“I should’ve chosen economics instead of economy…” Kaniel lamented. “It is what it is.” He only now understood that economics was most likely the science of the economy.
“What to make out of this?”
The ‘economy’ article was short of information and instead filled with historical jargon. There were many new, exciting concepts, such as supply and demand, market, wealth generation, resource management, and trade, as well as how production, distribution, and consumption shaped society. Yet none were delved deep into inside the article.
Overall, the economy took many turns throughout the history of Earth, and in the twenty-first century was highly dependent on innovation, labor specialization, and global trade. He was fascinated by the concept of building a self-sustaining and productive society, yet couldn’t quite find a way to put it into practice.
“No matter how many times I look at it, it never ceases to amaze me…” he mumbled in awe at the image of New York City. Buildings were tall, very. The structures looked both the most organized and disorganized he’d ever seen a settlement be all the same. “And here I thought computers were very valuable…” He scrolled down to an image from the Frankfurt Stock Exchange. There were hundreds of them in a single room. Lastly, the image of the world map. Kaniel could finally make out what Earth looked like.
As the economic principles, theories, and concepts swirled with the relentless flood of information in his mind, Kaniel raised both hands, pressing his fingers to his temples to ground himself. Fatigue washed over his face. The brows knit together in concentration and frustration, though more of a concentrated frustration.
“I’m dead tired,” he announced. He didn’t doubt himself, rather, he questioned how he was even still awake and well. Well, in one piece, at the very least. That’s under the assumption of everything he’d gone through.
“This is a terrible idea…” he said, yet he still stood and took the chair with his hand. He was planning to use it as a weapon if a need arose. But he quickly put it down, realizing he wasn’t permitted to attack anyway.
Kaniel had read the articles times and times and thus had nothing more to do in this domain than simply sit and think. Yet, time flowed differently here, sixty times slower than in reality. The first trial at the tower was approaching. He had to get the best out of his time and optimize his chances as much as he possibly could. But his body wouldn’t be able to resist the fatigue for much longer.
So it only made sense to try out his new aspect, Cerberus, and summon Cer, the dog who could heal. Yet he hated dogs. Not just dogs but every animal. It was mutual. Everything started when he was a kid and attacked by a highly trained horse. The misfortunes only followed. Every animal would unreasonably attack and try to murder him whenever they got a chance, from a sheep to a battle horse. Birds would oftentimes shit on his head when he strolled the capital streets. Even spirits, the kindest forms of life, despised his guts. Nobody, even the most skilled elementalists, could figure out why. Some called it a curse. Some called it karma for being such a disappointment.
“I cannot attack, but does that mean I can’t defend myself either?” he asked the air and found no answers. “Mauled by a dog… a perfect way to die. Dying a dog’s death to a dog.” Kaniel found his predicament funny. Fitting.
Animals submit to stronger ones to establish order within groups. Similarly, humans build social hierarchies. Kings and rulers exert power over nobles, who, in turn, hold authority over commoners. Intelligence, skill, and social status create an unspoken ladder, where the genius overshadows the merely talented and the talented the average. As such, most look for status and glamor, honor and glory, to establish themselves.
Yet Kaniel was an oddball. He never accumulated wrath whether others stepped on him, spitted on him, scorned him. Though he always pretended otherwise, in his heart, he felt no humiliation for such.
Nothing would change even if the roles were reversed. If the emperor himself were to kneel before him and kiss his toes, he wouldn’t feel any pride or satisfaction.
People would compare themselves to each other. They would laugh and mock the ones below, revel and envy the ones upper.
Kaniel competed against himself only. He always strived to improve, to surpass himself. He didn’t admire anyone. He didn’t want to beat or be anyone. There would always be someone more intelligent, prosperous, and talented than him, and similarly, there’d be the ones at the lowest low, miserable.
Those who thought highly of themselves were blind to higher heights.
Those who thought low of themselves would lower themselves to their current predicaments.
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“Since I’m using my aspect, I can also deactivate it, can’t I?” he asked.
♡♤ |Hound of Past, Cer |F|| ★
Summons Cer, The Firstborn Hound of Hell, who can mend minor wounds and undo cumulative damage, scars, or fatigue.
He stared at the blue hologram for a while, his eyes unfocused, tired, aloof. Kaniel straightened his posture, one hand extended with a finger pointing upward as if declaring a powerful realization.
“I give up.”
Surrendering to the dog, he let his body ease down the floor. He first leaned back, bracing himself with his hands behind him, fingers digging into the hair. Gradually, he let himself fall completely. His head tilted upward, his gaze losing focus as he stared blankly into the sky above, though he didn’t truly see it.
“A sustainable economic foundation with lifestones…” he whispered. “Breeding healthy competition at the forgotten north while swarmed by the assault of monsters and the shortage of food…”
“Seems like a fantasy,” he smiled weakly. “Can the north be brought back to its former glory?”
He raised his hands, glimpsing through the fingers.
“If only I can figure out how the banking system works…”
Lowering his hand, he brushed over his face to wipe away the invisible weight pressing down on him. His fingers lingered near his forehead before falling back to his side, limp and defeated. Kaniel stretched his legs out, letting them relax, while his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each exhale heavier than the last.
“Say, if a child could buy a loaf of bread with a regular stone, dress themselves up, and loan a roof atop their heads, wouldn’t they grow up with the high perception of a regular stone? If one could exchange a paper for ten lifestones, then, in essence, wouldn’t the paper amount to ten lifestones?” he spoke aloud to prevent himself from dosing off. “Convincing people to accept currency without intrinsic value seems difficult. One would need an immense trust and reputation.”
As he lay there in a mess, a tremor ran through his hand. His eyes, though open, glazed over with the flood of questions racing through his mind. The ground felt cool against his back, grounding.
“Let’s start by accepting deposits of lifestones with the promise of secure storage, offer loans from these deposits to trusted individuals with interest policy to show that depositors can earn interest, encouraging them to trust the bank with their assets.”
His body stayed relaxed, arms outstretched, and fingers splayed, releasing everything he’d held on to.
“Then issue promissory notes that signify the value of the deposits and gradually encourage businesses to accept these notes for transactions by proving their redeemable value. That’s for starters. Seems easy in theory, yet…”
Kaniel closed his eyes, pondering. He had no more strength to talk. He lay there for hours, like a dog, thinking, thinking, and sinking.
"What exactly did I gain... What exactly did I lose... What exactly..."
His mind begged him to rest, and after several more hours, when he finally did, he heard wrenching noises.
“HE’S DEAD!!! Oh-my-god oh-my-god oh-my-god!”
His body was being rocked back and forth.
“BGHAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
“Shut up,” Kaniel implored.
“ARGHHHHHHHH! HE’S TALKING!!!!!!”
“My ears…”
Blinking himself awake, he focused, finding Zara, her face twisted beyond recognition.
“Stop,” he begged. “Please.”
***
“Stop,” the wounded man whispered through his charred lips. “Please.”
Ehrina shoved the dangling, bloody organ into his mouth.
“Calm down, calm down,” she mused. “Now, chew down. Savor the taste. Then, I’ll spare you.”
The evening lay heavy on the frosty forest and the bodies of fallen knights, their blood darkening the snow. All burned to crisps. Soft rustles of trees bent under the chilling breeze.
“Good job, good job,” she patted his head, smiling approvingly. “Please don’t complain. I’m just, just, you see. You’ve tried to fuck me to death, so I’ve come up with a fitting punishment. Where the gods are blind, I see, you see.”
Beneath an ancient ash tree, the commander, a gray-bearded veteran, lay, gasping his final breaths, his armor dented, drenched in blood and the mess he'd just thrown up.
“Will you…” he whispered, “Spare me now?”
“You didn’t finish,” she said, caressing his hair like a mother would do to their child. “To kill or not to kill? Spare the dog, and he comes biting the very next day. Kill the dog, and the owner comes for revenge. Then, naturally, the right answer is to kill the dog, the owner, and the owner's wife.”
Before him stood a blonde priestess, grinning at him bewitchingly, the cloudy blue eyes filled with cold amusement.
Suddenly, the agonizing cut in between his legs ceased. Cold. The knight felt cold. “I don’t want to die…” Tears poured.
“Don’t worry,” she said as she stood, turning back and walking away in a particular direction. “I’ll spare you to the monsters. To live or to die, you decide your own fate.”