Johan

The sunrise was a gentle ariser that morning, by design. Master Roger had, per his orders, ensured that semi-drawn, translucent curtains would be arranged in perfect fashion, and the ArcShip had been instructed to turn around so that the room would face the rising sun. Having gone to bed at the perfect time the night before, it was one of those mornings when you wake up feeling well rested and ready to take on the world. The ever-important morning stretching came soon after and no servants walked into the chamber for any bothersome reasons.

Good, it seems as though we can achieve a mutual understanding of sorts.

Yet there was something sad about it, righteous indignation upon the incompetent was a healthy way to regulate your internal emotions. Keeping feelings hidden away in your heart of hearts was an easy way to lead yourself down a path of mistakes and regrets. Perfection is alien. Mistakes are inevitable, and the past reflects it. But learning from them is important. Often it was better to let your fury loose, in a controlled fashion, provided you knew how to create a safe environment for yourself.

When your mood is good, though, you need not resort to such things. My outfit was waiting for me that morning and this was of utmost importance, more than usual. My good mood was a result of an early appointment before fencing practice. Loathsome as breaking a routine might have been, this was frankly an entertaining appointment I had been looking forward to for a few days now.

You had to carefully watch for your mental health, after all, and my incoming coronation had put enough stress on me. It was really difficult to punish people around me without erasing their love for me, but this made for quite a fun game. There was something beautiful about that balance, the point at which they found me tactless, but still benevolent. Watching those people kneel and cry tears of joy at my kindness as I stepped on their dreams was quite entertaining.

A few snaps of my fingers and servants—unfortunately regular ones, it would not do to have Jacks running around in front of Carr and Katherine—saw to it that my study was ready to entertain guests, with tea served and the fireplace lit. Autumn had not yet graced us with its presence, but the heat would be uncomfortable for those standing by it. To kneel before me, before the red couch I had chosen as my seat, one would have to place themselves near the fire.

It was just as well.

“M—My lord!” exclaimed a new voice. “You wanted to see me?”

It was Oscar, the theatre director in charge of the Majestic Theatre. He had, as a respectable nobleman, responded to my summons quite wisely and followed my instructions. The man had arrived at the right time, together with his wife and both daughters—just short of twenty years old, I believe—who stood one step behind him, as per my instructions. Good. He can follow instructions. When my eyes met his, he knelt on one knee, and his family, standing directly behind him, knelt as well, also on one knee. You give me one knee? A future Emperor? Respect I had earned from the war, fear I had earned through my duelling, yet the upper class still refused to see me as above as I truly was. Be as it may, my crown shall command respect.

Once my servants locked the doors behind them, a quick glance around the room was warranted—good, the windows were closed and curtains were drawn. We were truly alone. “Oscar, my good man—I heard about Valle of Cresna’s private show.”

“It was a fantastic duel!” he replied excitedly. His tone was like that of a merchant trying to upsell a product. “The vile assassin was defeated in such a splendorous manner that our customers didn’t even evoke a complain—why, some thought it was part of the show, and many of the others thanked the crown for the swift rescue.”

The fiend with the rapier had twice wounded my pride; at the Arcadia pier and later at the Majestic Theatre. “Why was I not summoned to witness the duel, once it became clear it would take place?”

“My lord, we did not think it was worth it to bother a man such as yourself with such a minor issue!”

“You were afraid of being in trouble due to losing control of the Majestic Theatre and so went against your direct orders of informing me if the fiend with the rapier was sighted,” I said dryly. “Frankly, Oscar, I expected better from a man with your talents. It is with no personal pleasure that I must inform you of my disappointment.”

Oscar had dealt with disappointed nobles before and he hid his concern well, wearing an apologetic smile on his face. But his family was less used to this, and their uneasiness was palpable. Good. Time dragged on, and Oscar offered many platitudes, until my inevitable interjection, “Surely you understand that if you came here to be merely admonished, there would be no need for your direct summoning. This matter cannot go without some mild punishment.”

“Of course,” Oscar replied promptly. “Whatever—whatever you want, my lord.”

Here he faltered and it was obvious why. Three days earlier, Nameless had altered the memories of Oscar’s servants so that they would spread rumours around his manor regarding my monstrosities. Most of them unfounded, of course, but one of them was coincidentally real, just so that he could not outright dismiss it all: Lord Starly’s disappearance. It was me that was behind it, of course, and the rumour was just as well—Lord Starly was a sycophant whose real loyalties were to the late Emperor. To have people know—or better, simply suspect—that I was responsible for his untimely demise worked in my favour.

You have fear in your eyes. You know what I am capable of. You understand how much power I have. You know the crown’s law is behind me. You know that even if I were to break the law, Trial by Combat would see me set free moments later. You know that your only chance is to keep your head low and expect a small punishment. No one is above me right now. I am your future Emperor. I am your FUTURE. “I am at your disposal, my lord,” said he.

Oscar was sweating heavily now, and whether due to the burning fire beside him or his nervousness I would never know. His family stood behind him, also still kneeling, and with their head down. They could not see his face and he could not see theirs. “It is imperative that everyone in this room follows my orders for the sake of a harmless resolution to this issue. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” they all answered.

“Good, good. First, none in this room except Oscar shall be allowed to speak until I am done. Understood?” There was a nod in response, but no spoken word, which was quite pleasing. “Very well. Second of all, Oscar, my good man, you may not turn your neck around to look behind you. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” he replied.

“Very well. Now—choose.”

“My—my lord?”

“Your daughters,” I said, in a friendly tone. “Choose one of them. I have had some trouble with some pirates and I need the help of a beautiful young woman to do so.” The implication was as clear as Oscar’s horror. I raised an eyebrow at his gaping mouth. “Why, surely you expected nothing less? Your mistake was quite severe, my lord.”

“I—you cannot be serious, my lord!”

I unsheathed Godslayer. “But I am.”

Silence reigned.

I needed not [Investigation] to know the inner workings of that man’s mind at that moment. He could claim Trial by Combat, to accuse me of some sort of crime, but with both my mighty [Swordsmanship] and my coronation only days away there was little he could do. Bravery would not be enough.

He fell to both knees and held his hands together. All you needed was more fear, was it?

“Kill me instead, my lord, I beg you. They—they have done nothing wrong. Their only mistake is to have an incompetent man for a father. Kill me and let them be. Please.”

“No. Choose one.”

“My lord, I cannot—!”

“If you cannot choose one in the next sixty seconds, then both your daughters and your wife shall be subjected to the same fate. Save two or damn all three. Well?”

His guilt and desperation nearly killed him there. Many times his neck tweaked, threatening to turn, to look at his family behind him. But he remembered his earlier command and he knew better than to challenge his betters at this very moment. There was nothing the man wanted more than to look behind him, to confer with his family about this decision. His family, meanwhile, would love to heroically offer themselves up as a sacrifice. This I would not allow. He would have to make the decision on his own.

The faces of horror belonging to his wife and daughters I cared little for. It was his face that I cared about. The face of the man who so often challenged me, and who had disappointed me. The fiend with the rapier is still alive, and you are partially to blame. It was obvious now, Oscar’s breath was heavy, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, sweat dripping from his forehead. Almost there.

“Make your choice, Oscar,” I whispered softly.

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“S…” he muttered. It was more air than words.

“Louder, my good man. Who do you choose?”

“S…S—Sofia,” he muttered weakly. “I…I am so sorry, Sofia. I love you. I will always love you, my angel.”

“Ah, yes, Sofia…your oldest daughter.” I shook my head. “Last chance to change your decision? No? Very well. I suppose we might as well start with her arms, first. She will work better without them.”

I walked up past the kneeling man with Godslayer in my hand. A part of me was surprised that he did not attempt a cowardly attack on my back as I walked past him. Does this man not even have enough guts to be a coward? I looked at his daughter, Sofia. She too didn’t attack me—nor did she cry. The young woman was shaking, of course, but she did not raise her neck or attempt to run. Instead, she just offered up her arms before her. The bravest of this sorry lot, this one.

Godslayer came up and then descended.

For ten seconds, there was not a sound in the room.

Then I laughed. “Oh, Oscar, my good man, you should have seen your face! Did you really think I would punish your daughter for your mistakes? Especially in that barbaric way?”

“M—my lord?”

“You can turn around now! All of you can speak! It’s all good!” I shouted, laughing and smiling. “You are a theatrical family, are you not? It suited my sense of humour to play a small practical joke on you. Fear not, Oscar, I would never have blamed you. There was no mistake on your part. My deepest apologies for any concern I might have caused! You have done nothing wrong and it would be impossible of me to demand repayment for it!”

This wasn’t true. I would have been within my right to demand financial recompense for his incompetence or even jail him for a short amount of time. Were I willing to go down as a tyrant, I could have ordered a finger off of him. But there was no world in which my threat could have been carried out without strong pushback even from my strongest supporters. Frankly, there was little reason to push for such a punishment. Who cared about his family’s suffering? It was only his suffering that mattered.

Besides, financial losses, fingers, time in prison—Oscar could have recovered from all of those.

“F—father?” the girl called Sofia asked.

“It—it was just Lord Johan’s dramatics, it seemed,” he replied weakly. “It seems like I am not being punished at all!”

We all laughed, but Sofia’s eyes showed the unspoken. The young woman knew that her father would have chosen her to be condemned to that terrible fate were this situation real. None of them were in real danger, but Oscar’s relationship with his daughter—indeed his whole family—was irreparably ruined. You can get gold back. You can heal injuries. Your time in prison is temporary. This is forever. “I would never punish a good man like you! Rather, I mean to offer you a reward for all you have done for me.”

There was much forced laughter, and I insisted upon gifting them with a large amount of gold, jewelry and tickets to the opera. Here I shift from malignant to a kind eccentric in your mind. If I meant harm, why would I gift you such?Whether Oscar was a truly good actor or if he had really not realized how hurt his daughter was, I did not know, but throughout lunch he seemed ecstatic and throughly enjoying life. The rest of his family was, understandably, less thrilled—though they all still manage smiles and pleasantries, and by the end they seemed to forget—or project the image of someone who forgot—the trauma in favour of their gifts. All save for one, of course.

When they parted, I called out to the daughter, Sofia. “My lady?”

She turned around hesitantly and I smiled at her. “My deepest apologies. I hadn’t meant for the jest to be taken seriously—your lord father, why, I expected he would have caught on to my bad acting.” A note of self-depreciation was good, especially when your talents were quite proven—it made many lower their guards, to assume you to be gentle and kind. A polite laugh followed in response. “Yet I must ask for your forgiveness—I hardly meant to cause distress.”

“It wasn’t your fault, my lord,” she said. There was a faint blush there. My natural charm was strong enough, though my [Skills] were certainly helping as well. She should have hated me, but it seemed as though my skillful shift of blame toward her father had worked quite well. “My father’s mistakes are his own. You were very kind to reward him in spite of his mistakes.”

“It was nothing.” Here I showed false hesitation. “Forgive me if I misspeak, but I must offer out of a guilty conscience: if your relationship with your father is to turn problematic at any point…please understand that I would be most glad to help you make a living of your own. It is the least I could do after tonight, after all.”

Sofia smiled at me sincerely. “Thank you, my lord. You honour me with your offer.”

My smile at her as she left was sincere as well. This last part had been on a whim, but there was a certain poetry to it, and I wanted to see it done. “Roger?” I shouted. He came running toward me.

“Yes, Lord Johan?”

“It’s not certain yet, but we might have a Clara in the future. Let Nameless know.”

“Of course, my lord.” He bowed deeply. “But if your target is someone who doesn’t know fencing, wouldn’t the new Clara be confused?”

“Break her knees before she wakes up, then. She would attribute anything wrong with her footwork to her injuries. Heal it slowly.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Hesitantly, Roger added, “Do you truly believe she will come to work for you?”

“Unlikely. But the possibility is there and we must prepare for it. It would bee most loathsome to not be ready for it. Now if you excuse me, Roger, I must leave for my morning practice with my friends.”

It was a short walk from my study to the courtyard where Katherine and Carr had already started practice without me. This annoyed me, but the annoyance was nostalgic as well. This was a habit of theirs, to arrive early and to leave late.

“I’ll get started on some food for lunch,” said Katherine, as she pulled off her fencing mask. “You guys must be starving. No breakfast and straight into a workout? I don’t know how you do it.”

We shared a glance and laughed. “Breakfast is a false friend,” I told her. “This works much better.”

“Don’t go on your breakfast lecture again, Johan! I want a bout before lunch, goddamn it,” said Carr, as he fell into his en garde stance.

“Naturally.”

Carr’s erratic rhythm had become a sort of nightmare to deal with.

Master Roger had warned me about the side-effects of the process—that even combining his appearance transforming skill with Nameless’s memory shaping skill, we would have an imperfect match. His memories would clash with his host’s body, albeit the presence of fencing skills lessened the impact. To be frank, my expectations were that his skill would be worse than the original or limited by his new body’s experience. But perfection is hardly a sin I claim.

The Carr in front of me had been born weaker than the original, true, weaker even than his host body, yes! Merely two weeks later, however, and he had become a monster.

Carr…what made you different from all those insufferable people back on Earth…was your eyes. You always wanted to improve, no matter the cost. Even when we first met, when you proclaimed to have given up on competition, the pride in your eyes was unbroken. The fury and humiliation you felt when you lost to me could only have been born from someone who knew their place was not crawling in the mud with the others.

I should have known what would happen if you unleashed yourself from the shackles you placed on yourself.

Just 234 points…and yet…this is your level now, Carr?

[Swordsmanship] :

0 → 234

[Swordsmanship] :

234 → 0

Carr’s sudden stop turned into a sudden advance, before it too turned into a sudden stop.

[Swordsmanship] :

0 → 10

Hereupon his new brilliance astounded me: with each bounce of his feet, he changed the amount of his [Swordsmanship] and made it truly unpredictable. His rhythm was erratic, following a pattern only known to him.

[Swordsmanship] :

10 → 20

[Swordsmanship] :

20 → 30

[Swordsmanship] :

30 → 234

Hardly anyone but myself could have countered it. His mastery over his stats was such he could change them every time the soles of his shoes made contact with the ground, yet his opponent was myself—hardly a fair matchup for anyone.

“You did well,” I told him, smiling and extending a hand. Carr was among the few I allowed to grasp it without a second intention. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble in your upcoming match.”

“Just watch out, Johan!” Carr grasped my hand and stood up, also smiling. “I will take you down next time we fence, after I beat those fakers.” You are evolving at a frightening rate…if you keep this up, Nameless will have to reset your progress lest you become an issue. At this rate you really might be an issue. He laughed. “It kind of freaks me out that someone is out there pretending to be me, you know? That’s kind of weird.”

“One of you is more than I can handle,” Katherine shouted from the back. She had been grilling some meat on a barbecue for our lunch. “Meat is going to be ready soon. You guys done?”

This Katherine—would it be presumptuous to just refer to her as the definite deal?—was flirting with perfection. It was a low fire, with enough charcoal to maintain the fire, but with not enough kindling for the fire to rise too high. It would be cooked slowly, and it would take fifteen minutes for my meat to reach the perfect well-done state it needed to be. “Katherine, I’ll be right with both of you—I’ll go get Max.”

“Tough to be king, eh?” Carr asked with a nostalgic grin, before slapping the back of my shoulder. “Go get your work done, Your Highness. Bring the last member of our team here. Don’t get mad if we start eating without you.”

“I would never,” I replied, laughing. “You like your meat bloody raw, I’d be surprised if you could wait for me.”

Reaching Max’s quarters and bringing him to the courtyard would take around seven and a half minutes, enough for my meat to be nearly, but not quite ready. This would be perfect, as it would give me time to arrange my cutlery and pour a glass of ice cold water in preparation for the meal.

Annoyingly, however, I was half-way out of the courtyard when I stumbled upon Max, who had been seemingly watching our fencing practice. “Max, why didn’t you join us earlier if you there?”

“There was something I wanted to observe,” he said slowly, as if trying to catch up with his own thoughts. “Worked better if I was just looking from afar, I think…”

“I see. Did you draw your conclusions?”

“Maybe.” He shook his head. “Johan, I never got around to thanking you. For protecting my country,” he added, upon noticing my blank expression. “When we first met back on Earth I never would have guessed the guy who beat me time and time again would save my life. I really resented you for always keeping me from the top place in the podium, you know?” He grinned. “But seriously, thank you. I was so involved in fencing I didn’t notice how bad the war had gotten in this world and…I don’t know where we would be without you. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Seriously, I have to. You saved my country, man.” For someone born here, he sure talked like someone from Earth. His decorum had left him. He spoke to his future Emperor now and he should act like it. My own speech had grown to be more suited to this land than Earth, while his had taken the opposite route. All a matter of habit, perhaps. “I’d buy you a drink but I guess you’re sort of above that. Most I can do to repay you is win that team match. But if there is anything else I can do for you, I’d really like you to tell me.”

“There is one thing, actually.”

“Name it.”

“Tell me what you were watching for a second ago.”

Max appeared disconcerted at this. “It’s—it’s a very offensive question. I don’t want to offend you.”

“You wouldn’t.” I meant this. “Be honest with me. That’s all I ask.”

“Well, you asked for it.” He laughed nervously, glanced at the courtyard where Carr and Katherine were eating their steak, then said, “Say, which Carr is the fake one? This one or the one we’re fencing against?”

I looked at him in genuine surprise and told him honestly, “Why, the one who loses.”