I know you have two questions for me.

One, why a rose?

Two, why not buns?

For the second one... I really don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I’d say that most of the blame should go to Lord Juler. He is the one who told me I should work on a shield – also, we devised this spell in a way that it would incorporate my knowledge about gamma rays, cosmic stuff, and so on. Actually, to be even more precise, electromagnetism and spell polarity applied to defense. I won’t go too much into detail since I need to avoid dying in the next few minutes.

I’m at the center of a huge red rose. Pretty elegant, if you ask me. But the biggest feature is the myriad of loops and small components making up the rose. In video games, models have polygons. They are made from tiny components to give the figures more realism. The more polygons you use [correctly], the more your avatar will look realistic. This magnificent construct of mine is built around the same principle of very small polygons. Unlike the [Advanced Hexagonal Three-Folded Shields], the polygons have different sizes. It’s a display of natural arrangement in a multi-layered shape that orients itself differently on every surface of its polygons. There’s a lot more to this, but the point is that every spell will hit differently on the rose’s petals. That guarantees a much higher resilience to any attack.

Also, it’s very pretty.

[Gamma-Knife]

I use the skill for the first time instead of simply conjuring the spell. Now, all the pieces fall together on their own, with much less effort on my part. I can still feel that it takes time for the matrix to materialize. But some details are much better. The [Weighed Lights] are invisible to the naked eye, and the [Lights] in energy loops are going much faster. The skill basically created a multi-layered—haven’t I used that term for the rose, wait – let’s say a multi-level spell. It’s basically many processes at once that converge on the same objective.

“What the hell is that?” Appius whispers.

He’s shocked I’m still alive after using the spell that would supposedly make him an [Archmage]. I don’t blame him. What I blame him for – and all the others that are now dead – is the lack of personality. They look like cookie-cutter villains. Even how they speak makes them look like simple clones of each other.

When the spell goes off, Appius trembles in mid-air, widens his eyes and falls dead to the ground. And once again, this duel has been quite anticlimactic. You would expect a fantasy world to be more varied, more heroic. Instead, these battles have been pretty boring. If you have ever watched fencing, that’s exactly what I’m talking about: too fast, not showy enough. I mean, I guess that the rose and the dome of death made of lightning were interesting… but the duel proper lasted what, five minutes? Maybe less?

And the time-dilation that is guaranteed by [Single-Minded Focus] has made my previous burning rage tepid at best now. Sure, it’s right there, ready to blaze again, but still. I feel tired. I feel like going on vacation to Italy and spending my days visiting museums in Rome and eating croissants. Cornetti, sorry. Better not make that mistake if I go back.

If I go back.

As Appius falls and I finally reconnect to this world and hear the gasps, the boos, and the shouts, I find myself distant from this reality. Even though my skills have dissipated, and my senses have come back to these people, I feel alienated. I feel like I don’t belong, like I never did.

The corpse of the ugly man that many are now crying over belongs to this life more than my springy limbs and my beautiful features – shut it, beautiful features, I said.

It’s like I can see myself from a bird’s-eye view, as if I’m a marionette of mine. All this death, all this fighting. And they are not cheering for me. They have bloodshot eyes and pale faces, their pale fists tight and balled up, wishing they could bash me to death.

Maybe it’s because of how I grew up, but I like surprising people. A therapist might go as far as to say that I need it, that I crave the approval of others for all I try not to. That’s what happens when you grow up with a very strict father that never praises you. And you stop trying to impress people because it gets too painful when they are not impressed, when they are not praising you.

I’m strong, but I feel like I need to repeat it every minute, or my strength will disappear, as if it would fly away like dust slipping through my fingers. Maybe Camilla would have jumped up from those battlements. Maybe she would have run to me and said something to Marcus. Or Maybe Flaminia, Antoninus, or Clodia. Maybe someone would have done it.

If they had, I wouldn’t feel like this.

But if my grandfather had three balls, he would be a pinball machine.