"I foresee a growth of all people below level 20 by at least 3,5 levels, according to the data just collected, sigma equals 5; of course, in the calculation, I took into account the increased difficulty in acquiring new levels, milady."

"Is this the prediction that also takes into account the new training regimes you developed yesterday?"

"No, Lady Goldith."

“Why is that?”

"I wanted to surprise you, milady," the man said.

He handed Lady Goldith the tablet with all the papers he had filled by hand himself together with the [Scribe]. No Excel in this world, unfortunately.

After studying them for a few minutes, the young woman pursed her lips to resemble a smile. The other trusted attendants all felt a surge of jealousy. After years of faithful service, none of them had ever received anything more than annoyed looks. And now an Earthling had come out of nowhere and become the new [General Administrator].

Lady Goldith looked at the war room curtains; they were faded and bloodstained. Maybe it was time to change them.

Since she had taken office in the city of Vissart seven years earlier, she had had the huge and immense main hall transformed into a new forge, the largest and most advanced on the continent.

The other Lords of Vissart had not greatly appreciated the decisions of the then 17-year-old Lady. They had continued to oppose her until she had thrown them all into the crevasse. Already dead. Better not take useless risks.

It had been hard to fight every single day for over a year. Either in the field or against citizen discontent. Yet Lady Goldith was now one of the last hopes of her people. Sure, the Child Law had not been well received when she had come to power, but no one seemed to complain after all the successes it had achieved.

"Cyrus, accompany me. The rest of you will take care of supplies for the war that lies ahead. Give me a report considering Brig's voluntary contribution, one showing the details whether we need to force them and one depicting the possibility to raze the city to the ground. Give them to Cyrus, who will correct them before giving them to me."

More than one person would have liked to snort at such an insult, but no one wanted to lose their lips. So, everyone slipped away and gave the new [Administrator] a few sneaky looks.

Once they were alone, Cyrus felt the need to point this out to the Lady.

"Milady?"

"Mh?"

Lady Goldith was arranging some maps. After winning the conflict, they would muster all the Vanedenis and conquer the south. In a couple of years they would have it all. In twenty, they would be ready to make war against the Ahalis again after multiplying their population with all the new births guaranteed by the law ...

"I believe you are alienating the other [Administrators]. At least towards me, milady."

"If anyone does their job wrong on purpose, they will be hanged."

Cyrus stared at the woman's golden armour, so beautifully crafted that it looked like normal cloth. He wondered if kicking her would hurt him more than her... Probably. It didn't even make a metallic clink. There were so many joints that it moved more naturally than her own body.

The woman before him was Lady Goldith, Vissart's ruler, Kome's highest-level Vanedeni, probably. What she was wearing was not just a simple armour, but one of the legendary artifacts of her people.

"Wouldn't it be better if they were more interested in collaborating with me, instead of wanting to throw me into the Curtain, milady?"

"Of course."

The woman didn't say much, but Cyrus was more than capable of reading between the lines. Those who couldn't do it wouldn't last long in Vissart.

Of course, but it's up to you to ingratiate them, even if I just turned them against you. Show me what you are worth.

Not much guidance was given there. Either you learned this dance or you fell behind and died, more literally than metaphorically.

"Milady, your etiquette would be the envy of even the most devilish Wall Street banker."

"Thank you, Cyrus. You often talk to me about this place, I'd like to know more. Now give me your arm, it's time for my walk."

Although Goldith was a complete warrior, she was still a Lady. Her class commanded that she behave in a certain way with those around her, even in ways that many considered inappropriate.

She never shed the blood of her subjects with her own hands, but she always had an [Executioner] who followed her a few meters away.

"A question of efficiency."

She was always polite, albeit glacial, and never out of place. She kept vulgarities at bay as much as she did with ne’er-do-wells. In a way, this served both Goldith and her companion.

Cyrus felt the woman wrap her arm around his. Whenever she did that, the man feared that Lady Goldith might break his arm like a twig, but that had never happened before. Whether it was because she could not act violently directly against her subjects or because he had not yet deserved this punishment, Cyrus did not know. With all the levels she had and the strangely warrior attitude of her class, not even an enemy [Dragonslayer] on her level would have wanted to take a slash of her club without a large shield to protect him.

"What do you think of Vissart, Cyrus?"

"Milady?"

The woman did not usually ask for opinions. Analysis, many. Technical advice, whole lots. Opinions, better leave to those who do not have to rebuild an empire from the ashes.

Lady Goldith kept silent for a couple seconds. Before going for a monologue, she clearly wanted to find the best words.

Her sharp and severe eyebrows punctuated every word she spoke with her pink lips, highlighted by the makeup.

"The other Lords and Lady have always accused me of being a tyrant. They forget that our heroes have deposed Kings, killed or exiled entire noble houses. In the very beginning of our history, our first Hero, Idner, had to face tremendous opposition to attempt the Great Climb. According to our records, more than twenty thousand Vanedenis had to die before reaching Kome; of these, most were nobles and elite warriors. Ordinary people followed him without question. More than that half of them died. Some sources claim that not even two out of ten men survived. The survivors resisted because of Idner, not others. Idner used all his Skills and exhausted his body to take them to Kome. He made a hundred climbs to save as many children as possible. Eventually, he died of exhaustion. He could never witness the glory for which he was responsible..."

Cyrus waited for the woman to continue, but now she seemed immersed in her thoughts. After a few minutes, he felt the need to intervene.

"Even if you were a tyrant, milady, you would undoubtedly be the prettiest tyrant on the continent."

Goldith turned to him, putting a hand over her mouth to conceal a gentle smile.

"Cyrus," the woman said lightly, "I thought I had all of Vissart's pimps executed. It seems someone has escaped."

"It would seem so, milady. Not a small oversight for you."

They both smiled and walked arm in arm towards a building from which all the groups of miners departed. Cyrus had explained to her that it was very dangerous for people to spend too much time in contact with the dust generated in the mine. In the long run, it would incapacitate the people who worked there.

Lady Goldith had been very puzzled by his explanations. Still, she had trusted him. On the list of future problems to be solved, this one was almost at the top.

"Show me the list of steps to take."

Cyrus made it appear directly from his duffer bag, without difficulty. He was still amazed at how those little handbags could hold dozens of times their true volume, if not hundreds in some cases.

"Ventilation ducts. Masks with Enchantments that produce breathable air ..."

Lady Goldith paused on the masks.

"Glass and light metal, like aluminium. The miners won't be happy with this change at all. Also, we're talking about an Enchantment that can make people breathe underwater. The [Enchanters] in my service won't be happy at all. It will be all very expensive. "

"I have already arranged for the masks to be created, milady. The costs have already been budgeted. The glasses of the masks have been reinforced with another Enchantment, as the first prototypes had cracked. I had underestimated the skills of your miners. Everyone already wears them and, despite the first complaints, in recent days there has only been one death, of an old miner, from respiratory problems. I had his lungs extracted and showed them to all the workers. Only a couple have kept complaining and were silenced by their more clever comrades."

Lady Goldith closed the report, noting that there was a check on the side of the measures already implemented.

"Cyrus, didn't you think you had to consult me?"

"No, milady. You deal with far more important matters. I didn't want to bother you."

"The costs were not indifferent. Vissart has many miners and the time you took from the [Enchanters] could affect the production and repair of weapons." Lady Goldith did not look angry, but she tightened her grip on his arm. Considering the difference in levels and classes, it must have started to be quite painful.

"You are wrong, milady. I used your name as a direct order and commanded them to use only apprentices and their free time. I took care to explain the problem in detail and I brought hard and blackened lungs to them too. When they understood all the concern you have for your subjects, they agreed to work for a third of the price. They were all impressed by the care and speed with which you moved. The enthusiasm of the miners is such that productivity increases by 20%. Even if it were to subside in a short time - which is unlikely, considering the conflict that awaits us - we should recover the expenditure in three weeks. If not, there are other less elegant but equally efficient solutions."

Lady Goldith thought for a few seconds, then loosened her grip on the man's arm.

"Great work. Did you level up?"

"Level 14, milady."

“Remember, Cyrus, as soon as we win the war, we will have to organise a very important expedition. If you manage to prove your worth, you will get the honour of overseeing Vissart in my absence. We recently found one very particular treasure map for a legendary artifact.”

Cyrus stored away the information in a remote corner of his head; a part of him found this new thing really appetizing. He felt, for some reason, his hand twitching when thinking about such an artifact; even though he had no idea what this treasure was about.

Lady Goldith was granting him more and more responsibilities by the day. Three days had passed and she already proposed putting him in charge during her leave. The woman had an incredible decisive attitude.

Cyrus had won the post of [Administrator] in one day, thanks to Lady Goldith's audacity and the trust immediately placed in him. Over the next three days he had barely slept as he reorganized Vissart's finances, production processes and production chains. Although he had never spent too much time in front of video games, he had occasionally allowed himself to play some strategic management; he loved to build businesses and cities, as he had loved to invest money strategically in real life. It was hard to imagine that after his passing he would be transported to such a place. It was even more difficult to understand how he could have resumed getting entangled in what had ruined him ...

At least here he was doing it to win a war, help a people on the verge of extinction survive. It was not a question of exploiting the weak, but of giving them the tools to defend themselves - although calling the Vanedenis weak was perhaps a contradiction; they had been invaded. Almost exterminated. He was now helping them take back what was rightfully theirs. They were a warlike but just population: their laws did not include slaves and the exploitation of citizens was a great taboo.

There were mean people, but they were as rare as finding good people in a normal population. All in all, Cyrus was pleased that he was helping this cause. He had had some doubts at first, but Lady Goldith cared about her subjects, however inflexible she might be.

"If you had done something wrong I would have punished you for such insubordination."

It was rare to hear Lady Goldith say such obvious things. Perhaps he imagined that Cyrus had not yet understood how Vissart worked. “I have acted in your best interests, milady. There has not been a time when I have not considered what could be right or wrong for you. I know how much you care for your subjects and I have only tried to respect your wishes without adding worries to your plate, milady.” Lady Goldith turned to him, pausing in step. The brown hair on her head was short; a military and practical cut, but refined and, Cyrus imagined, treated with many ointments.

More a formality for her class than vanity, the man reasoned.

The woman beside him was twenty-three, although the intense gaze suggested that she was older and more experienced. Young and powerful. The most powerful, some said. Lady Goldith was arguably the highest-ranking person of her age, perhaps the highest-ranking person among the Vanedenis. Even at fifty, her level would have been an anomaly. The fact that she was so strong at a young age terrified her enemies. Goldith had told Cyrus that more than one [Dragonslayer], with an elite army at his command, had arrived in Vissart with the express intent of cutting off her head. The fact that her head was still well anchored to her neck suggested that their plans had not gone as hoped. What the [Dragonslayers] didn't know was that all Vissart residents with a military class had been used to training and impossible clashes.

The enemy did not understand that there were no people in Vissart who were not elites.

Therefore, given the enormous difficulty of transporting an entire army to the south of Kome, they had left the Lady almost undisturbed to take care of her military campaigns.

After all, the reverse was also true: it would have been very difficult for Lady Goldith to return north with an army. For now.

His was one of the few noble houses that still kept many of the secrets of the Vanedenis. Some rumoured that Lady Goldith was one of the very few, if not the only, people in the world to know the secret of the flying ships, the instruments of war that had made the Vanedenis famous in their world. And when people lived on a continent three thousand meters above sea level, with huge sheer walls, they were also the only means of transport to move outside the continent.

Cyrus was lost in her gaze, penetrating and inflexible. Not cold. Just hard. Lady Goldith was a mine of passion, but she was also a mine of discipline. Her large dark eyes matched her sharp face. In another life, her charm might have lent itself to galas rather than wars. In this life, however, Cyrus had before him the person candidate to become the Hero that her people had been waiting for in the last three hundred years.

"Great job, Cyrus. Cut the beard, though. It's not good for a handsome man to walk around looking like a tramp."

Taken aback, the now 21-year-old blushed. As expected, Lady Goldith's weapons were treacherous and even more dangerous than he had imagined.

...

Once they had finished explaining what had happened in the mine, Cyrus and Goldith walked towards the barracks; this was made up of a rather spartan and square building, not at all inviting.

"Explain this idea to me again."

Goldith had released Cyrus's arm to rub her temples. Some of the innovations brought by the man at his side sounded so obvious to her ears that it wasn't hard to imagine why they worked. Others, on the other hand, were more abstract, very expensive and decidedly more difficult to accept.

"The appearance of the environment around us influences what we do. Having an aseptic barracks is not the best way to keep soldiers on track. I have seen that, despite the great cultural heritage, the Vanedenis have had very few, if not hardly any notable artists. I think it is appropriate to remedy: install statues, inaugurate celebrations, start sports competition."

The last idea had fascinated her too and, had they not been in times of war, she would have accepted without reservation. Cyrus, for his part, had not yet started any of these projects, if not some prototypes to give a better idea to the woman. Goldith looked at the barracks carefully, as if staring at her for a long time might reveal something of the flaws exhibited by Cyrus. Still, it seemed to her as good a building as any other building would be. What on earth should he have noticed that had to be changed? From what he knew, barracks had always been like this.

"What percentage of the population would have to engage in such activities to meet the criteria of the proposal, Cyrus?"

"Real artists, or artisans employed as such, would represent two or three percent of the total population over the long term, seven or ten at the beginning to identify the greatest talents. If they could work on these things other than their own work..."

Goldith's ears were ringing. He had to restrain himself so as not to kick that idiot in the shin. Ten percent?! They barely had the numbers for the army! How would they retake the north?! He had to be out of his mind, there was no other explanation. She tried to remain calm. It suited neither a [Lady] nor a person of her rank.

It was time to put aside the hatred for the idle people and think about the benefits that Cyrus was putting on the plate. Classes like [Bard], [Sculptor] and [Architect] might have come in handy in war as well, or at least in preparation for war. From what he had said, one of their great qualities had been their incredible military architecture and logistics. According to him, his ancestors had been able to build an entire bridge in half a day; as there were no levels in the world from which he came, it was an undertaking worthy of praise.

Therefore, setting aside part of their budget for people who could lead the construction of massive war machines and logistical wonders would be a long-term investment. Goldith was almost regretting all the freedom she had given man until now. Luckily, he hadn't disappointed her at all, quite the contrary ... If only thinking about artists hadn't reminded her of those idle nobles who loved to spend all day in taverns raping waitresses and composing out of tune verses ...

"Milady?"

Cyrus was waiting for an answer or an explanation that Goldith had only partially followed.

"You said this is a long-term project, right?"

"Yes, milady."

"After the battle, 20% of the surplus generated by the new activities you have in mind will go to these works. Not a penny more, understood?"

"You are too generous, milady. I would never dare to abuse your magnanimity.”

Goldith considered whether or not she should break his leg to remove the ill-concealed irony from his voice. But only a Harbinger could have known how indispensable Cyrus was now for her cause. Had it not been for the very obscure demi-gods who had brought him to her, she would have been more suspicious; she was not sure what limits a spy could cross in order to enter her good graces. Yet, thanks to the divine guarantee, he had outwitted a [Administrator] so capable that he could be a future hero. And why not.

After all, the second hero of their great story had been a [Smuggler]. Not many appreciated his memory. He had risen to prominence soon after arriving in Kome and had made his people lousy rich. Without him, they would not have had the right wealth and, above all, the flying ships. For some time no one had known that the Vanedenis people had migrated to Kome. After all, people able to undertake a climb such as the one imposed by the morphology of Kome could be counted on the tip of the fingers. Enemies were also in danger of dying every time they left the continent. Three thousand meters of fall, or even a thousand, is not something that a normal Enchantment would have effect on.

Even with sixty levels on their shoulders, the strongest warriors were in danger of losing their lives.

…

Cyrus reflected on his position. About what he was doing to Vissart. He had purposely "escaped" from his past life precisely because living it like this had led him to the blackest despair. Now, however, Lady Goldith was showing him that there could be glory, greatness in what they were doing. They were not torturers of humanity, they were simply guaranteeing these people a better future. There would be sacrifices. The Vanedenis were like the Chinese government, albeit less focused in punishing their citizens and more liberal in letting them leave if they wanted to. Lady Goldith had told him that all the people who didn’t like life in Vissart would have a chance to leave once the battle was over.

Of course, the woman would not have given any of them a penny out of her own pocket; whoever wanted to leave would have to get the means by themselves, but having the freedom to leave the city was already a pretty good deal.

Cyrus wondered if the same courtesy would be extended to him as well.

Not all the Earthlings who had come to Vissart kept up with the extenuating rhythms of that city. The dedication required by the regent was out of the ordinary. Any other population would have refused to obey her orders, whether in a time of quiet or a time of war. But the Vanedenis were a proud and ferocious people. It was hard to imagine that they could bow in front of Lady Goldith. They had, in fact, decided to follow her in this suicidal enterprise. Not even the woman could have bent the minds of her citizens. She had only managed to win their trust; in any case, it was an incredible feat.

They bent but did not break. They always went on. It was a philosophy as evident as it was subtle among them. This was why Cyrus admired them. But part of him hated them in a way that was hard to explain. On the one hand, they were everything he wanted to be all his life, on the other - in a hidden part of his soul - his worst nightmare.

Associating their actions with something coherent was ...

What was the real answer? What was the solution?

Who was right, who was wrong?

He felt something twist in his guts and a disgusting feeling making its way into his throat. Was there something wrong with him? Or perhaps in the Vanedenis and Lady Goldith. Or maybe both.

He had already thrown away his former life when it had become too imbued with the fumes of his own pain. What would he do with this? Was he doing the right thing? He greeted passers-by on the street with a large smile, recognizing some of the palace boys. One of the reasons he hadn't slept the first few days after his arrival was because he had spent the night learning almost all the names of Vissart's citizens.

The Vanedenis had a particular name system. Tradition had it that the name of men ended with -er, that of women with -ith. Someone, at court, had told him that those endings respectively meant "son" and "daughter" in the language of the ancient Vanedenis and that they were affixed to the names of the newborn as a sign of benevolence on behalf of the parents.

There were exceptions to the rule, but they were not frequent. They were traditional people, after all.

"Ener, Mirith! How is the restocking of the warehouses going?"

"Mister Cyrus!" The man replied to him giving him a loud pat on the back.

"All right, the new layout you designed makes a lot of sense and we believe that as soon as the blacksmiths finish your elevators, working will be much easier. At least no one will be crushed anymore." Ener made a face. "Lifting loads is always good training! A few pieces of metal can't replace my two little girls."

The man had a shirt torn to show his biceps and, to better explain who he was referring to, he kissed them both.

After a couple of questions about their loved ones, Cyrus moved on. Both of the people he had just met had shown extraordinary talent. Not only did they work tirelessly, but from the old [Administrator] reports they seemed to have had to deal with shifts and warehouse organization several times. As soon as the momentum with which Cyrus was revolutionizing Vissart finished, he would promote them both and delegate most of the daily tasks to them. As soon as his brain slowed down, Cyrus returned to his thoughts, exactly where he had left them off.

It was difficult to live a life tied to money and not be possessed by it a little. And they weren't Wall Street repentant ruminations. He had met several academics and had discussed this with them. People who can see money always in front of them have much more productive returns.

Money comes from money.

But at the same time they accentuated all the darker personality traits. From the Machiavellian soul to narcissism, there was a violent selfishness lurking beneath so much splendour. Not even the money had done much. Marie was much more than a few million dollars, so when Marie left him her life was over. It had been a really simple equation.

No Marie = No Life

Easy. Someone would call him a coward or tell him he was pathetic. Cyrus, for his part, acknowledged that he had been simply pragmatic. He hadn't been a coward or even pathetic. He recognized that he had nothing left in his life.

Not a relationship that wasn't tainted with money, not a support network that could somehow alleviate his pain.

People without other people are nothing. And when he realised it - that he was nothing, I mean. He had decided to get a couple of powders which, harmlessly mixed with water, had freed him from his inner torment.

The myth of the self-made man had collapsed into a velvet armchair. He had taken one of Marie's books and leafed through it slowly as the chemistry of poisons met his physiology. In his life he had not had the piety of Dr. Bernard or the ability to change his heart like Rambert. Unlike Joseph Grand, he had had both the means and the words, he had not been a silent bulwark of courage, but only a pathetic imitation of Wall Street stereotypes.

Not pathetic in the sense of to be pitied for his poor luck, but pathetic because he had never had a real soul. Cyrus had had more than anyone would ever have imagined. His father had been a thief, a very successful one, but still a thief nonetheless. After years he had moved to the United States, a close acquaintance of his who had researched his family had claimed that that was why he was so comfortable in finance.

"Cyrus", he heard someone say his name with obvious resentment.

"Gazius."

Vissart's former [Administrator], who had now been placed in his service. Lady Goldith had been ruthless in handling this matter.

"There have been several complaints among the miners and more than one said that if he were to be forced to wear that mask all the time he would rather stop working and do something else."

Gazius was clearly in the midst of a schadenfreude attack.

"Take him and have him whipped in the square. Then put him back in the mine with chains for three months and let him sleep in prison. He is putting everyone's safety at risk and we will treat him as a traitor: forced labour."

Gazius became pale. In fact, he had heard the man bicker lightly and did not want him to go to prison.

"It seems a bit excessive ..."

"The way you put it, it risks destroying all the measures taken for their health. So, we might as well take care of the problem right away. Unless you perhaps want to retract what you just said?"

Gazius was one of the few unfit people Cyrus had seen in Vissart. With a fat belly in plain sight and perpetually flushed cheeks, it was a prominent anomaly. The Vanedenis only gained weight in old age and, even then, they were handsome and still full of strength. Cyrus had read dozens and dozens of reports on their enemies who, despite having an excessive physical power comparable to that of a gorilla, rightly feared their qualities.

The blood of the poorest among them contained traces of heroic blood, and the descendants for more direct lines were incredibly talented.

"Maybe ... I exaggerated ... I'm going to check again if it is appropriate to take such drastic measures."

Gazius's behavior, in the end, wasn't that strange. Why? Because the blood of the Vanedenis did not flow in his veins. Not only was he neither tall nor muscular, but his features were very different from those found on Kome. He was of another race, if race was the right term, the Antidos. A very open and very rich people. A kind of cross between Dutch and Jews, to make a comparison with something Cyrus knew better. The Antidos had a nation of their own and they had a monarchy, the most liberal monarchy Cyrus had ever heard of, it must be said.

They had grown rich through banking services and by investing all the savings of their nation, private individuals and the loans they had leveraged in the activities of Epretos, the continent occupied by the demons. The Antidos were [Bankers], [Administrators] and [Secretaries] and a thousand other classes relating to the economy. They ignored wars and refused to finance them. They invested in the prosperity of nations and their growth. They had created such an influx of money among the famous demons, that their civilization was among the most advanced in the world. One of the few things Gazius had done wrong was thinking that he could make the same fortune as his ancestors among the Vanedenis. He had created several commercial enterprises that would one day have to resell the surplus of weapons and metals outside Kome, but Cyrus had planned to have them close down as soon as possible, before the poor man could be hanged.

Cyrus did not understand how such an intelligent person could also be so stupid. The Vanedenis weren't the demons or the Hydras, they weren't even the sirens; indeed, they were those people who had waged a war against these last two peoples because - no one really knew why. Rereading the historical reasons for these wars, it seemed to him that the Vanedenis had lost the light of reason and decided to attack all the other continents. All the other continents. All together.

They also loved neither the sirens' hegemony and their old cruelty nor that the hydras thought they could conquer the world. Two Heroes, one for war, had put an end to the greatest conflict their world could remember and the sirens' empire of terror. It was not possible to understand how the Vanedenis had been reduced to the state in which Cyrus had known them, but he had to resign himself to the eternal rule that every great ascent corresponds to a directly proportional descent.

In the past, the Vanedenis had held the trade of all continents in a steel grip. There hadn't been a single place on this land that hadn't paid duties just to trade on the sea. Dragons included - because yes, dragons also existed in this world. The [Administrator], who was born and raised in a city overrun with crime syndicates, imagined how any boss would be amazed by such results, without even imagining them in his biggest dreams.

In fact, the Vanedenis had made the whole world pay for protection money; at the same time, they did not like to travel too much from Kome, if not necessary. Lady Goldith had told him several stories. But that was the way it had been for all the people he had known. The oral tradition of the deeds of their ancestors was a daily custom, the equivalent of talking about the weather.

"If only Lakaner could have helped us a little with the harvest!"

"Imagine if Erer was still here! He would have made a massacre with his halberd!"

And many, many other pieces of a culture that had survived a war waged to extinguish them.

Another very popular topic of conversation was the following:

"After winning the war, do we attack the sirens first or do we go in search of all the remaining Ahalis on the planet?"

"I'd say let's capture the last few dragons and use them to hunt both of them. Think how furious they would be!"

"I say the hydras should be the first to die. They certainly have their hand in this war. They must be eliminated once and for all."

"The satyrs! Let's kill the satyrs!"

"The satyrs? Why the satyrs? I don't think we've ever been at war with them. Besides, they've always traded excellent wine with us. If you want, let's kill the centaurs, since they don't know how to make wine."

"A satyr cheated at chess with my great-grandfather!"

Therefore, war had to be.

Cyrus had the distinct impression that, if the Vanedenis had discovered Gazius' peaceful intentions, the man would have met a bad end. He was also convinced that the Antido wanted to trade with mermaids. He had often joked about it, attracting only dirty looks from the other people. But Cyrus knew well that Gazius was not joking. How little his subordinate was able to understand the Vanedenis was ...

Cyrus went to one of the shops facing the street and ordered a soup. He sat down on one of the stools in front of the counter and waited patiently for the cook to put a steaming bowl under his nose. He moved the spoon back and forth with a cloudy look, waiting for it to cool. The soup gave him some necessary warmth.

He had always suffered from the cold, but the Vanedenis didn't seem to mind the autumn temperatures.

"Menaver, a question," he asked as he was about to bring the wooden spoon to his lips.

The cook was preparing the ingredients so as not to be unprepared for the evening influx of customers. Vissart was very busy, perhaps too much. He should have planned how ... Okay, maybe he should stop thinking about work for now.

"Tell me," grunted the wiry man. His hands moved with a dexterity that did not suit his giant size.

"Why have you never joined Vissart's military corps? I guess with your attributes, it wouldn't have been difficult to acquire a warrior class."

Menaver shrugged. "Everyone asks me. Some look at me like I'm a coward."

They look. Right, because directly insulting another Vanedeni was never very wise.

"My parents were warriors. All my brothers too. My sister is ..." He saw Cyrus's smile and rolled his eyes. "You already know who my sister is. That's why you're here to eat, instead of attached to Lady Goldith's steel skirt."

"Lath, the great [General] of Vissart. The second most feared woman on the continent, probably."

"She is the only woman in my family still alive. There are other [Generals], but my sister is one of the few who are always on the front line with our dear Lady Goldith. Let her fight as much as she wants, but don't bother me."

"Still, rumours say you are much more talented than your sister."

Menaver sighed with the face of someone who had heard that phrase several times.

"That's why I have so many customers. My dishes can increase the body's natural defences, heal superficial ailments and do many other things."

"A general in the kitchen," said Cyrus, sneaking an apple from the wooden pallet beside him.

"A thief in administration," Menaver replied, pointing the knife - which, to be fair, looked even sharper up close - at Cyrus, who immediately put the apple back.

"If people want to kill themselves, go ahead. I've had enough of this war and this pack of puppets."

The [Administrator] knew that few other people spoke so lightly of Vissart's iron laws; this is because there were few people who could afford to do this without being executed. And Cyrus had become close with all of them. Lord Felker, Lady Goldith's cousin and magician of the city, hadn't given him much space, but the [Cook] in front of him was more outgoing.

"If you are good at something, how can you not want to ..."

"Cyrus," the man cut short, "if you're here on my sister's behalf, I swear the next soup you eat will be poisoned. I made a hole in the old [Administrator]'s gut when he tried to buy me. Wanna try the experience?"

Raising his spoon and nodding his great appreciation for the soup, Cyrus took a few seconds to reply - not before carefully wiping his mouth.

"I don't think you would have a significant impact on the first month. In fact, considering the hierarchies, it might even be a problem. Your shadow motivates your sister."

Menaver was perplexed.

"Why did you ask me, then?"

"Asked what? Why are you a cook if you are clearly born to a military life? To understand how Vissart is affecting the lives of your citizens. I hope I can find the best position for everyone. Now the question is: the best position is the thing that you can do best? Or what you do because you feel you have to do it?" Cyrus winked at him.

Menaver put down the knife and sat down after taking a piece of bread and some meat. The stool that held him seemed ready to give way at any moment under his enormous figure.

"Everyone told me to be a soldier. Menaver, with that body of yours you will break all those Ahali bastards! I can still hear them while dressing a dish or when I'm alone cleaning the kitchen. And I don't think there's a simple answer to that question ... If Lady Goldith hadn't been there, maybe I would have been a warrior."

Cyrus frowned at this information.

"Why?"

"Lady Goldith protects everyone. But she also attacks. If there had been the need, I would have had no problem picking up a weapon. But, paradoxically, Vissart is one of the safest places in the south of Kome. Maybe it wasn't always the case, but my sister was little more than a child when Lady Goldith finally took power. Within a few months, Goldith waged so many wars that we all expected to die; then, beyond all expectations, only the [Soldiers] were leaving home. Some did not return. The war that we are forced to face now seems more like a picnic, if you compare it to what it was five years ago.”

“Every night, Cyrus, every single night I feared my sister would die. Fortunately, however, she continued to level up, becoming, from Lady Goldith's friend, her most trusted [General]. In the end, they both managed to stabilize the internal situation in Vissart. By killing a lot of nobles, yes, but still stabilizing it. They also refurbished the city.”

"What I'm trying to say," Menaver had a little trouble expressing himself clearly, "is that if there is one thing I've learned in my thirty-two years of life, that using your talent comes naturally to you, when you know it will benefit those around you.”

“But if the only thing your talent would bring is money or power ... well, look where I am. It is not something that appeals to everyone. It interests me more than you, I would say. Besides, my sister is already with Lady Goldith, I don't need to interfere too. Here I have a lot more to do."

Cyrus had to admit that he had asked such a question more to pass the time than to have an answer; he hadn't thought that a cook could really solve his doubts. Yet ... He looked at his shirt to check if it was dirty, and his gaze stayed there a second or two more to see if there were any stains that were difficult to see.

"If you find some smart young man," said the [Cook], "tell him to use his talent when it makes him and others feel good, and not just if it makes him successful."

Cyrus smiled and finished eating his soup.

"Thank you, Menaver, your words were precious."

He patted him on the shoulder, continuing to praise him for his wisdom. He assured him that he would use his advice for Vissart's sake. Then he paid and walked away. Once around the corner, he pulled an apple out of his duffer bag and took a bite of it. He grimaced and spat the morsel away. It was rotten.

…

Lady Goldith appeared to have been born for her work. Not only did she have ideas in the right place, according to Cyrus, but also enough power and balls to put them in the centre of the room. The young woman was on the verge of creating a little utopia. It was not strange to believe that this very people had once been famous for their impossible exploits. Without a doubt, within twenty years Lady Goldith would not only become the new queen and hero of her people, but also an incredible threat for the world.

The heroes of the Vanedenis had never had a particular interest in mixing with other peoples. They had helped and subjugated them in some situations, but nothing more. Lady Goldith, with all the ambition she harboured, could certainly take a future war to incredible heights. In a way, Cyrus felt as if he were standing next to a personality like Alexander the Great. Or rather, as he imagined it, but much more disciplined and intelligent.

That woman had won conflicts that had been more than impossible, from what she had learned in the past few days; yet, she was also able to stay rational, to prepare for the worst. What a terribly effective mix of qualities for one person. Cyrus was doing one of his rounds, trying to find new talent within Vissart. It was a city capable of producing champions out of every corner; and not just in warfare, but also in trade, blacksmithing and everything in between.

Excluding cities like Brig that had a Lord or Lady specialized in something specific, Vissart could count on superiority over everything else, without question.

How many people would die trying to build the empire Goldith promised was unclear. But unless the Ahali managed to kill Lady Goldith, Cyrus saw in her the meteoric rise of a [Queen].

As he wondered what the requirements for that class were, a scream from his right caught him off guard.

"I'M HUNGRY! I'M HUNGRY! I'M HUNGRY!"

A soldier had physically tackled a girl who was now kicking and trying to bite him.

"Damn! Only those who work can take advantage of the salary made available for youEearthlings! If you don't want to fight or find something to do ... "

Cyrus was about to ignore the scene when he saw the girl's face; it wasn't like other people's, but it looked more like a full moon, with the skin around the eyes folded back, very close to an oriental shape.

"Fuck it."

It was difficult for Cyrus to lose his temper, but seeing a girl with Down's syndrome being practically beaten was too much even for him.

A thousand hypotheses formed in his head as he thought about how to solve that mess without losing the respect and power he now commanded among those people. How would they react if he openly opposed such treatment? But, above all, did they not have disabled people in Vissart? The city had more than 100.000 people, how was it possible that they had never seen or faced such a situation?

“Just because you are ugly you cannot do as you want! Ahahaha!" The soldier held her in a grip around the neck, which was evidently not letting the now red-faced girl breathe. Judging by the comment, Cyrus at least understood that they had no idea what a disability was. Or at least, they had never seen a person with Down syndrome.

Cyrus began to think about what the girl's name was, but he couldn't really remember every single person who was in Vissart, at least not yet. Besides, he didn't even remember seeing her around. The girl continued to scream as the traffic of pedestrians and wagons continued as if nothing had happened. Well. Human rights as we like them, that is, no human rights. In a purely theoretical way, it would not have been difficult to explain why beating a disabled person was wrong, but certain purely theoretical ways did not work much with the Vanedenis.

"Administrator! We got another one! Several Earthlings have begun to beat the slack and now it's time to beat them with sticks! "

Apparently this was one of the soldiers who appreciated his work. What could he say, anyway. He was a figure who had always divided the masses a lot. Cyrus looked at the guard and realized that he had never spoken to him.

"Nice to meet you," he said, extending a hand.

The other man looked at him uncertainly. It was difficult to keep holding the girl's neck locked and shake hands with one of the most important figures in the city. In the end, he decided to throw the dead weight on the ground, wipe off his leather armour for a moment and shake Cyrus's hand with a dazzling smile. Unlike the others, he greatly approved of the work of the new [Administrator] and his care for the customs and traditions of the Vanedenis.

“Let me tell you, you are a thousand times better than Gazius, the spineless one without courage. I never understood why Lady Goldith gave him so much power. Fortunately, our Lady is never wrong and has rectified her actions."

Cyrus would have liked to point out the logical fallacy of what he had just said, but he decided to nod seriously and dive into one of those games he liked so much.

“If we want to eliminate the scum of the Ahalis from this continent, we certainly cannot be recalcitrant. We must honor the history of your people! I hope one day that my work will be worth me the honor of sharing the merits of the Vanedenis." In a society of militarily highly intelligent people, Cyrus had expected that being a pimp wasn't worth much. Yet, all the Vanedenis were very proud of their people and their origins. Exchanging pleasantries and engaging in patriotic orations was practically the same thing for them. Cyrus assumed an expression full of contempt and sadness in front of the two soldiers as he looked at the girl.

“I'm sorry that your day has to be spent dealing with such nullities. Not all people who come from my world have a backbone. I hope that living among you can transmit the same heroic values to them."

Meanwhile, Cyrus had approached the girl and was examining her condition; she was sobbing and was covered in bruises. One of the soldiers almost seemed to soften.

“Our people are born from the same land of spineless people to which the Almiris belong. We weren't all born like that. It took centuries before we could learn from the people who guided us, administrator."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the good sense of the man in front of him; he lowered it as soon as he kicked the girl.

"It's time to get yourself a job, whiner."

Cyrus gave an exaggerated sigh, as if the words he let out of his mouth had cost him an enormous effort.

“I'm looking for someone to tidy up and clean my rooms. It's not the best, but at least she can begin to be useful. Bring her to me later after giving her a bath."

"A moment! Administrator, wait a minute! "

The soldiers almost jumped in front of the man who had already turned and was about to leave. But they didn't notice the smile on his face.

“We are about to finish our shift. If you want, we can call two more guards. We have to go to Lady Goldith's afternoon training session. Lath will kill us if we arrive late."

“Oh, this is a problem. I'm in a hurry, but I don't want to bother other guards. Give me a pair of handcuffs and a chain, if you have any. I'll take her with me and make her stand for a few hours with a sack of wheat in her hands, hoping that this teaches her good manners."

Cyrus, of course, knew the shifts of all the guards by heart, even those whose names he did not know. While the two thanked him as much as they could, he also thought about the way to make the traces of what had just happened and the girl's name disappear from every register, if there was one. The system wasn’t perfect. Furthermore, the lack of digital technologies made it very difficult to keep track of everything that happened.

The excuse of my rooms was not the best. I remembered just now where I can really take her. Shit.

Cyrus passed his hands over his face, tried by the lack of real rest. He had slept less than four hours a night since he arrived. How difficult it would be to make the girl disappear into thin air would still be seen. As a rule of thumb, while the soldiers handcuffed her and left the chain to Cyrus ... Not too much. Nobody would have noticed her absence. Her features, however, could have been particular for the guards and perhaps those men would have asked about her.

Now, he just had to hope that Gazius didn't poke his nose too hard into his business. If Lady Goldith hadn't banished and executed all of Vissart's spies, Cyrus would have been very worried, and to think that he himself had already suggested that she recreate a military corps dedicated to intelligence. How the woman had done without this until now left him extremely perplexed. It was still true that there was not so much information to be gleaned in the southern half of Kome, and infiltrating humans into the northern half would have been virtually impossible in the current state of affairs.

If he could, Cyrus would have preferred his enemies to have been humans, not big ruthless apes. Recruiting former enemies as employees was in the good politician's manual. If so, he would have proposed himself to create the intelligence needed for Vissart to expand in the future; in this way, he would also have his contingent of people loyal to him. If the Vanedenis hadn't hated the Ahalis so much, he would have almost pushed to recruit some.

But he didn't want to be whipped by Lady Goldith for his insolence. He still cared about the skin on his back. After making the two soldiers believe that he himself would take care of the girl, he turned into the middle of a street with little traffic. He had no doubt that there were more people in charge of following his movements. Damn, Cyrus tried not to look too much around, but stared at his new responsibility, which walked chained like a subdued beast behind him.

Je suis désolée, Cirò. You always try to help people the wrong way. You cannot make choices for others. I can't-

"What's your name?"

The girl still had tears in her eyes and muttered in a low voice, while a black eye stood out on the round face.

“Vanessa.”

Faites attention, Cirò. You risk losing your âme.

“Vanessa, I need to know if you can obey directions. I'm on your side, but I need to know if I can trust you. There are people who control me and who don't want to see me giving orders to others. I have your good at heart, but you have to give me a signal that you are smart enough to understand what I'm saying, okay?"

Cyrus was wearing one of the rings that Lady Goldith had given him access to in the treasury. He bet his new lady didn't know how strict he was about his own privacy. With that artifact it would have become almost impossible to eavesdrop on his conversations or magically spy on them. Vanessa wiped tears from her face and, after noisily sniffing, nodded at him.

“Okay.” Cyrus wished he could have been less harsh than that, but there was no chance that a girl unable to follow his directions could get away with it. He could already feel the presence of his "controllers" at his heels. They have no reason to suspect that I am about to do something indecent. There is no way they could have anticipated my moves already.

I haven't made a mistake since I've been here. Although they are Vanedenis, they must be a little complacent and cannot be too close to me for fear that Lady Goldith will tear their heads off; this operation is supposed to be secret. Cyrus began to form a plan and immediately took off the ring. It wouldn't have helped anyone if they realized that it had suddenly become impossible to hear what the man was saying to the girl.

“Well, since for the moment I can't keep up with you too much, I decided to take you to a textile warehouse. There are a couple of Earthlings working there. When I need you I'll come and get you, for now it's better if you learn to make yourself useful, clear?"

The girl nodded without complaining and continued to follow him. She looks like a dog just beaten ... Well, she has just been beaten, in fact. The chains in her hands made Cyrus feel like a slaver, and it certainly wasn't a good feeling. He hoped that Giovanna and Marina understood immediately what was happening and understood as best as possible everything that he could not have said in words. He couldn't wear the ring too often, otherwise they would have noticed the artifact; using it with care he could evade the people who watched him at crucial moments.

…

"Cyrus?” Giovanna opened the door of the small abandoned warehouse in a rather deserted area of Vissart. All the people who had died in the battle had left the brick market fairly free. Lady Goldith's fertility policy had yet to heal all losses in the city. The girl in front of him was blonde and charming, with two large almond-coloured eyes and a pronounced nose that only added liveliness to the woman. Her eyes fell on Vanessa, almost curled up behind Cyrus, who hadn't told her much on the way, but who at least hadn't beaten her.

Cyrus noticed Giovanna turn red with anger. Beating up a girl with Down's syndrome was something socially repugnant and just plain unacceptable. Cyrus hadn't lost control only because he knew how much risk there was. “Nobody can afford to hang around in Vissart. Two soldiers found this girl and tried to make her understand that you have to get busy, first with kindness and then with the stick. Giovanna, now it's your job to try to rehabilitate her and make her do something. I expect one more unit of product now that you have another girl. I'll give you a couple of days to train her. At first your odds will only increase by 10%, but in three days I expect it to be on par with what you do. Give her only one potion if she's not well. We cannot afford to waste an extra drop of elixir with the war upon us. Give her some food if you feel it is necessary; if I don't see results within three days, I'll be forced to come back with a whip, okay?"

Cyrus moved his eyes to the side, on the opposite side of Vanessa, as he grabbed Giovanna by the shoulder. "Understood?"

He had put as much emphasis on those words as possible so that they seemed like real threats to hypothetical listeners. However, Cyrus had his little secrets - the two women had never heard him talk like that. They were both Italoamericans, just like him, and he had pulled some Italian out of the trunk to socialise.

Marina had been over fifty when she had been on Earth and more than clever. She had been a housewife but had an excellent talent for tailoring; therefore, she taught Giovanna the ropes.

Giovanna, instead, had been a student at Columbia University. She had been studying Nutrition and Food Science. However, she did not have any knowledge Cyrus had found valuable. And that was the reason why she was working with Marina here.

Cyrus had relocated them to this area out of prying eyes already on the first day, when he asked people what they could do. The two women were already able to produce much more than the declared quota and did not understand why Cyrus wanted to keep it hidden. Marina came out to witness the scene, but Giovanna gave her a strong push and a look that was worth a thousand words.

"Go to work, go, disgraziata!"

A knowing look was all they needed to understand each other.

She then took Vanessa by the chain, while Cyrus handed her a key.

“Make her sleep in chains if she doesn't get to work right away. This is only for when she has to do something useful, understand?" He didn't even wait for an answer and turned back. Cyrus was in a cold sweat. He had more than a couple of options similar to that of Giovanna and Marina. He had hidden a few things here and there, such as the fact that, although the ring had been made available to him, in case he wanted it, he had actually stolen it.

It was not easy to serve Lady Goldith and create such opportunities, but he had worked on Wall Street and a few peasants would not have stopped a professional like him. It was part of his job to count infringements of the law in the budget like any other expense. Fines and penalties were on the agenda for everyone. Everyone broke the law; only the best were not caught.

…

Cyrus stopped under a patio in Vissart.

[Class acquired: Thief!]

[Thief Level 1!]

[Thief Level 2!]

[General Administrator Level 19!]

[General Administrator Level 18!]

Cyrus raised an eyebrow.

He had just lost a level in his main class.