It is common knowledge that everybody has a price. No one mentions that the price can be haggled, inflated or manipulated. No one would admit that they can’t afford the price of their own lives.

In various locations around the area, the hostages were being rescued by extraction teams. ET13 wasn’t tasked to enter enemy territory, instead they were to receive hostages at the mid-point and provide necessary emergency care. As such, whilst waiting for a different team to provide coordinates, Taku and I began combat training at the side, putting Amelia, Kelvin and Hazel’s fate to the hands of Extraction Team 13. Never had they felt as patronised as now, when each command given to them was step by step instructions, from tidying equipment into their respective storages to cleaning utensils and the like. Their mentor, Marvin, accompanied them like an overly-protective hen, clucking at each and every detail on their tasks.

“For those forks, you have to really be careful of the tines. They need to be scrubbed seven times too, like the spoons, but they are sharp. When you dry them, please be very gentle with your power, or you can use this towel here…”

“I think we can handle washing the dishes, Marvin.”

“Yes! I’m sorry, mister Kelvin, but I have to make sure you’re not hurt. Ah, this is a serving spoon, you ne-“

“We get the point!”

“S-sorry! It’s just t-that, if you failed the inspec-tion, you’d be scolded! I d-don’t want that to ha-appen.”

“And the points are on the forks, not the spoons~”

“Shut up, sis!”

“Uww… I hate doing this part of training… ah! Jackson is c-coming! Please, please, please!”

Unfortunately, James Jackson didn’t even glance at the large pile of cleaned utensils before, with a face like a bulldog eating a lemon, ordering them to do it all again. Just as he turned to leave, Kelvin protested to him.

“But why? They’re perfectly clean!”

James stopped in his track, his face now looking like a bulldog being force-fed lemons against its will. He radiated irritation at his orders being questioned and walked straight to Kelvin’s face. Kelvin had no choice but to take a step back away from the Stonewall Jackson[1]. He held up one of the spoons at the top of the pile.

“How many times are you meant to scrub these spoon heads?”

“Until it’s clean.”

“Marvin! How many!?”

“Eeek! S-seven, Jackson!”

“Then why is this walking condom advertisement here giving me some smartass answer?”

“S-sorry Jackson!”

“It wasn’t Marvin’s fault, sir. It was mine.”

“I fucking know it’s yours. You’re not getting any heroism for taking the shit you yourself created, you hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Which mother fucker told you to judge whether the utensils are clean?”

“No one, sir.”

“’Cause that’s my job, innit?”

“Yes sir.”

“You think you can do my job for me, you fermented meconium?”

“Uhh, no sir.”

“You gave this spoon fucking three wipes, and that other one a half-hearted rub like it’s your drunk uncle’s dick. In this camp, you are given orders, which you are to follow to the fucking letter. These aren’t fucking suggestions or requests.”

“Yes sir.”

“This camp will not leave until you finished your fucking task properly. Those poor bastards out there will have to wait for you three fuckwits to get this shit done.”

“But shouldn’t hostages be a priority?”

James’ face now looks like a bulldog being force-fed lemons up the other end. Once again, he walked forwards and pushed his forehead against Kelvin’s. As James was a grown adult, he was more than a head taller than the JanZe apprentice, which gave him an overbearing presence. James spoke through gritted teeth.

“Then you’d better get a fucking move on, boy.”

After that, James turned to leave once again. As he walked, he spoke of one more option in mockery.

“Or you can quit, and leave us to do our jobs properly without any liabilities hanging around.”

“Umm… s-so, first you’ll have to move all these knife and f-forks back to the wash pile… M-mister Kelvin, would you like a tissue?”

“… I’m fine.”

Of course, James was bluffing. He didn’t accurately identify the number of times a spoon was scrubbed by the naked eye; he was watching at a distance. The camp also wouldn’t wait for some utensils to be cleaned before setting off, he simply hadn’t received the signal and location yet, nor was the rest of the unit ready to travel immediately.

But that’s just trivia for you and me. The kids over there were frightened stiff.

They felt something similar to a spiel, but not quite the same. Rather than projecting the will of his identity, James projected the will of the present. James wasn’t simply calling Kelvin a boy; he was dictating it.

By the time they were finished with their task, night had fallen. Other than that time where James ordered them to redo the utensils, they completed their job mechanically like a computer with a coded script. They realised that the more shortcuts or talkbacks they did, the less time they had to themselves.

As such, they left their questions to me in the evening and did their jobs as diligently as they could.

“So that’s what happened. How did James Jackson do that?”

“Spiel, dictation, invocation, reification. Those are the four stages of verbal mana control. Starting from the first stage, you speak of yourself. Moving on to dictation, you begin to speak of the world around you. James used that technique to add weight as he called you a boy.”

“What about the other stages?”

“It’s better for you not to know, as it’s much too soon in your training to come across that level of skill.”

“Oh… how long do we have to continue doing this? It feels like a waste of time.”

“Until the situation’s over. You’re here because I’m here, and I’m here because I made a decision, and now I’m stuck dealing with the consequences. Also – you think it’s a waste of time because you’re not the one fighting out there. Tell that to the enemy, those poor peasants fooled into thinking they should take arms and fight. Their lives are extinguishing even as we’re standing idly like now. You should tell them straight to their face, that their entire life is a waste of time to you. If you’re able to do that and come back with a straight face, then I’ll admit that you are right.”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, quite often people don’t mean what they say. It’s pretty annoying.

“Anyways, I’m off for a bit, work to do elsewhere. The hostages should arrive soon, in which case you’ll have plenty of interesting jobs to do. I’ve told James already, but I might as well explain whilst I’m here – I’ve decided on the punishments for your orienteering, that is to say, the navigation test from earlier. You are to ‘handle’ 10 hostages by yourself as a minimum. Marvin, your mentor, will also train you in combat from tomorrow onwards. I’ll see you in a few days. Taku, you’re with me.”

“You’re leaving us just like that!?”

I’m not one to notice appearances. Lives fly past my eyes so often, remembering them all are too much of a hassle. Day by day, I wake up to the same shitty sky, to the same shitty seasons. Who could blame me for not caring anymore?

Remembering faces are difficult to immortals like myself. Even now, I can’t really recall what my current disciples look like.

But for this visit, I must put some effort in. Appearances has its uses, after all.

My mind returned from my subconscious thoughts, back to reality. I looked to the left and saw a man with the appearance of a young teen, but an actual age of 316 years. His black hair was cut from a fauxhawk into the standardised haircut of the JanZe, a Princeton. He wore a pair of tinted glasses not for vision assistance, but to hide the effect of one of his Powers. His slim build and chin resembled the original Dracula of Earth if Bela Lugosi was 10 years younger.

The top of my head only reached his shoulders, a fact which I’m ashamed to be annoyed by.

The uniform was immaculate, in that it had no easily-identifiable features. It was a pure black, tight fit and carefully designed set so that, once each piece of clothing was tucked into the other, the entire outfit was seamless. Even upon close inspection, it’d be hard to tell where the turtleneck shirt and the gloves connected.

On our waist hung our utility belt, also black in colour. Compact for function, and strapped tight for safety during forceful manoeuvres. Some JanZe, like Taku, also carried weapons. In general, the colour of their weapons will match their outfits, or at the very least their sheaths. Taku had two tanto short swords tied to his left waist, along with a set of 24 infamous throwing knives, smelted by a Hero with a unique Power based upon the Chinese novels Xiali Feidao. What made these knives special wasn’t their lethality or durability, but of their unique property. They were specialised mana weapons bound to Taku. At his will, the knives dissolved itself to corrode anything upon impact, before eventually rematerializing with Taku’s mana into his hand. The delay before it could be recreated depended on the distance between Taku, and where the knife was destroyed.

Taku had given each knife a name, based on his favourite characters from Earth. Three of them were Alfonso, Mare and Felix. I’m sure you’ll be able to guess the trend…

The original creator named the set The Shadow Impaler[2]and designed it to follow the abyss-black shade of the JanZe uniform.

“Wow, maybe even lil’ hippo can look decent after lots of hard work.”

I focused back onto myself and thought about the same bland, boring face I’ve worn for countless years. It was difficult to pick out any significant features that defined myself because… it’s not a face I enjoyed seeing. My outside appearance was also of a young teen. We were unaging, but unlike Taku, who placed great care onto his looks, I normally wielded a patch of scruffy hair like a birds nest helmet. For this occasion, though, my hair was trimmed into a crew cut style.

I had lived for so long, been through so much. Where was the ‘wisdom in my eyes’ that stories often spoke of? I don’t see any profound movements, spiritual transcendence… hmph. Lies.

I hate mirrors.

“Good of you to appreciate my efforts. Anyways, now that you got your task, you can leave us.”

“Narcy said something different to you, though.”

“Oh?”

“Something about the rest doesn’t matter, only Amelia.”

“Are they Ego’s students, or mine?”

“I don’t care, I just need you two to sort it out before pushing it on me.”

“If you kill any of the three, then I’ll kill you. You don’t think hiding behind Ego will help you, right? Hey, even with your Power, do you think you can do anything against me?”

“Pfft, blame yourself for making me like this. I’m already struggling to contain this absurd mimic even though tampon boy is here.”

“T-tampon… you what!?”

“Enough. If Ego has any problems, tell him to come to me. Now go, Marvin. Don’t you dare kill them.”

“Pssh. I hate being near them, it makes me all jittery and pathetic…”

Marvin exited the tent in a carefree attitude, leaving behind the two of us.

“Taku, go through the Elven customs when in the presence of the Emperor.”

“Disarm, shoes off, trot instead of walking. Bow at a seventy-degree angle with my head lowered, whilst doing that martial hand cupping thing before the chest. Speak only when directed to.”

“Depending on the situation, you may or may not have to follow all those damned customs.”

“Are you planning to go to war with them?”

“Quite the opposite… though not entirely wrong either.”

“That answer made no sense.”

“It will. Let’s go, I’ll contact Sunk Cost on the way.”

“Tell me again, why do I have to come along?”

“To gain experience. Don't tell me you'd rather join those three on their initiation trial?”

“What am I getting myself dragged into…?”

“Everyone will be dragged into this. You can’t avoid it one way or another. Just come along and enjoy the show.”

We left our tent to enter another, though this one had a different function. A few JanZe worked around the perimeters of the interior, but the space in the middle was left empty. I briefly took out a communication crystal and gave Sunk Cost the signal.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonewall_Jackson

[2] Diablo 3 Demon Hunter Shadow Impale Build.