Prologue: A delusion turned reality

Ever feel like you were born for greatness? I sure do. I’m sure my great-great-grandfather thought the same thing. Despite being fifty years old at the time, he had an entire life ahead of him. He was supposed to be next emperor of my country—er… of my country AT THAT TIME, I mean. But unfortunately for him and his dear wife, they were murdered in broad daylight instead. Everyone knows their story, especially those who share my continent of birth. We know his death and the consequences thereof all too well. His death was the final nail in the coffin that led to Europe’s destruction.

***

“The royal banquet has been prepared for His Majesty’s consumption,” My cousin says as he shoves a Cup Noodles in my hands. “I hope it is to your liking, my liege.”

“Ah, Maxim. Most splendid.” I responded.

Maxim was my best pal. We grew up listening to the stories of our forefathers told to us by our grandparents. Emperors, princes, statesmen, diplomats, whatever you can imagine from Europe’s greatest dynasty; we had it all, apparently. Kids are malleable to stories, thus Maxim and I were molded into history geeks ever since.

“My loyal subject, you have served me since time immemorial,” I said as I glanced over at Maxim. “and as a reward, I grant you this royal chalice. May it serve you as you have served me…” I graciously granted him my empty Cup Noodles with the plastic fork broken within it. Maxim took it, stacked it up on his own, and threw it in the garbage.

“By the way, bro, did you attend yesterday’s lecture?” Maxim asked.

“Yeah, it was about some ‘Great Man’ theory of history. There’s gonna be another lecture later this evening about the same topic. We could go together, or I could just summarize it for you.” I replied.

I had attended every history lecture so far, and I was not planning on skipping any in the foreseeable future. Maxim was busy with his own study, but he enjoyed learning about history from my classes. My actual major was political science, but I had taken history as a minor. I was more than glad to share the knowledge with him.

“Hehe. Why don’t you make a slideshow and present it in front of an audience tomorrow? I’ve heard of your public speaking exploits” Maxim said in a mocking tone. He looked at me with a devious smile plastered on his mug. His eyes were half-closed, and he looked down on me as I sat there on the bench we just had our banquet on. This guy is stressing me out.

“Agh, stop reminding about that, dude! I’ll just send you the notes later,” I said, standing back up. Having finished our lunch, we automatically started walking back home. As we did so, I peeked back at Maxim: “Hold on, present it where? We don’t have class together. In fact, tomorrow is Saturday, genius.”

“I know that, of course. Tomorrow is the Lord’s rest day, so let’s hit up the synagogue and you can present your notes there or something,” Maxim said.

“Man, what are you rambling about?” I sighed and shook my head. He always talks nonsense, this guy. I didn’t mind, but I’m always scared someone else hears our spouting.

Anyway, we continued talking about nonsense until we reached the intersection where we would part ways. While Maxim went to the train station, I went back to the university to pick up on the lecture. I’ll probably be back home at 8 PM.

***

In silence, like always. Sitting behind my desk, the only lighting in my room coming from my computer screen and from the streetlamp right outside my bedroom window, I’m playing “Dominus Carthago II”. It’s a grand strategy game set in the post-Roman medieval world. The game’s fun, but mind-numbing as I spent hours upon hours going through the same gameplay loops.

I insert myself into the game every time I play it. I imagine myself as the character I’m playing, building a kingdom from nothing. I unify lands, I erect any and all buildings, and I bask in glory and honor. “May the tides of history remember me evermore”, I write on my kingdom’s sigil. You do not have to tell me I’m pretentious for that, by the way.

I was born in the wrong era. I was meant to be a medieval king; I want to be one. That desire, in and of itself, would make me an exceptional monarch destined for greatness. Ah. Would it not cool if I could be remembered in history books, like all those individuals I read about? Perhaps I’m delusional, but daydreaming about greatness is all I have.

In my books, I learned about so-called ‘great men’; those who shaped history through their own power, intelligence, and talent. Julius Caesar, Genghis Khan, any significant historical figure that you see in literature, really. I aspire to be among them. However, this very theory of ‘great men’ was heavily criticized in the lecture today.

Napoleon Bonaparte was a great tactician and statesman, was he not? Is he not the one who implemented many of our modern-day institutions? Compulsory primary education, a uniform legal system—heck, even our last names are a result of his statesmanship, were they not?

“However,” the lecturer explained, “many of these institutions were already being put in place before Napoleon’s rise to power. What is the chance that, if Napoleon hadn’t existed, another capable general would have seized the French government and instituted the same policies as Napoleon?”

To put it simply, perhaps I really was delusional; I am not going to be some cool, epic, heroic guy who changes the course of history by his own hands, because neither did these great personas of history. What am I going to with my life then? Get an office job… in this economy?

“Ah, man. So hungry, so thirsty.” A few hours had passed with my face glued to the monitor and my mind absorbed into the game. I forgot to eat and drink after I came back home, and immediately jumped on my PC instead; I just had to indulge in my escapist game, I couldn’t help it! With a light-headed feeling, I twisted around on my chair and faced my bed. One cannot simply sit on a chair for hours and not be tired and in need of lying down. This deficiency in the human body includes myself, most unfortunately. “I’ll just lie down for a while and then get on with my life.”

Suddenly, a burst of terrifying energy flowed through my body, the type of energy you feel when you get jump scared to death. Shocked, I stood up from my chair in a single, fast movement. Too fast of a movement. I was already feeling light-headed before, but now I experienced a genuine short circuit in my brain. I promptly collapsed, and hit my head on the outer, pointy edge of my wooden bedframe. I was gone.

***

I was back.

I woke up, and found myself lying still in my dark room. It must’ve been midnight by now if it was this dark and silent outside. The streetlamp outside my window did not provide me with any light, though. Weird. Never have I experienced a power outage in my neighborhood, so I’m probably still disoriented. It’s not like my vision had readjusted either; I can barely see the floor on which my head rests.

*cough* *cough*

My cough is raspy and my throat dry, as if my body was bedridden with a cold. I try raising my head, but it’s too heavy. Slow and steady wins the race, and I don’t want to stand up too fast again, so I slowly raise my head despite the heaviness. My neck and shoulders ache. I put my hand on my head and feel the touch of my hair. My wet hair. I look at my hand and see it lightly covered in thick blood, droplets slowly sliding down my arm. I look away and reach up with my hand, hoping to latch onto the bedframe and have a seat. However, instead of wood, I feel a piece of cloth; it must just be my blank-

“By the palace…!”

Just then I heard an adult man’s voice. I felt my body surge with energy once more, this was adrenaline! My body started to feel lighter, my strength returned, and my eyesight sharpened once more. I glanced up and saw a cloaked figure standing in front of me. I crawled away, and turned my body so that I could sit with my buttocks on the cold, but weirdly soft ground, facing the cloaked man. Looking up at him, starting from his feet, I noticed him standing on grass wearing a pair of fancy, brown shoes. You could see his socks connect with his hose, both of which seemed made of thin wool and have an arsenic tint. His black cotehardie with golden buttons four extends to his knees and is fastened with a quality sash just below his stomach. It served to keep both hose and cotehardie tied to his body. A maroon mantle covers his padded shoulders, extending down to his shins. This must have been the cloth I accidently grabbed when I reached out.

Before I could look up at his head, he spoke out once again:

“By the palace, Frasmul, stand up, I must see your face, for it could possibly be the ritual which has surpassed my expectations and made you of royalty in place of nobility.” He pondered silently for a short second before turning his gaze to me.

Who is he calling Frasmul? My name is Clemens. I was born in Graz, Austria in 2005. My memory seems fine, my mind is clear, and I remember everything, so what’s going on right now?

After backing up a bit more, I slowly stood up from the ground. I gaped at the man; he had green-grey skin and his luscious, silvery hair reached to the part where his neck meets his shoulders. His face was peculiar: old but well-defined and adorned with a Roman nose, which in turn was adorned with a petite wart. With his eyes piercing mine, I could tell one thing immediately: This man is not human.

“My nephew, do you…,” he mumbled to himself while looking me up and down, reciprocating my actions prior. With an increasingly alarmed look, his eyes wide, hands trembling, mouth hanging, ears drooping, he grabbed me by my shoulders, and stared into my eyes. He nudged me slightly before erupting into a speech:

“Frasmul! You must remember it, swiftly. Remember that I had made ye drink the dragon’s blood, whereupon you ascended—for we had devised it as such—as you unexpectedly fell and lost your consciousness. Remember, Frasmul! Awaken, now…!”

I stared at him in confusion. He let go of me, grabbed his nose, and gave a contemplative and despairing look. He stared at me for a long time, slowly gathering his thoughts. He kept at this for so long, I was wondering how his neck hadn’t collapsed under the constant strain of an upright, unmoving head. Meanwhile, my own head was resting on my hand while my legs were crossed, seated on the grass.

The man’s facial appearance scared me on an intellectual level, but for some reason, my body had relaxed in his presence. His face contorted, and he seemed to have reached a conclusion.

“As you must know,” the man started solemnly, “under the guidance of myself, you are to become king of goblinkind as you conquer the scattered tribes and elevate our people to civilization, ridding us of our backwards ways. Under your heel, the old system must be destroyed to bring forth a new era for our people, devoid of humiliation and barbarism, and you will honor us and bring us glory, for you would not let anyone suffer in tribalism, yes?” The man let this rhetorical sink in. I felt compelled to agree with him, even though I could barely follow his long-winded sentences.

As I gawked around, it dawned on me that I was no longer in my room. I was outside on a grassy hillock. The land spread before me was of an earthy-orange tint, and in the sky, I saw a four-winged bird fly above me and into the darkness of the night.

“From now on, you shall be named…” The man paused as the moonlight illuminated my face, “…Albar! The first king of Thodriki!”

“Y-you call me king? Me?”, I blurted out to the man. He looked down at me with a gentle, but empty smile. He raised his chin to the right, and I understood it to be a nod in the affirmative. For some reason, I understood it that way.

“You can refuse, however, while you wander in solitude, and find your way in this forsaken land,” the man said in a slow pace, as he moved away from me. I felt cold and nervous. What is this feeling of rejection?

“Or… you can accept your destiny, and I shall stand beside you, as we bring excellence into the being of our people, as any wise and noble man would do.” The man turned and walked towards me. As he crouched down, he placed his hand on my right shoulder once more, and looked me in my eyes. “Verily, a man such as yourself would not be content with a life of humility and modesty, when you were born for greatness and power? Would that not be a sad predicament, for who would rise to fill the boots you abandoned?” He pressed on.

I ignored the pressure as I felt a sense of purpose filling heart. Everything, every instinct was telling me to flee, except for my heart. Here I was in an unknown place with an unknown man. Perhaps I should try to get back home, but… maybe this was it. That one-in-a-lifetime opportunity that each great man in history got. This was my one chance to achieve greatness. A humble, modest living is not for me someone like me, right…?

I squared my shoulders. Greatness isn’t safe, it’s full of risk. That’s what makes it praiseworthy.

“Let’s do it.”