Kill all Frauds!

Everyone was directed out. Their footsteps echoed like one great chorus of heroes.

“Best of luck, fräulein.”

“We’ll be with you, Jenn-baba.”

“BELIEVE.”

“頑張れ.”

They were guided to the same courtyard it all started. Framed still by crowded balconies, and the royal Princes who were there before. Jenn shot her head at every angle, hoping to catch sight of whatever could be important. The King was seated on a tall balcony, alongside the Lord Regent. Soldiers lined the perimeters, alongside White Hat guards, causing a strange tension between the two seemingly opposed forces.

Everyone stopped at the centre of the courtyard. With a roar of instruments and shouts, the military parade began. Soldiers poured in from the perimeter, entering formations of cavalry, pikemen and AK-47eers. This was not normal. AK-47s in this situation were not normal.

As a series of brass instruments sounded, the soldiers shot their guns into the air, a single bullet each, as if in some display of military triumph. The beginning of the end was already here. And everyone there could feel it.

The soldiers came to a halt. They paved a path down the middle, and someone walked on through, with all the gravitas of someone quite important. She took her wide-brimmed hat and tossed it into the air. Dragon-scales lined her collarbone and nape, with skin the colour of blueberries, and scars along her hard, cheekbones.

The spectators broke into murmurs.

“I am the Grand Marshal Plaiga. On a trip back to the homeland, I was set upon by assassins who sought to undermine me and the integrity of this Kingdom’s army! Friends, Indarians, and Otherworlders, lend me your arms, legs, and ears! That man right there.” She thrust her finger at the Lord Regent, Wakisaki Aka’ichi himself. “Has attempted to usurp this nation for himself—has attempted to consolidate his power within his role as Lord Regent.”

“What proof do you have of this?” replied the Lord Regent cooly.

Grand Marshal Plaiga gestured to the participants. “This tournament… Is it not an extravagant excuse, yes? A wafer-thin justification to find someone able? Someone who could… kill the king?”

“Is it?” Wakisaki smiled. “Where I am concerned, I was simply honouring the King’s wishes.”

Plaiga scorned him with a frown. “The King is in no place to make such a choice. Ever since that day…” She said, gripping her hand. “Ever since you forced him into that chair, he has become a shadow. A flicker of darkness on the wall!”

It was then that genuine emotion took hold of Wakisaki’s face, and his expression became something nearing indignation. The Lord Regent neared the front of his balcony. He was ready to say something, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice.

“Hey, Grand Marshal.” Jenn came forth, putting out a dozen steps. “Why don’t you screw off for a second, and let this thing play out, huh?”

“Hm?”

“I won this tournament fair and square, and I was promised a duel with the King. So unless you plan on walking back on this whole ordeal, I say you back off and let me do just that.”

The Grand Marshal’s expression was not hateful. “You will be compensated in your own way.”

“Eff that. And eff you for thinking that that’s even acceptable!” Jenn grabbed the woman by her uniform. A series of guns clicked into place, focused on her alone. “Go ahead, try it. Try to shoot me down. You might succeed. After a few thousand bullets, I might be down and bleeding, looking like Swiss cheese after a rat’s night out. But make no mistake, I will kill every. Single. One of you who tries it. I’ll rip you to pieces, I’ll chew on your guts, and I’ll spit your ugly, broken bones out like spittle from a llama!”

Plaiga’s scarred face had a shallow smile. “You have big balls. That is good, yes, very good. But, big balls… not enough, yes? You need big brain, and big heart too. Yes, to come this far, I’m sure you have a lot of both…”

Jenn hesitated. In the distance, a pair of soldiers wheeled several bodies into the courtyard. They were that of Mo Xixi and Filly, hooked up to the tubes of liquid blue. Their bodies were injured beyond belief, and it was apparent that their wounds had not yet closed.

“I am not fond of these threats. But these two are your friends, no? What do you think will happen if they do not get the treatment they need?”

“I’m not some bleeding-heart idiot,” Jenn growled. “We’re friends, yeah. Maybe even good ones. But… it doesn’t mean I’m gonna throw everything away just for them.”

“You sure?”

Jenn did not answer. Her grip just grew tighter. Her eyes just went wider. And her mouth just formed into a half-snarl, half-grin, pearly whites like blood-hungry fangs.

“Now,” said the Grand Marshal, slow and steady, breath like little picks of ice. “You going to move?”

“...Why don’t you make me?”

The battle was not of equal bearing; there were 3500 soldiers in the palace, 200 White Hat guards, and a measly 48 fight-ready participants, some of whom grew gradually disillusioned and rather intent on not joining at all. It was impossible to tell what would become of it. But one thing was for sure, Jenn was injured, and she’d be fighting a desperate battle at half-strength.

“Come on, Grand Marshal. Make a move.”

“I will.”

His voice grew. “Stop…”

“Come on, you blue-ass bitch! Fight me!”

His voice grew even more. “Stop.”

“Soldiers: Take aim.”

“STOP, YOU YEAST-BEDDED SACK OF INSOLENCE!”

Everyone's eyes turned to that tall balcony. It was the King. His eyes had focused into consciousness, and he had risen from his chair, flesh against chain and iron.

“What?” was all the Grand Marshal could manage.

“I said… stop. On the honour of your king, cease this bullshit and let me fight.”

The chains rattled. Gijyou Soun pushed against that which had bound him for all those two years, making a sound like cracking bones, with a cry that seemed to invoke the very spirit of humankind itself.

C

R

A

C

K

!

The chains broke. The King grew into life. Without hesitation, he ran forth and threw himself over the balcony, crashing face down on the earth. A strange sound hit the floor, and no sound said anything for a while.

“Is he dead?” asked an appalled soldier.

After a long moment, he managed to two feet, and threw a look at Jenn’s way.

“Kill him!” shouted the Lord Regent’s attendants. “He can't go back into that chair! Let him die!”

The King made no comment. He was beyond speech. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, bub bub bub; all movement and no words.

The Grand Marshal blinked briefly and begrudged a painful look.

Jenn did not give an answer. She could see the King’s face in the sunlight. The life was already leaving. He wouldn't be long for a response.

Was killing him the right choice? Certainly, he was an isekai protagonist, but then again, could he be considered in the same ballpark as Katou, Kaito, or the rest? He really did look quite pitiful. That he did. In which case, wouldn't leaving him to rot in this chair, forever bound as a battery be a even more damnable fate?

Her mind moved slowly. Her eyes seemed indecisive. A pained groan escaped her throat, low with the hum of indecision.

Why did she struggle to choose?

If conventional morals, and its guiding hand played no part in her decisions, then what did?

What could have possibly stopped Jenn Cockehead herself?

As a second lapsed into two, and that into a few more, Jenn seemed to realise something. She looked about, appreciating the scene, the world, the nobles, the buildings, the designs, the very situation she was in, and at last, the very King himself.

It was aesthetic. This cursed isekai world. Each and every part. And with a self-deprecating smile, she acknowledged that at long last.

The woman said nothing. She neared the King with great, heavy steps and ran her fingers across his face. For the first time since arriving, her eyes were filled with an unfamiliar emotion. One of pity.

“Decide for yourself, Soun,” said Jenn with a firm voice.

Her right arm flared yellow, little lines moving like living scars—

—Sixth Reversion: Philistine Hopeful Regression

—And the withered flower bloomed once more.

The white in his hair began to recede, strand by strand, adopting a gradient of violet. His flesh became fuller, like air in a balloon, inflating limbs, cheeks, and body. He was coming back to life, to what he was before, straightening from a limp royal to a statue-straight warrior. Pretty like a girl, with white-streaked hair down to his shoulders, and a body of lean muscle, visible beneath the iron that bound him, which had been twisted into the shape of a cloak.

“So, Gijyou Soun. King of Indaria. Tell it to me straight, what the hell do you want?”

The boy-king raised his big eyes, looking to the balcony where the Lord Regent stood.

“It's about time,” laughed Wakisaki—a real, friendly laugh. “It is about time!”

The Lord Regent unfastened the cords around his waist and retrieved a sword. He threw it down.

Gijyou Soun caught it with one hand and drew it with the other. The sound of steel clearing sheath sang through the air. In his hand was a katana; its blade measured 65 centimetres and its tsubasa was a custom forged hydrangea. It was not a weapon he had used for some time, and to him, that was just fine.

“Jenn,” asked Soun. “Did I get ya name right?”

“That you did.”

“Jenn,” asked Sōun again. “Since I'm the King of this country, and since you've done me a great service, I have to ask: Is there anything you want me to help you with? Sexual satisfaction included.”

“There is,” replied Jenn, salivating at the corner. “See, you've got my blood all pumping, pretty boy. And, well, I’m kinda hard to satisfy, all things considered. Call it over-exposure, call it an addiction, call it whatever you want to. Point is, I wanna get off, and there’s only one way I know how.”

Pink pooled in his cheeks. “I see,” he said. He was smiling just as eagerly as Jenn and just as playful. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but would the common treatment of fighting to the bitter end help with that?”

“You know what?” said Jenn, turning on the metal accessory across her face, mechanical plates connecting into a mass of yellow steel. “I think it would.”

“Very well. As your partner for this afternoon, let me drive you to satisfaction.”

The boy put the sheath down and raised the katana in front of him. He stood with perfect balance, body straightened, and sword in the jodan stance—held above the head. She paced back, arm glowing, and body angled low. He went around her, the two going in circles, like partners in ritual or dance.

“Hey, Sōun, what’s the meaning of life?!”

“To fight, to love, and to watch your ambitions be fulfilled!”

“Why do you use a damn katana instead of a sabre, huh?!”

“Because I’m used to it, and because my stupid friend didn’t throw me anything else!”

“Last question: You ready?!”

“Yes!”

The duel was over in less than a blink. Dashing across the field, Jenn swung with a wild haymaker, shoulder and body twisting with barbaric power. In concert with her, Sōun took one pace back, and brought his katana down in a blur of steel.

Jenn grunted in satisfaction. Her fist crashed into his jaw faster than the steel could swing, and thwacked! him into the ground. Everyone present watched in silence, watching as the King fell limp, face-first. As she raised a fist in glorious triumph, everyone broke into claps, cheering their newfound winner with unexpected energy.

“Very impressive, Jenn!” said Wakisaki. “You truly are the best!”

“Ah, Jenn-baba!” cried Cerica, hugging her. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Guys, guys,” Jenn said. “Come on, it ended in one punch!”

The woman looked around in a joyous daze, watching as they all gathered around her. Even Numarei had appeared, all healed up and ready.

“Are you ok, Numa? This is a little convenient.”

“Convenient?” She raised a brow. “You just won versus the King, Jenn. Be happy. It’s not a movie, you don’t need to worry about convenience.”

The claps became louder and louder, with everyone watching with the same, prideful smiles. At one point, even Igen walked in, fluffy paw against fluffy paw, waddling like a penguin on hot coals.

“That was beary impressive, Jenn! You’ve finally made a name for yourself! You’re the beary best there was.”

Her eyes lingered for a second longer before turning behind. Surprisingly, the King also stood and clapped, even coming forth to embrace her.

“You’ve done it. You’re the strongest in all this kingdom, Jenn! The most aesthetic, talented, beautiful person to ever exist!”

Jenn turned off her mask and blinked. She swallowed hard, as if realising something quite awful. A tear came at the corner of her right eye, and her jaw tightened in an attempt to keep it all together.

“This… is a dream, isn’t it?”

Blood seeped from her wounds, branching out like wild rivers onto the grass. Her breath came in shallow bursts, struggling, sounding uncomfortably moist. Jenn was sprawled on the floor. She’d been cut from shoulder to groin and had not moved for ten seconds. The King, in contrast, loomed over her, his mouth forming a thin frown.

There was little anyone said or did. They took the sight in with pockets of silence, murmurs, cries, and all the have-yous of speech in between.

A sea-wind carried the scent of iron.

Jenn’s right hand stretched forth. Weakly, she tried to grasp at something, raising it just above her head. It fell. Limp like wilted leaves. Then, it did not move again.

She had lost in a battle of aesthetics, and that was all.

“Oi, Jenn-baba!” Cerica ran forth, tripping once as she closed the distance. She fell to both knees and flipped Jenn over, attempting to wake her from the coming sleep. “What are you doing? What. Are. You. Doing?!” Teardrops came down her face. “What happened to all that talk of aesthetics, and beating the king up, what happened?!”

Cerica’s hands fumbled over Jenn’s face. In a coincidental effort, the metal mask retracted, revealing what was underneath.

“Jenn…”

It was an expression of equal parts joy and sadness; it was the sum of Jenn’s feelings about the world; it was the conclusion of her aesthetics—the natural end that awaited one such as herself. It was, as one might say, oddly satisfied, despite it all.

“Sleep well, Jenn.” Sōun’s came faint, slick with a certain sadness. “I hope you have sweet dreams in the place you’re going.”

That sight held those present like an iron vice grip. All at once, the soldiers, the nobles, the guards; all those who had known him as the great King kneeled, and all those who did not, who had come from other worlds, stood in abject silence, unable to move or much less whisper a word.

One voice spoke. “All Hail the King!”

Then another. And another. And by the course of a minute, it seemed most, if not all, those present had become smitten with him, pledging their devotion with all the fervour of a cultist. For he was the indomitable Gijyou Sōun. He who had slain their previous King. He who had won war after war with his comrades and generals, putting rebels and rival kingdoms to sword and flame.

He who had come once more to do it all again!

“All Hail the King! All Hail the King!”

Wakisaki looked at his dear friend, face grinning at last. “You think you can do it?”

Sōun took his time. Shuffled a bit, in some attempt at self-reflection. When he turned to face his friend, he had a shrewd look. “Obviously,” he said, without a care in the world. “I’m the protagonist, aren’t I?"