Scarecrow: Part One

”Wake up, suffer, and sleep. Each day, the same routine. Amidst the rain, snow, and blood, my duty I fulfill to protect my kin.”

The Battle of the Three Dragons is a famous example often cited to teach an important lesson about history. It began when Rhys Draig, brother of King Llewelyn I Draig, charged his wooden fortress atop a short hill backed by a thousand Highlander Knights. However, he was soon forced to retreat as twenty thousand Imperial soldiers joined the battle, commanded by the Münzemessermarterrittert Frederik Von Sternenstaub, father-in-law of Emperor Magnus I and husband of their sister, Gwendolen Draig---whether she was actually present at the battle or not is still a subject of debate.

For an entire week, all three armies sought to provoke one another into battle, but none wished to risk being flanked, waiting in a tense stalemate. However, at the twilight of the twelfth day, King Llewelyn fled the battlefield, and immediately after, the two other armies followed suit, breaking into his citadel. In truth, it was more of a city than a fortress, with thick wooden buildings stacked side by side, forming narrow streets that forced the two armies to break their formations in order to navigate through the labyrinth.

The soldiers searched for Llewelyn until the fortress was veiled by darkness, but they found no trace of him or any of his soldiers, and then, a fire broke out. Each army believed the other had betrayed them, and they fought as flames consumed the battlefield. When the smoke curtain over the wooden city finally faded, the first light of morning revealed that Rhys and Frederik, along with most of their armies, were lying dead upon a sea of ashes, leaving King Llewelyn free to seize control of the Short Hills and lay the foundation for the Draigesque State.

As a historian, I must report everything as fairly as possible without letting my personal beliefs distort the facts. That being said, there is an interesting theory surrounding the battle. Some suggest that Llewelyn’s army wasn’t even there to begin with, but fled the battlefield upon hearing that the two armies were marching toward him. The King allegedly left behind a small group of his most loyal soldiers with orders to delay the enemy as long as possible, then set the fort ablaze to cover their retreat while he prepared an ambush to strike at an enemy drunk with victory. It’s an intriguing theory with some merit, but whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter---nothing can change history. Even if, after four hundred years, this theory proves to be true, it would not alter the outcome of the battle, nor the sorrowful fate of King Llewelyn, many years later upon the same short hill.

An extract from Secession, a book narrating the tragedy of the Draigesque Kingdom throughout the Great Civil War and Derserk’s favorite read.

”Draig did nothing wrong, they deserved to win.”

One of the most important lessons you can learn in life is to let go. The ’Dragonslayer’ wanted to restore what had been lost long ago, even if it meant declaring war on reality itself. To achieve any kind of victory, he needed to compromise, creating something new that still preserved the spirit of the past. But, what’s the point of rationalizing love?

Derserk had to admit that Himself was sometimes an enjoyable person to discuss with. ”If the Wheel of Time won’t turn back, then what’s the point of studying history?”

Here’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. If you can’t reverse the wheel, just keep spinning it till it returns to its original position.

”Derserk, why are you talking to yourself?” Casimir abruptly interrupted his teammate’s self-reflection—his eyes half-closed while still wearing his tattered nightgown.

”Sorry…I was just reading out loud.” Derserk hastily hid the book in his [Inventory]. ”There’s still some time left, why did you wake up?” After their bath in the city, the two agreed to catch a few more hours of sleep before their lesson. It was now 8:30 a.m., but they had planned to wake at nine o’clock.

”Jacques has just sent me a message on my [Contacts.Window]. He wants to buy us breakfast with the money he made last night—he’s really a nice guy.”

See? He might be a drug dealer, but at least he knows how to be a good friend—stop distrusting people! Himself scolded. ”Just give me a second.” From the black-and-white closet, Derserk pulled out an elegant brown fabric suit, a black shirt, and a pair of polished leather moccasins.

As he got dressed, Casimir stuck a finger into his belly button—exposed by a ragged hole in his nightgown—and gave it a sniff. Then he asked—”Derserk, are we friends?”

The question caught him off guard. ”We only met yesterday…it’s too soon to say,” Derserk stammered. ”But…we’re classmates, fellow members of the same [Party], and coworkers. So...yeah…I think we’re on the right track.” A veiled smile adorned his lips—the thought of having a friend for the first time felt good.

However, Casimir frowned. ”Look, I was never much of a reader myself. My mom taught me when I was little, but after that I just worked on my dad’s farm, and I’ve never had much time for books. So…ahem...can you explain to me why were you reading with your sunglasses on?”

***

Jacques waved enthusiastically as his two fellow [Party] members that just arrived at the café.

The Fragrance of the Morning was a sophisticated establishment located just a few meters from the Class A dormitory. Its design, heavily inspired by the most exclusive cafés in the Capital, featured a boutique-style facade that invited the passersby to savor with their eyes the refined wonders waiting for them inside.

As the trio stepped through the door, they were greeted by mingling scents of luxurious perfumes and the delicate clinking of silver cutlery. Sitting at ebony tables, the Scions of the Academy’s wealthiest elites were savoring deconstructions of classic breakfast dishes—croissants lacquered with a wine glaze, strawberries paired with chili-chocolate cream, and many other decadent delicacies.

Once seated, their poor-quality outfits immediately drew attention from the Noble students, becoming targets of pitying gazes and muted laughter. Nevertheless, Jacques responded with an unbothered smile. “Pay them no mind. We’ve got the money, and, by law, they’re obligated to serve us.” With theatrical pride, Jacques struck a stack of banknotes on the table.

Why did he choose such an exclusive place? The ’Javelinist’ remembered his uncle’s words—“Our first impression leaves an everlasting mark on people’s memory, one that shapes all our future interactions with them.” Thus, he aimed to buy a friendship with Casimir and Derserk in the Academy’s most exclusive location, and since dinner was too expensive, breakfast was a perfect compromise.

“Jacques, what you’re doing here is fantastic! But I have to ask…this isn’t drug money, is it?” Casimir asked hesitantly.

The ’Javelinist’ snorted, rolling his eyes. ”Forget that story, already! Yesterday, I completed three commissions—I repaired a Hydrosystem, rescued an archive from a burning building, and filled out tax forms for a very lazy noble. I’ve earned this breakfast!” He crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and raised his chin pridefully, daring anyone to challenge his right to be there. Little did he know, the foe was already approaching in on their table.

”Welcome to our little refuge from the stresses of academic life,” announced a golden-haired waiter, his voice smooth and melodious. ”I am Bianco Leblanc, and I will have the pleasure of escorting you through a moment of complete sensorial pleasure before returning to your daily duties.” Despite being a plebeian, his polished demeanor, spotless uniform, and radiant expression gave him an aura of nobility that easily eclipsed most of the actual aristocrats in the café, who fidgeted uneasily at how their ladies were admiring him.

This dandy’s words are decent, but he lacks etiquette. Overall, a garbage of a waiter. But then again—who cares? I’m just here to eat. Jacques shrugged.

”Today, the chef recommends fresh Brontosaurus eggs, caught yesterday in Saurotopia, served with slices of bacon,” Mr. Leblanc announced with a dazzling smile. Yet behind that facade, his thoughts were far less sweet. New lambs come to the slaughter. Well, not my problem anyway. He darted toward the three miserable individuals seated at a table worth more than anything they would ever produce in the waste of oxygen they called life. Their shabby clothes, awkward manners, and slouched posture were an affront to decency—he would have sooner slit his own throat than be seen in public in such a state.

Bianco’s real name was Perry Eriksson, an orphan raised in the slums of the Capital. From a young age, he had mastered the art of keeping his head down and his mouth shut, traits that earned him a job in some of the most exclusive clubs in the city’s underworld. There, no matter the horrors he witnessed in the basements beneath those oasis of happiness, Perry never felt guilt because, according to him, humans were divided into two races—who devour and who is devoured—and he had no intention of being the latter. However, when his boss was finally caught, Perry barely survived a public lynching, escaping into Miraval City, where, using the service skills he’d learned by working for the Devil himself, he secured a job at one of the Academy’s most exclusive establishments—entrusted with the special duty of cleaning up human waste.

”Thanks for your advice. We’ll take the eggs, right, guys?” Casimir proposed, turning to Derserk, who gave a brief nod of agreement. Jacques’s reaction, however, was a little different.

”Eggs and bacon in the morning? Do you want to vomit?” He pretended to gag. ”For me, just a glass of milk and a slice of cake. Anything is fine, since from what I saw in that showcase, all the sweets looked like trash. Also, move your ass—we’ve got class in less than an hour.” He waved his hand dismissively before pulling a newspaper from his [Inventory].

This must be a prank. As he watched the student casually reading his paper, Perry felt the sting of humiliation tighten in his chest. Relax, Perry. He’ll soon get what he fucking deserves. ”With pleasure,” he replied smoothly, no crack visible over his polished mask. ”Here at the Fragrance of the Morning, we respect our clients’ duties. But before I go, what would the other two gentlemen like to drink? May I suggest a bottle of Bologne? A deep crimson red, with an intense aroma that excites the palate. A fine way to begin your d—”

*PFFFT!* Before Perry could conclude, Jacques let out a loud dismissive snort. ”Wine? In the morning? What kind of jobless leech does that? Do you think we’re fucking Hunters? Just shut the fuck up and bring us three glasses of water!” His unfiltered opinions echoed across the café, reigniting everyone’s attention toward their table in the worst possible way.

”Nearly all of our esteemed clients are enjoying a glass of wine this morning. Moreover, Bologne is exceptionally smooth compared to most of our wines—I can hardly see how it could harm a productive day.” Making fun of me, a dirty plebeian, is one thing. But insulting every single Noble in the room? Oh-oh, he is so fucked. Perry thought, suppressing a vindictive smirk.

In response, Jacques raised an eyebrow and silently unfolded his newspaper, opening it to a specific page. Then, without any warning, he began reading aloud—"THE WORST GENERATION OF ESSENTIAS, by King Cornelius III Cosmatern.”

"IT IS HARDLY A SURPRISE THAT MODERNITY HAS CHANGED OUR YOUTH FOR THE WORSE. THE SO-CALLED ROMANTIC HEROES OF THE PAST ARE NOW BEING REPLACED BY CYNICAL DEGENERATES WHO CARE ABOUT NOTHING BUT THE PURSUING OF THEIR PERSONAL PLEASURE. AND WHAT IS THE OBVIOUS RESULT OF THIS CHANGE OF ROLE MODEL? THE GRADES OF THESE NEW GENERATIONS OF DRUG AND ALCOHOL ADDICTS ARE FALLING AT UNSTOPPABLE RATES, AND THE PERCENTAGE OF ESSENTIAS TURNING TO CRIME AFTER GRADUATION HAS REACHED LEVELS ONCE THOUGHT IMPOSSIBLE.

"THE ACADEMY, FOUNDED TO PREVENT THESE KINDS OF ABUSES OF POWER, HAS OFFICIALLY LOST ITS PURPOSE—-A COMPLETE FAILURE OF OUR SYSTEM—AND IF OUR CHILDREN ARE OUR FUTURE, THEN WE ARE ALL DOOMED. THE STARSHIP COMMANDO IS RIGHT. THERE IS NO WAY TO SAVE OUR UNHOLY ROTTEN CONFEDERATION—KILLING US ALL WOULD BE AN ACT OF MERCY. BUT, WE WON’T HAVE TO WAIT LONG.

"TO ALL MY BROTHERS FIGHTING THE PRIVILEGED ELITES THAT ARE DESTROYING OUR EMPIRE, LISTEN CLOSELY. THE END IS NIGH. WHEN, YOU ASK? THE DATE WAS REVEALED TO ME IN A DREAM—37/37/37. IT’S A DAY OUR SO-CALLED ”EXPERTS” ARROGANTLY CLAIM NOT BEING PART OF OUR CALENDAR. THE DAY WHEN OUR UNIVERSE WILL COLLAPSE ON ITSELF. THE DAY OUR REALITY WILL CEASE TO EXIST. THE WORLD'S END!

"THIS IS WHY I HAVE NOT LEFT MY ROOM IN THE LAST EIGHT YEARS, DEDICATING MYSELF AND THE RESOURCES OF MY KINGDOM TO FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT IN ORDER TO SAVE HUMANITY FROM ITS ORIGINAL SIN.

"REGARDLESS, EVEN IF I SUCCEED IN SAVING THE WORLD, ONLY YOU CAN SAVE THE FUTURE OF OUR EMPIRE BY PROPERLY EDUCATING YOUR CHILDREN. THE NEXT TIME YOU CATCH YOUR SON DRINKING WINE IN THE MORNING—BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM!

”I love King Cornelius so much—he is literally me!” Jacques concluded with a solemn nod, blissfully unaware of the little Gate of Chaos he had just unlocked.

Casimir blinked in confusion, while Derserk and Perry got petrified by the embarrassment the ’Javelinist’ should have felt, as glares of sheer resentment from the surrounding tables closed in like gray clouds before a storm.

”Ahah!” A single, hearty laugh sliced through the tension like glass shattering on the floor of an empty church. Everyone—except Jacques—turned toward its source. Casimir and Derserk recognized her immediately—their classmate, FF-Class 'Data Analyst' Katrina Welf.

She was sitting at a table with several older girls, laughing so hard she nearly fell sideways. However, behind her sharp glasses, her icy eyes hinted at something else. ”Haven’t we wasted enough time with those plebeians?” The ’Data Analyst’ pointed out as she tossed her snow-white hair, which was embedded with icy shades. ”Besides, we just have to wait for the dessert, don’t we?” Her malicious sight swept across the room, making everyone return to their conversations. Even Perry took the hint, silently retreating to the kitchen.

The golden-haired waiter returned ten minutes later, carrying a tray with their order—a strawberry cake, a glass of milk, three glasses of water, and two deep plates, each containing Brontosaurus egg, contoured by crisped bacon. Then, with surgical precision, Perry cut the eggs’ tips and a juicy golden cream began to flow to the bottom like a waterfall, bathing the bacon.

The sight left everyone at the table stunned. Derserk, with his fork, and Casimir, with his finger, each took a piece of bacon from the golden sea, savoring the creamy delight like a forbidden fruit.

“This is a miracle,” Casimir declared in awe. “It’s like the cook prepared the cream and then, somehow, inserted it into the egg!”

“It’s really good,” Derserk added with a nod of approval. “Even the cooks at Rouge Noz when I was a kid couldn’t have crafted this marvel for the palate.” Shut up, kiddo. You know I can’t taste it. Himself grumbled.

“Meh,” Jacques muttered, bad-eyeing the plates. “I admit it looks good, but I still don’t get how you can eat something so heavy this early in the morning.”

“How do you survive an entire day on just a piece of cake? Did you even eat anything yesterday?” Casimir asked with a hint of skepticism.

“Nope, and I didn’t sleep either. But Safiye offered me a cupcake when I was fixing the Hydrosystem. Plus, with this sweet, I should be good till this evening.” He folded his newspaper back into his [Inventory], and then the three finally started their breakfast.

WORLD'S END BLOG:

https://postimg.cc/yg3GSJXB