Act 2: Power Found in Despair

“Waaap! Bchow! Pfttpup!”

Swords clashed, yet the sound of clanking steel was conspicuously absent. What was there in its place was a mere imitation, a mockery of the noise naturally born from a battle.

“Are the sound effects really necessary?” complained a man of boyish good looks, who observed with crossed arms the sparring session taking place before him.

“Absolutely! Well, I guess not necessary in the strict sense of the word. But it helps me put my all into each swing!”

The woman who was making those sounds with her mouth, Elena, was currently practicing the art of the sword. Brandishing a wooden sword on her right hand, she set her aim on her target, and readied her arm for her upcoming attack.

On the receiving end of her gaze stood the handsome rogue by the name of Miles, captain of the ship they were on and expert swordsman. He held his own weapon vertically, ready to parry whatever blow she could muster.

“Elena, remember what I told you,” he said. “Your grip on your sword is far too weak.”

“Kaaaaapow!”

Ignoring her instructor’s advice, Elena lunged forward, putting all her might into one, overhead swing. It was an ambitious maneuver, one beyond her level of swordsmanship.

Predictably, it ended poorly.

Before her sword could even collide with that of Miles, she lost her hold on the hilt, sending it flying while spinning like a boomerang. Miles’ arm swung instinctively to parry the now-projectile, resulting in the weapon being sent rocketing upward across the air.

Defying all physics, the wooden sword spun in the blue sky for what felt like an eternity, before at last beginning its descent. Everyone observed in awe, as the sword perfectly followed a straight path down its destination: the head of Charles, former Prince of the Kingdom of Luzterna, which it cartoonishly bounced off like a rubber ball.

“Ugh, the pain!” Charles exclaimed, before passing out.

“Well, that was an impressive display of skill… is what I would be saying, if any of that had been intentional.”

Snarking at Elena with a hand on her hip was another one of the members of the crew. She was a blonde woman, whose unparalleled beauty was not tarnished by the occasional wrinkle on her face; if anything, such failings only heightened her mature, motherly aura.

Elena turned to face her, and let out a sigh almost immediately. “I didn’t think swinging a stick around would be so difficult.”

“Miles would not be such a renowned figure if anyone could pick up a blade and swing it all willy-nilly. Wouldn’t you rather learn to wield a gun instead? You aim, pull the trigger, and people die! Its simplicity is why it’s my preferred weapon.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Leila. But I think I’d rather die.”

She responded with an upbeat, almost joking tone. But hidden within her words, was the anguish of one which had seen what was forbidden for mortals to see.

In this world, what were referred to as guns were more like portable barrels of a cannon, which generated fireballs through the use of Fire Crystals inserted into a special slot. While the end result was a dead person, same as the guns she was used to, the method they achieved this through was horrific. The poor victim shot with this gun-cannon hybrid would have their skin and skeleton devoured by flame.

Observation was all that was required to deem such a fate nightmarish, but observation was not all Elena was basing herself on. No, memory was also key to her conclusion.

Elena was a unique existence —one that knew of death.

The day of her arrival upon the unknown kingdom of Luzterna, any pretense of escapist fantasy was crushed in an instant by that unforgettable sensation. Scorching heat tore apart her stomach from the inside, transforming her into a mess of sprawling blood and guts.

Elena of course, endured—through the power I had imbued her with, death was nothing but a minor setback.

Still, with such a recollection implanted on her brain, she could never inflict such agony upon another, even with the knowledge such a death would be final.

Besides, traveling the path of the sword brought along some benefits.

“Anyway, you got any more of dem practice blades? I think I can afford sweating a bit more.”

She wore a cocky grin as she said all this. In truth, she hated exercise, as was expected of any nerdy woman who did not take care of her shape. What she truly enjoyed was sparring with Miles, their sweaty bodies engaged in an exchange of blows that shared more with tango than it did with fencing.

“I think I’ve had enough training for today,” Miles said.

“What? But you’ve barely moved at all!” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, how I yearned to see your body dripping with sweat, after an exciting workout session…”

“W—why would you want to see that?” Miles said confused, stammering all over his words. “That would require me to go all out. I’d never do that against a novice.”

“My body is sweaty from work, Lady Elena. You can admire it instead if you want.”

Butting into their conversation with her aquamarine eyes was a silver-haired girl of petite build. Her name was Cordelia, and not only did she share parentage with Miles, but she was also target of Elena’s affections.

And also her lust.

“Cordelia, for the last time, no ‘Lady’. Also, please drink some water. I don’t want you to pass out from exhaustion. Besides, sweat doesn’t look good on you. You’re just tarnishing your cute looks!”

Despite having eyes for both, the way Elena perceived Cordelia’s body differed from how she perceived Miles’. Her image of Cordelia was that of a frail doll, one whose beauty had to be maintained by her hand.

In fact, it was only through her own insistence that Cordelia ended up doing chores for the sake of the crew. Both Miles and Elena were insistent on simply having her as a guest, but the girl was adamant on helping out. Thus, she began to fulfill tasks like cleaning and laundry… which were originally assigned to Elena.

“Speaking of which, let me handle the laundry next time. The washing machine is pretty much identical to the one I had back home,” Elena said, feeling a tinge of guilt at having imposed so much work on Cordelia, work that was rightfully hers.

“But last time you attempted that, you shrunk all of Sir Galen’s shirts,” said Cordelia.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Are you saying I’m incompetent?”

“Negative. But I am also not claiming the opposite.”

“Ouch.”

Shot through the heart by the girl I love. How painful.

“Land Ahoy!”

At the booming call, Elena raised her gaze. Sliding down the ladder from the ship’s watchtower was Galen, who landed on his feet with a grace befitting a man of such feminine beauty.

“We shall reach shore in about 30 minutes,” Galen reported to Miles.

“Very well,” Miles said. “I’ll prepare a formal announcement. The Queen has sent an envoy to greet us on the beaches of Barpueblo. We’ll then be escorted toward the town, where Elena and I will meet her in person. Everyone else can wait here.”

Their latest adventure had resulted in the Dead Sea Pirates rescuing dozens of prisoners, kept in cruel camps and made to work until their bones crumbled. Many of them joined the Pirates on their journey to Eternasia. Here, Queen Imogen, ruler of the biggest nation in the continent, had promised them shelter.

“Wait, just the two of us?” Elena said, puzzled.

“Queen Imogen has taken an interest in you. It was on her command that I was ordered to rescue you from those ruffians,” Miles said, in reference to the first time he and Elena met.

His answer only confounded Elena further. The two of them had never met before, so what inspired such an interest within the queen?

That was the question that haunted Elena, yet she could not give voice to such an inquiry. After all, there was a possibility so likely as to approach truth.

Elena was a unique existence—one whose body was not her own.

Following her death, Elena’s soul abandoned the body and world of her birth, and was transported into a world of fantasy that existed beyond her knowledge.

Such a scenario was not so strange in the realm of books and manga, like the many she’d read on her spare time. But living it through fiction did little to prepare her for how alien to human experience her current self was. The body she was now inhabiting, comprised of an exquisitely smooth skin and a lean shape, differed from that she’d been born with, from that she’d cultivated throughout her life.

The moment her soul was reborn, she hijacked the body of some poor young woman, whose fate now remained uncertain. She possessed no memories of the original lived experiences of her body’s previous owner; no matter how much she focused her brain, all she possessed were her own recollections of her life on Earth.

It was within those memories where the answer to her question likely lied. The girl the Queen wanted to see was not Elena, but her predecessor, whose identity was a mystery.

Arriving at that conclusion, Elena gulped. If the Queen and the previous-her knew each other, then she’d need to pretend to be someone else during their meeting.

“So, umm, how nice is this queen? Is she, you know, like… prone to anger?” Elena asked, twiddling her fingers in anxiety.

“Well, as a former noble of Eternasia, I believe I am most qualified to answer that—”

“She’s a bitch, at least from what Miles always leaks.”

The guttural voice butting into the conversation belonged to a muscular man of brown skin. His shirt was a tad too short, leaving his bellybutton exposed, and his thighs were built like mountains.

“Bronson! Don’t interrupt me like that! I believe we have spoken on this matter in the past. I do not like to hear such vulgar language.”

With the speed of a gazelle, Elena bolted to where Bronson was standing, and with her hand to the side of her mouth whispered to him, “And this is the part where you go ‘that’s not what you said last night’”

“That’s not what you said last night!” Bronson repeated, before giving Elena a thumbs up accompanied by a proud grin.

Nailed it big guy!

At the ensuing scene meant to tease him, Galen’s face swapped through different emotion in rapid succession. First, he blushed. Then, he shook his head rapidly and flared up in anger, leading him to yell, “I also told you not to speak of such matters!” Embarrassment returned to him, as he crossed his arms and diverted his gaze. Finally, the stomped the floor madly, then glared at Elena. “And I don’t know what your deal is, but he does not need to be provided material!”

She giggled. “What can I say, I know what words get a rise out of an Uke.”

“You’re using that strange word again. I do not know its meaning, but I feel I should be disgusted.”

“I’d rather not explain, thank you very much.”

Elena was a unique—actually, no, in this regard she was not unique at all. Plenty of women like herself existed, who loved to gawk at attractive gay men. Whether her pleasure was of a sexual or just emotional kind, she couldn’t tell for sure. But teasing Galen in such a manner certainly made her heart burn hot with something.

“She’s stern, but fair,” Miles said. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I hope you’re right…”

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

At last, the sailing crew reached the shore of Barpueblo. Miles explained to their guests that they would handle business with the Queen, setting in stone the details of how the prisoners would receive her help.

Afterward, he approached Elena and said, “It’s time to go.”

“About time. I’ll follow as soon as the ramp is deployed.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Huh?”

Before she could finish raising her eyebrows, Miles picked up Elena’s body, carrying her bridal-style.

“Wait, what are you—dooooooooiiiiiiing!”

To the sound of Elena’s screaming, Miles’ feet leapt off the wood that comprised his ship. Holding on to his shoulders with the tightest grip she could manage, Elena felt the impact of the wind on her face.

Gravity finished playing its role, and Miles landed on his two feet. The earth itself quaked, awed by the grace of his athleticism and strength of leg.

Well, at least that’s what it appeared to Elena, whose head was scrambled from the sudden drop in velocity.

“Are you insane? What happened to the perfectly good ramp we used to get up to the ship?”

“This is faster, more efficient,” Miles replied bluntly, missing the point. “We don’t want to keep the queen waiting.”

Elena sighed, then muttered under her breath, “I’m starting to see how you and Cordelia are siblings.”

She was a touch dizzy, but she stood on her own feet nonetheless, maintaining balance. Now, the reality of her surroundings made itself clear.

“Wow, this place is real empty for a beach.”

The sand beneath their feet was of a white so pure and clear it seemed robbed from paradise. And yet, it was as lively as a desert, Miles and Elena the only form of life in their surroundings. In the distance, two watchtowers could be spotted, with large cannons aimed at the ground, the only reminder of humanity’s footsteps in this painting made real.

“Barpueblo is a holy place, and it’s pretty secluded from the rest of the Old Kingdom,” Miles explained. “Only those on a pilgrimage make the rough trip all the way here. We sort of cheated by sailing across the Dead Sea.”

The ship of the Dead Sea pirates had a unique feature—it could surround itself with a special barrier, rendering those who dwell within it immune to the bad aura of the Dead Sea. Normally, those who dare sail those cursed waters at the call of the night risk turning into Kabeasts, but the protection the barrier offered circumvented that curse. So, while they still needed to be wary of Ghost Ship attacks, having the Dead Sea all to themselves greatly aided the Pirates in getting around the continent.

“Still though, look at this place! You’d think at least some tourists would come here.”

“Not really the time of the year for that,” Miles said. “The harsh winds and low temperatures are enough to put off beach-fanatics.”

Immediately after Miles finished speaking, Elena began to shiver.

“Dang it, why did you have to point it out! Now I realize I’m freezing,” she complained. Her dress was quite elegant, but it left her arms exposed to the breeze.

“Worry not, I have brought warm clothes.”

The one to say that was a figure who was slowly approaching them, standing out against the naturalistic environment. It wore a blue military uniform, decorated with medals and featuring a tie. Hair was white and long, and carried an androgynous face; slim chin and nose, and eyelashes of significant length. Whoever this person was, they stood on the line dividing masculinity from femininity.

“Thanks!” Elena said, as she blindly extended her arm to grab one of the sweaters this person was offering. On second thought, she realized how odd this all was, and asked, “Wait, who are you?”

The stranger’s brought a hand to his heart, bowed, and said, “I am here on behalf of my Lady, Queen Imogen. She considered you might be lacking in warmth after spending so much time in Luztena, so she suggested I deliver some clothes befitting the temperature.”

“Elena, this is Fidele, Imogen’s strongest knight,” Miles said. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.”

Oh, like the Cuban guy? Elena thought. I guess they’re a man, then.

At his statement, the knight raised their eyes. “Please, sir Miles, do not utter that name. It is only my queen who can permit such a name being uttered. Until then, please call me Margaret.”

Wait, but that’s a girl’s name…

Elena was confused, in part because of what they’d said about the queen—only she could allow for their name to be said? It was bizarre.

“Ehem, but let’s not wait any more time on me. Please, accompany me. I shall lead you toward Queen Imogen.”