Day 3

Intense. Really intense.

If Matthew had had to use only one adjective to describe Maximilian, he could not have found a better one.

While training with the Vanedenis, the native people of this continent, Matthew thought about the words that Maximilian had uttered on the day of his arrival: "What are we doing here? I don't know. If we get bored, I suggest we go hunting for Dragons and overthrow some empire, maybe crucify a couple of slavers, like in Game of Thrones. "

Themistocles, another Earthling, was almost hidden behind Maximilian's back and was carefully observing the reactions of all of them, bewildered sheep in a pack of wolves. The man with the olive complexion and the black hair was the only one who had genuine awe for the Londoner. In San Francisco, people like Maximilian were generally all mouth and no trousers, more talk than action.

Here, in a world that rewarded madmen with higher levels, Maximilian was ... the maddest of them all.

However, he would forgive Maximilian for the Game of Thrones reference, perhaps; he would forgive him because he wanted nothing more than to experience the adventures that had seemed so real in the words of the madman from London. When he had said he wanted to kill dragons, Matthew had smiled for the first time in a long while.

And it was not just a smile, but a smile. Matthew had used to escape reality day after day, at the end of his workday, through anime and manga. He himself, when he thought about it, was aware of the excessive entertainment consumed; but what else was he supposed to do in a world without magic? Not smile, clearly.

But really, Maximilian, of all the decent series in this world, you just had to pick Game of Thrones...

He shook his head. What they were experiencing was the representation of the entertainment that Matthew so loved to read or watch. They were living in a world like the stories he had read and always dreamt of living. Matthew had just settled down in a dream indeed. Sure, the dream smelled like a stable. Sure, it was literally a stable where Matthew slept at night. And yet, even with horse dung, alongside dreams of glory, he would not be discouraged. Nothing would ever discourage him.

[Warrior - Level 3]

This he visualised in his head when he thought about his class. Everything he needed to know about the oncoming conflict and essential pieces of information about the world popped up in his head, so much so that at first, he honestly thought he was crazy.

The level he could visualise with mere thought was a fragment of joy that he attributed more to his past life than to the present. However, the seed of his enthusiasm for an extraordinary existence had been born in his past life, and Ankon would have made it flourish. He had always hoped to experience something like this from the bottom of his heart. Who never did?

His parents' generation had hoped they could become Superman. His, however, a wizard at Hogwarts.

Over time, however, Matthew discovered that Hogwarts wasn't the only world he could get lost in. He had found the existence of infinite universes that spawned invincible heroes, warriors and paladins. It was to those worlds that, now, Matthew was looking with admiration. He dreamt of the protagonists of the fantastic stories from the East.

He almost still couldn't believe it. Occasionally he found himself thinking that he was insane and that his body was in a mental institution while his mind was wandering in a fantasy world. It all seemed too good to be true. He had to be repeatedly reassured that everybody else saw the same things, too. Or rather, that they could see in their mind their classes and levels.

And although no one seemed to share his enthusiasm so much, it didn't bother him in the least.

Like in a light novel or web novel, he was in a world where he could level up and acquire skills. Indeed, like in a videogame!

Matthew ran a hand over his forehead, anxiously waiting to hear the long-awaited notification.

DING!

No, that was just his imagination. He was really going crazy.

In reality, when they levelled up, there were no actual notifications. It was hard to describe. They had no screens in front of them, like the protagonists of the stories he had been reading until late at night for years.

It was all in their head. They couldn't see them, they could think them. It had been strange at first. More than one of them thought he was out of his mind at the first notification. Not everyone in the group had ever touched a videogame, and it had taken them some time to get them to understand what was happening.

They were in a new world, a new dimension, perhaps. Not that Matthew had a precise notion of what another dimension was, but it was a word often present in his beloved light novels.

Koreans, Japanese, Chinese.

He didn't care much that they were exclusively Oriental, to be honest. What mattered to him was that there were a very high number of very tough characters in each of those novels, super cool protagonists who could always win at the last second. Now, he could become one of them.

The sword almost slipped from his hands, imagining he was participating incognito in some tournament, while his damsel was in the clutches of some rival, only to reveal his face only after having-

"Matthew! For all the Heroes dead before the class!" Mummer thundered, and Matthew immediately corrected his stance.

But Matthew continued to fantasise. Since arriving, he had kept his eyes peeled to identify old men or beggars full of ancestral knowledge, or abandoned caves that gave off a mysterious aura. He couldn't wait to find someone who could pass him some secrets to become-

"Matthew! You have a reversed grip on the sword!" the gruff and experienced instructor was trying to unhinge him from the world of dreams without too much success.

Sadly, Matthew hadn't been very lucky. With the secrets, I mean. It was not so easy to find derelict old men and, above all, mysterious caves.

He felt a kick settle between his shoulder blades as a massive man, over a meter and ninety centimetres for sixty years lived eating the alien equivalent of chicken and rice, watched him roll to the ground and put his foot down. While training with the Vanedenis, no one had the right to take it easy.

Although Mummer did not tower over him since they were about the same height, the instructor probably had about half a ton of extra muscle on him - no, in fact, something like a whole ton. And no, it's not a figure of speech. It was a ton of extra muscle. Literally.

In any case, Matthew continued to think as he struggled to his feet, under the severe gaze of Mummer, from what he had understood about the geography of the continent, there were many natural dungeons right in the place where he had ended up! Indeed, there were more dungeons around Ankon than in an equivalent area in the north of Kome or on another continent.

And yet, while they ended up on the more abundant continent, they found themselves in the midst of a conflict far greater than all of them.

"Oi, Yankee," he heard someone scream as he came towards him, already laughing as the other saw him trudging to get up. An amused, and perhaps a little irritated, smile appeared on Matthew's face. The boy regained his balance and tried in vain to clean his clothes and bare forearms.

"Maximilian. I'm. From. California."

"A Yankee AND a Commie, the worst of the worst!" he patted him on the shoulder, bringing his shaven face close to his, conspiratorially. "Maybe I have a way to penetrate the Curtain. Themistocles isn't aware of it, but I'm looking for someone willing to help me in my secret mission."

Matthew raised both eyebrows as he peered over Maximilian's hunched shoulder at the aforementioned Themistocles, a shadow behind Maximilian, who was shaking his head. Then, in response to the Athenian, Matthew raised his hands to push away Maximilian, who had come too close.

Then the Californian looked at Mummer, motionless in front of them, a vein throbbing on his forehead.

"I don't think that's the case. The price to pay to save the world is high. Maximilian, Themistocles," he nodded once in everyone's direction, "I'm only level 5, and my class is still the general [Warrior] one."

A little lie about your level certainly wouldn't hurt. Right? There was an attitude to maintain. You don't become the hero of heroes without little subterfuges.

Maximilian shot back like a spring, mortally offended. He pointed his finger almost in his eye and suddenly stepped forward again. Then, with a broken voice of feigned indignation, he began: "I give you the opportunity to attend a unique show, able to change your life and you... you..." He pulled an imaginary cloak over his shoulder, particularly dramatic. "I absolutely need a cloak," he added and decided he would get one soon. He would sew it himself. Or maybe steal it. He would deliberate on this later.

The fist waved in the air made no particular impression on either Themistocles or Matthew. The antics of the Londoner were already legendary. Several days had passed, and no Vanedeni would confuse him with another Earthling. Even among the villagers, who were more than eccentric by the standards of their old life, no one could hold the candle in front of His Madness.

Mummer, however, was shocked deeply by Maximilian's every gesture. If those Earthlings really wanted to help the Vanedenis in their battle, then they would have to train from first to last rather than make a show and destroy houses. But, on the other hand, if they wanted to die in combat, he wouldn't be the one to stop them. So he decided to walk away and give a few kicks in the shins to one of the little girls trying in vain to wield a sword twice her length.

Matthew was relieved by this and felt free to express his curiosity: "What would be, if I may ask, the plan to penetrate the Curtain?"

Even if Matthew didn't intend to waste time with them, the madman was still the person with the highest level in the whole village. Probably from the entire region. He was worth listening to.

But above all, what was the Curtain?

None of them knew exactly. It was a dimensional barrier - but then, what did the word "dimensional" mean, exactly? - who had isolated their village along with the enemy one. On this continent, as the Harbingers had told them upon their arrival, every single village of the Vanedenis would be associated with a village of their sworn enemy race, the same ones that had brought them almost to extinction as a people. Every kind of fight or hostile approach would be forbidden for a month, and the punishment was death.

So, the Curtain was a vast, dark, translucent wall. Everybody tried ignoring it, but it loomed upon them like Damocles’ Sword.

The Earthlings hadn't even been told if their enemies had a name. The Harbingers had not been exhaustive, and the Vanedenis hated them so much that they simply called them "monsters". None of the newcomers had dared to ask for explanations. Nobody except, of course, Maximilian. And Themistocles.

"Bollocks, Themistocles, come on! I told you. First, I cross the Curtain. Then I scout the other village. I promise I will bring drawings of their faces and bodies. Come on. If you're kind with me, perhaps even a corpse or two. What? We can't kill them? Right, right! No hostilities, then! Stop looking at me like that! Maybe then we can use my [Necromancer] skills, bring them back to life, and make them fight against their kind! Clash! Clang! BimBumBam! Kapow! No? No. I think it doesn't count. Bah. Cold audience."

All the Vanedenis in the training grounds turned to Maximilian, throwing him angry looks. One of them left the Earthlings he was instructing and headed towards the Londoners, his eyes dark with anger. After spitting on the ground, he looked at Maximilian with deep hatred: "Worse than the beasts we fight, there are only those who mingle with these bastards who don't even deserve to be named. We don't pronounce the N-word."

The Vanedenis hated Necromancers.

Matthew saw a second too late the smile on the face of the Londoner, who would not have let that opportunity escape for anything in the world.

"Bollocks, Themistocles, even here they are angry with the ..."

He nudged Matthew, who, coming from one of the most politically correct cities in the USA, couldn't help but try to save everyone's ears from such racism, havoc, fascism and Nazi subversion.

"MAXIMILIAN!" Matthew almost shrieked, startling both Themistocles and the soldier, who had no idea what was happening.

"NIGGERS, OH MY GOD, THEY HATE NIGGERS!" Maximilian yelled out loud, putting the back of his hand on his forehead and pretending to faint.

Mummer and the soldier exchanged confused glances, while Matthew turned all red: "Maximilian! You can't pronounce a word that is the prerogative only of a minority that has made it their own to claim-"

“What?!”

Maximilian jumped backwards on purpose to end up on top of Themistocles and make him lose his composure. Another person would not have been able to dodge the human projectile. However, the Athenian had already been the victim of countless such attacks; therefore, he had managed to move out of his trajectory. After landing with his ass in the middle of the dirty and sandy ground, the Londoner laughed out loud. "NIGGERS, NIGGERS, NIGGERS! THEY HATE NIGGERS!"

"Maximilian!" thundered Themistocles.

Hearing his name, he got up in an even more dramatic way. He was slow and measured, with the threat on his face to start screaming the Vanedenis' forbidden word again - the wrong forbidden one.

"Bollocks, let's avoid ruining this name, right?"

"You know very well what Lucier was referring to. Please avoid those jokes. We must not bring our vices and problems to this world, let alone racism", Matthew continued.

Maximilian crossed his arms like an annoyed child.

"Come on, Maximilian, explain what you're babbling about", Themistocles sighed too. "Then we can go and see what you're planning to do with the Curtain."

"Okay, okay", while his clothes were dusting themselves, a flash in his eyes caught the attention of Matthew who, although confident in the good heart of man, did not understand what he was up to.

"So?" he urged him, "Can you take the N-word seriously and explain to others why they mustn’t hate darker-skinned people?"

"Darker...skin?" muttered Lucier. The thick, unkempt eyebrows creased, the mouth jutting forward in a motion of deep contemplation.

"Matthew, it's not my fault that you're so sensitive to jokes. Besides, how can I be a racist? I'm literally a NEGROmancer, and I do BLACK magic." He parted his arms and looked at everyone, waiting for some reaction, perhaps a loud laugh. However, Themistocles had already put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, and Lucier had decided he wasn't interested in the conversation. "No? No laughter? That’s all? Pearls before swine, damn it."

...

Despite the show he just put on, Maximilian had still managed to notice how Matthew was training with all of himself. Instead, on the other side of the field, the others were waving their swords clumsily. The Californian, he had to admit, was giving his best and sincere effort, even if he didn’t seem very endowed in the brains department.

Looking at that gang of runaways - Maximilian stopped to smile dazedly at his own joke for a few seconds. After all, their situation was certainly worthy of some fun, even dirty or racist - he began to reflect on their chances of winning a conflict.

He had promised Themistocles to scout the enemy, to see how dangerous they truly were.

"Oi Mummer, how are the toddlers?” he approached the man who was training his fellow sufferers.

"Well, if the goal is to get us all killed."

"Top! Such joke, lad!"

Being called lad did not please Mummer very much since he was not aware of English idioms.

"Can we start training again now, or does the circus show have to go on for long? Your friends can't tell a sword from a dagger."

“Of course, of course!”

Maximilian decided to ignore Mummer and his increasingly unpleasant look.

He approached Matthew, who had now begun to stare again at the mannequin in front of him and, with sword held and shield on his arm, was preparing to continue the tedious training. If it hadn't been for...

TAC.

No, it wasn't a sound. It was Maximilian who shouted "TAAAAAAC" just before kicking Matthew in the knee, making him fall backwards. The shield ended hitting his nose, drawing a copious amount of blood.

"Shit! Maximilian, what the fuck are you doing?"

"If you keep your legs like this, at the first push on the battlefield, you fall to the ground, cunt. Turn those feet outwards because, with those crooked legs you have, you'd be good only to keep a transvestite between your thighs if you keep your feet straight. Flex them more and move when you are about to attack, shift your whole weight, like in that movie where the guy broke the sheet of paper with a knuckle. What? You don't know him. Come on, that bullshit for millennials like you, a bad copy of a Van Damme movie."

Matthew got up, annoyed, but immediately Maximilian gave him another kick, this time lower, on the shin. Again, the boy tumbled to the ground.

"Too stiff. Too stiff. Shift your weight from one leg to the other, even if you have to unbalance yourself. When an opponent tries to kick or destabilise you, take the blow, otherwise dodge if you are in a stable position. It is always better to lose balance for a second than ending up with your ass on the ground. Considering you're not exactly fit ... "

Matthew was taller than Maximilian, and quite so. He was about a meter and ninety, maybe even ninety-five, but it didn't even have the hint of a muscle.

The Londoner's next blow came even before the other could finish getting up.

"Keep your eyes on the enemy."

Themistocles kept looking at the new Maximilian for a few minutes. Rarely he had seen him serious and focused, except in some rare conversation in the past days. Now, however, he seemed to treat Matthew's training as the most sedate event he had ever witnessed. To tell the truth, this, too, was something much less serious than the standards Matthew was used to.

Perhaps Themistocles was wrong. Perhaps Maximilian was even more conscious than he had thought. Of course, he knew of the mask, the play, but how conscious he was of his role and how much this was his second nature was difficult to determine yet.

"Matthew, do you have to hold a sword or the latest issue of Socialist Appeal? You're holding it as if it's a dread!"

Lucier looked at his side hilt with a worried expression. And what if he too was holding a dread in his hand - whatever it was?

After some minutes of seriousness, the situation was finally back to what Themistocles expected to be normality.

"Maximilian, they are called dreadlocks."

"What did I tell you, Themistocles? Yankee AND commie. Dreadful."

The Athenian dodged Maximilian's elbow skilfully.

"What's wrong with being a Communist?" Matthew scolded.

"Eating children?"

"Really, Maximilian, really?"

Why the Londoner behaved like a child was really beyond his understanding. He would never be able to understand why the agile and slender figure, capable of teaching Matthew, in a few minutes, how to fight more than Mummer had done in almost a week, could behave like an idiot at any moment.

Not only that, while he continued with his bullshit, he was also able to help him adjust the position of his shield and sword, to show him better how to fight, how he should position himself according to the size of the enemy.

There was no lack of racist and sexist jokes, which served more to socialise, perhaps, than anything else, from his point of view. However, he really couldn't get over how it could all be so surreal.

Matthew had begun to love this new world. At first, he had been baffled, confused, but he quickly recovered.

And he had to admit, despite himself, that Maximilian was exactly like a manga character, at ease in such a world and integrated very well - by Matthew's standards, at least. He had slowly concluded that being here had given him a new chance to live, an attempt to live a new life. In San Francisco, he hadn't exactly been the most interesting and capable person of all. Things hadn't been going very well with his girlfriend either. They loved each other, of course. Maybe. He wasn't even sure whether their relationship was still a relationship.

He and Marta hadn't been together for a while. Even in the same room, they had found themselves alone, even in the same bed.

There had been a loneliness surrounding Matthew, a loneliness he no longer felt thanks to Maximilian, Themistocles, and even Mummer. The possibility of living a new life had completely changed his looks. Now, with Maximilian and Themistocles, however different from him, he could feel a sense of closeness. The idiotic jokes, Themistocles's calm and measured demeanour

...

Albeit minimal compared to the two rock stars, even the presence of the other Earthlings was delivering something new.

Here, Matthew was sure he could be someone. Not an insignificant person in a bunch of insignificant people, but a hero among heroes.

He had to admit that the first few days hadn't been easy. As soon as he arrived, the sudden change took him by surprise. Abandoning the normality of his home, the habits of a lifetime… would have even described it as devastating.

What they were experiencing in this new dimension had changed each of them.

It hadn't been long since he had opened his eyes and found himself with his face squashed on the damp ground, surrounded by rough people, with Maximilian's voice making its way overwhelmingly in his ears. Yet each day seemed to be a century-long. It seemed to him that he had been living there forever.

The sadness of not having his friends and girlfriend with him faded quickly, replaced by the excitement of levelling up and obtaining a class.

As he had once read in a book, part of him had begun to think that individuals are nothing more than the average of the people they surround themselves with. And here, in Kome, in the village of Ankon, Matthew could only believe that he could become the average of formidable people.

One was in history books, and the other probably would have had loads of them written about him on this new continent. So why, then, should he regret the opportunity to be a nobody, as some of the other Earthlings did?

What was there really to regret in a life where it is nearly impossible to have a tangible impact on everyone else, even with the greatest of efforts?

Here, with levels and skills, sometimes the efforts paid off linearly, sometimes exponentially.

…

Unfortunately, not all Earthlings who came with him to Ankon were exactly bearable. For example, dear, very dear, Todd.

"Are you happy to be in a place ruled by people who do as they please without even consulting you?"

"Democracy is freedom in a world where there are no idiots like you," Matthew said, trying to ignore him.

Despite his very democratic inclinations, too democratic, as Maximilian would have said, the Californian really could not bear Todd.

Judging by the contempt and anger on the boy's face, if he had had the chance, he wouldn't have thought twice about resorting to his hands. However, the few levels that Matthew had gained were more than enough for such a worm.

If Matthew had had to describe Todd, he would have said he was a prototypical boomer, convinced to be the most progressive, yet racist. And he obsessed with a stable and regular job because I became an accountant in a big corporation when I was only twenty years old. The fact that he was from Texas and forcefully embodied the stereotype of what Maximilian would probably have called redneck had to be just a coincidence.

Since he arrived, Todd had done nothing but created problems. Not even the slaps administered by Themistocles seemed to have affected his shitty character.

"They sent us here to die, and are you still being arrogant?"

Maximilian and Themistocles were talking to Mummer about strategies and training. They had abandoned Matthew on the training ground, but the boy had not been discouraged and began to exercise, following all the advice Maximilian gave him. He already felt much closer to reaching level 5 in the [Warrior] class.

Even though Matthew was not paying attention to him, it seemed that Todd had no intention of leaving him alone. Matthew swore he didn't know how a person could be so irritating.

"You are one of those people to whom Maximilian could tell to throw himself into the well, and you would do it without a second thought! Look where they are taking us!"

Rolling his eyes, Matthew wondered if anyone would blame him if he killed him.

"A corpse is more friendly..." huffed Todd.

Fucking boomer.

The accountant from Texas was not discouraged by his silence. On the contrary, he seemed invigorated by it. There were few people with whom he could dare to talk like that without risking being beaten.

"Maximilian is out of his mind! They could have at least brought valid rulers, these Harbingers. If we had someone from the Republican party, we would certainly have found a more civil and intelligent solution."

Matthew tried to imagine Trump's arrival, claiming that all Vanedenis had the right to own assault rifles and ammo and that the left had left them alone in their war against the enemy.

"Instead, these all seem to be a bunch of Democrats."

The young man had to admit Todd was able to put politics everywhere - and Matthew was from California! Then he began to imagine Bush Jr. among the Vanedenis. He probably would have lasted thirty seconds before Tukker, Mummer, or any other suitably trained kid threw him straight onto a pike.

At that point, Matthew couldn't help but think of Bush senior and Maximilian. Together. He shuddered, thinking about how the Londoner would have been perfectly at ease even in that situation.

"I'm here without my family! They took us away like this, without us even being able to say goodbye, without being able to explain to our families what happened to us. Matthew, doesn't this affect you in the least?"

Unlike his youthful appearance, Todd was twice as old as his new body looked. But, on the other hand, Matthew was very close to the age at which their bodies had been brought back by the Harbingers.

Todd was young, of course, but neither handsome nor good-looking. Looking into his dark, small eyes, like those of a mouse, hunched shoulders and lanky physique, Matthew wondered how it could possibly have been that he had been brought to Ankon to fight a war.

Was it a mistake?

"And Themistocles also said that we have to train all day! Not only us men, but also women and children, whoever can stand on two legs, he said! Ah! But does it seem normal to you? The ones who will kill us are not these phantom enemies, but Maximilian and Themistocles!"

Indeed it was a mistake.

"And the food? Do we want to talk about it? I come from one of the most beautiful places in America, if not the most beautiful! How is it possible that now I have to adapt to these barbaric dishes?"

Yeah, no doubt.

"And you, you are so enthusiastic. You enjoy wielding a sword, huh? Imagine when these enemies will kill us if they really exist. Will they kill us first or those two fools who claim to lead us? A naive person like you might think that being able to level up is a fantastic thing. Levelling up is perhaps the greatest injustice on this planet! How can a normal person hope to be stronger than some psychopath? Did you see what Themistocles did just after arriving? What sane person would attack one of the Vanedenis people to seize power?"

Todd was beginning to make Matthew angry, but he mistook his renewed silence with tacit approval, not catching the signs of the Californian tense body.

"We are in a world for madmen and created by madmen! Monsters can get strong, while the weak get crushed! Here, it's a world for monsters, for monsters, I say!"

Todd kept repeating the word as if saying it over and over could give it substance.

"How will weak people gain levels and be treated humanely, when the only things that matter are levels that are assigned completely at random? If there were any justice in this world, certainly Maximilian would not have all those powers. But look at him instead! He destroyed houses today - for fun!"

"Todd, shut the fuck up. You are fucking around all day. So, will you shut your fucking mouth?"

Matthew was exasperated, honestly. His only goal there was to train. He couldn't go on wasting time with Todd, who insisted on treating him like a child.

"So? You have nothing to say. Are you too touchy? You are just a kid fiddling with those toys you talk about all the time. How can you understand what we're up against if you've never had anyone to take care of? You don't know what it means to have a family... "

The sheer arrogance reached by Todd was bordering on the absurd, so much so that Mummer, who usually preferred to let this kind of situation get calm by itself, wondered if it was not the case to intervene.

Matthew remembered words that, for a few days, had stopped swirling around his head. Now they hit him as if they were a punch in the stomach.

Matthew, I don't think we can ever have a family if you keep thinking more about videogames than about your future.

Matthew, haven't they paid you at the pizza place yet? Why don't you insist on getting your salary on time? Don't you have balls?

Maybe you should marry one of those Japanese action figures you like so much, and I should find another boyfriend, how about that?

Did you skip the finals again? Do you honestly think you will finish uni sooner or later?

"What the fuck do you want?"

Matthew went up to Todd and gave him a shove.

Even before the other could react, he pressed him.

“What the fuck do you want from me? Do you like to be a jerk?"

Matthew gave him another push, almost making him fall.

“You don't know shit about who I am and what I did before I came here. You don't know shit! If you don't like what we do, go and cry in the corner, bitch!"

Watching the scene, Mummer realised that something specific in Todd's words had made the taller Earthling furious.

It didn't happen very often among the Vanedenis. Still, he had heard of small wars that had started because someone had allowed themselves to insult the family of one of their citizens before the Ahalis invaded the continent.

“The first day you refused to train, you idiot! And you dare talk to me! But do you know how many people could die because one of us didn't bother to take war seriously?" Matthew shouted at Todd.

“Seriously, Matthew? As serious as you thinking you are in one of your silly games?"

"Look, even if I think I live in a game, I am still more useful than you!"

It was not easy to talk to the generation Todd belonged to.

Television and talk shows had accustomed them to respond with insults to a good argument, with opinions when faced with facts.

"More useful? Because are you following those two madmen? You're just following the herd. Instead, I am trying to change things” Todd was riling up every single feather on Matthew’s skin.

Violence had never been such an attractive option for Matthew before this very moment.

What on earth was Todd trying to change?

Those were just empty words.

"If there are two people who can guarantee that we will not be torn apart, they are the same people you despise so much!"

Matthew was on the verge of losing control completely. How could anyone be such an idiot?

"They are the ones who despise my suggestions because they know I'm right."

Todd's words no longer made sense. His answers only served to contradict whatever Matthew was saying.

There was no way to make him see reason.

“Besides, this whole system is disgusting. How I wish I could return to earth among my dear fellow Texans instead of being in the midst of this herd of beefy monkeys."

Hearing that definition applied to his people, Mummer raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Vanedenis training around him. Of course, by now, everyone had stopped to watch the show. But, unfortunately, nobody seemed to have taken Todd's definition well.

“The Levels are our salvation, Todd. Maybe for a loser like you, a common parasite like most of your generation, they are a problem. But, instead, I am convinced that they can free us. May they be the way to finally be able to live a life not made of mediocrity. I am not a child, but you are a coward."

At that point, Matthew calmed down with the sound of his own words. With each syllable spoken, his speech made more sense. While Todd looked redder and redder in the face with anger, he had begun to catch his breath.

Then, in the last flash of nervousness left in his throat, Matthew added: "Ah, Todd: stop being a damn redneck and go and train or do anything else that makes you useful. Get out of the way. I have better things to do than waste time with you."

The man immediately turned deep red.

Matthew was always amazed at how super effective it was to use the word "redneck" to make some people from the south of the US completely freak out. He wondered how it was possible to take offence for such bullshit.

"You are a rude brat, nothing more!"

"Yes, come on, we get it. Now, are you going to fuck off?"

"You are a generation without values, will and skill! You will never do shit, Matthew, because you are an idiot obsessed with those stupid cartoons!"

"Yes, yes. Now go. I need to level up in order not to become an idiot like you."

“You are just a brat! Your parents should be ashamed of having raised a child like you! I'll teach you the education they didn't give you!"

“If I had been your son, I would have killed myself, redneck! Suck my dick!"

The Californian turned his back on him and headed for his usual post.

What happened in the next few seconds happened so quickly that not even Mummer had time to intervene.

Todd threw himself against Matthew.

He pulled a dagger out of his pants. No one could tell where it came from or who gave it to him. Todd was completely beside himself.

With a loud grunt and a sudden gesture, the blade pierced Matthew's side.

Copious drops of blood fell on the sand of the training ground.

Before Todd could deliver a second blow, Mummer disarmed him with a single blow of his hand, then kicked him so hard in the ribs that Todd thought he was going to die.

…

Matthew felt an excruciating pain go through his right side, and his eyes widened. He saw a blade leave his flesh, blood soaking his clothes. He raised his pale face, looked around, saw Todd's lips move, but heard nothing. He saw the dagger abandoned on the ground, Mummer kicking that inept slacker, Maximilian walking briskly towards him.

The Londoner came close to him and placed his hand on the wound. The blood stopped flowing, the flesh healed, and within seconds there was no trace of the cutting edge that had ripped through the flesh.

"Incapable effeminate..." Themistocles was muttering insults in a low voice as he dragged Todd away from the grounds by the scruff of the neck.

"But..." Todd whined.

Themistocles gave him another kick in the ribs, fervently hoping that one of these would puncture his lung and get rid of that dead weight. The man had just dumped a barrel of shit on him.

He would have preferred to face the beasts of the Underworld rather than being the arbiter of such a situation. Executing Todd would have been too harsh a gesture, which could have made those like him lose their minds. Not punishing him would have alienated those with their heads on their shoulders.

"You damned dog. We will take care of you later."

…

The consistency of the barrier that prevented them from reaching other villages or escaping was the same as the yoghurt, more or less. But, of course, you couldn't taste it.

Matthew believed that, given Maximilian's looks, it wouldn't even be too impossible to see him stretch his tongue towards the Curtain. The boy had quickly recovered from the wound Todd had inflicted him. Thanks to Maximilian, the healing process had lasted just under two minutes. Without him, however, he would have risked witnessing the battle against the enemies lying on a straw bed. It was absurd how that homunculus had tried to kill him.

Matthew, to be honest, had not yet processed what happened. He was almost not angry with Todd. Almost. That two-legged shit turned out to be even more toxic and poisonous than he'd imagined.

When they arrived on Kome, the Vanedenis' continent, supernatural beings had communicated to the Earthlings - so they had started to call themselves, to distinguish themselves from the inhabitants of this new world. These beings, the Harbingers, had practically never interfered in the everyday unfolding of reality. However, they communicated that the Earthlings would be denied access to other continent regions, apart from a village belonging to the enemy faction.

If the enemies’ villages, or village, had the same number of inhabitants, or rather, of warriors, it was not known. Likewise, how strong their enemies were was a mystery.

Matthew doubted they even really existed, as did many others who had landed with him on Ankon. The only thing he was sure of was that he would never back down.

They would have a month to prepare for battle. Before that time, they could not cross the barrier and explore other parts of the continent, other than the enemy village and the surrounding land.

Any form of violence perpetrated between the Vanedenis and their enemies outside the official battle would be severely punished.

"Oi, ready?" Maximilian raised his hands victoriously towards the others while he observed the crowd with disappointment. He had hoped that everyone would join in his antics with pleasure. And maybe it would happen in another city, where the people would have nothing better to do, but not among the Vanedenis, who would be fighting an impossible conflict within a month.

"Remind me, why do you want to enter the Curtain?" Matthew asked him, glancing at the other Earthlings, all in rigorous and traumatised silence. It was a question that gripped not only him but also Themistocles, who would never bother asking it.

"Oi, Druggie, why would I want to explore a fantasy continent we are not even sure exists? Do you realise all the implications of crossing this barrier and discovering that there is nothing but wasteland? What if we find other people instead?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the Californian saw Themistocles's gaze suddenly become restless.

"Druggie?" was the only thing Matthew answered. Unfortunately, the rest of the speech made too much sense to deign Maximilian to answer his follies.

"Well, you come from the city of commie drug addicts, innit?"

Matthew hadn't spotted that trap, set just waiting for such a question, and sighed.

"Oi, smog-inhaler", He replied, smiling imperceptibly.

"Here comes the Yankee. You could at least have called me YOUR MAJESTY."

"Oi, smog-inhaler."

"Or maybe 'City with a capital letter, Europe's most productive and rich'!"

"Yes, so productive that if you don't get drunk for a week, you might actually remember that you have never seen the sun in your whole life in that shithole."

The bickering went on for more than a minute. Themistocles feared that neither of them would stop addressing insults which didn't make the slightest sense for him. But what worried him most was that he had the impression that these insults made no sense at all.

Maximilian became suddenly serious, leaving Matthew with a suspended smile. He looked at the crowd around them and finally began to speak to everyone: "Today we will find out if and how it is possible to cross the Curtain to reach the other Vanedeni cities. All we know is that we are on a huge continent and that the city of Ankon, in which we are located, is in the south. Huge crevasses prevent an agile connection between villages, but if Tukker hasn't given me a map that leads to the jaws of a Dragon, I will be able to reach the nearest settlement in a few hours. As long as, bollocks, I won't meet some monstrous creature coming from the beyond. Let's hope not."

Those present exchanged confused glances. What was this monster Maximilian was talking about? Why hadn't anyone told him about it before? Some began to worry, until Themistocles felt compelled to step in to point out: "He invented it. There is no creature from any beyond inside the Curtain." A few relieved sighs filled the air. "Well, Themistocles, you can't be sure it doesn't exist."

"You're not sure you can get through the Curtain either, so tell us what you've decided to do”, said the Athenian.

The Earthlings began to whisper to each other, somewhat sceptical of anything that would happen from now on. Even if they wanted to intervene in some way, they wouldn't know what to do. Maximilian seemed the only one who was not scared or worried about the future; this was the only reason they decided to rely on his madness. The Londoner looked closely at the blackish barrier that constituted the Curtain. The magic that made it up was incredible. If his senses weren't fooling him, it was not just a barrier, but a veritable lethal fog.

"Maximilian, so what's the plan?" Themistocles seemed rather worried that the Londoner would risk killing himself at the height of his madness.

“Plan?” Do you really need a plan?

"You haven't thought anything at all, developed some strategy?"

“Absolutely not, who do you think I am? It's time to improvise."

Themistocles had listened to the words of the Harbingers very well when he arrived in Ankon: anyone who tried to cross that border would die. When you are Greek and you hear a god say such a thing, you tend to take it seriously. On the contrary, Maximilian seemed to possess an arrogance that went beyond the divine. His hubris did not stop with his relationships with mortals, but also challenged creatures who were naturally superior to him.

“Good, you don't have a plan. So what are you going to do? "

“I stick my arm in the Curtain, and let's see what happens, right? Like this, taac."

The man slipped an arm into the Curtain in front of everyone's staring eyes. Although the others were unaware of it, Maximilian had used various magical protections on himself, more elaborate than they could ever imagine. They were also more elaborate than his level should have allowed him. Yet after a few seconds in which nearly all of his magical energy was in danger of being drained to resist the Curtain, his arm disappeared up to his shoulder into the barrier. And he did not come out; several gushes of blood stained the grass at his feet. The Vanedenis, including Tukker, remained speechless.

The man in front of them seemed capable of performing countless miracles. Despite his idiocy, a good chunk of them had imagined that he would be able to cross the Curtain.

"Well, bollocks, it didn't work out much."

Themistocles tried not to break his mask of seraphic calm. He only passed a hand over his face, to check if it was a dream...

No. It was all real. Maximilian had put his arm in the Curtain and lost it. Maybe forever.

People began to awaken from their torpor as Maximilian turned the stump of his shoulder towards them, soaking them in blood.

“Cool, like Schumacher. World Champion."

Vanedenis and Earthlings in the front row were almost instantly covered in blood.

The villagers didn't make the slightest grimace, they just wiped the blood off their faces as best they could, with their hands or clothes, but they gave Maximilian puzzled looks. They knew he was crazy right away, but they didn't believe he was crazy up to this point.

Among the Earthlings, two immediately fainted.

Thankfully, the crowd dispersed quickly enough, but there were still some diehards who showed no sign of leaving.

“Oi, if that's not enough, there is still something for everyone”, cried Maximilian. The jet of blood that gushed from his shoulder hit Matthew in the face. "You too, go away."

Finally, he and Themistocles were left alone. The Athenian noticed his friend's concentrated expression. Although he was acting like an idiot, his look didn't let out anything good. When Maximilian lost his sly smile, there was something to worry about.

"Maximilian."

"Eh."

"Do you have other ideas?"

"A couple."

Themistocles initially believed that this spectacle was only set up to show off. The Athenian thought that the other would pass from one side of the Curtain to the other with ease, without batting an eye, even hopping maybe. So he had imagined it: Maximilian hopping across the barrier, and singing. But he had been wrong. Oh, so wrong.

With every passing second, he believed more and more that this was Maximilian's real goal: to be a clown. The necromancer wanted to collect as much information as possible about the Curtain and, in the meantime, carry out one of its many antics.

"Do you think it's possible to regrow that arm?" asked Themistocles.

He was genuinely curious. He had learned a couple of the incredible magical abilities Maximilian possessed. Still, he was not familiar enough with the various domains of magic to understand the scope of his capabilities. Although he had already seen Maximilian perform extraordinary feats, he was unsure how magic worked when it involved the human body.

"Bollocks, what a pain in the arse to have another arm of flesh and blood."

The Londoner would never have deigned to give him a serious answer. Just imagining that someday he would purposely make life less difficult for him was nothing more than wasted time. Maximilian would always be Maximilian. Whether they spent three days or three years together, Themistocles was confident that nothing would change.

"So, where do you plan to act your next antic out?"

“Bollocks, Themistocles, in my bed. I'm going to get some sleep. Wake me up when there are enemies at the doors, and you have to kill them all. Or rather, when I have to kill them all because you have been playing with your pricks instead of training. "

Having left the scene with his usual charm, Maximilian walked towards his tower, blocking blood flow and quickly healing the wound.

[Enhanced: Coagulation]

[Enhanced: Flesh Manipulation]

None of the Earthlings, perhaps not even the intuitive Themistocles, realised how much magic it took to hold up a magical barrier like the Curtain, which covered only two villages. To think that every settlement was isolated in the same way, indeed, that that thick barrier of oblivion covered the whole continent... Maximilian shook his head.

It could have a specific trigger for people caught in-between the Curtain. And it could also have something more general for people trying to enter from the outside.

It was not easy to speculate on how the Curtain worked. Nevertheless, Maximilian was trying to imagine what he would do if he found himself in the place of the Harbingers.

Too much magic to keep active for too long.

There has to be some kind of switch that activates the properties of all this energy left here. Otherwise, the Harbingers would have to be infinitely more powerful than I had anticipated.

In fact, according to Maximilian, the Curtain was nothing more than a cheap trick. Powerful, yes, enormously so. But not enough to frighten him. In the previous days, he had tried to throw branches, stones, flowers, even a potato, across it. He had thrown any object he could towards the barrier.

There had been no reaction. The Curtain had not activated. Indeed, objects had passed through it as if the translucid dark wall had not existed.

Later on, he had tried something that moved, breathed. The ominous task of verifying his theories had fallen to a hen. He had carried it into the clearing and left it to roam freely. As if it had sensed the Curtain's presence, the animal had kept a safe distance from it and, when the Londoners had directed it towards the barrier, the hen had begun to cluck hysterically.

Did this mean that the damn chicken sensed imminent danger from the barrier? Maximilian verified his hypothesis immediately, suddenly grabbing the poor beast and throwing it into the Curtain. Disintegrated.

Curtain 1 - Maximilian 0.

The second hen that would serve science had been previously killed. So when it had touched the Curtain, it was already dead. And, like all the inanimate objects that he had been exploiting for the experiment, it too passed through the filter unscathed.

In the end, Maximilian had tried with one of his hair, and it had had the same destiny as the first hen. In the light of all his tests, he had decided that he would be the one to experiment first-hand.

So, before approaching the barrier, he had protected himself with every kind of magic he knew. Just to be safe, he had also cancelled his heartbeat and lowered his body temperature. For more than a couple of seconds, he had been practically dead.

He had also thought about changing the composition of the materials that made up his body since that could have been one of the potential triggers. But he wasn't sure if the Curtain was meant to block only Humans.

This world, if it is real, knows more races than the Vanedenis know. Dragons, Sirens, Centaurs… is their composition the same as mine? Would they be able to cross the Curtain and come out unscathed?

Each race had to have a different biological composition, and if the Harbingers really wanted no one to interfere, the filter they had placed between Ankon and the rest of the world had to be very strong.

What would have happened, however, if Undead had touched the Curtain? Or Lichs? Not even these should have escaped the magical switch capable of pulverising anything?

No. Bones, hair, organic matter.

What was he overlooking?

The barrier could not recognise different elements’ compositions. Max was sure of it after his experiment with chickens. Also, the analytical ability of a spell like that would have drained its Mana the moment more than a couple of people tried to crash into the Curtain simultaneously.

Crossing the whole village, Maximilian didn't spare a single laugh and didn't even bother with the terrified, furious and perplexed looks of the people he passed by. Some of them were still stained with his blood.

When he reached his tower, that visionary architectural work that had left the Vanedenis unhappy, he passed through the door without bothering to close it. The magic with which he had enchanted the hinges made the wooden door close slowly by itself.

Not very efficient, definitely not very efficient.

The hinges did not hold well the enormous weight of the-

No distractions.

Maybe he should have tried another experiment with some Yankee? Perhaps they were different, like Todd. It would have been nice to get rid of him, but he knew exactly that he, too, would have had the same fate the two hens suffered.

He walked through huge halls and narrow spiral staircases of his magical tower. The walls were filled with Runes, Formations and Rituals he was experimenting with. It was the first time he had tried inscribing stuff like that, but he felt pretty satisfied with his work. Of course, the magic of this world was more potent than any other he had come into contact with; he was just a novice as far as the workings of this planet were concerned. But he was beginning to understand how the energy around him worked.

Ultimately, magic is a bit like a computer program. It has to make sense. There must be energy flowing in and out. You cannot create matter from nothing, unlike people who saw the tower materialise before their eyes thought.

He had lied to Themistocles, too, when he talked about what he did to build the tower. What was he had he told him? That he had changed the alchemical composition of some rock?

If he had all the magic he needed to do something like that, he would instead have used it to make a hole in the Curtain.

If there were one thing Themistocles did not know, it would be the number of bones underneath the village and its surroundings.

Maximilian had received his [Necromancer] class almost immediately after his arrival in Ankon, and it hadn't taken long to recover the remains of various creatures even without setting foot outside the Curtain. It hadn't been that simple, and yes, it was his little secret. He had found some very interesting things. The almost indestructible composition of the tower was due precisely to the discoveries he had made.

And to his indisputable artistic skills, of course.

Of course, it's a waste of material. But who am I, Greenpeace?

In short, what he had seen in a few days he had never seen anywhere else. And Maximilian had seen so many things. He had been used to working with far fewer resources than he had been able to salvage in the Ankon territory. He had learned to draw blood from a stone and water from sand - and now he found himself in what he might call an oasis in the middle of an endless desert.

Geolocation.

He had just stretched out on a bed made of blankets more or less alchemically transmuted material. He hadn't wholly lied to Themistocles. He had never completely lied to him. His was just a distorted version of the truth in this case. He just didn't want to worry him unduly.

He was capable of doing amazing things but, for the moment, not so fantastic. Kill all the enemies? Of course, without batting an eye. Killing was undoubtedly a simple thing. However, all the enemies had to be located first. Considering the remains he had found deep beneath Ankon, this continent held even more secrets than anyone could imagine. In the future, he planned to discover them one by one.

I wish I had a magnetic scanner or a GPS.

Maximilian tensed.

"What an idiot. Idiot. IDIOT."

Geolocation.

Maximilian punched the wall of the black tower, breaking the only arm he had left.

While repairing his ulna and radius, practically fractured in half, he jumped out of bed.

Bollocks, how could you? How could you be such an idiot? There is definitely an imprint on people.

Everyone inside the "safe zones" has an imprint that marks them as "prisoners" or something. Those actually inside the Curtain, and not in the free spaces between it, have one that marks them as “free to roam.” Otherwise, the Curtain would have killed every single animal not in a “free to walk” zone. And outside?

He didn't really care about the people outside of Kome, at this moment in time.

The fact that the Curtain inhibited teleportation made it the perfect prison.

He wouldn't mind talking to a Harbinger of Magic Theory, or whatever the name of these manipulations was.

He looked at his arm and then sat down, exploring any magical cues, even the smallest, on his body.

After a couple of minutes, he cursed.

The magic signal is hidden. It is probably only activated when you touch the Curtain. Well, at least that was a minor stroke of genius on their part. If I had been more powerful... Bah, what a bunch of cunts.

It was hard to explain how Maximilian could be so sure he was right, but he gleefully whistled as, within seconds, a black cloak materialised over his shoulders.

“I said I would need it,” he said to himself, walking away from the tower. "Class, after all, is not for Yankees."

He would sneak into the Curtain, ready to lose and regenerate a couple of fingers to crack the magical code that the most powerful creatures on this planet had created.