Corolla toured the city, walking side by side with his bodyguard, Don. This wasn’t any ordinary trip Corolla took. He hated being in public and only blended into society when he had to. But, with the Gem Candy not distributing as fast as he initially hoped, Corolla took it into his own hands to figure out why.

It all started with the dealers.

The Green Chefs worked much like any government. Corolla was king. And the king had nobles who, in turn, had peasants. The nobles being the dealers and the peasants being the consumers.

Corolla brushed past a few people roaming on the street. Nobody who looked at him noticed him for who he really was, as expected. Without his mask or suit, he had nothing to identify him with. Well, he actually still had his suit on, only it was covered up by his long brown trench coat. By hiding what made his image, the Corolla everybody knew had vanished. Few knew of what Corolla looked like underneath—the only two who remained in the syndicate were Leon—his father’s former right-hand man—and Don.

Nobody else in the syndicate knew.

Nobody in Steepcreek did either. To them, he was another halfbreed. His ears pointy, a little longer than theirs. But they didn’t flop or droop as a typical elf would, as far as Corolla knew.

He had never seen an elf before, outside of his father’s eyes. When he ate the Gem Candy made of his father’s Soulgem, he refused to view his own conception, so he anchored his eyes during that part of his father’s memories.

As the night went on, the streets turned to a poisonous shade of green from the moonlight, blending in from the shadows created by lamp posts. Corolla began to understand Soucrest finally. The hypocrisy. They said this was a progressive place where elves were accepted and treated fairly. Perhaps in law but not standard. Corolla was gawked at for his ears, some faces grimacing his way. Purebred humans… they just couldn’t help but look down upon him as he passed.

Little do they know… they will all be under my influence. And they’ll all be mine, Corolla thought, embracing the passing, vibrant store lights. Midnight was approaching, and the bars had only a few more hours left. They see me as a monster? Then I will see them as nothing more than a statistic.

Corolla didn’t do well to hide his anger from the outside world, and Don didn’t ask when it showed. It was always easier to hide when he wore his mask, but he couldn’t be caught out in public with it on. Otherwise, he’d get a whole different kind of attention.

Don led the way, Corolla following a few steps behind. Under normal circumstances, Corolla wouldn’t be caught dead following behind one of his men. It was improper for a crime lord to do so. But he was safe with Don. With nobody else around to criticize him, he could let Don take the lead without shame.

Don held open the bar door for Corolla. He stepped inside to find beautiful decor all around, from the checkered floors of dark brown and light brown to the painting and portraits framed on the wall near the red leather booths. The walls had depictions of warriors in orange-colored metal armor and large swords that reflected moonlight. The largest painting of all was easily recognizable. Of course, a bar would have a portrait of their proclaimed “Great King.”

The Ranun in the portrait was younger, perhaps in his first few years holding the crown. He had men around him in a hall, and they all raised a glass together. The men beside him lifted it to him, while Ranun lifted it to Gem God knows where, but it sure seemed like he toasted to something.

Corolla didn’t get into non-business-related politics when he could. They were in separate leagues, worrying about different issues that hardly ever aligned. But Ranun was one of the two kings he could name. The other being the Midhelm king, King Reagle Novac.

Don sat down at a stool on the short side of the bar counter. Corolla joined him to his right. From here, their backs were against the window at the front, which gave Corolla an uneasy feeling he was being watched behind his shoulders. He liked being in solid corners. But Don chose these seats for a reason; it put them farther away from everybody else, including the bartender who worked primarily on the opposite side.

And the dealer they planted here, talking up a storm on the opposite corner of the bar. Their laughter echoed through the bar like thunder. He sat in a booth with his gray hair despite his youth. He looked to be in his twenties at the most, which made Corolla question his appearance. He seemed to be popular among the bar, sparking smiles around him.

“What’s his name?” Corolla asked.

“Hendricks,” Don replied. “He’s a dealer we managed to transfer over from Midhelm. It seems like he has made himself a home.”

“Is he decent?”

“Enough so,” Don said. “But what worries me about him is his outgoingness. I think he’s in this job for the opportunity to hang out in bars to play rather than sell.”

“As long as his numbers are doing well, I don’t care,” Corolla said. He already felt inefficient, spying on dealers who were on par with their numbers. They needed to find the struggling ones, then replace them.

The bartender finally noticed them and took their order. He was a short man with unnaturally long arms, a freak in Corolla's eyes. But he looked at Corolla with a slight grimace. The nerve of people. If Corolla had worn his gauntlet, he would have snapped already, killing him where he stood. But he didn’t.

Don and Corolla ordered the same thing. Sweet, delicious whiskey.

“Cheers,” Don said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers,” Corolla said, butting glasses. They both drank. Already, Corolla wanted more.

But the bartender pretended not to see them. Whatever. They planned on visiting other bars in the city anyway.

“He doesn’t seem like the issue in our distribution,” Don said. “He’s given out nearly all of his free samples, but only fifty percent return for larger doses.”

Corolla grunted. “Samples take more time to kick in than you would expect. Gem Candy is something you long, not necessarily crave. But, everything here seems to be in order. We should move on.”

“Don’t you want another drink?” Don asked.

“No point, he’s ignoring us—”

“Hey, bartender!” Don shouted. “We would like another.”

“Right away,” the bartender said, wiping the counter in front of him of a spill. He brought the bottle of whiskey over, pulling out the cork.

“How much for the entire bottle?” Don asked.

The bartender looked skeptical at first but looked at the bottle nearing half full. His eyes rolled up to calculate, and he came to a number. “Five gold coins.”

Alcohol is getting expensive these days. Leave it to the legal syndicates—the corporations—to supply Valoria with all the booze. But, considering the price of the shots, he gave a fair estimate of the bottle’s worth.

So, Corolla handed the coins over, and the bartender left the bottle. “Those are your previous drinks included. Enjoy, boys.”

Don took the bottle and poured their shots.

“Thank you,” Corolla said.

“No problem. I know how you get without your whiskey.”

They were supposed to tour the city, bar to bar, alley to alley in a sort of espionage way to get a glimpse at their dealers. But instead, they sat in the bar and enjoyed themselves on one of the few occasions Corolla could be in public without his mask. It did make the drinking better. Being around the noise of others, knowing that the noise was gibberish and unintelligible made him feel secure talking to Don.

“Do you think I’m evil?” Corolla asked suddenly.

Don paused, the glass he was about to drink resting on his lip as he processed Corolla’s question. “Do I think you’re evil?”

Corolla nodded. He wanted to know what Don really thought of him. “Am I a monster?”

“Is that what you see in the mirror?” Don asked, finally drinking his shot.

“Yes,” Corolla said softly. “Whenever I see myself with my mask, I think of the atrocities I’ve either ordered or committed personally with my own hands. And without my mask, I see the coward who needs the mask to hide. I see the little boy who grew in his father’s soul-sucking shadow, and by the time the sun came out, and the shadow altered to light, I was so blind, so scared, that a mask was my only shade left.”

“And you regret this? Any of this?” Don asked.

“All of it,” Corolla said. His eyes fixed down at his glass and the smooth wood of the bar counter. He didn’t cry; he could no longer. Why all of a sudden, was he being so open? “I wish I was never born. I wish I had an ounce of courage. With it, I would do so much for this world. I would finally end my life. I hear the excuse of ‘I’m only human,’ but that doesn’t apply to me anymore. I’ve never been human or elf. Only a monster. A truly evil being.”

When Corolla lifted his eyes to Don, he hardly looked concerned. Of course, he wasn’t. His suicidal desire was all talk, no action. They’ve been over it hundreds of times before. “Then what’s stopping you from taking your own life?”

“My cursed body,” Corolla said. “It clings to life as if it needs it. It stores my urge to what feels like shudders in my stomach. I’ve grabbed my head with my gauntlet many times, and my foolish hand would never activate it. It doesn’t want me to die.”

“Corolla…” Don said. He looked solemn but understanding. “I disagree with what you are saying. I think it is wrong, a bad mindset to be. But… if you’re so desperate, so determined to stop living. I’ll kill you myself if you’ll allow it.”

Corolla opened his mouth to speak, but his body stopped all airflow. He wanted to agree, and he wanted to accept his offer. But his mouth could only manage a gasp as he was choking on open air.

“Boss!” Don grabbed his shoulders and pressed tight. After a few seconds, Corolla finally regained his breath. Don frowned. “Are you alright?”

“I wanted so badly to accept your offer,” Corolla said. “But my body just won’t allow it. I can’t accept. If I do, I’ll be forced to kill you before you kill me.”

Don nodded, pouring Corolla another drink to simmer down. Taking the glass, Corolla discarded it quickly down his throat before moving on to the entire bottle.

“And you are evil,” Don finally said, giving Corolla a hard look. He looked down the bar, and Corolla followed with his eyes. They looked at Ranun Spring’s portrait on the wall. “I think all kings are evil too. To be powerful is to be evil, for you have the ability to improve the lives of a select few while destroying the others. And to be powerless is to be good because you’ll never have that kind of strength in your hands.

“It doesn’t matter to me whether you are capable of killing with or without mercy; either way, you take a life that doesn’t want to die. Kings and noblemen and warriors alike partake in the very same shit as you do; they are just praised by their own, their syndicate. I don’t know, but that’s how I see life and morality. Don’t be ashamed you can’t bring yourself to an end so easily. Because even kings struggle with giving up their power.”

Corolla nodded, taking a slow sip from the neck of the glass bottle. Don was right. Corolla didn’t have what it takes to surrender. He had one obstacle remaining before he could be content. Once Soucrest was under Corolla’s influence, his father’s syndicate would finally be number one. After all these years fighting for him, Corolla was nearing the final stretch.

It all started with this very city, Steepcreek. After, the rest of Soucrest.

Patience, Corolla. Otherwise, you’ll live forever.

“I’m tired,” Corolla said, bringing the empty bottle back to the counter. “Please. Let’s return to base. I need some rest.”