Gravedigger: Part One

”What’s the moral of my story? Don’t strive for perfection, but strive for the best possible outcome.”

The Doubting Man learns his final lesson before meeting Adam.

Epoch of Tane’Tanu’Tana, ??? , ???

”Is this shit what we’re paying twelve-hundred Marini each month?” FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux now fully believed he had been scammed.

The first floor of the Class F dormitory/classroom was large enough to accommodate nine bedrooms, each soberly furnished with a bed, wardrobe, and desk. However, only three of these rooms simultaneously had an intact wall, floor, and ceiling, and, unfortunately, even those were uninhabitable as mold, spiders, and cockroaches had colonized them for years and were now prepared to defend their squatter rights to the death.

”I’ve seen worse at my uncle Vladimir’s tavern. Removing a bunch of mold shouldn’t be more complicated than fighting hordes of Gremlins,” F-Class ’Scarecrow’ Casimir Piekazt said as he added some chemical product to various buckets of water.

”It’s now or never. The longer we wait, the more the necrosis will spread,” FF-Class ’Gravedigger’ Derserk Rouge declared as he immersed the sponge in the bucket.

Jacques, Casimir, and Derserk nodded to one another, and the battle began. For hours, they fought to conquer the Mold Kingdom, purge the spider strongholds, and break the morale of the cockroach army. However, their enemy was simple-minded but far from stupid. Using guerrilla tactics, they focused on the weakest flank of the human army—Jacques—seizing every opportunity to slip into his clothes, frustrating the ’Javelinist’ until his lines collapsed.

”Fuck the mold, fuck the cockroaches, fuck Mr. Diaz! I need to get a job, not reclaim a swamp,” were his words to justify his incompetence before fleeing from the battlefield.

Nevertheless, without Jacques’ constant bitching, the other two rooms were pacified relatively quickly, but still to the best of their abilities. As a farm boy, Casimir had no issue sleeping on a mattress, which had once been the cockroach capital during the war. However, according to Derserk’s various paranoias, remnants of the enemy’s army were still hiding in his bed, ready to launch an ’Insurrection’ as soon as he fell asleep. Therefore, the ’Gravedigger’ gave his farewell to the ’Scarecrow,’ leaving the dormitory in search of a solution to his problem.

Inside the Relax Section, Derserk found exactly what he needed—a newsstand. It sported newspapers, comics, and magazines imported from across the Holy Rolandish Empire, and, recently, even beyond that.

All the diverse languages of the ’HRE’ were represented there. ’Chaotian Adamic’ occupied a full third of the selection. Another third was shared between Jankee, Startongue, Nixie, High Woodtongue, Sardinian, Auxerine, and Sootspeak. And the final third was reserved for prints written in the various minor languages and foreign ones, such as Lawfullian Adamic and Theta Codex. However, due to the current geopolitical climate, nothing was sold in Marian, Korinthian, or Conformism.

Luckily for him, nobody bought the infamous DAILY EVERNIGHTMARE, drafted by the absolute despot of the Evernightmare Kingdom—A-Class ’World’s End Epitaph’ King Cornelius III Cosmatern. Despite having ’daily’ in the title, it was actually a weekly, written in Adamic for maximum reach and filled with the king’s most eccentric theories about what was really happening behind the scenes in the ’HRE’—all rigorously written in FULL CAPS.

”THE END IS NIGH! THE ’MIMT’ ”EXPERTS” HAVE LIED AGAIN NO HUMAN-EATING INSECT IS LIVING ON OUR BEACHES! EVERDREAMING INDUSTRIES STOCKS HAVE RISEN BY 3.7% AS PREDICTED BY ME! THE WORST GENERATION OF ESSENTIAS!” Derserk read some of the headlines, all having Cornelius as the author. ”Excuse me, do you sell them in bulk?”

”You can take them all. I’ve only sold three copies this week, and they would have ended up in the trashcan anyway.” Derserk thanked the newsstand owner and returned to his room with dozens of newspapers.

After disassembling them, he used the sheets to cover the room’s furniture. First the yellowed mattress, then the crampy wardrobe, and eventually every surface of the room, transforming the entire space into a black-and-white artistic masterpiece—one that could have easily shamed the so-called modern art. Then, finally, the ’Gravedigger’ lay down on his bed, taking his first night of sleep at the Miraval Academy.

***

Derserk woke up after just a couple of hours, feeling better than ever. No eye bags, no back pain, no bad thoughts—the scourges that had plagued his mornings for years were completely gone.

Good morning, kiddo. Didn’t you usually sleep a lot more? What happened? A nightmare, or did you miss my company?” Himself told Derserk, ruining that good feeling.

”Don’t worry, I hate you as much as yesterday. I think it’s my [Passive.Skill].” The ’Gravedigger’ mumbled as he opened his [Stats.Window].

By killing a thousand pleblians, we can become stronger than Roland himself. That's an absolute win! Himself celebrated. ”You’re joking, right? Do you want me to murder a thousand innocent people per night, just for this power to vanish the next day?” Derserk really wanted to be outraged by the proposal, but he was too desensitized at this point. Even the thought of committing a crime against humanity barely shook his heart.

Stop trying to be a saint—you’re already a mass murderer. Think about it for a moment. Do you know how many people lose their lives in war? A mere thousand deaths can end such a tragedy in less than a couple of hours. Derserk despised how Himself’s words sounded logical to him. ”For now, let’s get rid of [Dirty].” They both agreed and moved headed to downstairs.

Jacques had mentioned earlier that the bathroom was on the ground floor, its door facing the classroom. Once there, Derserk turned the rusty handle, took one quick glance inside, and decided to find a public bath in the city.

***

It took him half an hour to walk from his dormitory to the Academy’s gate, reaching the massive infrastructure that connected all the islands of Miraval City—the Miraval Bridge.

“I’ve never seen a modern infrastructure without concrete, let alone something this massive,” Derserk thought aloud, touching the wooden guardrail that separated a surprisingly wide sidewalk from the three-lane road—two lanes for Hydrovehicles and one for horses. ”But where do we go now?” Commercial Zone. It’s the largest area of the Demi-Circle, and the only with services you can afford right now. He agreed with Himself, and, since no carriages were available at that hour, he began walking along the sidewalk.

Derserk hated crowded and noisy places like the atrium during the Class Assignment, so the sheer silence of the Miraval Bridge at night was clearing his mind. There, kissed by a soft breeze, the ’Gravedigger’ self-reflected on everything that had happened the day before.

”Casimir feels like a good guy…but Jacques…he looks shady, like he’s hiding something.” You’re just jelly as hell because that Naturian maiden has had eyes only for him, ain’t you? Himself had hit a soft spot.

“I simply hate how he talked to Mr. Diaz. Everyone had their reservations about the dormitory, but he bad-mouthed him like the professor was some-sort of old friend. I would’ve never been that disrespectful.” Stop stating the obvious—you’re never able to do anything at all. Himself had hit another soft spot. Thus, Derserk stopped walking, soothing his chaotic feelings by admiring the breathtaking panorama beneath his feet.

A myriad of stars kissed the surface of Miraval Lake, leaving white lipstick marks behind. But it wasn’t the only flirtation the lake experienced that night—the three moons had undressed themselves, revealing their forbidden beauty over its water.

The Original Moon—as blue as our primordial soup. The Romantic Moon—as red as the blood we shed for passion. And the Imperfect Moon—as green as the last thing we see before dying. Each bore a large crater on its surface, and together, they resembled three glowing irises side by side over a shining eye. Artists had stylized this celestial phenomenon into an emblem—the Trinity’s Eye—that was later adopted by the Trinitarian Church—-the official religion of the Holy Rolandish Empire—as the sacred icon of their gods—the Holy Trinity.

The stars, the moons, and a new addition joined the spectacle—hundreds of glowing fish dancing beneath the reflections. ”Why is such a wonder confined to such an unpopular hour of the day?” He mused aloud. Boring. Back in the good old days—before the Magic-Industrial Revolution spoiled the world of its purity—spectacles like this one were commonplace. Himself grumbled, but the young man ignored him. The living painting on the lake ignited a small spark of his long-lost love for life, freeing the young man from the dark thoughts that had plagued his fragile mind during the Class Assignment.

As Derserk fixed his gaze on his reflection, the image of a red-haired goddess appeared beside his own. Not even in his most depraved fantasies had he imagined such perfect lips—as crimson as the Romantic Moon. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…and she’s not even real.”

“No, I’m very real, and you’re violating curfew!”

After feeling countless shivers in his spine, the ’Gravedigger’ turned around slowly, discovering that his delusion had become reality.

”I’m S-Class ’Everlasting Spring’ Aoife Sinclair, a professor of the Miraval Academy, and it’s my duty to monitor students’ behavior.” She pointed her index at him, causing his red-round glasses to slip. ”You scoundrel! It’s 4 a.m., and not only are you awake—you tried to sneak into the city! Are you insane? Do you realize this is a serious violation of the rules? You can be expelled!” Despite her high-pitched voice, Derserk didn’t hear a word Miss Sinclair said. His amethyst fixed on the faint green blood vessel visible on her pale neck.

Cut it! Himself screamed as a dark type of lust overwhelmed the young man, trying to take control of his body. During the class assignment, the scent of Miss Sinclair was enough to awaken his most primordial urges, and surviving those ten seconds next to the red-haired professor was, by far, the hardest challenge he had ever faced. But now, seeing such beauty up close was slowly breaking the thin wall that separates humans from an animals—the ability to control our instincts. If you want Miss Sinclair so badly—cut that neck. Make her yours—forever!

“Are you even listening?” The ’Everlasting Spring’ asked as she waved a hand in front of his face. “Turning into a statue won’t save you. Tell me your name, now, and maybe we can work this out together. Okay?” She offered him a friendly smile.

Despite his heart being gripped by forces far too complex for him to understand, Derserk managed to regain control of his body, knowing, however, that it couldn’t last—he had to make Miss Sinclair leave as soon as possible, before something terrible happened. “Ahem…I’m FF-Class ’Gravedigger’ …Derserk Rouge,” he mumbled, his tone strained by distress.

“Wait a minute…are you a Class F?” Derserk nodded, and then the ’Everlasting Spring’ blinked a couple of times, glanced around a bit, and concluded with an awkward smile. ”Ahem…so, see you...later…I guess...” the ’Everlasting Spring’ stammered before fleeing toward the Academy as fast as she could.

“Thanks, Adam. A few more seconds and I wouldn’t have been able to resist.” For the first time, Derserk felt grateful to be a Class F.

Come on, we could’ve had fun. This is why you have no friends.

“I have no friends because of you. Also, that woman was Class S—did you want to get both of us killed?” Derserk pointed out before collapsing to the ground, exhausted.

Perfection is merely a mathematical property of ideal objects. It doesn’t exist because in real life everything has an approximation error—she had one on her neck. A clean cut to that green vessel, and Miss Sinclair would’ve died, regardless of her [HP] or [Stats]. Derserk had never trusted Himself, but, after all, if he died his unwelcome bodymate would have shared the same fate.

WORLD'S END BLOG:

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