"So…Here's how it all went down..."
"I wake up in a forest. Birds chirping, the lovely sun shining on my face. I'm feeling fucking fantastic, you know?"
"Then, to my pleasant surprise, something catches my eye. On the road, I see a nice carriage. Black and gold designs, big beautiful stallions at the front. Some random old guy was driving it, but it's whatever; he's part of the scenery."
"Anyway, I give a little polite wave with my hand and ask for a ride, and the carriage stops—"
***
"Goddamn it!"
'I've been walking for ages, and I haven't found shit!'
Giuseppe stood within the open path, standing before a bridge that seemed to lead only to more of the endless wilderness.
'This shit is so uncomfortable. I don't know how anyone can actually wear this on a daily basis. What a shit-hole-of-a-world.'
His appearance was slightly different to when he was in the library; he now wore a white, oversized tunic, the ends of its sleeves bound by dark metal arm bracers. And a pair of dark linen trousers with black boots.
Giuseppe sighed sharply and kicked a stone off the path. It skidded off the bridge, then vanished into the vacuum of darkness below.
'Well, at least I spawned in with some clothes.' He thought with a small amount of gratitude as he remembered an unlucky young man who appeared in his Script, entirely naked, directly in the centre of the main city.
'Yeah, I suppose it could be worse.'
'It's honestly a miracle that guy actually managed to survive, though.'
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The sound of hoofs against cobblestones resounded in Giuseppe's ears, refocusing his attention ahead. He looked onwards to see an approaching carriage in the distance.
A wide smile began to curl up his face at the sight.
"Well, well, mother-fucking-well. Looks like I'm about to speedrun this shit after all."
The carriage drew closer; it was a luxurious construct of black lacquered wood with gold trim, framing the sigil emblazoned on each side: three swords piercing a golden lion from all sides.
Before long, the expensive carriage stopped before Giuseppe, and he stood face-to-face with two dark stallions and a furious face.
"Vrakk tol'shah, kihn! Vessar'tu drah zhun akhul'nar? Ka'reth jhaal akh'nakar!" The coachman shouted, but the one his anger was aimed towards appeared absent-minded.
Giuseppe stared up at him as if he were an alien. 'The fuck?'
'Right, I forgot to turn on auto-translation,' Giuseppe almost facepalmed himself, then jabbed one of the beads of his Connector.
"—If ye don't move, boy, I'll 'ave me horses ride ya down!" The coachman yelled.
Giuseppe blinked, and his eye twitched. 'Why the hell does he have an accent? And such a strong one at that. I can hardly understand what he's saying!'
He shifted his gaze briefly to his Connector. 'Some fucking translation. Useless!'
The coachman's glare only became more prevalent the longer Giuseppe seemed to ignore him. He yanked on the reins, causing the stallions to rear slightly, and their hooves kicked against the stone aggressively.
"I done told ya! Fool boy!" The coachman growled.
Whip!
The horses charged forward.
Giuseppe easily dashed out of the way; the horses hadn't yet built up enough speed to have been a threat at all. But that wasn't what mattered to him.
"What the fuck, bro?!" Giuseppe shouted angrily at the coachman, but the carriage thundered past, the man laughing like a maniac as he did so. He turned his head back to mock the young man.
But his laughter was immediately caught in his throat as a shocked expression took over his face. The scene he expected did not appear before his eyes; instead, he saw the boy climbing onto the carriage, grinning like the legendary Kha'zul.
"Miss me already, bitch-man?"
The coachman barely had time to process the words. Before the maniacal young man lunged forward, his dark, hard leather boots slammed into the coachman's chest with a crack.
Whoosh! Crack! Bang!
The coachman was hurled through the air, flying off the carriage and crashing as he tumbled across the cobblestones gracelessly.
Giuseppe landed smoothly in the driver's seat, the wind whipping through his bucket-hat-less hair.
He let out a manic cackle.
"HAHAHAHA!"
He snatched up the reins; the horses hadn't stopped for a moment throughout the exchange of drivers; rather, they had only picked up speed.
"Looks like I'm in charge now, bitches!"
***
"—However… I do not know how to drive a carriage…"
***
Loud pounding echoed from within the carriage, but Giuseppe decided to ignore it.
Up ahead, a sprawl of canvas tents unfurled across the horizon. A trading camp, maybe?
He grinned and cracked the whip, mimicking the way the coachman had done it. The horses bolted forward with surprisingly even greater speed.
'What the hell were those guys on about? If carriage riding is this easy, Horse riding must be a breeze.'
Unfortunately, the noise from inside the carriage grew louder and more panicked with every bump in the road.
"What in the King's name is happening?! Drogo? Drogo!? I demand thou answer me at once, knave! Wherefore dost thou not speak? DROGO!"
Giuseppe rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. He inhaled slowly through his nose, then exhaled like a kettle.
'Oh. My. Fucking. God.'
He finally snapped back and looked over his shoulder without missing a beat, taking his eyes off the road for a single, brief moment.
"Would thou shutteth the fuck up!!"
Suddenly—
CRASH!
BOOM!
***
"It seemed I had misjudged the distance between myself and those tents.
Or maybe it's simply because I am terrible with horses.
Actually, no... It's because of that bitch in the carriage, yeah... It was entirely her fault."
***
The horses crashed straight into the largest structured tent.
The tents' outer fabric was completely torn. The wooden support beams splintered, and screams, surprised shouts, and gasps rang out.
The carriage toppled violently, flipping sideways as everything inside and out was thrown into mayhem.
Giuseppe barely had time to curse before he was crushed beneath the weight of two panicked, squealing steeds.
His ribs crunched under the weight of the horses. But what overtook that pain was his anger bubbled up within his chest. The frustration of everything that had happened thus far had finally reached its boiling point.
With a low growl, he gritted his teeth as he lifted the horses off him with brute force and a grunt that echoed across the now-silent tent.
Shing. Shing.
Shing.
Giuseppe blinked, still disoriented. But as he stabilised himself, he heard the distinct sound of weapons being drawn as he looked around him.
Surrounding him on all sides stood over a dozen armoured men, blades drawn and levelled at his throat. And he could hear more men clamouring from outside the tent.
Behind the knights stood a long banquet table, adorned with golden chalices and platters stacked with roasted meats, dripping fruit, stews, and spiced breads still steaming from the ovens.
At least twenty nobles sat around it—many of them now half-standing, food forgotten, eyes wide with shock.
But it was the man, if man he truly was, at the head of the table, who truly stole Giuseppe's attention; sitting atop a high-backed, thron-like chair was a broad-shouldered man clad in silver and blue layered robes.
He said nothing, his eyes, a glacial cyan, seemed hollow and infinite. They bore into Giuseppe, its emptiness remained entirely unreadable.
'What is this? I can see him, I know what he looks like. But, at the same time, it feels like I'm staring at a blank page.'
The object of the king's gaze returned the stare, Giuseppe's eyes turned a shade darker, his pupils expanding into obsidian pools.
But he saw nothing.
Not a flash of colour, no beast rising from the man's form. Nothing. It truly was as if he were staring at a blank page.
Giuseppe frowned. This is absurd. There is no way someone like that doesn't have a fighting spirit.
But before he could contemplate it further, a familiar, annoying voice shrieked from inside the wrecked carriage.
"DROGO!! I shall have you executed!! My father will hear of this!!!"
A dainty, furious hand slapped open the half-broken carriage door, and a dishevelled noblewoman tumbled out, cloak torn, hair wild with indignation.
Gasps erupted around the banquet table.
A young woman, elegant and clad in a flowing blue and silver gown, much like her father, her eyes blazing with anger as she looked around, seeking the source of her fury, only to find it absent.
This is the king's daughter. Princess Rhaella Isolde Au Kaor, The Iron Rose.
***
"I just tried to speak to them, you know. As you can probably tell, I am a huge diplomacy enthusiast. But seriously, they acted like savages. What was I supposed to do?"
***
"Detain him, this instant!" The king's whisperer ordered the knights.
However, before the Knights of the Iron Sword could act on Vaelen's order, Giuseppe charged at them like a wild beast.
But they were prepared.
Before Giuseppe could react, a swarm of knights were already upon him.
He sent a punch to one of the knight's armoured faces. But the only damage done was to his own wrist.
'Holy fuck, what is that thing made of.' Giuseppe thought in surprise. He was used to tearing through metals with his bare hands, so this common knight's helmet, forged in a world that seemed like it was based around a medieval era, shouldn't have been any different.
But Giuseppe wasn't given any time to dwell on that, as another knight swung his Warhammer down upon Giuseppe from above.
The knights assumed Giuseppe had no room to move as he was being pinned from all sides by the surrounding knights.
However, to their shock, Giuseppe bent his body to an unnatural degree and sent a kick to the Warhammer Knight's chest, but like the other knight, he didn't move an inch as the kick only seemed to harm his own ankle.
But he didn't bother to register the pain as he dashed toward another knight holding a shield and a morning star.
This time, Giuseppe didn't try to directly attack the knight. He had a theory he wanted to test.
He grabbed the knight's wrist and twisted it, shockingly easily.
'Looks like I was right...'
The knight dropped his morning star in pain, and Giuseppe grabbed it as he dashed back to the Warhammer Knight.
Immediately, Giuseppe swung wildly, bringing his newly acquired Morningstar to the Warhammer Knight's armoured face, and a wide grin began to tug on Giuseppe's lips.
Then, right as the weapon and helmet were about to meet—
Tap.
The sound of a single finger tapping on a table rang throughout the tent.
And with that sound, Giuseppe's grin faltered, the Morningstar never connected, the satisfying crack of a clean hit never came.
Instead, everything went black.
***
"Aaaand, then I woke up here." Giuseppe finally concluded his story as the rest of the prisoners in his cell clapped. Even a few of the prisoners in the surrounding cells joined in.
Thought most of the residents of this dark, disgusting dungeon seemed unimpressed. Who would believe that kind of story.
"Hahahahaha! Yer' tellin' me ya just charged into the royal's camp, and you want me to believe you weren't executed on the spot!?" A haggard looking man said, he stank of alcohol and piss.
"Maybe some of the nobles were just star-struck by my unfathomable rizz," Giuseppe responded to his cellmate, as if he were genuinely considering the possibility.
Another cellmate turned to Giuseppe with a strange face, "Ye talk weird, lad. Where ye from?"
"Very far, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." He responded cryptically; the other cellmates didn't bother divulging further. Misinterpreting his intentional obscurity.
"Well, since we're talkin' 'bout our crimes. I might as well share, too," The alcoholic prisoner announced.
"So there I was, down at the tavern—like ya do. Then it hits me—I got not a damn coin ta pay me tab! But wouldn't ya know it? In strolls some poncy-lookin' cunt in the most bastard silks. So I clobbered 'im! HAHAHA! Guards gave me a right proper beatin', they did, but I slipped outta payin', didn't I? Worth it, I say! Hahahaha!"
The other prisoners laughed. Then, another spoke up—clearly interested in sharing as well.
"Had ta feed me young'uns, didn't I? So I slipped into some noble brat's chamber and nicked a pile o' trinkets. Reckon they'll take me hands for it, sure enough—but I got more'n enough to live fat the rest o' me days. So I ain't fussed." The prisoner said, before continuing with a laugh.
"An' fer the rest o' me nights with arms, well—well-these lovely lads'll do jus' fine, ay?" He gave a crude nod toward his groin.
The thief's actions got a laugh out of the others. Even Giuseppe found himself chuckling.
'Huh, I guess what that text said was true...' He thought back to the information he had read about this world.
[...The heavens turned a blind eye to the debauchery, the degeneracy, the corruption, and the profanity of the humans below...]
'Although I do feel like it was exaggerating a little. Surely it can't be that bad.'
Then, another prisoner spoke—this one appeared more neatly-dressed than the rest. Draped in modest grey robes not unlike those of a priest, he held himself with a quiet, reserved air, his voice was much softer than the others.
"W-well, since it seems we're all sharing," he said, although he tried to appear bold, it came out rather sheepishly.
"I do hope you'll permit me the same courtesy."
The drunken prisoner then responded with a hiccup and a grin, without missing a beat. "Not in the slightest, mate."
The robed man offered a small, appreciative smile.
"I once served as a man of the cloth, stationed at a humble monastery just beyond Veyndral Keep. A quiet place...We offered guidance, shelter, and education to the little ones of the region. Precious souls, eager to please. And well... now and then, certain children would leave a... lasting impression during their lessons," he chuckled lightly, almost nostalgically.
"There were always a few I kept close—Melissa, dear thing, and young Darvil..." The priest held back a huff as his face twisted in an obscene smile.
"Oh, both ever so devout..." He trailed off then, noticing how the dark cell had grown still around him. The warmth faded from his expression. Replaced by something else.
The prisoners all looked at him with a gaze colder than the hellish lands of Varr'kul, where the winds flay flesh from bone.
Giuseppe noticed that the previously disinterested prisoners in the surrounding cells all walked to the cold black bars of the dungeon.
Slowly—
Thud!... Thud!... Thud!
Their fists thundered on the bars of their cells, slowly, like the rhythm of a drum.
Thud!... Thud!... Thud!...
Before long, each and every prisoner was slamming their fists onto the bars. The priest looked around him frantically, dread creeping into his stomach as his chest tightened in fear.
The alcoholic prisoner stared at the priest as if he were already dead, "Well, who's taking this one, lads? New kid, how 'bout you?" He asked Giuseppe.
"Gla—" As Giuseppe was about to agree, another voice interjected.
"I will do it," the voice was deep and gravelly, like the growl of a beast.
Giuseppe turned his head and saw a giant mountain of a man, draped in a dark mantle that covered all his skin from the eyes.
'How did I not notice him earlier?' Giuseppe thought, slightly alarmed that his senses hadn't picked up on the behemoth-of-a-man.
"My daughter was good friends with Melissa before she dissappeared." The man said, his voice turned grave.
"Now that I know the reason my daughter cried for so many moons, how could I allow this?"
The mountain turned his hooded head to Giuseppe, "If you don't mind, young man. He's mine."
Giuseppe shrugged, and without a single sound of protest from the other prisoners. The man stepped toward the cowering priest, who finally appeared to understand his approaching fate.
"P-please. I will do any-" The priest's voice was cut short by the massive hand that carved into his face.
With a single slap from the cloaked man, the priest's brain had stained the walls.
"Blessed be the hand that strikes the wicked," the alcoholic prisoner said.
***
The overhead light flickers. Dies. Then hums to life again.
A young man with black hair sat on the cold bench of a holding cell, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles had turned white. They were scraped. Blood crusted over it. Blood that was not his own.
He stared ahead, his black eyes locked on the cell door, his foot tapping restlessly on the floor.
The door clanked. A tired, middle-aged detective in a wrinkled shirt stepped in with a clipboard and a cup of stale coffee.
"Kyle Morticau. Eighteen—nineteen tomorrow." He glanced at the clipboard, then at the young man.
"Hell of a birthday to spend behind bars." He sighed, flipping a page.
"No priors. No outstanding warrants...Hard to believe you would suddenly beat a man half to death in front of his fiancée..." Detective Hurst, as written on his lanyard, said without a change in his tone.
"I didn't!" Kyle shouted, raking a shaky hand through his hair.
"I swear to you—I didn't touch him. You have to believe me, officer."
Hurst squinted at the page, unimpressed.
"We've got you on camera—grainy, yeah, but it's you. Throwing a punch at a man in... what was the bar called?"
"...Heaven Dawn..." Kyle whispered.
The detective raised an eyebrow. "That's right."
Kyle immediately realised his mistake. "I've never been there. I don't even know where it is. I... I don't know how I knew that..." His voice trailed off. The longer he spoke, the more he realised how outlandish he sounded.
Hurst paused, watching him carefully. But when he spoke again, it was with the same weary tone.
"Listen, kid. The man isn't interested in pressing charges against you. So consider yourself lucky."
He stays silent for a minute, letting it sink in to the young man.
"But if I ever see you in here again... I will throw the book at you. And I won't miss."
His voice dropped lower.
"Fix your life up, kid. I've seen boys like you spend the rest of their days in a cell. Trust me. You don't want that for yourself."
"We're keeping you for another 19 hours. Use that time to think some."
He opened the door and stepped halfway through, then turned his head with a tired, flat smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Happy birthday. Morticau."
...
Giuseppe stirred awake, finding himself sitting in the corner of the cell by the black bars.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the quiet stillness of the cell. He looked down at his knuckles, they were clean.
Then up, through the only source of light in the cell, gazing at the moon that shone over Edathis.
"Who are you, Kyle?"
End of Volume 1: Glory Academy
________________________________
Author Note
;)