Chapter 10: Prince, Defector, Insane People, and Stupid People

Other than Misery who intended to become a pro-gamer from the get-go, none of us was supposed to become a pro-gamer.

FY wanted to dream and stayed away from politics. Fantasy played ROC because it suited him. Phúc played ROC because he was inspired. Me, I played ROC because I was needed.

But, Merleon, his was a different story. In reality, Merleon was always the quietest man among us. Misery was only quiet until someone said something about the lore of ROC. The moment that topic was touched, Misery could keep on talking for days. Merleon was a man of very few words.

Merleon never talked much about himself or how he became a pro-gamer. Merleon never talked about it, until I knocked him silly with a bottle of whiskey. I thought Aussies were a race of people with great alcohol tolerant, all of them, but I was obviously wrong.

Merleon popped his ACL in one of his matches. The moment when that happened, everyone knew that Merleon’s career as a profession mix martial artist was over. The sight of that injury was so gruesome that people just cringed and turned their sight away, crying and praying for Merleon as his face was twisted with trauma on the ring. When that moment happened, even the common people without any medical knowledge would know that the day Merleon stood on the ring as a fighter was behind him. Merleon was a kicker, not a slugger like his father. Without his good legs, his career was over.

As Merleon was going through three operations to remove his deteriorated ACL off his right leg, his injury complicated further. Blood clots were detected in his lungs and blood vessels. Since Merleon was on strict medical monitoring at all times and his career as a fighter hit the ultimate ending. The loss of his right ACL did not deter Merleon from his return to the octagon ring, his blood clot disorder did.

“Not a good time to live,” Merleon croaked in his drunken stupor, “No strenuous exercise, they said. Good joke… how can I do any exercise… like any… when I was constantly on blood thinners…good joke.”

Aside from the negative effects of the blood thinning treatment to a person’s health, while being under the blood-thinning treatment, a tiny scratch could make Merleon bleed to death. No man or any organization with the right mind would allow Merleon to fight on a ring from the moment he was diagnosed with a blood clots disorder.

The sight of Merleon broke down to tears put a somber mood on everyone at the party. The more he drank, the more Merleon talked. He talked about everything and sometimes it was impossible for me to understand what Merleon was talking about. Then, topics became very personal. I literally had to chase the fans at that party away to have a one-on-one talk with Merleon in his drunken state.

“I saw Nightmare on the TV broadcast, 0-3 to DLG at the Final, live.”

Until Merleon made that confession, I did not realize that he was a fanboy of Nightmare. It then became clear to me that Merleon has picked up the mouse and keyboard was due to the influence of Nightmare and the event of that Final series.

Nightmare’s godhood aside, that was the biggest comeback in the history the league and Merleon caught it live on TV.

It was at the time when the format of the Final series of the ROC World Cup was a seven-game series. Nightmare and his Korean team GAM God Among Men was facing against DLG Defying Logic Gaming for the golden crown.

Nightmare was one game away from being labeled “The biggest fumbler” in the history of ROC gaming. His GAM was crushed, hard, 0-3 o DLG on the Golden Era arena. DLG analyzed GAM’s strategies and tactics. They played that final series armed with counter strategies and traps for Nightmare and GAM. They out-prepared and outthought GAM in that series. Their two superstars NoLife and NoDead put Nightmare’s superstar status on the chopping board. GAM’s fans sitting inside the Golden Era Arena were so heartbroken that they left early, could not watch Nightmare fell from grace even further.

Just by watching everyone’s face from the record, I could tell that other than Nightmare, nobody believed that GAM could win Game 4. His entire team cracked from their previous losses, from the starting players to the substitutes, coach, and their staffs. DLG crushed them hard. Nightmare gave them a small pep talk but that changed nothing. DLG crushed their spirit.

Game 4 begun when all hope was lost for GAM and their fans. DLG became greedy and tried to unravel Nightmare’s godhood. They ignored the famous “No-GOSM” rule.

Every player who played ROC knows what the “No-GOSM” rule is. No when playing against GAM. Even the new players who only started playing ROC long after Nightmare’s retirement know that “No-GOSM” rule. DLG was not the first to challenge that “No-GOSM” rule and they were not the last. They did not use their First Ban to remove the from the game.

Naturally, GAM picked that warlord for Nightmare with their First Pick.

History was never the same from that moment. Even people who did not play the game at that time like Merleon could feel that shift from the broadcasters’ reactions and the loud gasps from the fans at the arena. The META (Most Effective Tactic Available) of the game changed with each every patch, and the strategies that teams employed evolved over time, but Nightmare and the remained invincible through the passage of time.

Nightmare regained his godhood and GAM returned to being his godly legion.

“In our league’s history, there are the gods of AG and there is Nightmare the God of GAM,” I spoke such words on Nightmare’s retirement day. “I don’t know if the gods of AG were real or not. But I know the existence of the One True God, and today, I am watching his twilight.” I used the opportunity to roast Superior and AG, but the crowds clapped instead of booing me.

The series became 1-3. DLG realized that “No-GOSM” rule existed for a FUCKING reason and decided to adopt it again. They realized that a little too late. With that Game 4, they reminded GAM of their identity. The score became 2-3 and fans could already smell a comeback in the air. Nightmare mounted that comeback, his team behind him, high on morale and spirit. The score then became even 3-3. Even before Game 7 began, people can sense that DLG was collapsing. They picked a fight with a god in his fullest and they suffered for that.

When that Game 7 ended, a respectful Nightmare walked out of his game booth, his team trailing. The mike was passed to him. The broadcasters asked Nightmare of his thought.

“Do not give up. Keep fighting. Fight until the final moment. Do not give up. Do not give up,” Nightmare shouted, finally surrendering himself to his swelling emotion. The person who mounted that comeback from the quagmire of defeat was a God, but the person, who spoke those words, was a man.

That man inspired Merleon to pursue a different future. Perhaps, without that man, The Alliance would never be the same.

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In a special conjured dream room, I sat cross-legged on my chair, leaning back a bit to stare at the quivering creature in front of me.

Alien was the creature’s grotesque shape, resembling a big human heart that attached with four long pairs of bony limps and an exposed half-eaten brain. Slimy tentacles sprouted out of the places, where arteries and veins should be. Coated over that grotesque mass was not skin, but eyes, a thousand bulging eyes of many shapes, sizes, and colors.

If this were a horror movie, I was supposed to be the one who was quivering in my seat, not that grotesque looking creature.

“Can you tell me, what are you doing, Magnamor?” I wore my most beautiful smile like a mask and spoke to the groveling creature in the kindest and warmest of a voice. I gave the creature a seat and it chose to grovel on the ground, which irked me in the weirdest way.

It appeared that my voice and demeanor had an opposite effect than I have envisioned. Instead of making the Demon Lord of A Thousand Burning Eyes feeling braver and more comfortable with my presence, my demeanor broke his spectral bladders, which I had no idea if they even existed prior to this moment. Yellow goo streamed out of Magnamor’s tentacles, a puddle of unbearable stench kept spreading on the ground where the Demon Lord was groveling. Magnamor then spoke to me in a strange language, “Nnnnnnno, nnnnnno, iiii IIIII….nnnnnnot….nnnn.”

Oh, boy, they did not call you the Coward Demon Lord for nothing. I mulled on how real and authentic that visual and olfactory effects appeared in this Divine Dream. I was no genius, so I could not understand Magnamor’s strange reply, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I craned my neck a little bit and angled my ear at Magnamor’s direction.

The Demon Lord of A Thousand Eyes, for whatever reason, he believed that I was threatening him instead, smashing his pinkish half-eaten brain against the puddle of yellow goo beneath him in the most compelling manner. The rancid goo splashed in every direction and a drop spattered on my cheeks. Magnamor froze solid for a second, then red liquid oozed out of his many eyes and that quivered returned to his pinkish body. “SPPPPPPPPaaaaarrrre mmmmmmmmmme…nnnn….oooooo”

I had no idea what language that Magnamor was using, but I was sure that he did not speak in the Titan tongue, Naharis’ langue.

Taking pity on Magnamor, I stood up from my chair and gave him a most motherly hug, unafraid of that ammonia-like stench emanating from Magnamor’s body. Magnamor squirmed in terror but I did not let go. I squeezed him tightly within my arms, tenderly patting his gooey half-eaten brain and warmly stroking his slimy tentacles. I kept Magnamor inside my arms until that quivering left him.

I waved my hand and removed the existence of that yellow goo from my dream, making Magnamor clean. I pulled him to his white bony feet.

“Ccccccannnn we have a proper talk nnnnow?” Out of my playful impulse, I decided to try speaking in Magnamor’s stuttering language with the same tone that the Demon Lord used to address me.

Red tears welled up in his many eyes and fear tore him like a starving beast, leaving a fawn-like creature quivering for his dear life.

“I’m only kidding, don’t cry. Have a sit,” I snickered a bit, extending my hand and gesturing Magnamor to sit on the chair that I have conjured for him.

The Demon Lord shook his head desperately, “I ddddon’t…”

“If you are my guest, take a sit. If you are my enemy, kept on groveling on the floor like that,” I cut in with a disarming bright smile on my lips while delivering my ultimatum.

Gingerly, the Demon Lord sat down on his chair. But it was apparent to my eyes that Magnamor was so uncomfortable with it, I snapped my fingers and turned that chair he was sitting on into a sofa instead.

“Relax, if you are indeed my guest, I would not be rude to you, wouldn’t I?” I turned my chair into a more comfortable one as well, with thicker cushion and wider armrests. I leaned backward on the new chair in the most relaxing manner to show that Magnamor should do the same.

But of course, the Coward Demon Lord was stiffed in his chair, back to quivering again.

“Man, if you, a Demon Lord are looking at me with such a terrified look in your eyes, people would think that I am a monster or something.” I joked a bit, measuring Magnamor’s psyche with my awful joke. His mind was in no state to appreciate a joke. I cleared my throat, “Can you tell me, Magnamor? Why did you contact me?”

“Iiiiiii don’t want to die,” replied Magnamor.

“That’s reasonable.” I nodded my head. Still wondering why this Demon Lord was different from the rest of his kin.

Previously when I scouted the meeting hall that Death conjured for the participants of the Reign of Chaos in person, Magnamor decided to contact me.

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With a ghostlike form, I entered the meeting hall of the immortals.

The meeting Hall of the participants of the Reign of Chaos was built in a hemispherical shape. Every corner of the hall was tiled with a checker pattern of black and white. Designs of Death’s favorite garden of dandelion-like flowers carved into the black wall surrounding the great hall, shrouding the hall with an oppressive atmosphere. On the ceiling, a picture of Death and me painted with the dark wings of Death’s moths bore down on the participants of the Reign of Chaos. Death was half-lying down on her garden of white flowers in the most seductive manner, her white arm extended and straddling my chin. Me, I was dressing in an over-the-top edgelord-like dress, kneeling and kissing Death’s pearl white hand. A great scythe and blue glowing lamp rested at my feet.

“Funny, this woman was so sure that she would win me over before she has even met me in person,” I scoffed.

My eyes flickered through the great hall, counting head. With the exception of Niwdar’s twelve Valkyria, Sinintee’s four Other and Eogaill, every single Immortal involved with the Reign of Chaos were now presenting inside Death’s Divine Dream.

If I wanted to end the Reign of Chaos now, I could end it right here right now in a stalemate. A delirious snicker broke out of my lips like a maddened beast. Watching the scene, the hidden meaning in URLOX’s words became clear to me.

Fearless, Phúc Đ. Bạch, August 21, 2045- April 1, 2072

A tribute to the greatest Reign of Chaos pro-gamer of his generation, the Greatest Ender and perhaps the greatest professional player to ever picks up a mouse and keyboard. He has inspired a generation of people to fall in love with ROC with his love for the game, his great personality, his work ethic, his love for the community and his unique play style. For that, he will forever have a special place in our hearts.

A seven times World Champion, five times MVP, four times Final MVP, and twelve times All-Star, and holder of numerous individual awards, a champion among champions. As the Prince of The Alliance, he was one of the greatest members of the greatest dynasty in the world of ROC.

People grow old, but Fearless, his achievement and legend are timeless.

It’s only justice that Fearless has a place in a world where he has devoted his entire life building it. For that, with unanimous votes from players all around the world and all members of the developing team of Reign of Chaos, he will be immortalized within the planet of Escana as one of hers greatest inhabitants.

May he continues to live, finds happiness and inspires people as he once did to all of us.”

“He will be immortalized within the planet of Escana as one of her greatest inhabitants.”

These words sounded innocent at first. However, the moment I realized that I was on Escana and not Earth, that innocence was lost. It sounded a grim ringing bell inside my head since the moment I have first met Clariciel in that Divine Dream.

The word “Great” in Escana in all known tongues, whether elvish, dwarven, orcish, human or Titan, etc…, is directly linked to the image of War and Sinintee. Thus, the meaning of “Escana’s greatest inhabitants,” can be understood as “The most infamous warmongers and conquerors.”

The phrase, “Will be Immortalized,” could be understood in literal and metaphorical meaning. Metaphorically, people will remember me until the end time of Escana. Literally, I would be turned into an immortal, one way or another regardless of the choice I make.

Under my nose, URLOX literally gave me a prophecy in my biography page. They told me that war is an inevitable future for me and regardless of the choice I would make, my ending has already been predicted.

“Fuck you, URLOX,” I cursed the developers of ROC for the bazillions times since I arrived at Escana. Their bunch should be locked up in a mental institution forever. Their bunches should be barred from contacting with the society until they become dust and bone.

Keeping my anger in check, I went around and inspected the participants of the Reign of Chaos in person. Niwdar, Sinintee, and Wonten had their respective corner, sitting in their ornate seats within each other’s arm-length, staring down at their enemies with hardened prudence.

I sped up my time by a factor of a thousand, making the immortals presented in the meeting hall appeared to stand still. I then cloned myself into 53 beings, assigning these clones of mine to observe my targets.

Sinintee was the most noticeable of the three due to his flamboyance colors. Gold was his divine armor and fiery was its intricate details. His long cape was a cascading stream of blood. Fire was his crown, a blazing torch of orange and red. Sinintee had his rugged hands clutched tight, his beardy cleft chin on top of them.

I stood before Sinintee in my invisible form, observing the motion of his eyes and the minute detail of his body movement, while my clone was taking note on his character. After ten minutes of constant observing, I diagnosed the Great God to be a Megalomaniac on top of being a Sociopath as did my clone. “The worst combination,” I inadvertently sighed.

I moved on to Niwdar, my second observation target. “Severe trust issues,” with a quick glance, I diagnosed Niwdar’s mental condition.

Being a student of History and a moron ,someone who fervently intended to go to Hell after living out my life, I have seen the depiction of many Goddesses, whose traits and divinity link with Beauty and Feminine. But Niwdar was something else. She was the unicorn of their kind, because I have never seen a Goddess of Beauty who dressed like Niwdar. And I was sure that if any mortal man of Escana who has fantasized about Niwdar would be severely disappointed when they see her.

The amount of skin that Niwdar revealed through her dress would make goddesses, who shared the attribute of Beauty like Aphrodite or Freya, banged their head against the wall out of sheer confusion. Just the small area between her golden locks and green veil, no more. There was no feminine curve for a man to admire because Niwdar’s thick greenish gown blurred the curves out of her shape. On top of that, her loose dark green pants and high yellow colored greaves killed all traces of feminity out of Niwdar’s shape. A laminated scale-armor donned on top of Niwdar’s dress was overkill, giving her the broad shoulders and big back of a man.

Had I not know Niwdar’s history from the lore, I would have not believed that I was staring at Beauty in the eyes. Back when I was still on earth, the artworks and fan-arts portraying Niwdar had three main themes, an innocent maiden, a tragic victim and a hardened woman. I was staring at the reality version of the last theme.

After a thirty minute of observation, I quickly put a small mental reminder on Niwdar’s character sheet, “Batshit Insane. Stay out of her way. Do not touch. DO NOT FLIRT with her daughters.” But, my clone has already written that down on his note.

My initial estimation of Niwdar prior to this moment was on point. I can anger anyone but this one.

Wonten was an extremely difficult case for me. His face was a blank canvas of pinkish scar, a mask of emptiness. He sat still in his seat for the length of the observation without moving a muscle. “Weathered,” I put down my initial thought on Wonten’s character sheet. Without interacting with him, I could not make out of his real character.

Then, I began to make my observation of the Demon Lords. Even though their common label was the , they were not a united group, because, if they were united, the four patron deities of Escana would have been overthrown a long time ago.

My mind drifted to my discussion with Misery on the topic.

“In the Rise of the Dragon Slayer (RTDS), the fifty Demon Lords of Kharigan were considered by the fans of the series as entities of cosmic horrors on the level of Cthulu. Born from the mutilated corpse of the Dark God Naharis, these Demon Lords inherited and bore his hatred and grudges for his slayers from the moment of his death, and more importantly, his divinity power. Individually, they were less powerful than the four patron deities of Escana were, but not quite far from them either.

Out of their hatred, they launched waves of attack to Coeles, the golden moon of Gods. Wonten’s powerful presence on Coeles rendered their attacks ineffective. And thus, they took their grudges to the material plane of Escana to destroy everything that their slayers created and loved. That’s how the First Divine War happened.” Misery became talkative as usual when the topic of the lore of ROC was mentioned.

Whereas Misery was being extremely serious about the discussion, I was being a troll.

“Common, you cannot be serious. Divine War? That sounds absolutely ridiculous, don’t you think? Three continents sank to the ocean floor, you said? They still have three continents left floating. Only one continent sundered and a slightly tall tree burned, was it? You cannot call that a war damage report. There are tons of trees on Escana, what’s so important about a tree that is slightly bigger and slightly taller than the rest got burned?”

Misery gave me a look of disdain, “Can you be serious for once?”

“Look, only one Demon Lord was killed during this event, and the four gods were slightly wounded. You cannot exactly call that a war, can you? Have you ever seen a war where there was only one human casualty recorded at the end? If half of these Demon Lord died out during this event and half of these gods died out, I would agree with you that this is a Divine War. This is a squabble at best.” I remained to be a troll, making Misery rage-quiited on discussing this topic with me any further.

Unlike Misery, I could not take the lore of the ROC universe serious on many levels. Now, I am suffering from my childish impulse back then. Should have pursued that topic…

I stood before Flokí and his faction, suppressing the urge to give the Smiling Demon Lord a sounding kick to his groin and making his handsome smirking face twisted with pain. Flokí’s face was nearly identical to Sinintee’s, cleft chin, strong jaw, high nose, and sharp eyes, as if his twin. But, unlike Sinintee’s perfectly groomed beardy face, Flokí’s face was defined with facial tattoos of a laughing clown.

“I assume that you are the man behind that fucking generous and ingenuity of a solution of turning me into lucky charms for your kin to use.” I could not help but laugh while staring at the culprit who sealed my escape route. “With or without that stupid chosen one prophecy, I could have remained uninvolved in this bullshit game. I had a perfect plan to keep myself uninvolved with this bullshit game. And you just have to spoil it. Motherfucker, I commend you for your ingenious solution. In my entire life, I have never seen such a better solution to such a dilemma. Motherfucker, you are like a judge, who tells a couple arguing for parental rights to split their child into halves to deal with their problem. Fuck you. Man, you should have appeared in the Arthurian to tell those knights to melt down the Excalibur so they could gain their equal claim for kingship. Fuck you, who does things like that? Are you for fucking real, Clown?” My anger erupted and flew out of my mouth without any form of self-restraint like uncaged birds.

The only reason Flokí could not hear my voice was due to the design of my ghost form preventing others from seeing or hearing me. Unable to see me or hear my voice, Flokí engaged in small talks with the other five Demon Lords of his faction with a smirk on his lips completely uninterrupted.

I listened to their conversation while mentally preparing a suitable eulogy for Flokí, as well as coming up with a design for his tombstone.

I carved down the words on Flokí’s temporary tombstone, “Short and concise, a perfect eulogy for your kind, motherfucker.”

I diagnosed Flokí and his subordinated Demon Lords with “Delusion of Grandeur” and a mix of psychopathy and sociopathy tendency.

What the fuck is this? A mental hospital? Too bad, I’m not a fucking psychiatrist or a counselor. I don’t get paid by treating you.

See Misery? This is why I cannot take the lore of ROC serious. URLOX are insane and their creations are equally insane as them. I wish I could show this sight to you.

I kept moving from one faction to another.

Lust was whispering a coup d’état with Pride, the leader of her group, informing Pride that her succubus legion about to kidnap me and take me to Kharigan if Death screwed up convincing me. From her language, I could deduct that she was going the “Screw you all” and “Me against the World” way.

“Why?” Pride asked.

“Just one night… I want to feel it,” Lust replied feverishly.

“You are going to die for that.” Pride warned coldly.

“If that’s the price,” Lust placed her hand on her rich bosoms and smiled contently.

I then moved to observe the other targets.

I heard talks of using the dwarves’ crafting ability to make muskets from my history knowledge of Earth among the various interesting topics.

I wrote a character sheet for each of my observation targets, including my diagnosis on their mental health, a brief generalization on their character, my most honest eulogy and the tombstone design that I had decided for them.

Then, I stood before Sanguine and Sanguine’s group of three, listening to their conversation in the coldness of winter.

Sanguine’s shape was a human’s worst nightmare. Sanguine was both male and female in sex, but it neither identified itself as male or female. Sanguine was a grotesque mass of served head of young and old, human and inhuman, male and female connected by millions of slimy jagged tentacles into an arthropod-like shape. The severed heads were alive, very much alive. Chitinous feelers spilled out of hollow eye sockets and ear holes, writhing in every direction, only the mouth of the served head remained their own. Each of the head had a mind of their own.

The widows wailed. The young moaned. The braves shouted. The saints and saintesses begged. The fools cursed. The lovers wept. It was an insidious cacophony of madness.

“Champions and followers of Sanguine,” as I recalled Misery’s words, “Once a puppet of Sanguine, always Sanguine’s puppet. Not even Death wants them in her Hall.”

Crowned on top of that grotesque shape of Sanguine was countless of mutilated bleeding mouths lapping over each other, its real mouth. Grating and slimy was its voice, like quagmire that led to the abyss itself.

Sanguine was having fun with its current conversation and I could feel its joy and delight through its grating voice. Rasahlu and Yasubotay, its two subordinated Demon Lords, too were having the time of their lives, squirming in ecstasy, talking about the holes in Death’s decision on making me her champion.

Sanguine was dead-set on making Iliva its champion for this incoming round of ROC.

Rasahlu, with her sun bleach crooked mouths, giggled, weaving a grand plan to make me suffer and begging for mercy at the end of the day.

Yasubotay, being the FUCKING GENIUS of his group, a giant bisected brain he was, with writhing feelers coming out of the bisected section. Five pairs of arthropodous legs and three pairs of insect wings supported his massive weight.

He merely whispered to Sanguine, telling it to take Iliva and Erinys hostage, making them dance as its puppets until I surrender Phúc to it. “There are two princes. Death champions one, we take the other. Either way, we have the last laugh.”

Sanguine writhed in its maddened delight, reconsidering its plan according to the suggestion of its strategist.

Sanguine’s conversation with its two subordinated Demon Lords trimmed out the profanities and heat off my anger. That conversation took away the heat and edge off my anger.

I did not curse. I smiled. My clone smiled as well.

As the smile on my lips spread wider, I could not hear anything, not the usual songs of winter, not the howl of a blizzard, not accursed mating songs of the cicadas. Nothing, nothing at all, a strangely sweet quietness.

A block of solid ice became my thought, solid and unchanging, so was my decision.

It was then one of my clones noticed me of Magnamor’s quivering. He alone saw the smile on my lips.

He was the first among the participants of the Reign of Chaos presenting inside the meeting to meet Prince Fearless of The Alliance in person.

“I’m surrendering, please don’t kill me,” he whispered wordlessly, tears in his bulging eyes.

I have not done anything to him yet and it’s not like I can kill him in this Divine Dream.

How amazing!

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It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least. Magnamor was the only one inside that meeting hall who could see me, which tells me that there was still imperfectness in my control.

I created a Magnamor lookalike to replace him in that meeting room and invited him as a guest to my war room.

“When you tell me that you are surrendering to me, what kind of future prospect do you seek from that?” I scratched my chin,

“FFFFuture prospect?”

“I mean what you want to be. When you said that you are surrendering to me, what kind of position do you want to assume? My captive? No, I don’t have a jail to lock you up or jailers to watch you. Or do you want to be my ally and fight your kin? Or did you say those words without thinking?”

Magnamor’s red tears and quiet quivering was the reply.

I sighed like deflating the balloon, “I see. That’s too bad…”

“Nnnnooo, I bbbbeggg you, don’t kiiii me.” The Coward Demon Lord almost groveled as if it was a habit of his. Then, he remembered telling him to sit on his seat and managed to stop himself from groveling on the floor.

Magnamor’s reaction put a scowl on my face, “Kill you? Why would I do that? You have already surrendered to me. You have sat on my chair as my guest, why would I ever want to kill you?”

It was then that Magnamor realized that everything that I have done until this moment was a setup. He has already made a choice to be my guest and the chair that I offered to him was the offer to be my ally. He realized that I was conditioning him to betray the other Demon Lord in the future. Magnamor did not possess a humanoid form or a human face. However, his one-thousand eyes betrayed his emotion well enough for me to read him.

“Man, you make me realize once again just how great it is to be in the company of smart people. Your thoughts and actions are always logical and reasonable. Recently, I have only known stupid people… their kind makes me exhausted and confused all the time.” A joyous cackle left my throat as I clapped my hands, “You don’t belong with them, those brainless morons, but neither you are with a moron like me. So tell me, smart Demon Lord, where do you want to be? Don’t you dare to tell me that you have never thought about that!”

“Iiiiiii…. Wwwww…”

“If I were you, I would betray those brainless morons with the most convincing manner of an act. I would join this side,” I poked my index finger at my chest, “Then, quietly, secretly, without raising much of an alarm, I would give away his plan to the other side, just tiny bit.” I gave Magnamor a visual estimation of “just tiny bit” with my wide-open arms.

“No Iiii would…”

I waved my hand to stop Magnamor from rebuking, “Perfect survival strategy, in that manner, you are not an enemy on either side. Don’t you think so?” I smiled and tilted my head.

The despair and terror in Magnamor’s thousand eyes told me that indeed he has once held such thought, “No, I woul…”

I waved Magnamor off again, “Let stick to that strategy of yours. I think it is a brilliant strategy,” speaking to the Demon Lord in a casual tone.

Confusion clouded Magnamor’s eyes in an instance.

I smiled, “You will act as their mole on my side. Therefore, they will not kill you. But I get to decide what kind of information that you would leak.”

Terror returned to Magnamor and choked the color out of his form.

“Wow, dude, you are the smartest person that I have met after I arrived at this world. Your thoughts are like three steps ahead of everything.” I clapped my hand, commended Magnamor for seeing through my intention of using him as a doom spy, and put him in the most precarious position in this incoming war. “If you don’t like that plan, I have a better suggestion, do you want to hear it?” I asked in a warm tone.

Magnamor nodded his half-eaten brain readily.

“I’m opening a school for a bunch of brainless orphan children without a home and I need someone to run that school. You are someone who can do that. Will you become the principal and manager of this school?” I offered the dream job to Magnamor.

Magnamor’s expression told me that I could not understand my words. Weird, I thought you are smart. Or maybe my sale pitch talk was too stupid?

“These brainless children would have the privilege to attend this school for a brighter future, their future. Of course, since this is a private school, they will pay a certain amount of intuition fees in order to attend it. But the fees would be very cheap, I assure you, my friend. Their tuition fees are especially cheap and I am sure that they could afford. I will be the only lecturer until I found someone else. After a certain amount of tuition fees have been collected, I will give these children a lecture periodically. You will help me recording these lectures and delivering them to these unfortunate children.” I elaborated my business model with a bright smile.

“Mmmmmay I ask, wwwhat iiiiiii…”

“What is this tuition fees that I’m speaking of?” I deducted Magnamor’s thought from his lack of color. “What else? Life, of course. These homeless orphan children’s life in exchange for the lectures, that’s a cheap price, don’t you think?” I clasped my hands and beamed a bright sunflower smile at the Coward Demon Lord.

His expression told me that I was more of a Demon Lord than he ever was. But, no, I am no Demon Lord, I’m a Prince, even now. I chuckled and told Magnamor to think about this job offer, “You have all the time in the world, Wisest Demon Lord,” I gave Magnamor his private room to be himself and a new name that befits his ability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If God ever decided to put Lucifer, Satan and me inside a dark room and told us that only one of us would walk out of that room, I’m one hundred percent sure that both Lucifer and Satan would never see the light again, Unless God decides to take pity on them.

I sat down on my working table and back to carving tombstones again. Recently, due to my exhaustion of dealing and speaking to those self-proclaimed “Stupid people of Fearless,” I devoted my free time into doing something more meaningful than war and schemes, carving tombstones for my future victims, that was. After all, even the kind of worms like Bloodbeard and his bunch got a tombstone for people to remember their dead.

My carving knife was modeled after Enfermé, with the same strange shape, thickness, and sharpness. Though I have forgotten the feeling of Enfermé’s weight, I set the weight of my carving knife to be of a roughly similar weight. I used a knife similar to Enfermé’s shape until I have grown accustomed with it, hoping that I would able to do the same with Enfermé when I woke up from this Divine Dream. The more tombstones I carved, the better I became at doing it. I became so good at carving tombstone that I designed several tombstones for a single victim.

I wonder which designs they would prefer. Maybe, I should ask their opinion and let them pick for themselves. As my knife stopped carving wood, my thought wandered off to strange place again.

I inadvertently sighed.

I’m living the strangest days of my life and my life has been anything but normal. When I needed to think, I held the fake magical coins. When I needed to stop thinking, I held a knife in my hands.

Back then, I got myself drunk to stop thinking. Now, when my addiction would not help me, not in this dream, I conditioned myself to stop thinking. It could not be weirder than this.

The carving knife moved again, shaping a hundred tombstones and writing a thousand eulogies for the future victims of war. There were times when the carving knife could not stop my thought from spinning. Bad thoughts, most of the time, but not for me, for someone else. At times like those, I would flick my coin, indulging myself in my bad thoughts if the top, returning to my thoughtlessness if the bottom.

Memories of the day, when I was locked behind the bars and was disconnected to Phúc for the first time in my life, resurfaced. The evidence at the crime scene suggested that I killed my unborn child and Thùy Dương in cold blood, Hilarious, history just find a way to repeat itself. Instead of going straight for the demon, the entire investigation team pinned down on me, firmly believing that I was the one who orchestrated the murder of my entire adoptive family.

Dealing with that shit was hard. Being locked while that demon escaping the law with a smile on his lips was hard. Dealing with those starving mongrels of the media at the time was hard. Mourning for Thùy Dương from behind the bars as the main suspect for her death was harsh. But, having Phúc quitted on me during that time was the harshest challenge that I have ever faced. I was truly cornered. During that time, Thùy Dương’s words, “Get it done,” appeared within the depth of my mind repeatedly, and I was truly grateful for such commandment. Her “Get it done” made no sense. And yet in that situation, where nothing truly made sense, “Get it done,” was my compass and dawn.

“Get it done,” meant, “Get it done” in Thùy Dương’s language, simple. She did not care what kind of method I used, or what kind of shit I must go through to achieve the goal that she has set for me. Only result. Result meant everything.

The demon laughed, escaping justice twice. In his moment of glory, he released that gruesome recording. He recorded how he broke into my holiday villa with his worms, how he dissected my tyrannical goddess to the agents of justice, and how he let everyone by the nose.

The demon asked that question at the end of his recording, “So rose, without your sun, how are you going to live?” Because he framed that question in such a way, I was made to watch that clip with the meaningless “For the sake of the investigation” from the mouth of those agents of justice while they were showering me with their worthless pity and sorry.

You should not do that. I gritted my teeth and sharpened my hatred into a demon-hunting weapon while sitting behind the bars for another one week on purpose, being charged with the crime of assaulting the agent of justice this time.

I have warned my interrogator, “If you touch me like that again, I will break you.” He recorded my warning as “Threaten the officer in duty,” to make my sentence heavier and asked “Did you kill her?” for zenith times, putting more force on my collarbone with his thumb. Adamant that I was the monster who killed my family, he sneakily used force against me to make me confess without leaving evidence for my attorney to press a charge against him.

“Sorry, I was wrong about you all this time,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care.”

When I was released and when he showed me his back, I kicked his nuts in the exact number of times that he asked me that stupid question plus the number of time that he sneaked a low blow against me. “I don’t care about your sorry. I don’t give a fuck about your sorry nor will I forgive you.” My business with this place has not ended; there was no way that I would leave it just yet. The first time when I was put behind the bars, I was a fucking wimp. The second time when I entered my cell on my own avocation, I was celebrated as a hero among the inmates.

Too bad, I am no rose.

Phúc was born with thorns to protect him, a rose, as the demon said. I am no rose, Phúc is.

One-half of The Prince of The Alliance is a rose. The other is not. Misidentify that was a mistake, a common mistake and a grave one.

My thought drifted all over the place like clouds, thunderclouds. I wondered if I had gone insane as these brainless dicks and cunts that I am keeping inside my head.

Sometimes, I saw myself trampling on the demons that I hunted, asking “what the fuck was you thinking?”

Sometimes, I remembered Thùy Dương and Bất Hối, our unborn child, and our house that I burned down. Sometimes, I was contracting hitmen to go after those worms in prisons.

Sometimes, I stood in front of the ashes of my house, realizing that I don’t even have a house after Thùy Dương’s death. Sometimes, I was writing my graduating research paper in some random café. Sometimes, I felt the phantom of Alice’s kiss on my lips. Sometimes, I saw myself sitting in a transparent game booth, FY on my left, Misery on my right, Fantasy and Merleon at the farther side of the room, we were screaming at each other as usual.

“Craxus, is this what you have felt when you arranged your own death?”

My thought drifted toward Craxus, the Dragonslayer himself in his final moment on Escana. Realizing the true nature of the Reign of Chaos, he arranged his own death, his queen assisting him and following him to the grave. The hero of RTDS, the Great Craxus, committed suicide after discovering that the Reign of Chaos must not end. The players discovered that every conquest that they have won, every sacrifice they have made and even the Empire that they have built were meaningless. RTDS ended in such a rage-inducing and controversial manner.

Because I played ROC first before forging toward RTDS, I did not have that “What the fuck” reaction that most fans of the series had. “Fuck you, URLOX,” I cursed and started moving my carving knife again.

Then, there came a day I could take it no longer. I pulled Phúc out of the abyss, leaving a lookalike behind. I punched Phúc in his face and I kept punching him. I thought I could punch sense back to him. He showed no emotion on his face or any reaction from being punched. I yelled at him, mounting on his chest and pummeling on his face. I kept punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching.

He was the one being punched and I was the one who was crying.

“It’s the same back then,” I cried, rotating my waist like torque and putting my weight into my punch, smashing Phúc’s emotionless face. Back then, when I went rogue for an entire year, Alice, FY, Merleon, Fantasy, and Misery found me and beat sense into my head through a good pummeling. They were crying at the time as well.

I kept punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching, and punching and punching, and punching, and punching.

“Say something, please. I beg you.”

“I’m at my wit end. I beg you.”

The more I punched Phúc, the harder it became for me to stop my tears from rolling.

“You are like Thùy Dương back then. Stop blaming yourself, it’s not your fucking fault. The demon’s fault, it’s the demon’s fault that we are like this.”

“You told her the same words back then. I am repeating your words now. You understand what I am talking about. You understand these words.”

“Rise, please. You need to rise. It’s just you and me now.”

As I punched Phúc, suddenly I relearned what pain is, what fear is.

“Say something, I beg you. I have done everything I could. I smashed that demon in the same way he destroyed us. I avenged mother, father, and sis. I have killed every worm involved in that shit. I don’t know what else to do to make you wake up. Please say something. You are smart. Say something, please. You can hear me. I know you do. Tell me how to snap you out of this shit.”

I punched as hard as I cried and begged. Never have I felt my limit like this moment. I should no longer feel the pain inside this Divine Dream, and yet, I’m feeling it right now.

It hurt when I punched Phúc. It hurt when I punched him and he showed no reaction. It hurt when I saw a person I admired succumbed to the malice of the world, out of his own will. It hurt when I realized that no amount of punching and violence could change his mind.

“Perfect acting, perfect lies, but you cannot deceive me. I know, SO QUIT IT.” I yelled and started punching harder.

Fear is suspecting that I am wrong while knowing that I am right.

Fear is knowing that I can change the mind of any human and yet the one I am beating remains indifferent.

Fear is knowing that I am about to get this person killed again.

Fear is my secret desire to give up.

Compare to the person that I was beating, unflinching and perfect in his act, I became a mess. I no longer had the control of what’s coming out of my mouth.

“Somebody make him wake up, please, I beg you. Somebody.”

Normal words do not work. Coaxing words do not work. Inspiring words do not work. Psychology does not work. Action does not work. Example does not work. Reverse psychology does not work. Begging does not work. Beating and violence do not work. What am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Suddenly, I am no longer Fearless.

When it was clear that my punches had no effect on Phúc, I tossed him back to the watery abyss, waiting for Death to pick up my Trojan horse.

Magnamor made up his mind, deciding to take up my job offer, having no better choice to make. He understood that not even Death could save him from my fury. And if he betrayed his kinds, he would only live to suffer. Becoming the principal of my school was the best choice.

“I’m blowing up Kharigan, the entire fucking planet of Kharigan. The moment these brainless morons wake up, there won’t be a place where they can call home.” In uncensored words, I told Magnamor my first move in this incoming war.

The color in Magnamor’s body told me that he has already understood my words from back then. Smart bastard, I smiled a bit, “So, are you still taking this job?”

The half-eaten brain attached to Magnamor nodded. He has already come to term with such a future.

“Your children, I will spare them.” Only when Magnamor nodded his head, I told him.

Magnamor sighed a huge sigh of relief, though quivering still. I then tossed him back to the meeting room, testing his conviction and abilities. If he failed my test, he would be the perfect example for the Demon Lord to see.

So far, so good.

I then turned my attention to the world of dreamland and the stupid people that I had created. My depression worsen.

I fell off my chair and crumbled into the famous ORZ position out of helplessness. My heart was filled with despair and my thought was filled with curses.

When my eyes, ears, and attention were elsewhere, focusing at the meeting hall of the bickering immortals, a thousand years have passed inside the conjured dreamland of the stupid people.

Behind the cloud of dreamland, unbeknown to me, four young nations rose to prominent. One of them was the Empire of If. One of them was the Kingdom of Yuu. One of them was the Republic of Xee. The last one was the Confederation of the United States of Kay.

Whereas those four young nations rose into power, two superpowers disappeared from the map of dreamland, the Central Empire of Dam and the Western Empire of Aup.

It was as if these stupid people had already understood my intention and goaded me into that direction.

“F.U.C.K THEM UP.”

Their message could not be clearer.

People said that an author could not create characters that are smarter than he is, and they are correct. As the god of the dreamland, I was the author and the stupid people of dreamland are my characters. The people of dreamland that I created are just as stupid as I am, and they took great pride in being stupid.

“I have failed.” I lamented in anguish. “These stupid morons are just asking to be hated. They are just asking to be killed.”

The history of humankind on Earth was paved with blood and bones, and so was the history of the stupid people living inside my dreamland. But, “HOLY SHET,” I could not help but curse.

These stupid people waged wars, but not for their own sake. They wasted millions of lives and human potential just so that their message would reach me in the most bizarre and stupid fashion. While they can just send me a petition to make their wills known, they went to war, they kill each other, they make an example out of their lives so that their message would reach me in such an abhorrent fashion.

“Such arrogant and audacity…” I sighed in resignation. I realized that these stupid people were mirroring my method of stupidity and throwing it back at my face as if they have always planned to activate this Mirror Force card on me since the very moment I created dreamland.

I had no idea how long I got stuck in the ORZ position, but when I recovered, I decided to tour the dreamland in disguise to see how their civilization and culture have progressed after a thousand year.

And that was a mistake.