Westford Kingdom Calendar, Year 1575
The Great King of Westford, Yarden Westford the Third, was currently in a decidedly un-kingly appearance – curled up in a fetal position on his silk bedspread, rocking back and forth slowly.
You wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking, but the monarch was replaying the events of one fateful day in his head, screaming at the memory of his past self to stop what he was doing, to pay more attention to the report being read out, to dismiss all attendants present so as to immediately gather a strike force of the strongest and most powerful experts in Westford to snuff out; nay, assassinate the rogue element that had been discovered.
This had, of course, become more of a common occurrence after the recent news broke of the UAN victory against Demon Lord Masquerade.
If you were one of his attendants for the day, tasked with bringing him his morning steak and eggs and dressing him while he perused the field reports of various military expeditions, you’d hear a very familiar line repeated over and over again, as he massaged his temples with both hands.
“It’s too soon… he’s too early…”
And to be honest, you couldn’t blame the man; he had no idea this small scheme would spiral this far out of his control in the first place. You couldn’t even call it a scheme - it had been an off the cuff remark about how “it would be nice something like this might happen”.
He remembered the weather on the day it happened. There was a light drizzle outside the windows of his throne room. King Yarden remembered musing to himself about how it was perfect for a light nap. So much so that he drearily waved away a report from one of his spies about the appearance of an “unimaginable master of magic” within the borders of Westford Kingdom.
So dramatic, he had thought at the time. Well, that’s what you get when you hire from the adventurer reject pile. A bunch of useless idiots that think any two-bit magician that can throw around a bit of fire and electricity is the strongest force in the world.
“Okay, well, what does this ‘master of magic’ want?” Yarden had asked, casually. A yawn might have escaped the side of his mouth, too.
He’d long checked out of the conversation and was mostly thinking about getting out of his uncomfortable royal garb and into his snug silk pyjamas. There was nothing really important going on at the moment, so Yarden was just going through the motions.
Oh, there was that one thing. The formation of the United Assembly of Nations. A bunch of peasant upstarts grouping up and calling themselves a kingdom- no, what was the word again? Republic? They were basically spitting in the face of Westford. This could not be allowed to stand.
“You know what? If that ‘master of magic’ could take those UAN braggarts down a few notches, perhaps cripple their standing forces, he can have anything he wants.”
“…anything? This is something you swear by? As ruler of Westford Kingdom?”
If King Yarden had paid a little more attention, he’d have noticed a couple of weird things about the so-called “spy” kneeling in front of him – for one, the agent was wearing a rather strange mask that only covered the upper half of his face, quite unlike what the usual spy might choose to don. The espionage agents that Westford employed specialised in blending in- well, that was all spies, really. An unusual face covering that wasn’t strictly a dull black or blue cloth wrapping would stand out like a lizard amongst dragons.
And secondly?
The spy was smiling.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell him that if he can accomplish such a task, I give him my royal word as the sole monarch ruling over Westford Kingdom that he can have his heart’s desire.”
At this, the spy stood up. Yarden had frowned at this. It was proper etiquette for one such as a servant to keep their head bowed in the presence of their King while meeting with his royal Majesty in the throne room, to show their deference to the position. To do otherwise was tantamount to believing themselves equal to the ruler; a disrespect of the highest order.
Just as Yarden was about to gesture to a nearby guard to dispose of the insolent agent, the spy spoke once more, left arm outstretched, thumb on middle finger.
“Ten years, King Yarden. And I won’t ask for much; certainly not your throne. Just leave me alone from now on, and everything will be just fine.”
Then the spy snapped his fingers, and vanished in front of Yarden and his surprised guards.
A month later, Yarden received the first reports of Demon Lord Masquerade and his rampage across the countries that comprised the United Assembly of Nations.
~
As one might expect, there was zero chance of Yarden acquiescing to any of Demon Lord Masquerade’s demands. Absolutely none whatsoever. Keeping such a dangerous, unstable personage within the confines of your kingdom was like entering the gladiatorial ring unarmed – a foolish decision.
Well, if it was something like a monetary reward, Yarden would have happily provided it to him - as long as it was accompanied with Masquerade’s subsequent departure from Westford.
But it was the way the Demon Lord had worded it on that fateful day. Leave me alone from now on. It was evident that he was here to stay. And he had even made reference to Yarden’s position as ruler of Westford.
As if to say that should Yarden anger him, the next nation that would suffer from Masquerade’s wrath would be his. No, it was either the Kingdom of Westford or this Masquerade fellow – only one could survive. Yarden was determined for that survivor to be Westford.
“You said ten years,” Yarden muttered to himself in exasperation. “You’re two years too early, Masquerade.”
It wasn’t as if Yarden was sitting around twiddling his thumbs as he waited for the ten year deadline to elapse, either. As soon as he had received word of what Demon Lord Masquerade was doing, the topmost experts of magic research and battle strategy that Westford had to offer were assembled to analyse and come up with countermeasures to the abilities that Masquerade had demonstrated.
Almost immediately it was discovered that Masquerade had to be concealing his true status in some way. A field agent with Inspect risked his life on the stage of one of the monstrous being’s one-sided slaughters to bring back a full Status Page. What was written on that printed page so blatantly defied the laws of the world, that all the experts unanimously concluded that it had to be falsified.
Name: Demon Lord Masquerade Race: Shadow-Aligned Level: 999 HP: 999,999/999,999 MP: 999,999/999,999 Attributes: LVL STR: 666 DEF: 666 INT: 666 SPD: 666 LUK: 666 Skills: LVL Control Weaker Lifeforms 66 Shadow Magic Mastery 66 All Magic Nullification 66 Holy Magic Weakness 666
“He’s toying with us.” A bearded scholar scoffed. “There’s so many things wrong with this Status Page that I don’t even know where to begin. What kind of race is ‘shadow-aligned’? It’s a nonsense word. He has a weakness listed under his skills. Also, stats just don’t distribute themselves in such even numbers. And for that matter, XP requirements per level are exponential; to hit something past the hundreds would require a systematic massacre of millions of intelligent beings. If something like that had happened, we’d have heard about it.”
“It’s the mask,” another piped up. “Has to be. King Yarden mentioned that he was wearing it even when he was still disguised. The ten year deadline is when he’ll cease his campaign on the UAN and return to Westford for his reward. So we have ten years to come up with something to kill him with.”
Yarden was in the background of the War Room, listening nervously as his best people picked through the supposed lies of Masquerade. He had wanted to speak up, to question if there was a miniscule chance that there was no falsehood in the status, that Masquerade truly did have close to a million HP and MP, but he kept his mouth shut.
These scholars and intellectuals had devoted their lives to the study of the Status system; they knew everything about it, inside and out. If they said something was to be the case, then it had to be true.
“So,” Yarden cut in. “We know that he’s hiding his powers- and perhaps more importantly, his weaknesses. What can we do about that? We need to completely neutralise him, and if not kill him outright, then rid him of any avenue of revenge. Ideas?”
The room fell silent almost immediately.
What King Yarden was asking for was, frankly speaking, an impossible request. To find a universal method of killing that no skill could defend against would be nigh impossible. If such a useful method existed, it would have long been incorporated into the basic equipment of their military corps.
Yarden sighed. This was the problem with hiring the book-smart. They were the ones most proficient at memorisation and given enough time, would present you with a near-perfect solution, along with a breakdown of the pros and cons. Ask them for a practical solution to a pressing problem, however, and all of them would inevitably clam up.
Useless, the lot of them.
“Sir? I mean, your Majesty? Or King? Sorry for interrupting.”
Yarden whipped around to the source of the rambling, as did the others present. It was a child that couldn’t be more than fifteen years of age. With the sudden attention cast onto her, she was now timidly hiding behind the hem of the robes in front of her.
“Apologies, your Majesty,” The young scholar that she was hiding behind sheepishly spoke up. “I was taking care of my niece when your summons came, and there was no time, so I-“
“It’s fine. Dispense with the formalities.” Yarden nodded at the scholar, who bowed back in gratitude. Then, to everybody’s surprise, King Yarden crouched down, till he was at eye level with the wide-eyed girl. He smiled tiredly at her.
“What did you want to say, little girl?”
It was an unprecedented act in the entirety of Westford history; the King bringing himself down to the level of someone so far beneath him. Everyone else present immediately dropped as low as they could go, so as to not show disrespect to the Crown. But in their minds, this simple act of a King bowing to a child was a clear sign of the grave danger the Kingdom was in.
The ones that had more liquid assets were already quietly making mental plans to migrate to Dragon Talon.
“Um,” the girl began. “I was just thinking. Did you know that if you use up all your MP, but you try to use more after that, it hurts?” The girl hesitated as she spoke, looking around the room. The glares of the assembled scholars in her direction bore holes through her. They were bristling at the notion that a mere child could provide greater insight than them; and more than that, that the King was actually indulging her.
“Go on,” Yarden urged. He wasn’t even trying to hide his desperation any longer. If a child could come up with a viable solution, then so be it.
“Okay,” the girl smiled nervously back at Yarden, then continued. “What if we could make a machine that could keep taking MP from someone even after they ran out?”
~
Zachary brazenly strolled in from the front gates of the main castle of Westford Kingdom, golden mask clinging to his face, and a simple black suit covering his body. No point in hiding, he reasoned. They’ll be expecting me after the news of Demon Lord Masquerade’s demise. He did have one other reason for doing so, of course.
It was his victory lap.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t stopped by any guard or servant. They had one simple instruction drilled into them over the past eight years. One instruction that held priority over all other standing orders.
Let anyone wearing a masquerade mask go wherever they please; but keep an eye on them from a distance. Report where he goes and whatever he does directly to the King’s guard.
Ooh, Zachary smiled amusedly as he watched a nearby guard’s gaze follow him as he took the route straight to the Throne Room. How scary.
He could distinctly hear hushed reports uttered in the distance – possibly from that same guard – as he turned another corner to where the King was waiting. The shuffling of frantic feet as servants raced down secret passages within the walls to announce his arrival to the people who needed to know.
Poor things, Zachary thought. Perhaps I’ll give them a little more time to prepare.
He pretended to be enraptured by a painting hanging on the wall of the corridor, folding his arms and cupping his chin in mock rumination. It depicted King Yarden the Third, fully dressed in ceremonial golden armor bravely doing battle with a mighty eight foot long serpent. Zachary glanced down at the inscription on the plaque below. The painting was titled simply, “Courage”.
He smirked. The Yarden he knew would never have put himself in harm’s way. Wasn’t he actively working to get out of the deal he had made? Coward was a better description of someone like that. Zachary let his arms fall back to his sides and cracked his back, getting his acting chops ready. On the off chance that there was no real trap prepared, he’d put on a show of loud gratitude, then vanish in a puff of smoke like a fairy in one of those myths parents told their children to get them to behave. And if there was a trap… he’d just have to flex his acting muscles in the other direction.
“It’s about time, I suppose. Time to see what sort of tricks Westford’s got up their sleeves.”
As soon as he stepped into the Throne Room, Zachary noticed the lot of them stiffen up. As one might expect, they’d all been briefed on the exploits of Demon Lord Masquerade, servant and official alike. Good. That same Demon Lord took a few more steps into the centre of the room, then made an exaggerated stage bow towards the monarch sitting on the throne in front of him.
“Long time no see, King Yarden.” He spoke mockingly as he lifted his head, flashing a wide grin at his contractor. “I pray that my long absence has not dulled your memory of the deal we had made- all those years ago.”
Yarden kept his eyes locked on Masquerade, thinking about what to say, the lines that would stretch out this interaction with the Demon Lord. No matter what, he had to buy time for the Mana Siphons to warm up.
“Masquerade,” Yarden intoned. “You said that you would ravage the lands of the United Assembly of Nation for ten years, not eight. Why have you gone back on your words?”
Seriously? You’re starting from there? Zachary frowned. Something was definitely up. Please, please tell me you’re joking. I just want to retire in peace this cycle. Don’t make this so hard, you shitty King.
“Call it boredom or indolence, I don’t much care either way. I’ve simply decided that this would be sufficient. Have the results not been to your satisfaction, dear King? Shall I list out my accomplishments in turn, then?” Zachary counted off the fingers of his right hand.
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“The Horseback Cavalry of Rott? Decimated. The Mermen of Aqua Isle; relocated to the icy tundras of Illut. And while I may not often stoop to such lowly deeds like pest control, I’ve culled eighty-three percent of the harpy swarms of Featheria. Every defense of the UAN has been thoroughly pummelled, and any of their lands are open for the taking. Something that you should be very pleased with, Your Majesty.”
“Sure,” King Yarden swallowed. Certainly, the… feats that he’d been made privy to were fantastical tales of triumph; all which benefitted Westford. The instability of the region would allow them to swallow up a number of weakened states as they recuperated from the terror of Masquerade. “Very well, I’ll grant you that.”
Yarden glanced at his subordinate to the side. The attendant nodded.
They were ready.
Yarden cleared his throat once more. “However, before I can provide you with what you have asked for I must now ask of you this: what guarantee can you make of us that you will not turn that fearsome power, those fangs of yours, onto the great Kingdom of Westford?”
Zachary pursed his lips in vexation upon hearing that. These were the unspoken words, the hidden subtext of the interaction at hand. Nobody, King or otherwise, would blatantly come out and say it plainly. Not unless they intended to burn bridges with the parties involved.
Probably about time for the trap to close, huh? Really hoped to spend a little more time here. Oh well, honesty should be responded with honesty. I’ll tell him what I really think.
“I suppose, dear King, that you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Yarden closed his eyes as he prayed to the almighty God of Seven Truths for this to please, please work.
“Very well. Then it is settled.”
All at once, a dark blue magic circle at Masquerade’s feet lit up. He could feel the pulsing of the circle beneath him, tendrils of invisible force leeching his mana from him. This was… not something he had expected from Westford. He hadn’t heard of something like this come out from any research institution he was tapping. Zachary felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards.
Well done, Yarden. Oops, probably shouldn’t smile until this show is over. I still have a part to play, after all.
Demon Lord Masquerade flew into a rage, roaring out his displeasure. “BETRAYER! DO YOU THINK I WILL STAND FOR THIS? VORTEX OF HELL!”
Your spell has failed.
Arcane energies have prevented the spell from materialising.
“W-What? My… my magic!” Masquerade was visibly distressed now, his face distorted in confusion as he stared at his gloved hands. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YARDEN?!”
“Ha… Hahah!”
Yarden couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape his mouth as he gripped the sides of his throne. They’d done it! It didn’t matter if Masquerade was hiding his status; every spell he could potentially cast was sealed away, and there was no way he could fight through the elite guard of Westford without his magic. Now certain that they’d won, Yarden began to do something only those secure in the knowledge of their superiority could do.
He began to gloat.
“It’s over, Masquerade. Your services to the Kingdom of Westford were commendable indeed, but we will have you do one last thing for us. Die, and rid us of the fear that has plagued us these past eight-“
Clap. Clap. Clap.
“Oh, bravo, bravo! What a wonderful performance, Yarden Westford the Third. A solid 8/10 from me.”
Strangely, in a complete reversal from before, Masquerade had returned to his calm demeanour. His back was straightened, and he’d brought his feet to attention as he slowly applauded the King. In fact, if anything, he was more relaxed, as if there was no need for pretense any longer.
“Huh?” Yarden could only look on, thoroughly confused.
This was to be Westford’s greatest victory, and yet the one that they were claiming victory over seemed entirely unconcerned; as if it was simply a game to him.
“What tricks are you playing at, Masquerade?”
“Oh, we’re done with all that now. You got most of it right, you know. I'd never even thought of mana drain! Slipped my mind entirely. Would have brushed up a little on my physical prowess this cycle if I had.” Masquerade brought his right hand to his mask. “I suppose it’s time to take a bow, and step out from the shadows. You’ve been waiting long enough, after all.”
Demon Lord Masquerade removed his mask and let it drop to the ground. For all the fanfare, it was an entirely unremarkable, youthful face. Average in its features, hardly striking or handsome at all.
Yarden stared dumbfounded at the smiling Masquerade, who gestured for him to carry on, miming a monocle over his right eye. “Well? Go on then. You’ve wanted to do it from the beginning, didn’t you? To Inspect me?”
The monarch did as he was told, numbly activating his skill. This was not how he had thought this confrontation would go. But… Masquerade was still contained, right? Surely it was fine to satiate his curiosity. For a few moments, the status remained that of Demon Lord Masquerade, an entirely falsified persona. Then, with a notification popping up, the true Status Page was revealed.
Inspect Interference has been lifted.
Name: Zachary Altair Race: Human Level: 54 HP: 20,548/20,548 MP: 8,526/12,736 (-50/s) Attributes: LVL STR: 12 DEF: 65 INT: 57 SPD: 28 LUK: 79 Skills: LVL Mask Generation - Profile Swap (536/536) - Inspect 3 Disguise 5 Invisibility 8 Magic Generation 12 Potion Generation 12 Summon Golem 9 Bladed Weapon Immunity - Pain Reduction (High) -
“You’re… you’re just a kid.” Yarden muttered as he looked down the Status Page. Certainly, there were a number of skills whose skill acquisition conditions were unknown to the Westford royalty. Bladed Weapon Immunity and Pain Reduction were both skills that anybody would clamour for. But if you disregarded that, his level and attributes paled in comparison to many of the elite in Westford’s employ.
If he could do all this with just a couple of unknown skills… I’m not visibly salivating, am I?
Westford Kingdom- no, Yarden had to have them.
“Zachary… is it? Or do you prefer Altair?” Yarden’s tone had shifted once more, this time to one of cloying persuasion. “If you can give up the Skill Acquisition Conditions for the skills that we do not yet know, perhaps we can still come to an arrangement. We might not be able to provide you with total freedom, given your great… shall we say, destructive potential, but limited privileges-“
“Sorry, man,” Zachary cut in as Yarden began his appeal. “There’s only one reason why I’d reveal my identity at this stage. I’m moving on. And I was looking to relax in that nice little cottage too… Haaa. There’s always next cycle, I guess.”
The monarch was once again perplexed. Moving on? For all intents and purposes, this Zachary fellow had all his magic abilities sealed. He was completely surrounded. What sort of escape could he mount?
“Zachary,” Yarden tried once more. “If you’d just listen-“
“Shh,” Zachary replied, closing his eyes. “This always takes a few tries, so I need my full concentration.”
“Soul tether off. Set detonation period as one hour. To begin as soon as skill “Profile Swap” is activated.”
Unitas? Are you there?
For a few moments, Zachary saw darkness. He was closing his eyes, after all. Then, out of the abyss, two pin-pricks of red slowly emerged.
Explain.
Not much to explain, really. I’m done. As per our contract, you’ll have full control for one hour.
The entity that had joined Zachary in his mind seemed displeased.
One hour is not enough, there is-
Come on man, one hour. Take it or leave it.
It thought over the offering for a couple seconds more, then accepted.
I will accede to your condition. One hour.
Well, it’s not like you have a choice if I’m blowing up this body in an hour’s time anyways. Have fun!
With that, Zachary opened his eyes again to an entirely mystified King. He smiled at the monarch for the last time in this life cycle.
“Hey, whatever happens next, I want you to remember this: you reap what you sow. Bye bye! Profile Swap!”
There was a slight rumble as the unknown skill Zachary had activated took effect. Yarden gripped the hand rest of his throne in momentary fear. Was this another one of Masquerade’s tricks?
“Um! Sire!” Bortle, his ever loyal attendant called out to get King Yarden’s attention. “The Magic Siphons, sire- they’ve all shut off!”
“Of course they have.”
The voice was cold and emotionless.
“There’s nothing to siphon.”
As if the person speaking regarded those in front of them as completely irrelevant.
Shakily, Yarden turned to face Masquerade.
Zachary.
The boy’s skin was now flecked with silver. His suit was slowly burning off his body, scorch marks appearing and expanding into large holes in the fabric as the material it was coming into contact with began to reach temperatures cloth could no longer handle. As one might expect, the body beneath was no longer human, instead replaced with strands of metal, approximating muscles. And the eyes of the being that had replaced Zachary were slowly liquefying, as they made the transition from organic matter, to machinery.
Yarden activated Inspect once more.
Name: Unitas Race: Perfected Automaton Level: NIL HP: null/null MP: null/null Attributes: LVL STR: 0 DEF: 0 INT: 0 SPD: 0 LUK: 0 Skills: LVL Mask Generation - Profile Swap (3/536) - (All other skills will be locked until Zachary Altair is in control) -
He decided to beg.
“Oh great Unitas! I have not known the honour of meeting the Perfected Automaton race, but one could make the inference that you are the evolved form of the primitive Golem! Please find it in your programming to leave us and carry out your tasks, whatever they may be, in another region in this world.”
“No.”
The refusal was swift and crushing.
Yarden had to try anyways – the alternative was death.
“W-why not?”
There was a screeching as metal bent itself, twisting into an approximation of a human smile.
“It would take too much time.”
~
The Prosperous Kingdom of Dragon Talon, Calendar Year 1676
Nobody really knew what happened to the Westford Kingdom. There was nothing there now; just a large crater with a bottom of silver and exposed wiring - not that the people of this world knew what wiring was, or what that wiring was connected to.
There were theories of course, as there often are.
They were experimenting with advanced technology to combat the potential threat of a second Demon Lord Masquerade which had unfortunately failed catastrophically, resulting in the entire region being obliterated. Or it actually was the Demon Lord Masquerade, enacting his revenge and creating a new base in the ruins of Westford Kingdom.
The surrounding countries, Dragon Talon included, were all on high alert for a few years after the Westford Crater appeared.
But after six or seven years, it became just another footnote in history.
The Mystery of Westford’s Disappearance.