Year 117

“This way.” Jura led them into the tunnels. Fifteen of them, young teenagers who’ve trained for a year or two. In another world, they’d be school-going teenagers, but here, they are warriors, rangers, mages, druids or knights, ready to face monsters to the death.

“This way?” One of the young mage asked. He held up his staff, and the crystal glowed in the darkness of the tunnel. It was one of the many [root tunnels] that lead to the Valley of the Unrotten. They’ve never been here, after all, access to this area is restricted to the heroes, Jura, Laufen, Kavio, and a few others of the new priesthood, who escorted the dead bodies to their burial grounds in the valley.

“Yes.” Jura pointed. They walked past a bunch of beetle guards. They stood, a little surprised to see the unmoving beetles. “Your promotion awaits. Come.”

The fifteen nodded. They knew this was it. The moment many have been waiting for. They soon saw the faint light at the end of the tunnel, and they soon stood at the entrance of the Valley of the Unrotten.

The valley now is home to very few people, so Giant Attendant Trees, many of them on fire scattered throughout the valley, were the main source of light. There’s still one small airwell at the top, above my main tree.

The valley glowed with the orange fire, the trees here survived mainly on the nutrition and energy I feed them. Herbs and flowers are everywhere, and then there’s the small stream of black-fires, the suppressed energies of the demonic corruption. The excess corrupting energy gathered here, to be processed by my main body and the trees.

Their path was made of wood, hardened from the roots that covered everywhere, and flanked by wooden statues. I made them, as practice. My surplus wooden weapons, and the large anti-demon bolts were also used as fencing, since I had little place to store them.

They soon passed a field of olives, fruits, and a mix of other crops I have cultivated in small quantities. Remnants of the earlier era when the survivors still lived in the valley. Old buildings, that looked like they’ve seen some years. And ghosts. Soul harvesters and nightmare harvesters. Here in the valley, where they are closest to me, they are easily visible to anyone with the slightest affinity to magic. They resembled giant shrouds, and they floated everywhere.

Some of them felt fear.

[Haunted Forest].

Jura tapped them on their back. “Don’t embarrass yourself. Aeon’s watching.” A test for the young Valthorns, to receive their familiars. In many ways, this was actually a ritual, more than an actual test. The walk to the Valley of the Unrotten, and to see the origins of their institution.

A beetle would occasionally run across their backs, and they would turn, startled. The rangers especially, with their bow and arrows.

Eventually, they arrived at where Kavio gave his briefing. A small round area flanked by tall trees, with a small Tree of Prayer in the middle. There’s also a pedestal, where they can stand to see my main tree.

“Well, we’re here. Stand on the pedestal, and receive your familiar.”

A ritual. It’s a silly thing, I could just as easily give them their familiar when they’re sleeping in their rooms back in Freshka. But given easily, they would not know the weight and value of what is given, and they are young, impressionable teens. A part of me felt it was important that the weight of the responsibility is made clear.

So a ritual it is.

A walk to the Valley of the Unrotten. To see where the survivors lived, and meet the protector of the valley.

How could one receive the familiar without ever knowing what gives you your familiar?

The fifteen teens break down in different ways when they receive their familiar contracts. They’ve never been here.

One cup appeared for all fifteen of them, and each of the tall trees that flanked the tree of prayers revealed a pod.

“Time to drink.” Jura instructed. “Finish it and enter into the pods.”

[Tree sap], [Mystical Dreams], [Dream Tutor]

A dream is just a dream, or it can be more. For these fifteen young teens who’ve accepted their familiar contract, I’ve given them a dream of what the familiars can do, like a tutorial. At the same time, it’s also... a message. Familiars have served many masters over the century. Many have died with their familiars, and I felt it was important to drill in the fact that familiars, though useful, it ultimately is up to them to make the full use of it.

Again. With power, comes responsibility. But also, with responsibility, comes power.

After about 3 hours in the pod, they all emerged a little dazed, and Jura led them back to Freshka.

I wondered about my methods. It’s probably a little too... big brother. What I did with dreams, maybe in another world, it would reek of a government reeducation camp.

Back in Freshka, “How’d they take it?” Yvon asked Jura after the kids were back.

“They’re quiet. I think they’ll be okay.” Jura nodded. It’s been a long day, he had a large cold tea mixed with a bit of lemon and ginger for refreshments.

“I wished I could be there.” Yvon sighed. “My form restricts me no further than 10 feet out of that door.” Again, heroes are unique like that. Eriz’s ability to split her body into multiple nursery trees is special to her class, and Yvon too, can split her body into each of the training trees she is in. Right now, she could have 3 training trees.

“Just talk to them when you see them. I think they all need a bit of sleep after what they’ve seen.”

Yvon frowned with her wooden form. She’s been their trainer for some time now, and she’s about level 40 as a [Training Tree]. Naturally, she cared for her students. “I hope Aeon didn’t give them the dreams of brutal warfare.”

Of all the kinds of dreams I can give a person, the dreams of the brutality of war were apparently the scariest. It’s the dream where they were placed in a massive battlefield and everyone around them were killed and mutilated in different ways, and all they could do was run, flee, feel pain and scream.

“I think he didn’t. They didn’t look that horrified.”

“I see.” Yvon said but she was not convinced.

-

The New Valthorns recruited from all over the Freshlands, from all of the small villages and towns, to the few growing cities. Politics was messy, and Freshkan was like the federal government squabbling with the cities and towns, whom functioned like municipal and state governments.

Kavio, the elected chief, had the difficult task of managing the loose federation, and he had to frequently rely on the strength of the beetles to make his point.

Fighting, eventually broke out between two cities. To the refugees, I am but a distant, faraway image. In the minds of the cities’ quasi-independent rulers, they did not believe I would impose my authority, until I did.

100,000 beetles descended on the two cities, along with the Valtrian’s men. The size and massive show of force meant the two cities surrendered quickly, and those responsible quickly captured. Both leaders and those we found to be involved were publicly judged in accordance with the founding constitution of Freshka.

Defiance against their delegated authority was death. A root-spear through the heart. Gruesome, but a statement.

It was a statement I had to make. I had already foreseen my power to be challenged every few years, as the people do not believe what they do not see. This was my experience from New Freeka.

The law is meaningless until enforced. In the medieval times, order was established through force and fear. So, for a time, Kavio found his job as the chief mediator of the various segments easier. A job Jura did not want to do, because he saw how different the scale of things were. It’s a difficult task for one person, and so it had to change.

It is ironic, I suppose. When I remember Freeka itself suffering because their King then demanded a draft, and was punished for not complying. And now, I do what the King’s men did. I can only hope that I meted out these punishments justly, instead of randomly like the soldiers of Salah.

Soon, the Freshkan Council had to be expanded into something resembling a parliamentary or congressional system. Each city and district would send a representative, and those representatives together would elect a segment leader, for a total of 15 segment leaders. One for each segment.

All of the segment leaders were given an audience with me.

Again, a ritual.

Just as how monarchs of my world had coronation ceremonies, or how religious orders had complex conclaves, I saw it fit to drill the weight of my authority, and that these men are delegates.

That the constitution of this land has its weight and power derived from me, and it was important to drill in that it is a delegation of power.

Perhaps I am a bit too power crazy. I wondered that for a moment. But this is a world of power and conflict. A world where higher leveled will not hesitate to have their way, and sometimes I think, maybe all this power is too much for one person. Then I recall their stupid conflicts, and all my concerns faded away. Not everything from our world can be transplanted over.

The fifteen were brought to the Valley of the Unrotten, and unlike the young Valthorns, I gave them a different... drink. I gave them visions of the past.

The lives I’ve taken. The foes I’ve slain. The destruction of the valleys in the hand of the demons. The burning of Freeka. The corruption of the demons. The haunting screams of the dead. Wars.

The fifteen came out, they held their feelings in. Kavio escorted them back to Freshka, where a comfortable inn awaited. But a message is made, and these representatives now understand their place.

-

"You will outlive him, Lausanne." Laufen held her daughters' hand one day, they sat in a cafe in Freshka.

"I know. It is something I thought of, and you need not counsel me otherwise."

"I didn't mean to. Not when your wedding is tomorrow. I outlived your dad too, even though we were both elves." Laufen said, she sipped on a cup of coffee, a newly imported delicacy. "Our long lives means little, when the world is so cruel to us, few survive till their hundreds, like Grandma Casshern."

"I never met her."

"You have, but you were just a baby." Laufen smiled, and she tapped her daughter's smooth palm. A human might think these two were good friends, or perhaps sisters, since elven aging slowed down dramatically once one reached adulthood. Maybe, except an elf would notice the faint lines around the eyes, or the faint, aging colors of her hair. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I already went through one. I don’t think our Aeonic wedding is going to be more challenging than the Hawa-styled ceremony.” For Lausanne, she held two ceremonies, one, a Hawa-styled one in accordance with the Eastern Gaya Temple’s traditions, on the eastern continent. It’s meant for her husband’s extended family, and the need to travel from one continent to another meant it took a whole year to get both of her events sorted out.

“Good.”

The next day, a ceremony was held at the Freshka’s Valtrian prayer courtyard. It’s an entirely new city, so we had space. I, together with some of the surviving priests, had designed this large park-in-the-temple style courtyard, where there’s multiple [tree of prayers] so different ceremonies can be held simultaneously.

It’s also where I designated one of my many [tree eyes], so here, the trees take on different colors every season. I remembered the verdant flower patches of home, the colors of fall, and spring, and winter, and had it recreated with the local plants. So, it’s a lovely place, a wedding in a garden, but still in a temple. An earthling may vaguely tell the influences of Asian gardens and temples, and even the vast courtyards of many historical sites in the West.

Lausanne and her husband stood before a [tree of prayer], with light pink leaves. It’s a garden of many colors, the couple wear a ceremonial dress and shirt. A ritual, for a wedding.

In a world of systems, rituals are also a means of communicating with the system. Weddings, burials, all act to inform the system of change in status. For married couples, it is not unusual for them to receive a temporary blessing immediately after the wedding.

There was a small pedestal, and on it were two small pieces of wood. It’s smooth, except for one part where it has a thorn, and they both prick their fingers on it, a drop of blood on both pieces of wood. The wood absorbed the blood, made into a necklace with a bit of magic and the two would exchange necklaces. A wooden necklace of the two’s blood.

It’s a relatively new process, adapted from the practices of nearby nations. After all, ancient traditions are oft forgotten, and so new ones must take their place.

Jura said quietly. “A generation to the next.”

“Doesn’t that only happen when Lausanne actually has a baby?” Laufen grinned. She’s clearly happy to see her daughter find a husband.

“Well, are you pressuring them?” Jura smiled.

“Maybe not in the next few years.”

“That’s a yes.” Well, in elven terms a few years is very short. “So eager to see a grandchild?” Laufen grinned.

-

There was another event that happened during the year, and one with greater geopolitical impact on the continent. The great dissolution of Harris’s Empire into the 7 queenly states of his 7 wives.

Harris had set up a teleportation beacon, all of his wives and children came to Freshka. He used the tremendous funds he had at his disposal, to construct a vast verandah on the outskirts of Freshka, and where a treaty would be signed.

The treaty of Freshka. If it was up to me, I’d totally call it Tree-aty of Freshka, but oh well. Maybe a future treaty will enjoy that tree-atment.

Harris declared the Royal Capital his personal imperial holdings, and essentially, delegated the management of his empire into 7 parts, each under one of his wives, turning them into Queens, and then, his now 30 children, each Princes or Princesses of their own regions. Armies, budgets, artifacts and magical items, all divided into 7 parts and any undividable parts are to be held by him personally.

Of course, this won’t be ideal. But Mirei was right, it is better that the separation lines be drawn now, than later. At least he lived to mediate any conflict. The signing was held. Everyone was present, even neighbouring royalty. 7 new Queens, and a period of armistice. A big party was held, and the Emperor himself, Harris, gave a long speech explaining that he had hoped for a peaceful transition of power to the 7 wives and their children.

Jasmine, my spy-in-chief, quickly made me listen in to some of the politicians, and some of the royals.

“It’s insanity, no? Has the Emperor gone mad, to break up his own empire this way? The other nations will sure take the chance to bite!”

“It’s a hero’s naivety, perhaps.” Another delegate explained. “Heroes have made very strange choices in the past, it seemed Emperor Harris is no different.”

“Ah. Still, this is a wonderful opportunity for us. Which Queen do you think will be easier to convince?”

“I reckon we should speak to each of the young princes and princesses, eager to show off their chops. We could give them some winning chips, but trap them into our influence. Trade and wealth is the way forward, with the Emperor’s summons still around to maintain peace.”

Though Harris is unable to depart for long, his army of summons still roam his empire. No nation is foolish enough to fight the summoned armies of the hero, their strength in combat is legendary.

“A long term investment, at least... until the next demon king.”

“A tough decision, honestly.” The delegate said. “This dissolved seven queendoms will surely fight the moment the Emperor falls in battle with the next demon king, but then, if he cannot leave this place, surely the demon king will come here.”

A look of horror on the other delegate. “Oh. That would be bad. We may not be able to retain our investment if the next demon king targets this continent.”

“Perhaps that is a question we should ask the Emperor, what are his plans for the next demon King.”

And so, as Harris socialised with the rest of his children and wives, one of them asked.

“Your majesty, what’s your plan for the next demon king. With your condition, would you lead the fight with the next demon king?”

Harris smiled. “Well, though our condition generally requires us to remain close to Aeon’s healing powers, I foresee it’s not a problem for the three of us to fight the next demon king. A set of teleportation beacons, and we’d be fighting the demon king, and then back. We are also working on an alternative, should that day come, but it is not something I can reveal.”

If there was a metaphorical moment when everyone was taking notes, that was it. I could sense a flood of magical messages outward, and I’m damned sure Harris and Mirei could too. They are heroes, and they have innate magical sense.

But he just smiled, and let it happen. Eventually, the ceremony ended, an empire officially broken up. Harris let everyone choose whether they wanted to enjoy the comforts of Freshka, or they wanted to go back. All of them went back, and surely, Harris himself predicted a torrent of planning and politicking.

That night, he met Mirei for a drink.

“You left early.”

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder. It’s your event, Harris. No need for two heroes in the same event.”

“Heh. I still tire of such politics, even when I have levels for it.”

“You lasted the whole day, I’d say your levels did their job.” Mirei smiled. “How does it feel, a weight off your shoulders?”

“A bit. At the same time, I fear I may have laid the foundations for a civil war.”

“You could use this time to make more magical enchantments, such that if war ever breaks out, the magical enchantments will stop it. You know there are magics that do that.”

“It’s inevitable.”

“Indeed.”

“Ever regret sticking your thing into so many places?”

“Sometimes.” Harris sighed, and he got drunk on herbal liqueur that night.

“All the time, you mean.” Mirei laughed.

-