Chapter 8
Kingdom of Ethernia
It’s been five times now that Sylas met up with Boy in the library prior to the invasion, but post all the harassment, and he’d managed to learn a few things. However, it truly was just a few. It mostly had to do with the fact that Boy was a bit of a… drama queen. He always made a big deal of everything, even after Sylas began nudging his story to be less pitiful. Boy’s reactions, however, hardly diminished. To him, it only mattered that Sylas had been picked on by an older woman—as soon as Sylas mentioned that, all bets were off.
As such, each time they only ever truly got ten or so minutes at most for Sylas to learn. And even then, Boy would often cover redundant material that Sylas already knew. Because of all of this, the entire compendium of knowledge Sylas managed to squeeze out of Boy could actually be summed up in a rather succulent paragraph:
Castle Eshtwar is part of the Extended Northern Counties of the Kingdom of Ethernia, one of the six major Kingdoms within Addleen Peninsula. The castle was built 634 years ago by Sunmasons and has always had a minor noble as a Warden due to its location and inaccessibility. The only points of entry were the road from the south that was barely maintained since it cut through two high-rising mountains, and the forest from the north that nobody wanted to go into since, beyond it, steep and deadly cliffs formed the far edge of the peninsula. The end.
Even the information that he learned was… inconsequential, really. Sure, it was nice to know some basic history behind the place, but it told Sylas virtually nothing about the world. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. He learned quite a few things: he learned that the social strata wasn’t all that different from Earth, i.e. it was hierarchical, he learned that either the word ‘peninsula’ meant a completely different thing here or peninsulas here were insanely large to store six major Kingdoms. And he learned that he was stuck in bumfucknowhere whose only road looked like a highway to hell altogether.
All that said, though, it did ease Sylas’ mind slightly. At the very least, he was so far away from the actual civilization that his decisions here and the impact he has is unlikely to cause a major shift on a much larger scale. He dubbed the castle and its surrounding areas the ‘Experimental Region’. He decided he’d run out the same timeline over and over until he perfects saving Boy as well as the castle, and then he’d just start experimenting—try and dig toward that magic circle to see if he could learn magic, which would be quite nice, he’d try sneaking further up north past the Ghoulish invasion to see where they were coming from since the whole ‘ah, past this forest it’s just cliffs’ doesn’t quite make sense.
There was also the idea of just bumming around for a while and relaxing, but he put it on a backburner since he wasn’t all that tired. He was quite surprised when he caught himself fashioning all these plans; all things considered, he’d adjusted ridiculously quickly to his current situation and had, expertly, elected not to ask any of the difficult questions: such as how he was able to understand these people and speak their language having never heard it before, or whether this was actually a hand-designed hell of his and it was actually impossible to save both Boy and the castle or—
“Nevermind, nevermind,” he shook his head, dispelling the stray thoughts as he waited for the women in front of Boy’s room to vanish elsewhere. “God, I’ve heard them chipper several times now and it still sounds so harrowing… fuckin’ hell…”
Following the women’s departure, Sylas approached Boy and went through his usual spiel: he was a victim of an older woma(e)n, he’s been battling with it his whole life, yada-yada—until they finally moved onto the next part of the history, one which Sylas was actually quite interested in: Ghouls.
“Nobody is quite certain when or how Ghouls first appeared,” Boy explained tautly, his demeanor shifting quite a lot from his usual weep-at-all-the-words one. “First records of them date back to the 44th year of Kazmir Calendar, though it is referenced that they've been around for a long while even back then. It wasn't as though they were a constant threat—there'd be years, decades, and even centuries where they'd completely vanish from the peninsula, and then there'd be decades of constant warfare and strife that saw millions die. They’re not unlike humans in terms of their anatomy—but they behave entirely erratically, almost by instinct.
“So far, there have been four major wars within Ethernia Kingdom against the Ghouls, the last one ending a little over sixty years ago. It was a fairly mild one, actually, with the Kingdom's casualties only numbering in tens of thousands altogether. Since then, there have been a few skirmishes here and there, mostly on a smaller scale—such as roughhouse farmers defending their crops from the stray packs of Ghouls—but nothing major.
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“Though they are quite dangerous, individually, despite their ghastly appearance, they are actually quite weak—bordering physics-defying weak. They cannot lift more than twenty pounds without the bones of their arms cracking, they can’t run—at all—they are extremely slow and sluggish to the point that even a child could evade them. The problem is, however, that they are always in packs of at least twenty. And even if sluggish and slow and weak, the sheer number is more than enough to overpower even small groups of people, especially if they are new soldiers who have never been exposed to the Ghouls beforehand.”
“…” Sylas listened intently, ascribing every word into his memory. This was important, after all. Though he couldn’t care less who ruled the Kingdom five hundred years ago, he did care about the very thing he was supposed to fight for his very first task in this world. He didn’t see the individual’s weakness, though that might be entirely due to the sheer terror he’d feel whenever one of them came up close.
“Because of that, each of the six major Kingdoms has a special Legion within their army specifically armed to fight the Ghouls and even some other ilk,” Boy continued. “Ours is called ‘Specters of Ethernia’ and is considered as one of the two strongest, actually. They round the Kingdom every two years and dispatch all the Ghouls they can find and are designed to be the frontline of the war against the Ghouls. In most cases, however, the Nobility ushers them back to safeguard their lands while they send off peasants and serfs to die. It’s not all bad, though, as whoever survives through that hell usually ends up joining the Specters and experiences a change in a lifestyle so grand it takes years to get used to it.”
While Boy prattled on and on, Sylas has hung up one specific thing he heard—Ghouls and even some other ilk. Other ilk? Like… ghosts? Or, like, bone dragons?! His imagination ran wild for a moment before he tempered it—no matter what, it had nothing to do with him… for now. Though the Specters sounded like a tempting role, Sylas understood quite well that they were just lapdogs sent on excursions around the Kingdom and hoisted about like trophies otherwise—glorified Knights, essentially. Life was never so simple that it could be completely altered without any negative points oh-so-quickly.
“There have been rumors, though, recently,” Sylas’ ears perked up again as he shifted his attention back onto Boy. “That Nymia and Edu Kingdoms were noticing a massive spike in the number of Ghouls and have even dispatched their Legions to hunt them down. Things like these… are usually precedents that something far larger will soon happen. So, be careful out there, Sylas. Partly pay you receive isn’t worth your life.”
“… Ghouls will actually invade this place in like twenty minutes,” Sylas mumbled. It didn’t matter, after all. Boy would forget it all, just like he always does.
“H-huh?”
“It’s a massive invasion,” Sylas said. “Numbering in thousands. They breach the walls and the castle fights but it always falls. I know I sound insane and that you probably don’t trust me even an iota, but… is there a way, perhaps, to stop the floodgates? Just humor me.”
“…” Boy stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and replying. “I don’t know what’s your angle, but you want to know the Ghouls’ weakness, no?”
“No, no,” Sylas shook his head. “Like, if you were the General of the Castle and the Ghouls invaded, what would you do? How would you defend it?”
“Uh—”
“Just accept the narrative and tell me what you’d do first.”
“First? Probably send out a raven for the Capital and ask for assistance,” Boy replied. “If you say thousands are coming, even if we manage to repel them… more would come.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Additionally, I’d probably dig up moats—though, to be fair, I have been asking that for months now but nobody would listen so…khm, anyway. I don't know, honestly. Most of the descriptions of battles just state that sharp swords cut clean through their necks and kill them. Swarm them and match or even outmatch their numbers, that's how wars are fought."
"…" Sylas nodded absentmindedly. He had some faint hope, but it has perished. Though it was a long shot, he'd hoped Boy would mention some large storage of gunpowder or something else super flammable and explosive… but not everything falls into your lap, I suppose, he mused. It wasn’t long after that the castle went daftly silent and it wasn’t long after that that the distant footsteps echoed.
“What’s… what’s going on?” Boy asked pensively.
“They’re coming.”
“H-huh? Who?”
“Ghouls,” Sylas said. “Hey, Boy.”
“Ghou—ye-yes?”
“What’s the quickest way for me to convince you that I know of the invasion the next time around?”
“The next time—what are you—”
“How would I convince you?” Boy stared into the eyes of a man he had just met. Yet, for some reason, he saw a strange sense of familiarity within that gaze. Though it sounded absolutely insane, he may as well, he figured. After all, both of them would soon die.
“There’s something I never told to anyone before,” Boy said.
“What’s that?”
“… my real name isn’t Boy,” the young man said with a faint sigh. “It’s Valen Desdor.”
“…” Valen stiffened for a moment when he saw the strange guard looking at him dumbly, as though that name meant literally nothing. “Desdor, you know?”
“…”
“As in, Desdor Family?”
“…”
“Wow, really? Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“I’m the Sixth Prince!” Oh.
“Oh. Damn.”