“Everyone! I’d like your attention please!”

Zen banged a pot on the mess hall table with a wooden spoon. The din the racket made quickly alerted everyone in the room, and quickly all eyes were on Zen and Devan. It irked Zen, having all eyes on him now. Especially with the dread of having to tell them all the news.

“So everyone, how’s the celebration going?” Zen asked his now attentive audience.

“It’s going really well!” said one voice. “So nice to finally wind down!” said another. And “It’s all thanks to you and Devan!” said a third. The rest simply yammered in agreement.

“Well hold on to those happy thoughts,” said Zen in his most pained cheerful smile he could perform, “Because things are going to get way worse!”

The audience of guards and soldiers became silent before quietly murmuring to each other. One plucky soldier, who Zen recognized to be Karl the card handler, raised his hand to speak.

“What’s going on? Did the supplies run out? Are there still more crosserfangs? Are we being infiltrated?” he asked in quick succession.

The group of late-partiers were now murmuring and talking amongst each other in a hushed and tense manner, talking about what was happening. They seemed to yearn for what was going on.

“It’s way worse Karl,” Zen said. “A soldier by the name of Jacky has passed away in the battle.”

Words of confusion came forth from the mass of people, as they seemed to discuss who Jacky was. It seems Jacky wasn’t all that well known within the fort. However, that was going to change.

“Why is Jacky dying such a big deal?” Karl said disgruntledly. “I know some are unlucky to die during the raids, but why out of all the deaths is Jacky such a big deal?”

“That is because of Jacky’s relations to the overall logistics of the fort and the empire.” Zen said. “You see, Jacky’s brother, Chan, is one of the three regional managers of all supply lines that go toward the fort. If he hears about the news, he may lose complete faith in us. He might pull out all supplies and funds. He may even try to label us as incompetent enough to haphazardly lose men.”

The group was relatively silent, as the news poured into their ears.

“So we need a plan, and luckily I have one. This is very important, so I need you all to listen to what I have to say.” Zen said solemnly. “First, everyone please take a seat at the mess hall table. I’ll discuss the plan at the front.”

In a flurry of movement, different soldiers and guards of different stature and complexion moved about the room, pulling seats back and before long, everyone was sitting in a chair around the mess hall tables in rapt silence. The room was deathly quiet, besides the occasional cough or sniff.

“Alright everyone.” Zen started. “This is the plan. I call it Operation Fooled Supplies. As you may have realized, the death of Jacky has short and long term effects. The short being we may be possibly cut off from supplies and labeled as incompetent soldiers and possibly lose all credibility, and the long term consequences are that we lose hold of the fort and we disappoint the empire. So if we do not do anything, we are totally screwed.”

While Zen was talking, Devan had gone down the hall to bring over the chalkboard on wheels. Devan brought it over to the front of the mess hall, and Zen nodded at him in silent thanks.

“So this is the plan. Have you seen how I effortlessly killed a bunch of crosserfang spiders back at the battlefront?” Zen asked his audience. “Raise your hand if you somewhat admire me for what I have done. Please be honest, this will be very important later.”

A series of hands raised from the audience. Some quick, some slow, and some probably due to peer pressure. Nevertheless, most of the soldiers present to see the showdown seemed to genuinely appreciate his skill and effort Zen put into battling the crosserfangs.

“Well I want all of you, to take that appreciation, and throw it all towards Jacky,” Zen said, throwing both of his arms toward the picture of a crudely drawn stick figure of Jacky on the chalkboard. “We are going to create a fake story, with Jacky as the hero to replace me. If we do that, it’d at least minimize Chan’s mental damage, and instead label Jacky as a true hero of the region that protected the empire’s goals all by himself. It’s a stretch, but we have to put all of our eggs in one basket for it to work. Are we all on the same page?”

A few people in the audience nodded. Most didn’t.

“I get that you’re confused.” Zen said. “If you do not understand, please feel free to raise your hand so you can ask a question.”

At least ten to twenty pairs of hands rose up. He couldn’t have been that bad at explaining could he?

“Uhh… guy with yellow scarf and scruffy brown hair in the back!” Zen said, pointing in that general direction. “You have a question?”

“Yes I do Sir.” the scarfed man said. “How are we going to make this fake story, and how will the people around Chan even know about Jacky being a hero?”

“That is a good question!” Zen said, turning back to his chalkboard, drawing a picture of a bird and four suns. “We have at most four days to incorporate the plan before it all flops. The reason for that is because Chan often sends a messenger pigeon to check on Jacky’s status. Since Jacky is dead, the pigeon will immediately fly back to tell Chan the news. Because y’know, lack of news is bad news. And as for the fake story, we will use our own messenger pigeons that we have in store to spread the false story like crazy.”

“Is anyone in this room here somewhat connected with the Tampatown newspaper?” Zen asked, turning back to his audience.

“I am!” a voice and a hand shot out. “My Mum and Dad run the biggest newspaper in Tampatown, the Tampa Taddle! I can tell my family to make a rapid issue of the story if you’d like.”

“Yes! Yes!” Zen exclaimed with joy. “That is exactly what we need! Who are you by the way?”

A young man with silver gray hair, olive gray eyes and spectacles leaned in from a chair in the back. He looked cold and calculative, but his actions proved otherwise.

“My name is Rothhardt. I am affiliated with the Tampa Taddle. I can help you with anything that needs communicating to the masses.”

“Thank you for your introduction Rothheart.” Zen said warmly. “Now I want to ask some people around the room that saw me fight the many crosserfangs. I know it may sound sort of egotistical for me to ask people how I did, given how powerful those enemies were anyways, but, how did you view me and the battle?”

Several hands rose up. One hand rose up, and Zen recognized the hand came from Kent. “Yes, Kent. How did you view my battle performance?”

“It was pretty incredible Zen,” Kent said. “I don’t think you realize, but regular crosserfangs can’t become agitated, but variant crosserfangs can. So when they become agitated, they become incredibly nasty. So the fact that you killed an agitated acid crosserfang, a hulker crosserfang, and several other normal crosserfangs with limited supplies and by yourself? You are incredible.” Kent nudged another soldier to his left with his elbow. “And without dying too.”

The soldier Kent nudged also piped up. “Yeah! It was so cool! The last story of a Moro battling a group of crosserfangs was at least three years ago, and they were only able to beat a bunch with a group! Save for the fact that half of the group was painfully melted. But the Moros' success inspired so many troops of the empire, that they managed to push back the over encroaching horde of monsters to the Syven Forests! Moros are really cool, besides from the fact that most of them aren’t very social. You’re cool though.”

An archer to Zen’s right rose his hand. Zen recognized it as his archer superior who taught him how to shoot a bow for the first thirty seconds of the battle. “Ah, do you have something to say too?” Zen asked, pointing his finger to his archer superior.

“Yes I do. My name is Tynan by the way,” Tynan said. “When I first showed you how to use a crossbow, I honestly thought you were terrible. But when I saw you jump down from the parapets, I first thought about stopping you. However, you proved yourself otherwise by practically tearing through every crosserfang in your path. You cut down like… five crosserfangs? It was awe-inspiring to look from afar to say the least.”

“Alright,” Zen said. “Thanks for the assessment and the compliments. But I want you to imagine not my figure going around killing those spiders, but Jacky in my stead. Imagine him doing what I did. Jumping off that shield wall to kill the hulker crosserfang. Sliding under a crosserfang to kill it. Going head to head with an agitated acid crosserfang. Remember. Jacky did this. Not me.”

The room was silent, as some people were deep in thought. A hand rose up.

“Yes? Do you have a question?” Zen asked.

“Yea, I do,” a black haired dreadlocked man said. “Why do you not want to be a hero? Isn’t the allure of riches and fame what everyone wants?”

“Well, here’s the thing.” Zen said while scratching the back of his neck. “Being a hero… is kinda all about responsibilities you know? It gets really troublesome because you can get a lot of anxiety and everyone knows you and you stand out a lot. It’s pretty annoying when you do literally anything and you’re the center of attention. And for this battle, I think it would be much better if we made the hero someone who was more local instead of an outsider.”

“Those who are heroes are usually Moros, and Moros are already kind of famous and expected to be heroes. But if the hero of the day, even if they died in the battle, was a homegrown local man that was not a Moro but instead used nothing except their grit and skill? That is the stuff that gives the people hope that they can survive. If the average man can fight terror just as well as the Moros, morale will rise.”

“Any other questions?” Zen asked finally. There were none.

“Good! Now that we know what we’re doing, which is creating a fake story where Jacky is the hero and not me, we will have to make false letters to different families. I think the best choice of action is to send letters to those who have the most influence in Tampatown.” Zen commanded. “Rothhardt! You will send a letter to your family for a next big scoop, about how a young soldier by the name of Jacky took down a large group of crosserfangs single handedly. The rest of you, we need to write letters that are similar to each other in detail. I think the best option would be to write a letter about the battle to a connected and powerful individual in Tampatown.”

Zen looked over at the guards and soldiers, coughing, before continuing once more. “If you are having trouble writing a letter, first write a letter about me as the protagonist, then just remove any form of my name and replace it with Jacky. Is that clear?”

A majority of yes’s and yea’s rang out, with almost no no’s. However, a different voice rang out, as well as a hand.

“I have a final question, Mister!” The person was a very short teenage looking boy, with thick large spectacles.

“Yes! Do you have a question…uhhh.. I swear I saw you around somewhere.” Zen said.

“It’s Kimmy, and it’s fine, almost no one remembered my name anyways. “I have a question about who’s letter we’re going to send. After all, we only have three carrier pigeons right? So we really need to nitpick on whose letter is going to go out to Tampatown.”

Zen mentally slapped his head. He had forgotten that they couldn’t send letters all at once. How would he handle this? Maybe the pigeons could come back and deliver a letter to a different location whenever they came back? It could work.

“Well, you may be right uhhh.. Kam.” Zen said, giving Kimmy a pair of finger guns, who merely rolled his eyes. “We only have three birds at the moment, so the first three letters we’ll have to make count. Whenever the birds do come back though, we can send the more personal letters.”

Zen looked around the room. “Are there any two more individuals that are somewhat affiliated with important members of Tampatown? That is who we’ll send the letters to first.”

“I can do one of the letters,” a voice said behind him. Zen turned around to see Devan, who had raised his hand curtly. “I am an extremely trusted member of the empire’s guild system, so my letter will be immediately known as truth. Then more people would hear about it, given the adventurer’s guild's quick messaging relay systems.”

“Perfect!” Zen said, giving Devan a thumbs up, who gave a thumbs up back. “Is there anyone else here that is affiliated with anyone majorly influential within Tampatown?”

“I am.” A gruff and buff blond chad stood up from his chair. He had to be about seven feet tall. “My name is Gunther. I am the son of the captain of the local guard within Tampatown. I will send a letter.”

“Well, thank you Gunther.” Zen said, who had shrunk back a little, intimidated by Gunther’s sheer mass. “How old are you anyways?”

“I am 28.”

“You do not look 28. You look like you’ve already fought multiple wars.” Zen chuckled.

“Heh, I get that a lot.” Gunther laughed. “It’s because I was born with gigantism. Now are we going to start or what?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Zen said, taking a roll of parchment and a box of quills and ink bottles from Devan’s hands. “We’re going to have to go over every letter, and make sure everyone knows what they’re doing.”

Zen firmly placed the writing material on the table.

“Now let’s get cracking!”