“Swift Archer takes Soldier, check,” declared Ember and turned the hourglass. Ember tapped his feet furiously as he anticipated Prince Fearless’ counter move. Ember was responsible for teaching Prince Fearless in the courtly etiquettes and culture of White Winter. And the Makrãni was an important part of the culture of White Winter court aside from the gladiatorial games, the balls and other higher social events.
Ember narrowed his eyes on the Makrãni timber board. He foresaw a deadlock, a draw within the next 7 moves as long as neither Ember nor Prince Fearless made any mistake. Makrãni was a strategy board game during the time when Ember was still living on Escana. A Makrãni board contained 110 even tiles, one long border to stand between two armies, 8 types of unique pieces to represent all-variant of soldiers of an army on both sides. It was a game of King, Strategist, and Conqueror. Man or woman, a noble of Ember’s time was required to have knowledge of this game alongside the other many noble etiquettes to live within a higher society. However, a military man was expected to be good at this game. As a result, Ember heavily emphasized Prince Fearless to be a great Makrãni player. Ember had no wish of watching his master to make a fool of himself in front of the nobles of White Winter when that time came.
Prince Fearless, as usual, was flirting around with his gold coins in his left palm whenever he had to work his mind. His complexion was difficult to read as always, calm and unworried, a nonchalant expression. His calculated sight flickered all over the 110 tiles of the board, unhurried. Until the last grains of sand on the top half of hourglass were about to be flushed into the bottom half, Prince Fearless started to move his piece in a swift and fluid motion. “Chariot to three-eight,” said Prince Fearless while flipping the hourglass.
As far as Ember could calculate, that was the worst possible move that a person could make. Instead of using his Lance to capture the Swift Archer, Prince Fearless tossed away his Soldier piece for free, leaving his King piece unguarded and open to be checked. Ember recalculated his move, refusing to believe that his master could make such a terrible move under the circumstance. It was supposed to be a simple situation, a predictable draw in 7 moves. Prince Fearless just made the situation worse for himself, losing his piece and open a hole in his formation for his King piece to be attacked.
What’s going on inside his head? Ember could not help but inwardly ask that question from time to time. Ember believed that most members of the General Staff had asked this same question very often. Prince Fearless was great at making decisions that compelled people to question if he had any intelligence inside his head despite knowing otherwise.
If the person who made this move were not Prince Fearless, Ember would have jumped straight to his next move, pushing his advantage. But at the same time, Prince Fearless often came up with the type of strategies that made Ember confused and conflicted due to the lack of intelligence in his strategies. Prince Fearless could make an obvious and foreseeable mistake looked like a genius move.
“Swift Archer takes Chariot, check,” Ember moved his piece, decided to push his advantage.
“King takes Swift Archer,” countered Prince Fearless. A faint smile floated on his lips like a mirage for a brief winking of an eye before faded into nothingness.
Ember racked his mind, trying not to fall for Prince Fearless’ bluff. Prince Fearless often used his expression to bluff his way through the worst situations. Prince Fearless often flashed a happy smile when he was losing terribly, making Ember thinking that everything was a trap.
Not this time, Ember thought, making his next move, “Chariot to nine-eight.” He focused his pieces on that opening, breaking through Prince Fearless’ defense.
Prince Fearless kept moving his King piece to the edge of the board, rallying his other pieces around his King, defending against Ember’s attack. Ember flushed his pieces through the opening, cornering the King. His attacks were relentless against his master’s slippery defense. Then, it came to him slowly, very slowly. His attacks were not working and the entire board was tipping over Prince Fearless’ direction.
“That was a gambit, wasn’t it?” Ember sighed, “You used your King as a bait.”
The prince flashed a beautiful smile, “That’s all a useless tyrant is good for on a battlefield.” He gathered his coins and made them disappeared into his left palm.
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On that day, Prince Fearless presented three choices. Vengeance, rest, and an unwinnable war. Ember chose vengeance. At the time, Ember had never expected himself to join Prince Fearless in his suicidal war against nearly every immortal participated in the Reign of Chaos. Nor did he expected himself to choose all three of them, one by one.
Ember was the latest person to join Prince Fearless’ General Staff. He joined the ranks of Prince Fearless’ staffs five years after those 146 souls have already but formed their departments and formed bonds with each other. Ember reckoned that his reason for joining Prince Fearless’ General Staff had a lot to do with his own restlessness aside from the fact that he could see through Prince Fearless’ multiple illusions. Ember has visited the Mirror Hall when he was first given the options.
Ember figured that if he could exact vendetta against his torturers, inflicting the worst pain on them until his heart satisfied, “Why not?” But Sanguine has already been maimed like a half-dead centipede, all bloodied, twisted and broken. It was twisting one the floor, crying and laughing at the same time when Ember arrived. Rasahlu and Yasubotay have already been sent to submission land, groveling like slaves and animals in their blood-red disfigurement, eyes popped, arms broken, chitinous legs bent. Ember could feel it at the time, that fever, that sickness that infected and consumed everyone’s mind while being inside that Mirror Hall. It existed inside him. It was a fever that brought a morbid delight to his heart whenever he watched Sanguine being beaten, clawed, smashed and tortured for the sole purpose of torturing. It was torture for what torture was. There was no purpose other than inflicting pain. Everyone was infected with that fever, a fever that made them laughed and rejoiced as they tortured those three Demon Lords.
It was a fever that brought Ember endless pleasure when he smashed Yasubotay’s giant brains to the ground and painted the mirror floor with the pinkish color of Yasubotay’s sickening brain matters.
Dazed and intoxicated in the sweet, sweet fever of revenge, Ember found his deranged laughter of sheer joy infected the entire hall. If one person laughed, the entire Mirror Hall laughed. If one person chanted something, the entire hall repeated, echoing with that chant.
And then suddenly Ember looked at himself in the mirrors, bathed in the brain matters of Yasubotay and Sanguine’s poison and Rasahlu’s blood, a widespread grin on his lips, deranged and insane. He threw up even though nothing came out. That was the first time Ember realized that the Mirror Hall was not his place.
Those who chose to stay in the Mirror Hall have already surrendered their sanity to exact their vengeance and justice on those three Demon Lords. They had no intention of being sane. They embraced insanity to make do with their grief and anger. They bedded insanity because they had already given on everything else. They were neither alive nor dead. They belonged to nowhere. And since they have been puppets and trophies of Sanguine for so long, they chose to stick with him even when they were free from his feelers and tentacles.
Prince Fearless was meticulous in his design to the extreme when he wanted to be. It took time and a lot of guessing to understand his mind and design.
The Mirror Hall existed to isolate those who have completely abandoned their sanity and purpose. Those who lived inside the Mirror Hall, they existed simply because they existed. There were no other reasons. Pursuing vengeance was but an excuse for them. Replacing those three Demon Lords with three inanimate statues and those people who lived inside the Mirror Hall would not make a complaint. They would beat the statues and acted as nothing has changed. Since those people had given up on their sanity, Prince Fearless allowed them to be as mad as they wanted to be. Prince Fearless would not waste his effort twice on those who had no intention of saving themselves or changing their future.
Ember realized that the Mirror Hall was not his place.
The gates to dreamland were always opened to everyone. So Ember tried to find his peace along the thousands of Sanguine’s past Champions who also chose to live in dreamland, mingling with its eccentric residences. It was a strange world, a new world, an open casket of novelty and cultures. Ember realized that Prince Fearless was serious when he said, “If you want peace, you are welcome to live inside my dreamland.”
Dreamland was a strange world, a colorful world belonged to a colorful race of people. The people of dreamland smiled and laughed as much as they breathed and lived. But their smile and laughter were not like the hollow and sinister kind that appeared inside the Mirror Hall. Theirs were casual and genuine. Theirs were vibrant and brimmed with joy.
The people of dreamland, they could always find joy in every little thing that they do in life. They sang songs while they were doing chores and working. They hummed, joked and poked funs at each other whenever they could. When things did not go their ways, they would cry and rage in the silliest manner, then started over again when they were done raging. They were always brimming with energy, the positive kind of energy, the happier kind of energy. Watching them, Ember realized that those people genuinely found joy and happiness in every second of their life and they were trying to live their life to the fullest. Watching those people living their simple life, Ember found himself inadvertently smiling. There was something about them that made Ember felt envious and happy.
Ember lived among them and with them in their colorful world for what he thought “a year”. Five years had passed. He lived with those people long enough to realize that he could not live with them either.
Ember was not one of them even if he wished.
They had never known his scars. They had never known Yasubotay’s trickeries. They had never heard Rasahlu’s whisper. They had never known the true sinister horror, the searing pain, the warm sickening taste of madness. What it was like when Sanguine’s tentacles were probing, crawling and slithering inside their festering souls, in and out of their hollow eye holes, enlarged earholes, and gaping mouths, all at the same time. If Yasubotay and Rasahlu existed only to spread corruption, Sanguine existed to put a brief end to the corruption with the clarity of its twisted mockeries, its venoms. For Ember, that was a never-ending loop of foul corruption and clarity.
None of these
Sanguine’s venom was the precipitation and the catalyst of madness, and the cure. It was both venom and medicine.
These people of dreamland, they had not suffered such torment. They had not known such a venom, the kind of venom that made their torments so much worse while being the only thing that kept their soul together. They had never tasted the futility of trying to escape such horror, such pain when Sanguine’s slimy venom was hot and thicken inside their soul, coursing and serving to intensify their pain and torment. They had never felt true hopelessness trying to fight or escape a Demon Lord. They had never suffered the indignity and humiliation of being flaunted a trophy, being mocked and laughed at, for a century.
Ember realized that even when he was living with them and among them. He lived in a different world. His world was a disoriented world of past and presence all mixed up in one gigantic mess of a shit pile. His world was a world of a different reality that separated him from everyone else whenever it wanted to be. His was a chaos world of happiness and peace covered on a broken dream, shattered illusions, a world of Rasahlu’s whisper, a world where Sanguine’s tentacles crawling inside his soul, a world where Yasubotay showed him his dooms and failures in vivid pictures, a world of pulsating madness and pain.
Prince Fearless called this world “Dreamland.” It was indeed a “Dreamland,” a wish-fulfilling world, a kind world, a hopeful world where the real horror and hopelessness was beyond them. The worst thing could happen to these people of dreamland was void and dead, their expiration. That was what Ember called “kindness” and “peace.” That was a gift in and of itself. Ember would never know such a thing. He was neither a part of the living nor a subject of Death herself. He was abandoned by the Gods of Coeles. He was rejected by Death’s grace.
Even when he wished to be one of them, “Stupid people of Dreamland,” he could not.
Dreamland was a beautiful world, an enviable world that Ember wished that he could be a part of it. He wanted to live inside it until the torments and chaos of his past would fade away. He wanted to live inside it until he, too, would find his peace.
But Prince Fearless called this land “Dreamland.” He did not call it “Peace land” or “Rest land.” Dreamland, he called it. Sometimes, Ember wished that Isonos was wrong at everything and that Garuda was over-glorifying Prince Fearless out of his admiration. But when Ember had already experienced all three of the options that Prince Fearless has given to him, he could understand how meticulous the prince was with his design.
There were thousands of those who could let go of their purpose, their past, their identity, everything to embrace the wishful world of dreamland to find peace. They could allow themselves to fit right in that small wish-fulfillment world that Prince Fearless has once conjured for himself. They could blur out the disorientation and chaos of the past and presence, torment and peace to find their small little happiness inside dreamland.
These thousands have already blurred out their reasons for a small illusion of peace before them. They have resigned asking themselves a question, “What if Prince Fearless lost his war?”
Sometimes, Ember just could not help but wonder what was going on inside Prince Fearless’ head from time to time. Back then, if only Prince Fearless did not say something so stupid and sentimental like, “I can certainly speak pretty dreams and dress my words in sugary lies to influence you to live and fight for my lofty ambition like slaves. But I will not. I shall not.” If only Prince Fearless would come out and tell everyone that their future was at stake and that their peace was an illusion, and their fate depended on his success in war, most would have followed him. If he used their fear against them, which Ember believed that Prince Fearless could certainly succeed, using their fear of being Sanguine’s puppets and toys to motivate them, the number of his General Staff would have been more than just a mere 147 men and women.
Why Prince Fearless did not do that? Only he knew the reason.
These thousands of people, these morons who believed that they were finally found peace in dreamland, they should be out there, fighting for their destiny and peace like their life was on the line.
When Prince Fearless lost his war, this small bubble of happiness, peace and wish-fulfillment world would end. When Prince Fearless lost the war, this Dreamland would burst like a bubble, a broken dream. And after that, everyone would live a fate of indignity. They would be puppets, trophies, and toys at whims of Gods and Demon Lords once more. They had already given up thinking.
Those souls who have embraced the wishful world of dreamland were not Ember’s people either. He realized that he did not belong with them. They could surrender without another fight. Ember could not.
If war was inevitable, a man should face it.
Ember chose to participate in a seemingly unwinnable war. Not because he was a follower of Sinintee. Not because he had any further delusion about being Sinintee’s Chosen One. Ember realized that if Prince Fearless lost his war and battle, the peace that he saw would vanish and he would be most likely became a toy in the hands of the like of Yasubotay again.
“Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war."
Every now and then, Ember heard that chant inside dreamland. Even when those “Stupid people of Fearless” were living inside a wish-fulfillment dream, born and nurtured in their small bubble of peace, they knew that their peace was an illusion. As long as Prince Fearless has not won the war, there would be no peace for a soul like Ember. A soul that belonged to nowhere but inside the depth of Prince Fearless’ mind.
On that day, Ember enlisted himself to Prince Fearless’ cause.
If you want peace, prepare for war.
If you want peace, you have to fight for it.
If you want peace, you have to earn it.
One that day, Ember no longer fought a war as if he was an engineer of civilization. He no longer fought a war for Sinintee’s glory or his ambition. He no longer wanted to fight a war to be remembered.
He fought for himself.
The members of Prince Fearless’ General Staff were his kind of people. They knew his torment. They suffered the same indignity that he suffered. When Ember stayed among their ranks, he found his true home. Though they joined Prince Fearless’ cause for different reasons, most of them could see a fight before them and thus they chose to fight it. With or without Prince Fearless’ promise to realize their wishes, most of them would fight this war regardless. Their fate was linked with his from the very moment he has saved them from being trophies. His war was their war. His battle was their battle.
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Ember often remembered of the brief time in his life when the world was still simple and small. He was born into the Parudine family as the fourth son, entitled from his first breath. He learned things much faster than his brothers and sisters. He was gifted with Sinintee’s blessing and Eogaill’s blessing from his birth.
His father the Count of White Bay was a rich man. He was rich in everything but ambition and health. He often used his health and sickly figure as an excuse to stay away from any sort of conflicts and courtly matters. But he was also wise and understanding enough to see the ambition in Ember’s eyes as a child. Ember always wanted more than just being a vassal of his eldest brother. He wanted to put his name into the annals of history. He wanted to be remembered the same ways Craxus was remembered by people.
His father could see that. When his health deteriorated to the point that he could only lie on his bed, he sent Ember to the Great Temple at Lake Shore Isle with a bag contained 40 white dragon golden coins.
40 white dragon golden coins were a sizable inheritance, not enough to buy a castle, but more than enough for a peasant to live well for some thirty years if he was sparing and careful. As long as Ember could keep these 40 gold coins a secret and kept them from being stolen, he could live off those coins for a long time.
“I can always give you more than this. But, you are ambitious. And there is nothing that kept ambition burning better than tightness and poverty. Stay ambitious, that’s my best advice as a father. These 40 coins are your inheritance but also they are my investment to you and your ambition. Use them wisely, son.”
That was the last time Ember saw him. His father died as soon as Ember’s carriage reached Lake Shore Isle. Unlike his siblings who were there to attend and mourn their father’s passing, Ember was not there. That was a fuel he needed and his father knowingly sent him to Lake Shore Isle before his passing for the same reason. Ember swore to himself in solemn that if he ever returned to White Bay and stood before his father’s grave, he would be a powerful and rich man.
There were many things to learn as a follower of Sinintee. But Ember was a fast learner. He has always been a fast learner since he was small. He learned that research, study, aptitude, and ability were separated matters when it came to climbing the ranks of the Temple. Rank and status were often determined by seniority, connection, and favors. Observing the higher-ranking priests, Ember learned that bribery was the quickest way for a person to earn favors and rise among the ranks of the priest. Gold was the favorite among the accepted briberies.
With the right knowledge and the correct connections, favors would beget more favors and gold would breed more gold. Ember climbed the ranks quickly by being better at earning favors and establishing connections. He became the youngest person to sit among the Flame Council. He was the youngest among the candidates to be nominated to be the next Supreme Priest of the Great Temple.
There was just one more step for him to take. A secret promise to the crown prince was enough for Ember to have the backing of the imperial family of White Winter. Adding with a few well-planned unfortunate events, the other candidates to wear the Doura either disappeared or backed out. Ember became the youngest to be the Supreme Priest of the Lake Shore Isle’s Great Temple.
Ember could remember the day he knelt before his father’s grave. He told his father that his investment was not lost. The world back then was still small and simple. Since that day, Ember often dreamed of a dream where he lit the world in the brilliant flame of the Great Temple. Ember knew that his destiny would be the one who enlightened the world under the flame of Sinintee. He was the chosen one. He was chosen by Sinintee to further the Great cause. He knew that was his destiny. That was how he would be remembered, Ember knew.
With Ember’s blessing, the crown prince coronated to become the king of White Winter without any trouble. Together, they plotted a crusade on Silver Snow. The king’s beloved woman was married off to a royal of Silver Snow for political tie whilst he was still a prince. He wanted to get her back. But that was not good enough of a reason to declare war.
Ember concocted a chain of unfortunate events. When those events bore fruits, Ember held a gather for kings and lords. Those kings and lords wanted a piece of Silver Snow. Some wanted lands. Some wanted gold and ports. Some slaves. Some vendetta. That was enough. As long as those kings and lords wanted to go to war, that was enough. Ember only needed to give them a just cause to declare a crusade on Silver Snow.
Isolating Silver Snow from its allies was easy. So easy that it was boring. Ember dealt with Silver Snow’s closest allies by exchanging letters. Ember exchanged letters with them, promising them a cut of the entire cake when the crusade ended. A few convoys of gold sent as bribery sent three years ahead of time before declaring the crusade was enough to deal with the smaller kingdoms and allies of Silver Snow. Four years, Ember plotted his schemes and when he was ready, he declared the crusade.
The world was simple and dull.
The crusading army that Ember mobilized was fast, too fast for Silver Snow to react. Silver Snow was alone, fighting against an army of five kingdoms. That should have been an easy win. However, one hardheaded dwarf appeared with his army for no gain or reason. That dwarf turned everything upside down. The day Ember received that news, he felt small and helpless. His schemes came apart. People no longer listened to him. His plans and strategies became undone one by one. The world was crashing down on him. He has always thought that the world was too small and simple for a person like him. And the world laughed mocking him.
Ember, he who started the war was undone by it.
Justice.
Ember, he who climbed to power through “a chain of unfortunate events” breathed his last with a bunch of daggers planted into his back.
Pure Justice.
But even so, Ember had a firm belief that he was merely unlucky. He died with that firm belief. For that, he listened to Rasahlu’s whispers, explaining why he lost. For that belief, Yasubotay showed to Ember how blinded he was. For that belief, Sanguine laughed at him. He was Ember, a follower of Sinintee who was instead chosen by Sanguine as its Champion.
The irony. You are his Supreme Priest. Yet his Champion was someone else. The irony.
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It was a priest’s most fervent wish to meet his God and gifter. Ember’s God was the Great Sinintee himself. Ember has dreamed of meeting the Great God when he was alive. He still had that wish after he became Prince Fearless’ subject.
“Sinintee? He’s inside this dream as well. Do you want to meet him? I can arrange the meeting for you if that is what you want,” said Prince Fearless at the time. So casually. “But I think you will be very thoroughly disappointed,” he added.
But disappointed Ember was not. He was confused and conflicted. Ember wished that he could retract his wish.
“He can hear you. But unless he was willing to clean up this cell of his, he would not be able to talk. He has not cleaned his cell for over a decade now. He’s a lazy bastard. So I doubt he would talk to you,” said a clone of Prince Fearless who was there as a jailer.
When Ember saw his God being locked inside a stinking cesspool, Ember wished that he had not made that request. He had a legion of unanswered questions inside his head. Why would you allow a Demon Lord do that to your follower? Am I not your chosen one? Why? But none of the questions mattered when the person Ember wanted to ask those questions was deep submerged inside a pool of feces. Ember gazed at Prince Fearless with a look of a confused man, a man who wanted nothing more than cut Prince Fearless’ head open to read his intention.
“Think of a different wish,” said Prince Fearless, “If I could fulfill that wish for you, I will,” casual as ever.
Ember did not think that there would be a day that he rather made a wish upon a mortal than a god. “If it is possible, I want to see White Bay again through your eyes, master.” He just wanted to see his homeland once again, perhaps for the last and final time.
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If Ember had any thought that he was the most gifted person in the world, he had no such thought now. He was not even the most gifted among Prince Fearless’ roster of staffs. Prince Fearless was indiscriminating in picking his staffs and lovers. He enlisted them regardless of their quirk and quaintness. Prince Fearless enlisted them as long as they “Do not smell like me, sound like me, and look like me,” in his words. As long as a person was neither “Demon” nor “Worm” and was willing to fight, Prince Fearless would employ them. As a result, what Prince Fearless had was a mix of good and bad, chaos. But even among them, those who voluntarily swore an oath to Prince Fearless, among the quirky rank of Prince Fearless’ staff, Ember was a nobody. He was no one special.
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Special was what Faugus was. People often said that kobolds were pests. People also often spread tales of kobolds’ savagery and stupidity. But Faugus was anything but stupid and savage. Faugus was one of the wisest people that Ember has ever met.
Before Ember joined, during the time when Prince Fearless was stilling teaching his staffs the Titan tongue, using the Titan tongue as the common langue between the members of the General Staff, Faugus was one of those who acted as translators for the body of the staffs. Not everyone was fluent in all languages like Prince Fearless and those Arachnes, or those Nagas. People like Ember, normal people who could only speak one tongue was at a severe disadvantage. The fact that he was late to join Prince’s cause did not help either.
Prince Fearless assigned Faugus to tutor Ember in Titan until Ember was fluent with this tongue. So Ember could only communicate through writings during that time to make up for his inability to speak Titan. Faugus could read and understand any writing that he came across. He even volunteered to translate every book in the Commonwealth Archive into Titan when he had free time. That old kobold was truly special.
If Ember was proud of himself for being a quick learner, that Garuda, Isonos, who not even his kind could like him, existed to rid Ember of such delusion. He was always ahead of the entire body of the General Staff. Then, there were people like Sasengun, Lynx, and Searek, they possessed unique skills and talents that made others drooling with envy. Ember quickly realized that he was a nobody. He was no one special among such a large assembly of talents.
Ember knew that he was late for the cause. He arrived late for the training. He could only make it up with time and effort. He never rested even when Prince Fearless told everyone to do so. Rest was a luxury that Ember could not afford especially when Prince was most likely going to wage a winter war on multiple theatres. Adding a religious war on top of that, the craziest assignment that Prince Fearless has given to him, rest was not an option for Ember.
What’s going on inside his head? Ember could not help but inwardly ask that question from time to time.
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Sasengun arrived at the villa where Pride resided today as well for the seventh day and last day as the Demon Lord’s morning attendant. The thought that she had to serve that haughty Demon Lord as an attendant was repulsive to Sasengun. But she would do it. Prince Fearless gave her the command.
“Dependency is a serious sickness,” Prince Fearless often reminded Sasengun with a most fed-up voice. His face twisted as though he was sick of repeating his words, “The fact that I am the sole object of your dependency just makes it a hundred times worse for you. I am the worst human being ever. I am not a medicine. I am a poison. Please understand that bedding me is like bedding poison and torment. Always keep that in mind.” Prince Fearless has repeated himself so many time that Sasengun has remembered his words by the heart. She could recite his words at any time. But that did not help. Even though Prince Fearless kept telling Sasengun that her love for him was just a mental disorder, “Dependency,” Sasengun loved him and she could not stop loving him.
Sasengun could not help but long for his attention. No matter how much she tried to pretend like she was fine and all, Sasengun realized that she longed for his touch, his kiss, his warmth, and his kindness. And since neither Prince Fearless nor Sasengun was good at keeping their relationship “Professional,” Sasengun could never wrap her mind around no longer being his lover. She stopped trying. And he gave up on maintaining a “Profession” relationship and distance between the two of them. So even when Prince Fearless always repeated himself about how toxic he was as a person and a lover, nothing changed. Sasengun could not stop longing for him.
Hated his unreasonable commands Sasengun did. But she had never said no. Sasengun could never hate him. She obeyed his command without raising a word of complaining like a foolishly love-struck woman. She found a small budding joy in gazing at Prince Fearless’ baffled look.
“You can always say no to everything. Do you know that?” Prince Fearless would ask this same question every time Sasengun nodded her head to one of his unreasonable commands.
Sasengun would always find her ruby lips spread into a smile when he asked her that question.
Wearing her special contacts, Sasengun entered the villa. The villa that Prince Fearless created for Pride had too many glossy, shiny and polished surface that they appeared like mirrors. Mirror, it was the one thing that terrified Sasengun as much as the thought of losing her prince’s attention. Her special contacts roughened those reflective mirrors to Sasengun’s eyes, blotting out the reflection and luster in any mirror-like object.
Sasengun knocked thrice on the doors of the Demon Lord’s personal chamber. There was no reply as Sasengun has expected. Sasengun entered the chamber. As usual, there were not that many jobs for her to do as an attendant. Sasengun put those books that Pride has read in order and cleaned up the makeup table.
There was no dust inside dreamland unless Prince Fearless wished for it to happen. Cleaning was not a part of a maid’s jobs and training inside Dreamland. Also, a person’s body would not become dirty and smelly even if that said person only agreed to take a bath once a year on Prince Fearless’ command. Prince Fearless has established such a world. As a result, the foreign souls, those that were not a part of Prince Fearless’ imagination remained odorless inside dreamland until they started wearing perfumes recreated from Prince Fearless’ memories like Sasengun.
Sasengun had a morbid fixation with dressing herself in perfumes. She did not remember being such a person when she was alive. Sasengun was not much of a perfume wearing woman growing up. She was born into a world of floating corpses and drifting ashes. She remembered growing up stranded from one warship’s cabin to another, sailing through one sea of the Southern Continent to yet another sea until her parents won the throne. A throne of salt, poison, blood, and tears. An unpleasant throne to sit upon. Besides, a queen was but a servant of her people, a slave of her crown. War forbade Sasengun to sit still on a place for too long. Sasengun was always sailing on her flagship. She grew up sailing the grand blue. Perfumes have always been a needless luxury in her life. Things like aromatic oils and perfumes had no place in war for both man and woman, conferring no strategic advantage.
However, in dreamland, it was a different story. Sasengun learned that she could command her prince’s attention by wearing a different perfume once in a while. She noticed that there was a specific perfume, faint and almost unnoticeable, that made her prince calm and quiet. There was also a kind that made him restless and nervous. Sharp and bossy it was, sticking out like a sore thumb. Sasengun discovered a secret combination of perfumes that made her prince unconsciously tear up. She has learned that she could arouse her prince into the mood with a certain variation and combination of perfumes. Knowing which perfume to dress on which occasion has been one of Sasengun’s winning strategies over the sheer bulk of her competitions. She needed all the edges in the world to win Prince Fearless’ attention and love. Sasengun was confident that she has learned all variation of odors, both pleasant and unpleasant, that she could create from mixing her stock of perfumes.
Pride’s trail of aroma became disturbingly sharp when Sasengun fixed the giant mattress. And Sasengun could only bite her lips vexedly. Pride left a thin and invisible trail of her body aroma inside her chamber, but that trail was sharp on her pointlessly large bed. It was a detestable aroma that cannot be mixed from Sasengun’s stock. The unrefutable evidence of Pride’s possession of the
From what Sasengun has learned, the
Pride’s unique aroma was a manifestation of her
When Sasengun was done with fixing Pride’s personal chamber, she walked through the marvel of the villa to meet Pride at the hanging garden. Pride’s villa was needlessly large for a person to live in and needlessly furnished with overembellished adornments. Prince Fearless called it a “Villa” but it was many time the size of the biggest palace that Sasengun has ever seen. The villa was so large of a residence for a single person to live in, a villa of Pride’s guileful design, a villa that exuded an air of loneliness and a hunger for companionship.
Requesting a needlessly huge place like this to ask for his companionship and attention. Lion? You are a cunning fox.
Sasengun recognized that if this strategy was obvious to her, it could not escape Prince Fearless.
Shandorei, why are you attracted to a detestable woman like this?
It was an effective but selfish strategy that Sasengun could never use to get her prince’s attention. It only worked for a person like Pride. Sasengun could not help but find herself loathed Pride more than any existing lover of Prince Fearless. Perhaps, it was because no woman inside dreamland has managed to command Prince Fearless’ attention as much as Pride. Even now, when Prince Fearless was on a break from everything, he still worried that Pride would be lonely.
And she is not even your lover.
Sometimes, Sasengun wanted to complain, shouting and thrashing about, lashing at such unfairness.
But unfairness was the reason Demon Lords existed, as Sasengun has learned from her mistakes and experiences. “These Demon Lords must be unfair. Powerful and greater than life itself. Calamity. They must be so unfair that the victims could only view their meeting with these Demon Lords as their unfortunate. The victims could only curse their unluckiness. A meeting with a Demon Lord is like a meeting with a great cataclysm.” Such was URLOX’s original vision when they introduced the Demon Lords into their story.
Keep a distance from a Demon Lord.
Sasengun has learned that tough lesson when she tried to get in between the lovemaking of Prince Fearless and Lust. It was as though Sasengun had leaped into a great fire without knowing. She caught fire. She was smothered in the intense wantonness of sexual pleasure and sensuality. Sasengun could not even tell whose hot blistering lips that she was kissing, whose full and affection-starved breasts that she was fondling, and whose fingertips that were roaming and fondling all over her body. She orgasmed so hard and so many times that it hurt. But she wanted that hurt. She could not stop hurting herself even more. Trapped inside a never-ending loop of intense orgasms, her reasons and sense of self and survival instincts were all but billowed out of her soul while she fought for her breath inside that reddened wantonness. Sasengun did not even care if she could no longer breathe inside that great flame. Inside that great flame, Sasengun was not even aware if she was making love to her prince or Lust or if she was being fucked by two succubi at the same time. She burned, twisted and contorted to the movement of the billowing fire. She was parched. Her thirst of lovemaking eroded everything, driving her insane and stupid. She was dying, if a dead soul could die again, somehow, Sasengun could feel it. But she did not even resist. She was fine dying like that, being burned inside that redness, inside that mortified indignity, naked and lustful and thirsty, a shameless whore of pleasure, a thirsty slave of sex.
“DO YOU WANT TO BE REBORN A SEX DEMON, YOU GODDAMN MORON?” Had Prince Fearless did not snap out of that red wantonness, slapping the fire out of her head, Sasengun would have lost everything on that day. Her name, her memory, skills, and experience. Her oath and binding to Prince Fearless. Everything. When Sasengun realized that she was that close to losing everything, she cried.
Since never Sasengun made the same mistake of challenging the authority of a Demon Lord.
“If you are not a Greater spirit, a God or a Demon Lord you cannot challenge the authority of a Demon Lord. An authority can only be challenged by another authority.” That was URLOX’s most inviolate rule. Demon Lords were meant to be unfair and unbeatable.
Prince Fearless was one of the rare exceptions to that rule.
Sasengun held the hem of her creaseless white gown and greeted Pride when she arrived at the hanging garden. As usual, Pride was reading a book at the silver tea table set beneath an exotic gladioli pavilion of many colors. A ceramic tea set, hot on the table, emanating the silver swirl fragrance of high graded tea leaf. Pride could not choose a better spot to sit down. Sasengun was gazing at a rare painting created by the smooth brush of a genius painter. Pride was the sole theme of that painting. Everything, every object, every color, every carefully laid brush existed inside that painting, they existed to capture Pride’s arresting look.
Pride donned a stunning velvet tuxedo today. Her hair well-groomed, set loose dapping over her wide shoulder, a magnetic golden cascade shimmering in the radiance of morning light. She did not look like that hapless looking woman from seven days ago, that failure who could only rely on Prince Fearless’ good grace to put a dress on her at every morning.
Deplorable, Sasengun cursed inwardly. It was the same curse that she has repeated over, and over again since she started volunteering to be Pride’s morning attendant.
There was no need for an attendant. In fact, there was no reason for Prince Fearless to waste hours dolling Pride up at every morning. She could do it herself all along. She put up a cutesy damsel-in-distress act and Prince Fearless fell for it.
In a battle of love and affection, a woman’s distress was her greatest charm. Her tears were not her weakness. A woman’s greatest weakness became her greatest weapon. That was a lesson Sasengun has only learned seven days ago, explained to her by that drowned looking vampire. But, it was unthinkable that someone like Pride, a person with such an ego would resort to such a cheap tactic.
Sasengun’s self-esteem prevented herself from informing Prince Fearless of her finding. Snitching on something seemingly so insignificant and inconsequential was beneath her dignity. But Sasengun was more afraid that Prince Fearless would admit that he realized being tricked some time ago, but he still chose to doll Pride up every morning because he liked doing that. Sasengun felt like her heart would crack if her prince admitted to something like that.
The Demon Lord, whose eyes glistened in the radiance of dawn and the cold of dusk, gave Sasengun a quick appraising look of her white gown and immediately set her sight on her book again as though she considered Sasengun not worthy of her attention.
Sasengun did not want to give her the worst enemy the satisfaction through a display of anger. Sasengun swallowed the slight with an indifferent look, telling herself that the look of her baffled prince was worth such indignity. Her prince knew how much Sasengun hated Pride. But she would be Pride’s attendant as long as she has received an order from him, even if that was only a mean joke. He may call it the suspension bridge effect, a mental disorder, a sickness, Dependency or whatever. To Sasengun, it was love. She loved him and she could not stop loving him. The more Prince Fearless wanted to deny it, the more Sasengun wanted to prove it to him.
Sasengun stood next to Pride, quiet and humble as though she was born an attendant, dressing her anger with the thought of her prince.
“Entertaining my curiosity, maid, are you perhaps one of those creatures who enjoyed inflicting pain upon yourself? Why are you keep coming here every morning?” In the stillness of dawn and tepid air mixed of gladioli’s fragrance and tea’s aroma, Pride asked in a bored tone. A tone of a winner used against the one she has defeated. Pride still did not take her eyes off her book. It was the first time Pride spoke in the last seven days.
Sasengun raced her mind for an appropriate answer get back at the Perfect Demon Lord. However, Sasengun felt like she would be defeated regardless of her answer. This kind of courtly mind game was not Sasengun’s strength. “What’s about you? Do you enjoy looking shameless and stupid and unbecoming every morning to win his favor?” Retorted Sasengun.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I would rather kill myself first than appear in front of an insect much less anyone looking like that,” answered Pride in a solemn tone. On a contrary to her answer, Pride’s reply sounded anything but words of the defeat.
Surprised, Sasengun scowled asking, “Then why do…”
“Because the compensation that I got from it worth suffering such humiliation,” Pride wore a sly smile, “You cannot imagine how cute he looked when he stared into the mirror and became lost at my look. It’s a rewarding experience that I can never have enough of,” boasted the Demon Lord.
Pride was special, special in the way that she has managed to unite all the maids and lovers of Prince Fearless to a single comprehensible army. The Anti-Pride army. Even a sly woman like Acrẽa and a simple-minded moron like Greed had already tossed away their dignity as Demon Lords to join the cause. The longer Prince Fearless kept playing around with Pride, the lesser the attention and love everyone received. The lesser the time he spent with everyone else. Whether Prince Fearless has intentionally directed all the hatred inside dreamland at Pride or not, Pride was already the most hated woman inside dreamland now that Lust has been released to Escana.
“I cannot believe that a Demon Lord like you would resort to such a cowardly trick,” Sasengun bit her lips and taunted.
“Cowardly, huh?” Pride chuckled, “Don’t you already know that, maid? You either win everything or you lose everything. The concept of ‘cowardly trick’ does not exist in war or in love.”
“What do you even know about love?” Sasengun snapped, “Lust said that the last time she showed you a red dream, you made love to yourself. You can only love yourself.”
“And yet,” smiled Pride, did not deny Sasengun’s accusation. “Your prince, you beautiful prince will fall in love with me and he will not be able to live without me in his life,” declared Pride, sipping her tea without looking at Sasengun once.
“Prideful but not stupid. Her arrogance has a foundation. Anything she declares, no matter how absurd, she can certainly do.” It was as Acrẽa has said. Pride was arrogant. But her arrogance was built on a solid foundation. Prince Fearless was the same. If he could give a declaration, he could fulfill his declaration without fail.
If Sasengun were not sure that this Demon Lord was her worst enemy, she was now.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sasengun turned on the faucet and allowed the warm water to pour down her inside her shower room. Her knuckles whitened. Her white gown was still on her, drenched but Sasengun could care less about it. There was a part of her that wanted to refute Pride’s claim. But she couldn’t.
Sasengun did not remember herself as a quick to cry person when she was alive. Had she been that kind of a person, Sasengun could never win the loyalty of her troops. The only time Sasengun allowed her tears to flow were when she mourned for the passing of her people, her soldiers, and her lovers. Even when Acrẽa has been whispering to Sasengun’s ears about using tears as a weapon, Sasengun could not forgive herself for cheapening the value of her tears. But her tears came out like a spell, bitterly, regardless of her control with every uncontrollable tiny sniff, washing Sasengun’s face with the shower water. Sasengun realized that she has become weak, so much weaker than she has ever been. Rubbing off the tears in her eyes, Sasengun tried to end her crying spell by force. Then it just happened. One of her lenses came off.
The ground slipped beneath Sasengun’s feet. Her head must have hit the wall as her knees gave in, but it hurt Sasengun no more than the flashing reflection of her life.
Reflection, they crippled Sasengun with the old and familiar haunting visions of how she failed her consort, her children, her kingdom and even herself. Reflection, they followed Sasengun everywhere, lurking, stalking after her like a creeping shadow, always waiting for their moment. Mirrors of all kinds, still water surface, a silver blade, clear eyeballs, polished wood, clean tiles, anything smooth and shiny, anything that can cast a reflection, they hurled Sasengun into a stormy ocean of hurt. When Sasengun let her guard down for a brief moment, they fell upon her and struck her with the viciousness of a blood frenzied shark. Sasengun closed her eyes but that harrowing crimson splash would not go away.
She wailed but they would not let go, those ruddy flashing images that tore and twisted Sasengun like the vicious jaws of a hungry shark. Sasengun cried out from the pain but those merciless razor teeth only sank deeper into her soul, scrapping away her courage, her dignity, and her fragmented sanity. That splash eroded her mind. Sasengun saw her consort tied to a catapult’s shot, begging to her with teary eyes. Her happiness or her queendom, a harrowing choice. Her mirrors had shown Sasengun that scene before it happened. She has tried everything to prevent such a future from occurring. But fate could not be changed by the hands of a mere mortal. Fate could not be changed by the hands of a slave.
On Escana, there were only slaves. There was no free man or free woman. The defeats were enslaved by the victors. The poor were slaves to the rich. The weak were slaves to the powerful. Kings and queens were but slaves of the crown. And mortals were nothing but helpless slaves to their fate.
That splash of red stain on the wall was her fault. Sasengun cried out. That wicked pair of beastly jaws let go of Sasengun for a brief moment and allowed respite to wash over her. That raging firestorm swept over her queendom. Her people burned, cursing her name. Her children on the bloodied port crying for their mother, gleaming black steel on their neck. Ten years she has fought against this fate with the valor of a thousand elven soldiers and the frenzy of a thousand vengeful Nagas. Twenty years she has succeeded. Or it seemed. She had believed that she has won against fate. She had vanquished her enemies. Sasengun had believed that Sinintee had rewarded her for her bravery. She thought that Niwdar has forgiven her and shown her mercy. She trusted that Wonten had shown her the justice that she deserved. That was Sasengun’s only respite until white bubbles filled her vision.
Kharigan waxed on the sky, red and full. Rasahlu’s seraphic whispers were ringing inside Sasengun’s ears like temple bells. Sanguine’s delirious cackles blurred her sanity. Its jagged feelers penetrated deep within her mind, claiming her as its prized trophy. Yasubotay stood and captured the visceral horror in her children’s eyes when Sasengun’s hands tightened on their tender neck, drowning them in seawater as her mouth was singing praises to Sanguine’s glory. Her troops stood, watching in revulsion.
A storm brewed within her soul. On her knees, Sasengun wailed. The Wailing Queen they called her. But she was no queen. A slave she was. A slave of her crown, a slave of Sanguine, a slave of her fate. Her tears streamed out, with them her blood. Her soul crumbled into madness. Sasengun wailed and continued to wail on and on, forever lost within the storm of insanity until she heard that voice.
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.”
That voice was warm as it was gentle and patient. It had weight. Word alone could not describe the weight behind that voice. That voice has always been her trusted anchor. The storm of Sasengun’s raking nails, her thrashing arms could not budge that anchor. The lapping red tides and the surging white foam could come, washing Sasengun’s courage over with Yasubotay’s flashing reflections, Rasahlu’s phantom whisper and Sanguine’s puncturing feelers. But that anchor remained strong.
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.”
That trusty anchor stayed beside her, always by her side until Sasengun could weather through the storm no matter how long or how frequent that storm would come. That anchor was stronger than the worst storm that Sasengun has experienced and it was more reliable than any blessing that Sasengun could ask from a deity. It remained the same, unchanging since the first time Sasengun has found it and even now.
And then, whenever Sasengun could hear the waves of her own sobbing lapping with that gentle voice, she knew that she has weathered through the storm once more.
“Shandorei,” whispered Sasengun in her sobbing voice.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” replied Prince Fearless as he gently stroke the back of her head.
Sasengun buried her head into Prince Fearless’ heated chest and filled her nose with the usual medicine. There was something warm, calming and healing in his smell, and Sasengun could not help but wanted to be enveloped in it. She could care less about her current sorry state, how she was cold, wet and half-naked, looking absolutely wretched inside her shower room.
Had Sasengun been her old self, she would have felt ashamed for disgracing herself in front of her savior and master the way she did. But no longer. Her sense of shame has been calloused. The time that Sasengun has disgraced herself in such manner was as many as the glittering stars that appeared on the night sky of dreamland.
“What am I going to do with you Sasengun? You are my Chief of Naval Operation and you freaked out by a small puddle of water inside your shower room. You got to be kidding me,” sighed Prince Fearless in an admonishing voice as usual.
Sasengun has been by his side long enough to know that Prince Fearless was only joking. While Prince Fearless could certainly joke as any normal person does, sometimes, his jokes could be very hard to follow because he spoke them with a flat face. His jokes could be very mean and brutal whenever he delivered them with a flat face. No longer would Sasengun repeatedly say, “Sorry,” to Prince Fearless. Sasengun acted like a spoiled girl instead and rubbed her face into his chest. Was Sasengun her old self, she would become disgusted by the lack of shame in herself at the moment. She did not even know that she could act spoiled like this despite of her age and everything. Was Sasengun her old self watching this scene, she would probably dig a three steps hole and bury herself beneath that hole.
“Really? Not one, SORRY. Really? And you professed yourself to be my maid. Really. What kind of maid are you? Since when you have become so shameless, Sasengun?” Admonished Prince Fearless.
Sasengun giggled some and sniffled in her tears, knowing that Prince Fearless was only joking again. “Thank you, Shandorei,” said she as her silver eyes fell on those familiar biting marks on Prince Fearless’ birthday suit. His statuesque body was marred with hundreds of fang marks and teeth marks all over, bleeding profusely. Red blood streamed out from those marks, smearing his neck, chest, thighs and even his groin in his own blood. Sasengun’s eyes welled up again. Her tears rolled, this time for the prince himself. Sasengun surmised that Prince Fearless was making love to the vampire queen until he heard Sasengun’s wail. “That drowned vampire must be furious right now. Shandorei, you leave her hanging for me once more,” deducted Sasengun. Prince Fearless came to her in such a hurry that he could bother less about all the blood and wounds on his body. Sasengun could not hide her anger and sadness. Of all the women who Prince Fearless has made love to, only Acrẽa drew blood with her kisses. Only Acrẽa would be such a cruel and thoughtless bitch to draw blood on Prince Fearless’ skin while knowing how much he hated the sight of blood.
Sasengun turned on the faucet and let the water showered on her and Prince Fearless, washing away the blood on their body.
“Bad maid,” Prince Fearless sighed and clicked his tongue as if he was annoyed. He snapped his fingers, closing the wounds on his body. “Not only you got in the way of my sex,but you also pour a shower on me out of nowhere. That’s rude. What kind of maid would do that? Tell me.”
Sasengun giggled, feeling dizzy when Prince Fearless said those words to her. Her face felt hot. She curled up a bit.
“You are going to make up for that,” whispered Prince Fearless in an angry voice. Prince Fearless’ angry voice was threatening enough to scare the wit out of a Demon Lord. His rage was terrifying enough to beat intelligence into the head of a wrathful beast. But Sasengun knew that her prince was far from being angry. She gazed into his dark eyes and saw her reflection, her highborn silver hair disheveled and her brunette body wetted and visibly hungered for passion. His dark eyes were the only mirror that she could gaze into without seeing the ghost of Yasubotay’s conjuring.
Prince Fearless dropped his hands to Sasengun’s waist and pulled her to her feet. He gave her a long, long pampering kiss inside the shower. It was a gentle kiss, a selfless kiss, an all-giving kiss that catered to Sasengun’s need and contained none of his desires. It brought her joy but at the same time saddened her.
It was a kiss that healed her but not the kiss that she truly desired.
Sasengun pushed her prince against the wall and gave him a kiss that steeped with her passion and desire. Just like any woman who has received Prince Fearless’ affection, Sasengun wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him.
He returned her kiss, running his fingertips over her back and stout butt, overwhelmed her with joy. “Bad maid,” he complained when Sasengun’s lips parted with his. “Pushing your master around. Bad maid.” His complaint was spoken in a sensual mutter when Sasengun ran her fingers on his erection. He never cared if he was being pushed around or being physically dominated. He was the kind of man who allowed passion to pull him around with a smile on his lips as though he was its faithful servant. His smile was a smile that spoke of his control and arrogance. His was a smile that told people that Prince Fearless was pushed because he allowed himself to be pushed. It was a smile that reminded people that he was dominated because he wanted to be dominated. Prince Fearless was the kind of man who always seemed to be in control of his world.
Sasengun smothered her prince within her arms and her kisses. The hot shower poured down on their overlapping figure harder when Sasengun’s elbow hit against the handle of the faucet by accident. But the silver downpour did not affect the enchantment between Sasengun and her prince. She kissed and made love to him as though it was her last and final moment with him. The two of them moved in perfect rhythm inside that steaming downpour.
Sasengun had made love with three other men besides her consort, both after her two years mourning period. But neither had made Sasengun felt this way, not that she could remember their touch and face after millennia being displayed as Sanguine’s prized trophy. Prince Fearless was like a person who was carved out of devilry and enchantment, half man half sorcery. His touch burned Sasengun in a flame of passion. His kisses burned her even more. But nothing burned Sasengun more than his acceptance of her. He saw her at her worst and still, he embraced her.
The intensity of her lovemaking with Prince Fearless always terrified Sasengun, but only when it has already ended. In this dreamland where time could be stretched according to Prince Fearless’ wish and reality could be warped with a snap of fingers, Sasengun could make love to him for an eternity and more.
But even eternity would come to an end. Prince Fearless would make sure to put an end to it. It was only when the world became testy that his discipline was revealed. His smile spoke true. He was always in control of himself and his world. Sasengun could not help but admire him even more. Prince Fearless was less than half of a fighter that Sasengun was when she was still alive but he was so much stronger.
He donned his uniform and waited for Sasengun to don hers.
“Sasengun,” Prince Fearless spoke to her with a commanding voice.
Sasengun held to the hem of her dress and curtseyed. Her relationship with him was that of lovers and also that of a leader and a follower. There was time for everything, now it was time for business.
“I have never once told you to hurry up and get over your fear of reflection. And I will never say something like that. That is something a thoughtless dick like Isonos would say. That is like telling a newborn baby to go and defeat a dragon on her own. You simply cannot do what you cannot do. However, you Sasengun my dear, you just cannot do it at the moment because it is beyond you,” said Prince Fearless.
Sasengun tightly sealed her lips and listened.
“There is nothing shameful about fearing Yasubotay. You are right to fear him. That’s a Demon Lord, a being of terror. Only a fool would not fear him. I don’t wish to sculpture a fool out of you. You, my dear, are a smart person. I want you to remain smart. Being a fool is my job. Being smart is your job. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Shandorei.”
“I have seen you toyed with Pride in those games. If you could toy with Pride in a war game, I am sure that you could do the same with Yasubotay. I am sure about that. You might not be stronger than him but you are smarter. Yasubotay believed that he was an accomplished strategist and tactician, didn’t he? Here is my order, Sasengun.”
“At your command.”
“When I wake up and when this dream ends, you, Acrẽa and Isonos will be responsible for leading an attack Sunken Isle. Beating the fact that Yasubotay was a know-nothing scrub in term of strategy and tactic into his two brains. Beat the fact that he could self-proclaim to be a genius in tactic and strategy was due to the magic and miracle that he possessed, it had nothing to do with intelligence, tactic, and strategy. Beat them to him. I have especially designed a stage for you to fight with Yasubotay to your heart content. You, Acrẽa and Isonos will spearhead this operation. Beat it into his head the fact that having two brains and having a bigger brain did not make Yasubotay more intelligent than anyone else. When you are done toying with him, butcher him and make an example out of his corpse,” Prince Fearless gave his command, with it his intention.
Yasubotay was the source of your fear, was he not? End him and put your nightmare behind. This is your battle. Until then, you will have my support.
“Thank you, Shandorei,” Sasengun replied. Her voice was a swell of mixed admiration, fear, and eagerness. Her prince spoke of the future with an unshakable confidence. It was as though Pride was an afterthought on his mind.