”Welcome to MCBN News, the most listened-to Adamic newscast in La Cité De Miraval and La Communauté alike. I’m Hortense Cotterêts, and with me is my colleague, Édouard d’Iberville. Together, for the next few hours, we will be hearing and discussing an important message directly from our Emperor—AAA-Class ’Immortal Berserker’ Julius III Rolandsson.” Despite the rain outside the Blue Bird Experience, the Hydro reception was surprisingly clear and the subtle tension in the host’s voice was perfectly audible, betraying a sense of unease—she already knew this wouldn’t be good news.
”The transmission has reached our city via the Intercontinental Pipeline. As a result, we’ll likely be the last in the ’HRE’ to hear His Holiness’s words. However, we can console ourselves with today’s special guest—S-Class ’Fortunate Son’ Xoán Al Córdoba.” A pre-recorded sound of a standing ovation played as an introduction. ”For the few listeners who may not be familiar with him, Mr. Al Córdoba is not only a brilliant professor at the Miraval Academy, but also a renowned expert in history, politics, and economics. He holds a PPE degree from the Alma Mater Vesperia—the only university nestled amidst the petals of the Twilight Madness—and let’s just say, passing its entrance exams is no small feat.” Although the listeners couldn’t see his face through the Hydro, the host’s booming voice carried the unmistakable cadence of a seasoned comedian.
“Curb your enthusiasm, Édouard. I may be a good economist, a decent historian, and, a perceptive political analyst, but the praise should be about my accomplishments, not just a piece of paper.” The professor’s voice was warm—like ambrosia to the ears—but it could quickly turn assertive when needed.
“Perhaps you’re referring to your bestsellers. Books that have sold millions of copies, won countless awards, and are even read by the Korinthians, who consider you the only sane tooth in a mouth rotting with lies—their words not mine.”
“Exactly, Miss Cotterêts. This week, my new book will be available in the best libraries across Chaotia—The Roots of Chaos: An Unbiased Investigation into the Underlying Causes of the Dark Century.” The professor’s tone carried the proud warmth of a father speaking about his child’s accomplishments. “This project has taken me over ten years to complete. It began as a gut feeling I had during my student years, a theory that bewitched both my mind and heart, and as I grew professionally, the book mirrored the changes I’ve undergone. In many ways, it might be seen as an abstract type of autobiography. Nonetheless, it remains a rigorous investigation into the origins of the Dark Century, and I promise my future readers this—my work will forever change your understanding of what we have long, yet wrongly, called the ’HRE’s’ Darkest Hour.”
”Of this, and much more, we will speak over the coming hours. But now, dear listeners, the time has come to hear from our Emperor.”
A brief clicking sound interrupted the broadcast, followed by several seconds of complete silence. Then, from the Hydro, a classical symphony began to play—an unusual composition that juxtaposed the triumphant rhythms of a military parade, the ethereal beauty of a requiem, and the mystic of the Drowned Monks’ chants.
“A national security address by His Holiness, AAA-Class ‘Immortal Berserker’ Emperor Julius III Rolandsson. Recorded on 16/06/96 by Lydbølge LTD, Dollhouse Briefing Room, Twilight Madness—All Rights Reserved.” A robotic voice delivered the preamble.
The recording itself started with the chaotic noise of dozens of journalists scrambling to assert their place in the Q&A hierarchy. However, as soon as the sound of hands slamming against a wooden surface cut through the noise, silence fell like a curtain, and not a single whisper followed. Then, the speaker began with a long and heavy sigh that seemed to carry the burden of entire centuries, perhaps millennia.
”My fellow Chaotians, proud subjects of our Holy Rolandish Empire, and faithful followers of our Trinitarian Faith, thank you for taking the time to hear my words. I know many of you are now recalling the first time I addressed this nation, just a few months after I received my crown, twelve long years ago…sadly, it was to announce a war. I was young, naïve, and blinded by the way history books glorify what, in hindsight, I now recognize as the greatest cancer to ever plague mankind.” The Emperor paused, requesting a minute of silence for the victims of his decision.
”My inexperience led to millions of deaths on both sides, and the battlefield reports that crowded my desk throughout those years still weigh heavily on my conscience—haunting me in my dreams. That is why I am not ashamed of the peace agreement I signed, and to those who criticize that decision—those who still thirst for the blood of my people—I ask this—how many human lives is a piece of land worth?” The soft rustle of paper signaled a shift in tone—from sorrow to resolute—as he prepared to address an even graver matter.
”Peace is a beautiful flower, its fragrance fooling us into believing we have all the time in the world to achieve our delusion. Yet, every time we think we’re close to grasping our dreams, it withers in our hands. What I am about to disclose to you today was, at first, deemed too dangerous for public knowledge. However, you, my people, have the right to understand the reasons behind a difficult decision that, sooner or later, will affect us all. But before we proceed…let us pray.” And so they did. The Emperor, his staff, the journalists, and, most likely, the vast majority of listeners across the nation, all bowed their heads in silence, asking the Holy Trinity to stop the Wheel of Time.
”Three days ago, a band of pirates, led by Level-19α ’Panthera Phasmavisor’ Ghatobhàmi Gauda—a Naturian prince condemned to exile—successfully infiltrated Miraval City, sneaking into the Miraval Academy. Their objective, you ask? To kidnap S-Class ’Dust Symphonist’ Marquis Ælfgifu III Rougedior.” A few seconds of stunned silence followed, then chaos erupted among the journalists, but one snap of the Emperor’s fingers silenced them.
”You’ve lost,” Katrina taunted, her malicious smirk full of satisfaction.
”Maybe,” Jacques replied with a calm shrug. ”But before you make any hasty judgments, perhaps we should let our Emperor finish his speech, shan’t we?”
The ’Data Analyst’ raised her icy eyebrow, confused and a little worried by the composed demeanor of the ’Javelinist.’
”As you might very well have guessed, pirates alone lack the means to breach what we believed to be one of the safest places in the Empire. Thus, the logical follow-up question is—who was the traitor? And, consequently, whom did our thirty-seventh column serve? Clearly, it wasn’t someone after our wealth or political power, but someone targeting the ’HRE’s’ most vital asset—our future generations. The answer to that second question may seem obvious, but let us take our time to reconstruct the events of that night together.” Julius III paused, then took a sip from a glass of milk, savoring its raw taste before continuing.
”First, how did the pirates manage to penetrate Miraval Lake? No, an even better question would be—why weren’t their boats shot on sight by our security forces?” The Emperor sighed deeply. ”Our traitor was a policeman named BBB-Class ’Raging Phoenix’ Jericho Van Kasteel. Reports concerning Agent Van Kasteel indicate a large amount of lascivious behaviors, and I’m using a euphemism. According to a credible witness, during one of his many so-called ‘anthropological studies’ in the red-light district of Miraval City, an unidentified individual gathered compromising evidence on his unsavory activities, subsequently blackmailing him into cooperating with the pirates.”
”Thanks to the the men and women of the Stasi, we are now able to reconstruct the events of that night. How did the pirates breach our waters? Agent Van Kasteel seduced the sonar operator. How did they reach Miraval Island? Agent Van Kasteel seduced the patrol captain. How did they navigate the canal undetected? Agent Van Kasteel seduced the customs officer, and so on. That night, in total, Agent Van Kasteel engaged in intimate relations with thirty-seven public officials—it would seem that the only flaw in our supposedly impenetrable security system was…the human heart.” The Emperor paused, taking another sip of milk, trying to suppress a laugh.
”Through his immoral yet hard efforts, the pirates gained access to the Academy, where they found the Marquis alone in the park in the middle of the night. Why was she there, you ask? Two days before the kidnapping, the first-year Class S students suffered an accident. Four students, including my own daughter—Princess Bradamanthe—were poisoned during their first Dungeon Raid. Initially, we suspected an assassination attempt, but, in light of recent events, we now understand it was merely a diversion to draw our attention away from their real plan.
”Still shaken by the poisoning incident, Marquise Rougedior requested a private meeting with her closest friend—CC-Class ’Solstice’ Ysoline Sévériné De La Roché—scheduled for that late hour to avoid any allegations of privilege abuse. Unfortunately, Agent Van Kasteel had, somehow, learned about it and set the plan in motion for that very night.”
”Everything went exactly as I told you,” Katrina’s malicious smirk widened, but Jacques merely mirrored her expression, gesturing for her to wait just five more minutes.
”However, their perfect plan was sabotaged by their own stupidity. Imagine being a Naturian, hired to kidnap a foreign girl in a foreign land, only to arrive at the designated location and find two girls—same age, same size, and, most importantly, exuding the same noble scent.” A cold shiver ran down the Data Analyst’s spine. ”The Marquise was severely injured but left behind, and it was poor Miss Sévériné who was taken instead, becoming the unexpected protagonist of this tragedy.” Behind the Arpine lady’s back, Jacques whistled the eerie theme of a well-known horror show.
”To cover their tracks, the pirates attempted to stage Ysoline’s death using a fake body, but our professionals did their job, and the search was launched without further delay. Unfortunately, by the time we realized the truth…the girl…” The Emperor stopped, his silence weighing heavier than any words. Then, he offered a another prayer to the ’Romantic Dreamer.’
”Agent Van Kasteel’s orders—unaware of the pirates’ error—were likely to eliminate the pirates and deliver the hostage to his client, all while manipulating the search efforts to ensure only his squad was assigned to the eastern side of the Pacific Archipelago. Fortunately, his colleague, C-Class ’Defender’ Ludwing Diflas—whom I am about to reward with knighthood—noticed the suspicious behavior of ’Raging Phoenix,’ managing to send a stealthy warning message that reached a Stasi agent who had been monitoring Jericho. After eliminating Gauda, Agent Van Kasteel attempted to silence Agent Diflas as well, but that same Stasi agent arrived just in time, killing the traitor and putting to an end this story…while starting a new one.” Julius III took a final sip of milk—emptying the glass—let out a heavy breath, and slapped his hands against the wood.
”My fellow Chaotians, once this speech concludes, I am going to summon the Korinthian ambassador to demand an explanation for this vile betrayal of our peace deal. I promise you all that I will do everything in my power to prevent another conflict. However, should I fail, as the Shurapatri once said—Alea Iacta Est!” The same music that had opened the speech now played to close it.
”Are…we…at war?” Carmen trembled, her eyes moving around in search of comfort from her classmates, all now gathered around a Hydro device positioned on the table beneath the portrait of the lady in a wheelchair—her enigmatic smile now softened into a serene one.
After the Mirable match, Derserk and Casimir had been contacted by Mr. Fritz, who urged them to cover the Blue Bird Experience while he was away with Safiye to deal with a sudden emergency, and all the Class F students joined their classmates, using it as an excuse for a free coffee—explaining why they were all here now.
”No one cares. The only important thing is that—” He triumphantly glanced at Katrina, her icy eyes now melting, both expressions resembling those of SS-Class '
Afromentioned Divergence'
Alasdair O'Shaun and the citizens of New Oasis in the famous painting that depicted the Third Sack of New Oasis named---'It's Time to Pay Your Debts.' ”—I HAVE WON! Oh wait, I’ve almost forgotten—you have to surrender first, don’t you?”
”I…” She could theoretically refuse to surrender for the rest of her life, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. ”I admit it…I’ve lost.” Jacques stretched out his open palm toward her, and suddenly, a ray of light shone through the room, materializing a shirt in his hand.
”Ahem…blah blah…by the authority of the Collective Consciousness…blah blah…respecting the agreements made between the parties…blah blah…oh, here’s the juicy part. Miss W shall obey all of Mr. D’s commandments. Otherwise, the standard punitive measure shall be applied—the simultaneous implosion of all brain’s blood vessels.” Like the Marian gentleman he claimed to be, Jacques raised and lowered the shirt like a puppet in front of Katrina, making her feel his triumph. ”Mmm, what should be my first order…hmm…”
Well, clearly, there’s only one thing a man can ask a woman who can’t disobey him…kekeke…Make me a sandwich! Oh wait, iron my shirt? Or mop the floor? Holy shit, there are plenty of ways…
As his mind was overwhelmed with the countless possibilities, a hand suddenly snatched the shirt from him.
”You can’t do this—it’s morally wrong!” The ’Ego Witch’ shouted, extending her arm as a shield in front of Katrina, protecting the ’Data Analyst’ from the evil orc.
”By the authority of the Collective Consciousness, I’ve obtained the legal right to do anything I desire with Miss Welf. And mind you, she was the one who set the stakes—if I had lost, she would have done the same to me.” Jacques snapped his fingers, dematerializing the shirt from Carmen’s hand and rematerializing it in his own. ”Wouldn’t she?”
”Even if something’s legal, it doesn’t mean it’s right! I thought we were friends—we’re supposed to support each other!” Carmen insisted before turning to her teammate. ”Katrina, tell him you wouldn’t have taken advantage of him if you had won!” The Arpine lady hastily nodded, trying with all her might not to chuckle.
Friends? How shallow must you be to consider a stranger you’ve known for barely a week as a friend? Still... I’m happy.
Jacques grinned like a goofy idiot.
”She’s right, Jacques—you can’t do that to Katrina…” Casimir leaned in, whispering into the Javelinist’s ear. ”Think about me.”
Why do women always try to ruin male friendships?
”Law shall purify itself from the cancer of compromise. That’s why I support Jacques,” Derserk declared.
Lucky bastard!
Himself thought.
”Thanks, Jellyserk.”
”It’s Derserk, not Jellyserk.”
”Sure, dude.”
”…Law…equal…strength,” Oshira murmured.
”The submission of the weak to the strong after losing a duel is standard practice in Naturia. Therefore, my sister and I must agree with Jacques,” Sahel stated.
Did he just compare me to a fucking Warlord, or did I hear that wrong?
”Jacques, if you don’t destroy the contract in the next three seconds, my honor will oblige me to challenge you to a duel for Katrina’s hand.” As Connor drew his weapon from his [Inventory], a binding ray of light heralded the arrival of a legend itself. The weapon had a strange handle—lacking the usual crossguard, thin and minimal, like those of the Shurapatri—yet its pure steel could shame even the one of the most cutting-edge foundry. Its name—Excalibur, the holy sword of his ancestor, Hero Lionárd. ”This is my first and last warning—destroy the contract and leave her alone.” He seasoned the threat by pointing the blade at his chest, and although it didn’t touch his skin, its celestial aura alone was enough to wound him.
Would you have done the same for me if Katrina had won?
”I deeply apologize to you girls,” Jude chimed in, resting an elbow on Jacques’s shoulder. ”But I’m going to support Jacques—a promise is a promise. And somehow, I have this strange feeling, like I’ll soon be called for a very lucrative job.” He concluded with a sneer.
Finally, a good argument. But it doesn’t matter—I’ve already made my decision.
”Four versus three. It seems I’ve won again.” With a swift kick, the ’Javelinist’ made the ’Clown’ toppling onto his own sword. Then, calmly yet smugly, he walked toward Katrina, backgrounded by Carmen’s furious protests. The Arpine lady held his gaze, doing her best to appear strong, determined to preserve her dignity, and, noticing that, Jacques raised his index finger, stopping just a few millimeters from her face. She blinked—another victory. ”Alright, I’ve had my fun,” Jacques admitted before tearing the shirt apart, and the entire Class F—except Jude—stared at him in stunned silence.
”W-why?” Katrina asked, her facade faltering.
”Because we’re friends, aren’t we?” He replied with a warm smile, giving her a thumbs-up. However, Katrina didn’t believe a single word.
”I knew you were a good person, Jacques!” Carmen warmly hugged him, causing Jacques’s face to twist into multiple weird expressions. Then it was Casimir’s turn, crushing him in his large arms and ignoring all his pleas for mercy.
”Are you mad or just stupid? Did you really waste such a unique opportunity for what? How could you call someone a friend after just a wee—” Katrina shouted, until she caught sight of Carmen from the corner of her eye.
The ’Ego Witch’ lowered her head. ”Yeah…I suppose a week isn’t enough to become friends…I must have been really stupid,” she mumbled, trying not to cry, while the ”Data Analyst” hurried to remedy the gaffe.
”Lady Welf, you’ve clearly misunderstood me. In the past week, I’ve had enough time to appreciate your value and potential. You are a beautiful, smart, and enterprising woman—a great destiny awaits you. Hence, having you as an ally in the future will be far more profitable than clipping your wings for a cheap, immediate gain, won’t it?” Katrina grimaced at him as she wiped away Carmen’s tears. ”But if you’re still bitter about it, let’s settle this with a gentlemen’s agreement—no contract, just an honorable handshake. Don’t worry, Carmen, I’m asking for just one favor, with Katrina’s veto right included,” Jacques proposed, extending his hand toward her.
”I–If your consent is respected, I see nothing wrong with this…You should accept, Kat!” After cleaning her tears, Carmen encouraged her, and despite her many reservations, the ’Data Analyst’ shook his hand.
What a stupid woman. I’ve just traded a stolen gold bar for clean cash. It seems I have nothing to worry ab—
As he thought that, a new doubt emerged in his mind.
Elections are this year. What guarantees me that her father will remain a Minister for the next three years?
He clenched his jaw.
Sorry, Anicet. I still can’t risk my life like that.
Casimir knelt on the ground, gently touching the remnants of what had once been his favorite shirt. It had been a gift from his Aunt Bravda, the last one she gave him before she was kidnapped by the evil gnomes who dwelled beneath the underground of Zavagrad. For years, those creatures had stolen from the locals, but the police never believed that version of the story. Instead, they confiscated all of Aunt Bravda’s gifts—except for that one shirt.
”Casimir, I think Katrina has something for you,” The ’Javelinist’ announced while the ’Data Analyst’ stepped forward, holding a large and flat box in both hands. ”This is from me and Jacques to apologize for the shirt.” The ’Scarecrow’ trembled as he opened the box, finding inside a black shirt with a green crow woven across the back—its wings spread wide from shoulder to shoulder. ”Guys…I…LOVE YOU!” He pulled them both into a hug.
”Now I have to head back to the dorm—see you later,” Jacques said as he stood up to leave the café. However, his classmates quickly stopped him. ”Wait, where are you going? Our lessons were cancelled—Mr. Diaz is too busy rushing to the bank to withdraw all his savings to pay Derserk!” Carmen reminded.
”Where am I going?—
”To clean my room from its mold!”
