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Before I know it, my third spring in Orethgon comes around. Time sure flies, huh? Reminds me of that part in The Lion King where they sing hakuna matata and bam, Simba is a big cat. Except, in my case there’s ninety percent less fur growth, or any other character development worth mentioning—especially in the bra size. Are these things somehow connected? Should I stop shaving my armpits for shit to get real? Not that I’m looking for trouble, personally, but unless something just a little adventurous starts and soon, we’ll be saying ta-ta to all those readers who bravely made it to this point.

But lo and ho, as if manifested in answer to my repeated pleas, that early spring there’s a funky smell riding the wind from the east side mountains, if you can tell over the stench of cow poop.

That’s the wind of change, my friends.

The smell of trouble.

And as the thaw melts away and the earliest dandelions turn into blossom, the first disciple comes riding home.

Vysania took no part in my training. Not for one hot tip. She only came by once for Midwinter and left the very next day again. Am I being overly self-conscious, or is she avoiding me? No, that’d be silly. Must be an issue with the bloated page count.

I see the cat girl go straight past the villa to the castle, and the very next day, yours truly gets called in by the higher-ups.

A coincidence? I think not.

Tummy full of butterflies, I hop, skip, and jump over, up the stairs to the second floor and into Irifan’s regal office. I still don’t have a badge.

In the tall hall full of rising light, I find the boss, and both Vysania and Master Endol are there with her. Gods, two beautiful girls, standing side by side surrounded by god rays—this is why I get up in the morning. I so made the right choice when I joined up. Now, if only someone kicked the alien fossil out of the room, it’d be the closest I’ve ever been to a threesome.

“Ah, good morning, Zero,” Irifan greets me, breaking me from my brief reverie. “Come on in. We have some very important matters to discuss today, and I was hoping you would join us.”

Uh-oh. Smells like a big infodump coming. Should’ve brought hot cocoa and a camping chair.

On the outside, I let none of my reluctance show. It’s every hero’s basic duty to endure exposition without cringing. I sat under waterfalls in the mountains and danced on hot coals to raise my mind over matter, and dilute my sense of self; I'm confident my inner mind is now better hidden than a Nazi base on the far side of the Moon. And so I walk courageously in.

“My master and sunshine,” I greet Irifan, “you tell me to fly and I ask only to which star.”

“Wouldn't you normally start with jumping?”

The other two close their eyes, unable to believe Irifan is still willing to play along with my nonsense after all this time.

I say, “In all honesty, after two years of reeling up buckets of water, delivering pastries, and holding the door for elderly, I’m ready to fly right out of my skin. When the biggest event of the week is playing midwife to a goat, it kind of has you question the meaning of existence.”

There must be more to this life.

“I thought you might say that,” Irifan replies with a bit of a bittersweet face. “Helping those around us by any means we can is the onus of all civilized people. But you're right that doing the common man's work is not the true purpose why we have gathered. We call ourselves an order, yet we have relinquished knighthood. We turned our back on the light of day. We set aside our honor and vows, and all hope of rewards, and chose to work in the shadows, faceless and without a name. Because there are problems in the world that cannot be solved only by words. Because there are threats from which rigid webs of rules cannot protect us. To solve such troubles by any means they demand, move unbound, see with eyes unclouded, is why my grandfather founded the Order of the Covenant. The way the holy Covenant of the Gods safeguards our planet, we must support those without the means to help themselves. And now, despite our best efforts, the shadow of war has been cast over our close neighbors.”

“War?” I repeat and look at the other two. “As in, that thing where masses of people kill each other in horrible ways?”

“That would be the long and short of it, alas,” Master Endol confirms.

Wowie. I was looking for a spot of action, but the jump from unplanned goat pregnancies to manmade hell on earth is a bit extreme.

“The three things I hate most in the world,” I say, “war and granny’s cooking. One of those things takes up two slots, but I won’t say which.”

Nobody deigns to laugh at my attempt to lighten the mood, though Irifan is nice enough to force a smile.

Then Vysania speaks up,

“Two weeks ago now, the King of Alberion signed sealed orders to mobilize the royal army. No public announcement has been made yet, but I’ve personally verified this through my contacts in the Kingdom. As we speak, four divisions of men are relocating far east to the border of Nikéa and three more are being called to service. Looking at the numbers and heavy machinery involved, it is unthinkable this could be a mere training exercise. I believe an all-out offensive is to follow ere the year's end.”

“Wait a minute, we are attacking somebody?” I interrupt her.

I was never a huge fan of the Kingdom, after the little vacation behind the bars they gave me, but our Duchy is still technically a part of Alberion too. Which is why I sort of put the Kingdom in the “good guys”-box by extension. And now they’re the ones riding out to murder and pillage another country? Why's that?

Master Endol seizes the chance to explain.

“For several years, the society of Alberion has silently struggled with a growing problem of opiates. The government lays the blame on the Sultanate of Nikéa for the production and illicit trade of drugs across the border. Four years prior, a trade blockade was imposed on the Sultanate by the Kingdom and her allies, although it has failed to resolve the problem. Nikéans themselves feel they are unjustly threatened, the accusations against them merely a ruse to excuse an armed invasion. Political dialogue between the lands has all but ceased as of late, and a military escalation now appears imminent.”

“The charges are not entirely baseless,” Vysania picks up the story. “It is widely known the Sultanate has been long plagued by organized crime and corruption. The cartel finances itself through drug sale, and they have extended their trade networks throughout most of the southwestern Noertia. It is an excuse too good to pass up on. If the Sultan cannot rid his land of the unlawful elements and put a stop to the flow of opiates from east to west, then Alberion is mandated to intervene with force, to protect her own citizens...Or so the parliament has decreed.”

It takes me a beat to wake up.

“Huh? Is that a bad thing?” I raise my brow at the other three, unsure which side they expect me to be root for. “I mean, we think drugs are bad, right? Cartels? Double bad. So isn’t the Kingdom doing us a huge favor by pulling the plug? Actually, shouldn't that be our job? I thought kicking druglord ass was our MO down to a T?”

“Zero,” Irifan tells me without the faintest hint of a smile, “if a war breaks out, countless innocent people are going to die.”

“I’m aware,” I assure her. “But you know the thing about omelettes. Just, don’t be like granny; take the egg shells from the pan before you turn up the heat.”

Again, my hot take goes ignored.

“If only the story were as the Kingdom would have us believe,” Master Endol speaks up. “We have not been entirely idle in these past years ourselves, content with only watching from the side. Our associates have kept a close eye on both sides of the border, in order to identify the drug traders’ routes and the personnel involved. But our discoveries thus far have not been what we expected. The blockade stands firm. The supply of many other products between the lands has ceased altogether, and the rest proceed under strict scrutiny. And yet, in all this time, the passage of opiates to the Kingdom has not been stalled in the slightest. On the contrary—the supply has seen a steady increase over time.”

“Eh?” I'm looking dumb again. “What does that mean?”

“Now that would be my question to you, my young apprentice,” he throws the ball back to my corner.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Is this the time for tests!?

“The border control is airtight,” Vysania says. “During our four-year observation period, we have identified not one smuggling route that managed to deliver to sellers in Alberion’s territory. Most attempts were discovered within a week, the paths blocked and the participants arrested and jailed. Yet, the strong efforts of the border guard have had no perceivable effect on the drug market itself. How can this paradox be explained?”

You're quizzing me too?

“They go around and bring the dope over a different border?” I suggest with a shrug.

“No, Zero,” Irifan refutes me. “The geography of the region leaves only a handful of routes from Nikéa to the west viable by land or sea. They are well known due to centuries of use by traders, simple to supervise. In attempting to open any previously unknown routes through more difficult areas, the risks and costs would outweigh any gains to be had. It wouldn't be worth it.”

“So they, uh, take the raw ingredients elsewhere, little by little, and cook their stuff where nobody’s looking?”

“The exact process used to refine opium is a secret the cartels will murder to keep,” Vysania tells me. “They would never take the materials or know-how necessary to another country and risk sparking competition.”

Well, damn. I think this is beyond my doctorate.

How do you put seemingly endless quantities of stuff into a closed box that's under a constant watch?

The box has no holes and nobody outside has managed to pry it open. But somehow, bad things keep showing up inside. That makes no sense.

I don't think even magic could do that.

Unless—

“Hang on.”

Nobody outside has managed to open the box? But…

“You’re not saying the Kingdom is letting the drugs in on purpose?”

Vysania nods at my crazy tinfoil hat theory.

“Only independent smugglers are thwarted,” she says. “The Kingdom itself imports the opiates from sanctioned manufacturers, hidden among cargo marked with the royal seal, which exempts them from screenings at the border. They fund the cartel behind the Sultan’s back, to sow disorder and conflict on both sides. To justify the war to the parliament and the international community, and shut down any support for Nikéa. At the same time, the accusations and the continued trade blockade provoke and impoverish the Sultanate, serving to ensure any motions for peace are unthinkable. We are dealing with a conspiracy involving the upper echelons of the Kingdom. Someone among us wants this war and not for the reasons given. Nikéa has no hope to prevail against the royal army in an open conflict. The country will be razed and robbed. We cannot stand by and let this happen.”

“Thank you for making my headache so much worse,” I tell my fellow disciple. “But why would the Nikéans keep selling drugs to their enemy, knowing it’s pushing them closer to a war? Can’t they see they’re shooting their own boot?”

“The Kingdom and the crime lords have a common enemy,” Irifan explains. “The Sultan. Should Alberion’s forces overthrow Nikéa’s legal regime, it becomes easier for the gangs to take control as the dust settles. The Kingdom's victory in battle may be inevitable, but keeping Nikéa occupied is another matter. Sooner or later, the invaders must leave, and it’ll be those who sided with them who are left to hold the reins.”

Well, shit.

“It is surely an opportunity much too lucrative for the criminals to ignore,” Master Endol comments. “Alone, busy with their incessant in-fighting, these gangs lack the military might to oppose the government. The Sultan has thus far suffered the cartel’s existence, for they have indirectly brought prosperity to the famished nation, reeling in prodigious amounts of drug gold from the west. The leverage they've gained over foreign nobility, who have fallen for the opiates' sway, doesn't hurt Nikéa's interests either. However, should the gangsters cross the line, the Sultan may yet deem them more trouble than they are worth, and commence with an all-out purge. The bigger they grow the closer the edge. They need this war, perhaps more so than the Kingdom.”

“Okay.” I nod, feeling like I've heard more than enough now. “So, what are we going to do? What can we actually do, if it’s gone that bad already?”

Seems to me the war’s set in stone. Good luck stopping that.

But Irifan’s eyes still glimmer with a determined, hopeful light.

“For this scheme to be possible, there must exist a high-level communication channel between Nikéa’s criminal syndicates and Alberion’s military. If we can identify the link on our side and expose the conspiracy, the trade ring will collapse. The importation of drugs will stop and the following scandal will force the King to call back the invasion. Whether his majesty is aware of the truth or not, he will have no alternative but to wash his hands of the affair, lest he make himself the villain in the eyes of the world.”

“Oh, that’s smart.” I’m so glad I’m not the one who has to do the thinking here. “But how exactly do we find the mastermind? I don’t know, but it sounds like there's a huge crowd of people involved on both sides. And they probably don’t have stupidly obvious bad guy tattoos, or matching T-shirts.”

Don’t these things usually take decades, even from people who know what they’re doing?

“There is no need for us to go out of our way to search for the enemy,” Master Endol tells me. “We can simply have him come to us instead.”

“I get you’re over a thousand years old, but can you for once say something that makes sense to me?”

“It is not a great mystery brought about by the generational gap,” he says. “We already know there is something our enemy wants in Nikéa. They want it badly enough to go to war for it. But rather than entrusting such an important business to the volatile cartel, or risking the objective's ruin in the chaos of war, our target is sure to have personal presence on site. And it is by this thread that he shall be caught. All we must do is be there and ready for him.”

Wow, that was easy enough even for me to understand. But can it really be that simple?

The others seem to think so.

“Sephram is already in Nikéa, looking for the enemy agents,” Irifan tells me. “He has recruited supporters from among the locals, but the situation may turn chaotic yet, and I would feel better if he had someone we know with him. Which is why, Zero, I would have you travel to Nikéa and lend Sephram your strength. Work together and find out who is in charge of Alberion’s collaborators in the Sultanate. With the name of the leader and any necessary evidence, we will have stopped this war before it may begin.”

I stare back at Irifan for a moment, dumbstruck. It takes time for the significance of her words to sink in.

“You’re sending me? You mean, you’re giving me a real-real mission now? Am I dreaming this?”

Does that mean I’m actually one of the X-men now? Could someone slap me?

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Irifan tells me, concern in her eyes. “Keep close to Sephram and listen to his instructions. Don’t do anything too reckless. Master Teresina and Master Gunlau have told me your training is proceeding apace and you have the necessary skills to take care of yourself, but I still want you to be very, very careful—”

I barely hear her.

I swing my hands high up in the air and cheer.

“—AW HELL YEAH!”

Finally, finally, I've graduated from the fetch quests!

Thank every god out there in the universe and all the Divines! And Santa and Buddha! And the Easter Bunny too!

“You’re not going to regret this, boss!” I tell Irifan. “Leave it all to me! Preventing a war or two, that’s nothing! I’ll be done and back by lunch!”

“Do take your time...” she replies with a bit of a helpless smile.

“Well-well, what do you say now, kittie-cat?” I turn to Vysania and playfully poke her with an elbow. “I know what you’re thinking; ‘where has that clueless, deliciously flat junior from two years ago gone?’ Oh, she’s no more! We’re full peers now, big sis! Both in the double-O class, licensed to thrill! Better watch out, eh! Before you know it, I’m taking over as the overachieving prodigy of the team! I mean it! Hey, hey!”

Vysania sighs and turns to leave. “This is ridiculous.”

Can’t handle the bantz, meow!

“Zero,” Irifan then calls me in a tone that instantly drops me back to earth. “I should tell you that Masters Endol, Vysania, and Khram all opposed assigning this mission to you. They felt that while your technical skills may be fit for a field operative, you are not mentally ready yet. There is a lot at stake. Perhaps too much. It may well be that our read of the situation is too naive and a bloodbath cannot be avoided. Your first mission ending in failure could be more than your heart can bear. But though it worries me, I wanted you to have this chance regardless, knowing how hard you’re worked these past two years, and how you’ve yearned for a chance to prove yourself. So please, Zero; help me convince those three of what I already know for certain: that you have it in you—to be a Warrior of Light.”

“...”

I find myself struck speechless.

That doesn’t happen a lot.

I’m so used to being treated like a fool. I’m used to feeling like a fool.

I already resigned myself to the role of a joker, thinking that making a few strangers smile was the best I could do.

I was born into this world to be fodder and burn. If I went and died, it wouldn’t be much of a loss to anyone, other than myself—or so I assumed. No, wouldn’t it be only a massive relief, if that were the case? If you take zero from the world, nobody is bothered. No tears shed. Life goes on. And that’s a good thing. But it seems a big change took place in these few quick years, before I knew it.

I didn't believe anyone could have expectations for me after Buckinworth again, but there's one such crazy person here, right in front of me.

Someone who sees the human under the clown paint and doesn’t laugh.

Someone, in whose equation I’m not a total zero, but someone of value.

The idea hits me like a brick in the face.

I can’t fail that hope. Anything but that. One way or the other, I have to show the gang that Irifan made the right choice to trust me. That I’m every bit the hero she needs me to be.

I've got this. There’s no chance I’m screwing this up. I hope to convey that to Irifan through only the look in my eyes and nod.

But it’s a big world out there.

Bigger than any of us thought.