Friends, lovers, success…I’ve enjoyed all the pleasures in life that souls consume themselves dreaming of. And yet, only here, in the darkest meanders of this hell on earth, for the first time in my life, I’ve found something real. All thanks to you—my first and only friend.
Auf Wiedersehen, Jacques Dreux!
The last words of the ’Villain.’
Hunter’s Paradise, Anonymous373737, 1624.
The hustle and bustle of thousands of people within such an acoustically-friendly space made that grandiose hall resemble a crowded stadium during a Miramble match. Yet, the poisoning from the accumulation of CO2 in such close space dulled the senses just enough to make the relentless noise feel almost pleasant.
The enormous ground floor of the Miraval Educational Center mimicked the Trinity Symbol, consisting of three large circular spaces all connected by a central atrium. One of these circles housed an auditorium, but to an uninformed observer, its sheer opulence and scale might have made it seem like the school’s private opera house—one capable of accommodating thousands of attendants.
The entire structure rose three stories high, each level packed with rows of seats upholstered in White Megalodon skin—the topmost floor was reserved for Class D, the middle for Class C, and the ground level for Class B. And at the center of the ground floor—between the half-moon-shaped seating and the stage—the future ruling class of the Holy Rolandish Empire sat upon Dark-Century thrones—Class E at the rear, Class A in the center, and Class S at the front.
The mandatory wearing of the Academy’s uniform—originally intended to eliminate wealth-based discrimination—had long since faded from daily life, enforced only during the most important events, such as today. The uniform consisted of a white blazer, waistcoat, and either trousers or a skirt, all made of expensive Draigùr—Draig wool—and each garment was adorned with golden accents, buttons, and an embroidered Miraval Tree on the tie or neckwear. The white-painted walls, the white seating, the white uniforms, and thousands of heads now flowing over the white background were creating a living mosaic—the paradise and its many angels. However, nine tiles were missing.
Seated on simple wooden chairs behind Class E—a sorrowful consequence of poor architectural planning—sat the Class F students.
”Yaaaaawn!” FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux exhaled all the fatigue from a very busy weekend. ”If this ceremony doesn’t start in the next five minutes, I’m gonna fall asleep,” he complained to his fellow classmates.
”You returned very late last night. Did something go wrong with your job?” FF-Class ’Gravedigger’ Derserk Rouge asked while adjusting his round glasses, their crimson red oddly juxtaposing with his pale skin and oily-black hair.
You piece of shit! We wasted so much time sabotaging the oven, only for you not to show up!
Himself grumbled, his first time at the other side of the conversation.
”Sorry, dude. Me and An…ahem…Jude were out of the city for a commission and…ahem…a sudden complication ruined our plans.” Jacques scratched the back of his neck, whistling as he avoided Derserk’s stare.
”What kind of complication?” F-Class ’Tin Blade’ Sahel Ibn-Al-Shin pressed him, his bald head gleaming under the theater’s overhead lights. ”Did you find a doomsday machine inside the lair of some secret organization?” Yesterday, the toddler-looking student and his sister had lost Jacques’s trail at the police station, wasting an entire day of work—a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
”Ahem…nothing like that. I know it might sound weird, but…a feral chicken tried to kill us.” Everyone blinked in confusion. ”Yeah…it’s pretty humiliating. We had to flee our vehicle and hide for hours, and it took us forever to find our way back—right, Jude?” Jacques nudged at FFF-Class ’Mafioso’ Jacques Dreux, who responded with a loud snore. The day before, to avoid the countless ships of the police and their volunteers, the two Jacques had opted for an alternative route, a shortcut the ’Javelinist’ claimed to have discovered after a meticulous examination of the map—it had taken them twelve hours to reach Miraval Island. Thus, the ’Mafioso’ was now enjoying his well-deserved hours of sleep, despite the important event soon going to cement his academic future.
”Did you know chickens descend from dinosaurs? Really scary creatures,” F-Class ’Scarecrow’ Casimir Piekatz interjected, appearing noticeably different today. His once short, almost-military haircut had been replaced by long and unkempt hair, and his clothes were now wrinkled and disheveled. ”My uncle Vlad and his young lover—may Adam have mercy on their souls—were killed by one of them. According to my Aunt Olga—my uncle’s wife—the door of their house was locked from the inside, and after she broke it open, the only living creature found inside was a chicken. The police arrested, tried, and executed the animal, and it was an honor to eat a piece of it.” The ’Scarecrow’ nodded with a solemn expression that well-reflected both the harshness and fairness of justice.
”Jacques, I’m sure you had your problems yesterday, but I think I speak for everyone here,” FF-Class ’Ego Witch’ Carmen Asturias said, trying with all her strength not to laugh. A difficult feat indeed, especially with her apple-like cheeks. ”What has happened to your head?” Jacques’s curly hair had tripled in size, now resembling an unpruned bush that completely eclipsed the view of the three ladies sitting behind him.
”U hair…fluffy,” F-Class ’Copper Blade’ Oshira Ibn-Al-Shin mumbled, kneading her long and sharp nails on that yarn like a little black cat.
”Ahah! Good idea, Shira.” FF-Class ’Data Analyst’ Katrina Welf maliciously smirked as she began pinching Jacques’s hair, using her [Hydrocephalography] to find the perfect spots to maximize the pain. ”Let me guess…mhhh…perhaps an overdose of TricoRegenix by Everdreaming Industries?” She asked before yanking two massive hair knots, prompting the ’Javelinist’ to scream like a little baby. ”That chicken must have had a lot of fun with you.”
”You two, shut up and stop molesting me!” Jacques snapped, but his words were completely ignored by Oshira, who continued trimming the bush, and had the opposite effect on Katrina, who doubled down and began weaving the mass of hair into an elegant tapestry.
I can’t believe it! I saved the Empire from a damn war, and this is my reward?
As Jacques sorrowfully pondered about the ingratitude of society, a new pair of hands joined the girls’, tenderly caressing his hair and left cheek. The touch was so warm and so gentle that he quivered in delight with every stroke, mending his wounded soul from its self-inflicted scars.
”Sorry, Jacques…I couldn’t resist anymore,” Carmen confessed, giggling her guilty.
Not that bad, I guess.
Fortunately for him, the ladies behind him could see how weird his expression had just become.
”You were lucky to run into that chicken. Yesterday, the Academy put us all under quarantine for over twenty hours, locking us in our rooms like rats,” FFF-Class ’Clown’ Connor MacMalley informed. Leather strips were wrapped around his nose and yanked just enough to compress the Memento. However, despite the improvement, it was clear to everyone that the thing beneath that makeshift mask was anything but normal. ”The strangest part? The quarantine was lifted in less than a day. After such a harsh and sudden lockdown, the least you’d expect is to find half the city in ruins, but no…nothing has happened.”
”Now that we’re talking about it…” Katrina leaned forward, positioning her head between the two young men, her pungent fragrance intoxicating both of their minds. ”I think I’ve figured out why half the city was under martial law, and why half of our food supply was incinerated in a sudden fire.” She extended her index finger, and Jacques and Connor glanced at the girl she was pointing to. ”First row, second seat from the left. Despite her young age, she’s one of the most powerful people in the Empire—I’m sure you’ve both heard of her.”
The Princess of the Holy Rolandish Empire, the reincarnation of Heroine Stella, and the Empire’s future queen, all sat side by side for the first social event since their ascension to godhood. They stood proudly at the center of the true stage, where their future subjects could admire their beauty and choose which of them to worship for the rest of their servile lives. And yet, beneath the layers of fancy makeup, shining jewelry, and polished manners, all three were annoyed that the object of everyone’s admiration wasn’t a shining diamond ring, a glorious golden sword, or an exotic jade pendant, but a marred porcelain doll.
”Oh, are you talking about Elf-G—” Jacques, realizing his mistake, immediately sealed his mouth with both hands, but it was too late. After a few moments of awkward silence, Connor let out a sharp whistle, its piercing pitch embedded with genuine respect.
”Ahah! You’re so cruel.” Instead, Katrina guffawed, her icy eyes melting in delight. ”Just a piece of advice—avoid using that moniker in front of our little doll if you value your skin as much as your hair.” She concluded with a merciless pinch.
”I can confirm every word she said.” Dreadful flashbacks of Connor’s encounters with that girl sent shivers down his spine. ”No apology will ever be enough for that spoiled brat. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter because Miss Rougedior believes she’s the heroine of the story, while everyone else is just an extra, merely standing in the background to make her shine brighter.”
Meh…I’m not so sure about that. At least, not anymore.
Jacques glanced at her three scars. The doctors had done an impressive job, and the once-bloody gashes were now, at least from a distance, resembling the war paint worn by Barbarians before the Athgénetha. “I only spoke to her once during a job, but if the Scion of the Highlands and the daughter of a Minister are, somehow, afraid of her, she must be someone very important, isn’t she?”
“Are you serious?” Katrina’s high-pitched yell was met with the most clueless of faces. “She’s Ælfgifu Rougedior, the Marquise of Oldmarch!”
“You mean the little princess who owns the Great Dune and all its vast natural resources? A girl so filthy rich that the staff of Château Rouge outnumber the residents of most cities?” The Arpine lady nodded while Jacques failed to suppress a grin.
I did it…I’ve hit the jackpot—I LOVE YOU, ELF-GF!
Katrina grimaced at the dumb expression on Jacques’s face, now daydreaming about which hitman to hire to kill his cousin Valentino. “Anyway, let’s get back to the main topic. Two days ago, the Marquise had pigtails, a flawless porcelain, and that spoiled-lady attitude of hers. Then the quarantine happened, and now she’s a completely different person. I remember last year, she postponed a national holiday because of a pimple on her face. Yet now, with those scars, she looks so assertive, like she’s above public opinion.”
By definition, a Marquis is a feudal lord who lives on the frontier, a warrior who must constantly fight to protect the realm. Elf-GF’s new look is, indeed, far more fitting for her position.
The ’Javelinist’ now believed she was finally on the right track.
”According to my sources, the official version is that she got injured during a secret training session.” The ’Data Analyst’ leaned in even closer, lowering her voice. ”However, yesterday, after I saw some policemen speaking with Mr. Durere from my room’s window, I decided to sneak out and visit Port Island, discovering that thousands of people were being recruited to scout the Pacific Archipelago.”
”You’re lying. I tried to get past the guards, too, and I failed,” Connor attempted to rebut, but fell silent as soon as he met her glacial stare.
”Connor, please,” she said flatly, irritated by the interruption. ”I simply reminded them that my father is the one who pays their wages. Anyway, after doing a little investigation, I overheard that the police were searching for a missing person. Now, if we connect all these dots, there’s only one possible conclusion—our dear Ælfgifu was forced to take a one-day trip to Korinth.” Connor thought for a few seconds before nodding in agreement, pleasing Katrina. However, her malicious smirk faded the moment she met the dubious expression of the man on her left.
”Ahem…are you sure about that? Perhaps you’ve failed to notice, but your reasoning has a major flaw.” After a chuckle of disbelief, a challenging smirk adorned the bluish lips of the ’Data Analyst—the ’Javelinist’ was the second foolish mortal who had ever dared to suggest a mistake on her part.
”I frankly doubt your public education will be enough to prevent you from wasting my time. Yet, this is a free country, and you have the right to express your opinion. Just remember one thing—I’m going to remember this.” A homicidal glare clashed with an unbothered one.
”Sure, dudette. My point is simple. If you’re right and the Demmies really kidnapped the Marquise, then…why is she here?” Jacques’s question shattered Katrina’s expression. ”Failing to hide someone in an archipelago as vast as a continent suggests a level of incompetence that oddly fits together with the efficiency it would require to abduct a Class S from the Miraval Academy. Am I wrong, Miss Welf?” He concluded with her same malicious smirk.
”You’re underestimating our police force!” Despite logically accepting his argument, her pride wouldn’t let her concede without putting up a fight first.
”Let’s assume you’re right. How much time did Elf-GF even spend in captivity? Twenty hours? That’s less than a day. Doesn’t that sound a little far-fetched?”
Connor froze for a moment, then slowly nodded. ”Yeah…even the dumbest pirate should know enough secrets about the Pacific Sea to avoid getting caught for at least a week.” His words nailed the coffin shut, and while many of her sources backed it, her theory now felt as groundless as a conspiracy theory of King Cornelius—she had to take back control of the narrative.
”If you’re so sure about what you’re saying, how about a little bet?” Katrina announced as she pulled out from the [Inventory] her Ice-Ambered Fountain Pen.
”Overconfidence? Obsession? Pride? Whatever your problem is—you’re going to regret this!” Jacques accepted the challenge, drawing his Hyperborean-Wood Fountain Pen. ”Kaz?” He patted Casimir’s shoulder, who was seated to his left.
”Jacques? What do you want?” The ’Scarecrow’ had been absorbed in a conversation with Derserk and Carmen and hadn’t heard a word of the argument thanks to the cacophony of thousands of students in the auditorium.
”May I ask you to do Katrina a little favor?” Hearing her name, the big guy nodded enthusiastically. ”Please…bend over.” After a few confused blinks, Casimir glanced at Katrina, who beamed at him. The ’Scarecrow’ blushed before lowering his back.
Jacques and Katrina placed their thumbs on the tops of their Fountain Pens, filling the glass containers with their blood. Jacques’s was dark, deprived of oxygen, while Katrina’s shimmered as blue as Crude Mana—an unmistakable proof of her Arpine heritage.
”Times New Roland, Connor Sans, Nixie Gothic, Auxerine Scrayon, or Sternesque?” Katrina settled on the last one—the classic choice. ”Connor, may I ask you to serve as our witness?” The ’Clown’ agreed, and the ’Javelinist’ began to write on Casimir’s white fabric shirt, drawing the attention of their other classmates.
”Mario’s Day 13, Heritage, in the Year of our Hero Roland 1996.” Jacques’s handwriting was atrocious, but as soon as the blood-ink touched the white fabric, the letters reshaped themselves, conforming to the elegant Sternesque font.
”Mr. D. and Ms. W. ag—ACK!” The ’Data Analyst’ abruptly yanked his hair, cutting him off mid-sentence.
”I thought you were a gentleman!” After swallowing several ungentlemanly opinions about the girl, Jacques passed his pen back over the words, sucking the blood-ink back, and started again. The drafting was slow, interrupted by Katrina’s hair pullings and Casimir’s many spasms of impatience, but in the end, the ’Javelinist’ completed the task.
”Kat, you shouldn’t agree to risk your life!” The ’Ego Witch’ shouted anxiously at the ’Data Analyst,’ who rejoiced at her worried expression. Deep down, she was grateful to have finally found such a genuine friend.
”And you, Jacques—no deadline? That’s madness!” Sahel rebuked, with Oshira nodding in agreement.
”If that’s the price to see our dear Miss Welf admit she’s wrong, then I’m more than willing to pay it. Besides, what’s the risk when you’re certain you’ll win?” Jacques flashed a confident smile.
”If you’re so certain of your victory, may I propose a more interesting prize?” Katrina’s words piqued Jacques’s interest. ”The winner of our bet shall have full rights over the vanquished. The loser will become the winner’s slave, living only to pleasure the master!” Jacques flinched at the proposal, Carmen drowned in embarrassment, Oshira tilted her head in confusion, and the rest of the class wore expressions that juxtaposed sheer shock and intrigue.
”Kat, you can’t do that! It’s just plain wrong! If he wins…he’ll be able to…” Just thinking about it made the ’Ego Witch’ blush, and the redder she became the more she delighted the Arpine lady.
"Cammy, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve only lost one bet in my entire life,” Katrina confidently replied. ”Besides, I’m a generous friend who love to share her things, and we are going to have lots of fun together training my new toy.” She then wrapped her arms around both Carmen and Oshira, whispering her wicked plans into their ears.
”Sure Dudette, it seems reasonable.”
Miss Welf’s father is a powerful politician. It shouldn’t be that difficult to trade his daughter for a military exemption.
Jacques thought as he penned the final part of the contract before signing it. Katrina followed suit, and Connor completed the process by adding his signature at the bottom of Casimir’s shirt with a Griffin feather, getting the ink by piercing his own palm. The ’Clown’s’ calligraphy was exquisite, putting the ’Javelinist’s’ to shame—he couldn’t believe anyone could still master such a neglected art.
After the final signature, all the atoms composing the contract disassembled, scattering into the air before traveling toward the unknown location where the Collective Consciousness resided and leaving the ’Scarecrow’ shirtless.
”My favorite shirt!” Casimir cried as he tried to cover his bare torso.
”Weakserk, give your coat to Kaz,” Jacques ordered.
”It’s Derserk, not Weakserk.’
”Sure, dude.” Despite his irritation, the ’Gravedigger’ handed over his black-leather gown, but, unfortunately, it was too thin for such a big body.
”Don’t be ashamed of yourself, Casimir. I personally think you should show off your perfect physique more often.” Katrina’s words instantly changed Casimir’s demeanor, now standing proud despite the awkward glances he received from nearby students. Technically, nothing in the Academy’s dress code forbade it, and following his example, another student in the front row tore apart his own uniform.
”Now, if you all will excuse me, I have an [Email] to send to my father.”
”Hey, you can’t do that!” Jacques protested with a hint of panic in his tone.
”Show me the rule.” Katrina’s malicious smirk widened as the contract rematerialized in her hand.
I’m sure the Minister of the Economy won’t be involved in national security affairs…I guess?
Jacques gulped, realizing he might have committed a little mistake.
***
Thirty minutes later, despite visible activity on stage, the ceremony still hadn’t begun. To kill time, the Class F students busied themselves with idle chatter, and, naturally, the contract was the star of the conversation.
Amid the talk, Jacques noticed that Connor had grown unusually quiet, withdrawing into his thoughts, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out the problem. Although the ’Clown’ did his best to mask it, his eagle eyes kept moving toward the golden curls of a girl sitting in the second row from the stage. The ’Javelinist,’ who had been forced by his cousin Giulietta to read way too many books with the same exact premise, now felt self-inserted into the role of the MC’s buddy, swearing to reduce the number of volumes of this cliché novel to one.
Death to incomprehension as a plot device!
”Hey, Kaz, don’t you think this room is big?” Jacques nonchalantly asked, putting in motion his plan.
”You’re right, Jacques. It’s as large as Saint Sofia’s Cathedral in Zavagrad,” Casimir agreed, his tone filled with nostalgia. He held a lot of fond memories of his visits to that metropolis, just a few kilometers from his family’s farm and yet, culturally, a world apart.
”Perhaps you’ll find it interesting that this auditorium has its own name.”
Sahel’s eyes sparkled. ”Stoner’s Passion. Three floors with twelve entry points each, a circular structure with a radius of
π
37, and more than ten thousand seats. Its acoustically optimized design and mirror-play ensure that the viewer’s experience is nearly identical from every seat.” To test this, Casimir leaned left in front of Derserk, then right in front of Jacques. As the ’Tin Blade’ had claimed, he felt no perceptible difference in sound or view.
”Passion?” Carmen excitedly joined the conversation. ”If there’s a love story behind that name—I want to know!”
”Sadly, it’s a tragic one,” Katrina interjected, seizing control of the conversation from Jacques. ”D-Class ’Dead Poet’ Ohio Stoner—the man after whom this auditorium is named—was an archaeology professor at Miraval Academy.”
Casimir raised an eyebrow. ”A Class D archaeologist…how?”
”The ones risking their lives in the Sealtish Ruins, so romanticized in adventure literature, are called Archeolords. Archaeologists, on the other hand, remain in their dusty offices analyzing findings, and, if they are lucky enough to get some funding, they supervise excavations to prove some triviality about our ancestors.” Derserk explained to his teammate.
By a quick glance at your books, you all should fire all these idiots—they are always wrong! For example, during what they call the Chaotic Age—peak history, by the way—it was actually common for plebeians to decorate their homes with the bones of deceased relatives, allowing them to communicate during special occasions like festivals. But these archaeologists found the skulls and decided they must be the victims of some kind of human-sacrifice ritual—total idiocy! We buried sacrifices as deep as possible. Imagine having to stare at your victims every morning during breakfast, that would be incredibly awkward.
While Derserk pondered in shock on why the new hierarchy had decided to silence the dead, Katrina began telling Ohio’s story.
"█
█
.
██████ ████ ██ █████████████
,
███████ ██ ███ ███ ████████ ███████
,
███ ██████ ██ ██ █████████—█ ███████ ██ ████████ ██ ███████
.
███ ███, █ ████, █████ ██ ████████, █████ ██ ███████
.
███ ███ ████ ██ █████ ██████ ████████ ██ ██████████ ███ ████████ ████████
.
███████, ████ █████ ████ ██ ███ ████ ██ ███ ████████, ██████ ██ ████ ███████ ██ ███████ ██ ███████ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ██████████ ███ █████████ ███ █████████ ██ ███████ ███
.
██…██████. ████████ █████. ██████████, █████ ███ █████, ███████ █████ ███ ███ ████ █████ ████████ ██ █████—███ ███████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █’███.’ █████, ███, █████ ███ ██ ███████ ████████ ██ ███████████, ███████ ███ █████ ███ ████ ███ ██ █████ ████ █████████ ██ ███ ’███.’ ██████, ███, █████ ███ █████████ █████████ ████ ███ ███████ █████████
.
"████ █████████████ ███ ████████ █████████ ████████ ████ ███ ███████ ████████
.
██████████ ████ ██████████ ███ ███████████ ███ ███████████, ████████, █ █████ █████ ███████ ████ ██ █████ ████ █████
.
████ ████████ ████████ ██ ███."
Katrina made a dramatic pause. "
██████ █████ ██ ███████ ███████ ████ ██ ███████ ██ ████████ ████████ ██ ████, ██████ ██ ███ ████████ ██ ██████████ ██ ████████ ████
.
██████ ██████████, ██ ███ ██ ███ ██████ █████ █████████ ███ ████████ ██████
.
██████ ████ ███ ██ ███ ██████ ██ ████
.
████ █████, ███ █████ ██ ███ █████ ███
.
████ ████ ███ ██ ████████ ██ ███████ ██ ████████ ██ ███████ ███████ ████ ██ ████ ██ ███████ ██ ████████—█████████, ███ █████ ██ █████████ ██ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ██ ███ ████ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ █████ ██ ███ █████
."
Overall, Jacques’s plan had worked. Connor was no longer staring at the girl. Instead, he was now repeatedly slapping his ears, each time harder than the last, while furiously blinking. "Katrina…" he mumbled, voice trembling.
“Can you… repeat… what have you just said?”
