl had risked wearing out her vocal cords during the fight. She had begged Maximilian to come down, to leap off the cloud of his problems and return to the battlefield, to fight in front of everyone, to prove he was the person Strith did not feel she deserved.

The most terrifying thing for her had not been to see people die, but to see a person like her personal hero, the same person who had forged her legendary armour in his spare time, surrender to sloth and not fight apathy. It had hurt more than a thousand arrows to the heart and a sword stuck in the loins.

"Are you here, now?" she asked worriedly.

There were more than three words in that question. There were that girl's dreams, her future, her own psyche, too.

Strith had always lived a life of uncertainty, anger and misunderstanding. In Maximilian she saw a madness that could be tamed, a path to follow in order to become a true Vanedeni Hero.

"I am," he answered with a wink.

After that, the girl sheathed her weapon and stood by his side, crossing the battlefield to rally the survivors and appease the rioters.

The Ahalis had been subdued without problems and now the Vanedenis were also chained to the ground

"Oi, Chief rabbit-monkey, listen here."

Maximilian stood in front of the leader of the Ahalis, Strith on his right.

“Human, my name is Mibunum and I am the commander of the Ahali troops of the city of Seiunctus. I won't let you disrespect me again— "

Strith put all her strength into a direct kick to the beast's side, who, given his previous injuries, felt more pain than it should have. But not a moan came out of his mouth.

"Listen, Tyson, let him talk for a moment," Maximilian said to the girl.

“Mibunum, so nice to meet you, but there is an important thing I want to tell you. Listen, while you were killing each other, I made some new plans for the rabbit-monkeys and the Vanedenis. I have decided that I am the new King of the village of Ankon and yours, too; in this way, the conflict is resolved. I won. You are all defeated and we declare it a draw for both peoples. What do you say? Then, for the details we wait a bit. Like, this new village, we may call it Maximiliapolis or Maximilianides, perhaps. Oh well, listen, I'm going to get Themistocles so we can sit at a table for a moment - metaphorically, of course, you two will remain tied - and we decide what to do."

Maximilian had said we decide, but he had no intention of leaving the possibility of deciding the fate of the conflict to anyone other than himself. For one thing, the Vanedenis and the Ahalis still had a lot of unfinished business and would never come to terms with their enemies; the other Earthlings, such as Themistocles, had internalised that fight too much and had also become natural enemies of that subspecies of monkeys.

On the contrary, he was definitely super partes.

Of course, if some other nearby village attacked him, he would be more than happy to defeat it in battle and expand the territory of Maximiliapolis. Maximilianides? Maximilianiland? Oh well. In any case, he had to hurry up to resolve the bloody conflict between the two peoples in order to resolve the age-old question of the town's name.

But he had made Paola a promise. And he felt he had to be careful to keep it. He couldn't kill like he had in the past, nor try to play with his life as if he were in a simulator for success. He would not focus on efficiency, but on the sensations, emotions and well-being of the people around him. He would have adventures and recreate Blue Cheese - not necessarily in that order.

Now, however, there were preparations to be made.

Strith didn't have the faintest idea what he was going to do, and to tell the truth, she didn't even care that much if the Ahalis became part of the new Ankon: the great heroes had made decisions that had seemed crazy, in their day, and that had been later praised.

"How are you going to make them get along?" This was her only question.

“Well, first let's go and destroy Ankon and the rabbit-monkey village. Then, afterwards, we'll build a new city and see."

Strith nodded and began to follow him.

If Maximilian had said that two settlements had to be destroyed, two settlements had to be destroyed.

In a fight like the one that just happened, the general rule was only one: if you can't defeat them, join them.

Them being Maximilian, obviously.

Who could ever have defeated him?