You may be wondering what a Jersey even is.

Long ago, a group of explorers and adventurers went on a quest to find the stimulant hempseed for some rich noble, and they stumbled upon a strange cave. When they went inside, they discovered this new and complex technology that they had never seen before, like phoenix powder and the Jerseys.

When some detectives, archaeologists, and investigators came to check it out, they determined that it was some sort of ancient civilization that lived long ago. The tech looked pretty old and destitute, so they determined they must’ve moved somewhere else or had gone extinct. That didn’t stop them from creating excavation and extraction sites on those places though.

With these new found areas, they discovered brand new things, like clear-cut glass, a type of thin, clear, bendable solid, though nobody knew how to make it, fine pottery, and most importantly, phoenix powder and the sacred jerseys.

Phoenix powder is this fine, granulated gray powder the explorers found in some small canisters, and they realized, if lit on fire, it fizzled and exploded abruptly. It was named Phoenix Powder because just like a phoenix, the beginning stage is when it’s gray and weak, but when awakened, it becomes a fiery hot fireball.

Sadly, there’s not much to go around, so any powder that is found is kept in the treasury as a national artifact, as people noticed it’s power could do so much good and also so much evil.

The Jersey, on the other hand, is the most famous and destructive weapon the world has ever seen. Some explorers and excavators found this strange metal tube with a wood butt sitting in a box. Although it was extremely old and worn out, it was still usable.

This explorer started fiddling with the tube by rubbing the butt and sliding his finger inside the tube, when, by accident, flicked the lever on the side.

What happened next was pretty gruesome.

The front of the barrel exploded, firing a small metal bullet out of it. And at that moment, the explorer’s finger happened to be in the barrel. So when the tube got activated, and the bullet went flying, that bullet wasn’t going to stop, and his whole finger exploded in chunky bits, raining flesh and bone fragments everywhere.

Safe to say everyone around him was horrified, and he promptly collapsed in pain and shock, but while he was being tended to in a medical tent, the other inspectors were now ever so careful to actually inspect it.

They found a few garbled words, and one of the explorers was an archiver who actually understood the ancient language. On a small plaque on the butt of the barrel was the words of “something.. Something.. New Jersey”. They had no clue what a New Jersey was, so they just decided to call it a Jersey.

Luckily for them, there was a lot more ammo and phoenix powder sitting in a box closeby to where the Jersey was found, so they took that too, and on that day, those explorers had the most feared weapon in history.

When they brought it to the king, who was the third king of the kingdom, King Targanhov, he requested if he could use this strange new weapon. The explorers, who remembered the time when one of their comrades had their finger blown to bits, tried and pleaded to the king to not use it, but he insisted.

An hour later, the king was holding the Jersey and pointed it at a pig’s head. The explorer’s had shown the king where the ammo fired out of, and where they had found where new ammo gets put into.

The pig’s head was promptly obliterated, it’s whole front face blasted beyond recognition. The king was horrified and astounded at the same time.

To keep this new dangerous weapon and these locations safe, the Syrillian King ordered all locations of these ancient civilizations to be located and well guarded. He also made sure no monster or unauthorized person came close of these excavation sites.

Nowadays, restrictions have somewhat eased, and a lot more Jerseys have been recovered. To profit off of these excavation sites, the Syrillian King has created a law that gives people the opportunity to enter these sites if they can pay a huge entry fee, or a top official gives you a pass to enter for free. However, youngsters who didn't have the friends or the money to get in decided in order to get rich quick they could do something a little less legal. Along with the ones that see these spots as ways to get limitless power, these criminals end up trying to locate or ransack ancient civilization sites and loot all the treasure they have. From this situation came a new type of bandits: Civ Bandits.

By the time I had put on my former noble clothing of a vest, suit, tie, and gone down to the meeting hall, Randolph was already there. There’s a big reason why he’s a big deal. First of all, he’s the duke. Second of all, he owns a Jersey.

Now how did our Lesser Baron family like ours get to be good friends with a Duke? That’s easy. There was this big war between the Syrilian Kingdom and the Archibov Republic about seventy years ago, and back then, my grandfather and the duke’s father were good friends and battle partners. They fought together, ate together, saved each other one too many times. Although our families got separated into classes, both grandfathers insisted on my father to be friends with the now duke.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Randolph is this tall, charming, and blonde man with a ponytail. If you think most nobles are fat, disgusting and are absolute pedophiles, you're right. Duke Randolph is the exception. Every time he goes out in public, he's seen with a beautiful smile and welcoming face, that everyone feels relaxed looking at him. He has received hundreds of letters from suitors willing to be his mistress, yet he refused all of them. He's like the perfect family man, but it sucks for the people would want to marry him, as he already has a wife and daughter. Though, I haven't seen his wife in public yet.

It's wonderful how they’re still friends, and that’s how we got this significant opportunity.

“Alright, It looks like everyone has assembled,” my father said as I took my position in front of the duke. “Everyone, this is Duke Randolph. He’s a good friend of mine, and today he’ll be showing you all the most prized and most renowned weapon, the Jersey.”

My brothers and sister ooh-ed and ahh-ed. It’s not your everyday occurrence that you get to witness the power of a Jersey or the effects of phoenix powder.

“Everyone, let's go outside to the target practice clearing, Duke Randolph will show you what a Jersey does,” my father said.

Everyone walked outside into the grass clearing, where a lone melon was sitting on a table a couple yards away.

“Everyone stand back, and be sure to cover your ears, the Jersey makes a terrific noise,” Randolph said. As everyone took several large steps back, Randolph opened a slot on the side of the barrel, inserted a shell, and locked it back up. He then hoisted the butt of the Jersey under his armpit, having one hand holding the underside of the barrel and another hand on the switch.

The more I stared at the Jersey and his posture, I started to get uneasy. Why would he put the butt of the Jersey under the armpit? Isn't that the worst way to hold one?

Five seconds go by. Ten. Twenty. What’s taking so long?

BANG!

Well speak of the devil.

A burst of flame burst out of the barrel, and the melon tumbled off the table, blown to bits.

Wait. Blown to bits? Upon a longer glance, only the side of the melon seemed to be destroyed, while most of the melon seemed to be intact. I looked at my family, my brothers and sister, who were applauding Randolph on his mighty accomplishment, who weren’t even looking at the end result. They weren't applauding for the end result. They were applauding for Randolph and his ability to wield one.

There's a phrase I like to say: "If you have best sword in the world but can't wield it, you're not good." I could do better than him.

My hand instinctively raised up to touch the Jersey.

“Zyan!” my father’s voice suddenly burst behind me. “Why would you try to touch the duke’s belongings? Don’t you know that a Jersey is very dangerous? Also, he’s the duke for crying out loud! What are you doing?”

I turned around. My brothers and sister giggled, while my parents were in horror and embarrassment.

“Sorry Father, I just wanted to see if I could fire the Jersey… I just ... think I could do better.”

My father was red in the face, he looked like he was going to burst like a can full of Phoenix Powder. Oh now I’ve done it.

Luckily, the Duke came to my rescue.

“Try it you say?” exclaimed the Duke, butting into our conversation with an ecstatic grin on his face. “Why, of course, I can allow you to use the Jersey! I love showing people how I use the Jersey! It’s so… gratifying. And if you fail, you can admit defeat and I can teach you all properly.”

Duke Randolph put the Jersey in my hands, almost as if he was shoving it into my hands. It looked wonderful. Long smooth barrel, clean butt, nice design. Everything I would’ve dreamed of a Jersey.

Duke Randolph gave a small snicker. “You must be wondering how you shoot it, by the look of how you’re marvelling at it. Do you need instructions?”

I looked at my family behind me. My brothers and sister were on rapt alert, watching my every move. My father and mother were in a sort of shock.

“I don’t need any help,” I meekly said. “I already watched how you used the Jersey and fired it.”

Duke Randolph looked slightly gloomy, but then perked back up with giddiness and excitement. “No worries! Let’s get that target ready for you!”

Randolph pointed his hand at the melon, and the melon floated back up on to the table. It seemed like the Duke knew he wasn't good, as he had used his telekinesis magic to turn the melon's bad end to the back. He probably didn't want to lose face.

I opened the ammo slot and placed the bullet in before locking it in its place before placing the butt of the Jersey under my armpits. I knew it. Randolph's posture is absolutely awful. Placing the Jersey in the armpit position makes it insanely hard to aim, so I moved it to another position, my shoulder.

After taking a closer glance at the end of the barrel, there seemed to be a small uptick at the end. Maybe it was a piece used for better aiming?

I heard a loud cough behind me. I turned around to see my brother Dennis impatiently waiting, while tapping his foot on the grassy floor.

“Hey Zyan, if you’re not going to use the Jersey, why don’t you let me use it? You’re probably going to use the next half day trying to use that thing,” Dennis whispered.

"Hey, I'm no slowpoke here, I'm tuning my aim. Now lay off will you?"

“Well, if you can hit it that is." My siblings giggled at Dennis's joke. Although I felt a little embarresed, I had the Jersey, it was my time to shine!

I pressed the butt of the Jersey up to my shoulder, aimed the uptick scope at the melon and fired.

It was a pretty good hit.

No. Not just a pretty good hit, it was an amazing hit! In a fiery blast, the bullet had sailed across the green, smashing the melon into a trillion pieces, red juicy flesh and green rind flying everywhere. The impact was so strong even the table hit the dirt.

I lowered the Jersey and took a good look at Duke Randolph. He was wide mouthed, his eyes staring at what was left of the eviscerated melon. Not even his golden blonde hair could make him look like a winner.

I smirked and looked at my family. They were all in shock, my mother and father especially.

Serves them right. It was their fault that they didn’t think I could handle it.

Randolph stared at the shards of melon flesh littered all over the floor. He glanced back at me, then the melon, then at me again. Finally he coughed, straightened his ruffle tie, and composed himself.

“My my, I have to say, that shot was wonderful! I haven’t seen such a wonderful shooter for years! My, I’ve spent years mastering the art of the Jersey, only to be beaten by an adolescent boy in mere minutes, oh what shame!” Randolph dramatically said, combing his hair like some dramatic actor.

“Sandson! My dear friend!” Randolph pounced on my father, thoroughly shocking him out of his daze, “Your son has some magnificent skills! Have you been teaching him how to use a Jersey?”

My father stuttered and gasped, “Wha- Uh, no! We haven’t! We don’t even own a Jersey!”

Randolph was bubbling with glee at that point. “Well I don’t know what’s happening, but your son has featured more skill than even the Jersey Knights of the Syrilian Kingdom! This is groundbreaking! I may even be inclined to take him under my own wing and teach him!”

I groaned to myself. Oh no, Randolph, why did you say that? I like my freedom, I like this place, and I don’t really enjoy the extremely high society. Too many pompous women with semi-sphere dresses. Ugh. Also Randolph, pretty sure the claims you make is false. Easy there.

I’d rather be exploring town under cover and walking around with Klien, how’d this come to be?

Randolph was still talking. “So Sandson, can I take your son under my wing?”

“Uh… um..” my father stammered. “I’ll just let Zyan think about it. He’s the one with the skills after all, I can’t make such an important decision for him.”

Wait No! Don’t push this thing towards me! I hate unwanted attention!