Hero: Part Eleven
“Thirty-Five! Where the hell have you been? The most wonderful being in all of creation will be here in just a couple of minutes! Do you want to embarrass me in front of her?” Jacques shouted at his coworker—F-Class 'Courier' Rhys Ap Brynmarwolaethbrenindraigareimarch—whose relaxed stride oddly justapoxed with the anxiety and excitement now running wild inside the ’Javelinist.’
“Calm down, man!” The Draigesque student casually replied, stroking his golden goatee. “I got here thirty minutes ago, and I kinda got lost—these buildings all look the same to me.”
More than a third of the Relax Section was occupied by the dormitories of Class-C students—massive, lifeless, and indistinguishable apartment blocks. Although they were not built from the raw gray concrete of the capital’s slums, they were just as sterile, bland aesthetic lacking the charm for which Miraval City was known—the flowers and gilded decorations that normally adorned its buildings. That being said, at least trees and bushes seasoned the streets, forming a red-and-yellow maze winding throughout the entire district, bathed in the atmospheric violet glow cast by the cast-iron streetlamps.
No fucking way there aren’t free rooms for us Class F!
Witnessing so many empty apartments only fed Jacques’ conspiracy theories. “So, did you, at least, bring what I asked for?”
“No problem, man—[Unloading.lot(37)].” A deep wound opened in the ’Courier’s’ palm, but instead of blood, trillions of blue particles poured out. The bluish pollen twirled throughout the air before slowly wafting down, settling upon itself until it formed a tangible silhouette.
*HNNNNNnnnnrrRRRrrr!*
The cry of a horse shattered the silence of the night, followed by a bluish flash of light that blinded everyone for an instant, and when the young men reopened their eyes, the particles had vanished, replaced by the animal and by the ornate carriage it was harnessed to. ”Don’t worry about our little friend. The whole trip lasted less than an instant for him, so it didn’t feel any pain…I guess.” Although the integrity of the packages wasn’t, by contract, his responsibility, Rhys’s etiquette alone would never have allowed him to hurt an innocent creature. However, his coworker’s reaction was different from the one he had expected from a pro bono favor.
“Are you kidding me?! I told you to find me a Suzerain Ala Dorada. What the fuck is this shit?!” The innocent horse’s eyes became wet under the barrage of insults.
“A Suzerain El Dorado, just like you asked,” Rhys calmly replied, consoling the animal with a gentle caress beneath its neck.
“Ala Dorada, not El Dorado, you fucking idiot!”
Rhys shrugged. “Who cares, Thirty-Seven? They both look golden to me.”
“THIS ONE HAS NO WINGS! Tell me how I’m supposed to fly to the theater without a Pegasus?!” The ‘Javelinist’ pointed at Mother Korinna’s Dome, whose greenish glow freed from the darkness of the night the dozens of flying steeds and the lovely couples riding them. The ladies kept themselves tight at their knights, and Jacques wanted exactly the same. ”Also, are you blind!? Its fur is yellowish, not golden!”
“Wait a minute…” Rhys paused for a couple of seconds, then burst out laughing, loudly. “Did you seriously think you could rent a Pegasus the day before the season’s opening?—Ahah!” His laughter only fueled Jacques’ rage, but he couldn’t argue either. “Don’t worry. Isn’t Carmen a plebeian like you? She won’t care, trust me.”
“Shut up—IT’S OVER!” Jacques dropped to his knees, head bowed, pounding the ground as he cursed his [LUK = −999]. “She’s going to look at me in disgust, saying I’m not a real man for not letting my woman shine above the others!” Although he had learned long ago that mocking people was a one-way road to suffering the same humiliation, Rhys could not help but pity his foolish coworker. However, at that exact moment, he noticed the door of the apartment complex opening, prompting him to swiftly retrieve a mask from his [Inventory].
It was pitch black, featuring no openings for the mouth or nose, with the exception of a single one for the right eye—half-moon shaped—and, on its left side, the Shurapatri Number Thirty-Five—written as XXXV—was painted vertically in golden ink. After putting it on, Rhys jumped onto the driver’s seat of the carriage and took hold of the reins, just as the lady placed a hand upon her knight’s shoulder.
“Jacques, what are you doing on the ground?” The Javelinist, still drowning in the pit of his depression, lifted his gaze and was instantly petrified by the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. Carmen stood over him, wearing that astonishing dress and several accessories rented from Katrina—crystal stiletto shoes, a Firefox stole draped over the shoulder left bare by her nightgown and warmed them with faint flames, and sublime makeup that, while not on the same level as when she impersonated Valentina, accentuated her warm features while lending her the maturity required for an event of such importance. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Carmen murmured, nervously stroking her silky brown hair. “Do I look ugly?”
Jacques immediately waved his hands frantically, mumbling something utterly incomprehensible. Carmen burst into heartfelt laughter, making a knot of doubt finally loosen around Jacques’ heart.
“Shall we go? The longer you linger, the later you’ll be.” The masked coachman proposed, and his words made Carmen notice something familiar.
“I can’t believe it!” Enthusiasm sparkled in her chestnut eyes as she ran toward the yellow animal, gently caressing it. “This is an El Dorado! Jacques, how did you know it was my favorite horse?”
The Javelinist sprang to his feet, brushing dust from his tuxedo as his confidence fully returned. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to make this night unforgettable?” He winked as he opened the carriage door, and the ’Ego Witch’ rewarded him with one of her radiant smiles as she took his hand to step inside. Then, Rhys flicked the reins, and the yellow horse trotted forward, heading toward the Miraval Bridge.
Although horse-drawn carriages were infamous for ruining people’s backs, the roads of Miraval City ensured minimal vibration, allowing the couple to travel in comfort, and through the windows, they admired the starry night and the hundreds of carriages gliding through the sky, hauled by the splendid wings of Pegasi.
“You wanted to fly like that too, didn’t you?” Jacques asked, tone betraying a note of bitterness.
“No, that would be greedy of me. Besides, where would you even find a Pegasus to rent the day before the season opens?” Despite her words, Jacques still grimaced, regretting, just a little, his decision to trust Rhys instead of simply breaking the legs of one of the renters. Noticing his expression, Carmen softly squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Jacques. For the dress, the ticket, and this beautiful ride—you’re a true friend.”
What the fuck does she mean by that?
Jacques thought, grimacing even more. “Ahem…it’s the bare minimum!” He declared aloud, trying to clear his mind. “Just repaying you for saving my life, and everyone else’s—you’re the heroine who saved this city.”
She blushed, fidgeting with her fingers. “N-no, no…y-you’re wrong. It was your plan that saved both of us, remember?”
“But it would have failed without your [Skill],” Jacques insisted. “Uncovering Mr. Guada’s secret and forging an alliance with him—you’re a great Essentia.” Carmen awkwardly smiled. “Well, I don’t know which of us deserves more credit, but I do know one thing—we make a great team.”
Their eyes met, and, for an everlasting moment, they saw something in each other’s eyes—difficult to describe, yet easy to feel. Then, almost simultaneously, they looked away, faces flushed, softly giggling to break the tension.
“Jacques, I want to thank you for another reason.” She slapped both her cheeks to ready herself. “You’ve opened my mind to a few things that completely changed my worldview.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember the story you told me on Mother Korinna’s cabin? About how you learned to stop sharing the hatred for your enemies with their people?” The ’Javelinist’ nodded. “Well, starting today, I’m going to stop hating the Marians!”
He blinked, caught between surprise and confusion.
Good for me, I guess.
“Ahem…I never would’ve thought you were capable of hating anyone in the first place.”
“Oh, I am trying to be a good person, but the Marians have gone too far. They even stole the paternity of one of our most beloved Suzerain dishes—the Pizza!”
A patriotic surge of adrenaline roared for Jacques to defend his homeland’s honor, but another kind of love prevailed. “Ahah…I always thought the Marians invented it,” he mumbled. “You know, the red of the tomato, the white of the mozzarella, and the green of the oregano—the three colors of the Marian flag.”
The Ego Witch grimaced. “That’s a filthy lie! The original pizza recipe was red tomato, white mozzarella, and yellow pineapple—the three colors of the Suzerain flag!” She crossed her arms, triumphant. “You know what? After the show is over, we’re going to a Suzerain pizzeria, and I’ll make you try the real pizza—with triple pineapple!" Jacques silently ordered Rougeserker to stab him in the leg. Sadly for him, that kind of pain wasn’t enough, and the smile he forced onto his face came out painfully insincere. “And that’s just one example. Marians harbor a morbid hatred for Suzerains, obsessing over everything we do and always finding something to criticize,” the Ego Witch revealed.
“Y-you’re o-overexaggerating,” the Javelinist muttered, his words still echoing with pain. In response, she pulled out her yellow diary, selecting year 1994.
“This is an electoral speech by the most crooked Marian who ever lived. I’m going to read it, and then you can tell me whether I’m really that wrong.” Jacques gulped—he exactly knew who she was talking about.
“Friends, Marians, countrymen, lend me your votes. Never in our history has La Piazzetta Bella been filled with such enthusiasm as it is today, and among the hundreds of faces gathered here to hear an uncomfortable truth, I see hundreds of mirrors—each one reflecting my own rage at the catastrophic state of our economy, our politics, and our lives. Wretched is the result of three years in which Maria has been forced to prostitute itself for the benefit of a few! Three years of self-sodomy! Three years without a Di Mario inside L’Ufficio Bianco!
“I am sure you all remember how our great metropolis was founded. After the Hero Roland slew the Twilight Queen, Chaotia was divided among the Holy Heroes. Nagoe took the vast Nixieland, Anna the fertile Emerald Lands, Xoána the wealthy territory that is now the Sealt, and so on. But what of their companion and friend, Hero Mario? How was he rewarded for twelve years of loyal service to his Emperor? With a single village at the edge of the known world, inhabited by a few hundred fishermen living just a few steps away from a toxic swamp full of Eldritch Abominations. And yet, look at it now! The largest, most populous, and wealthiest city the world has ever known—Maria is a living legend!”
“How did we force geographers across the world to place our tiny fishing village on every single one of their maps? Simply, through the muscles and brains of thousands of people working together for a vision that did not give a damn about their rules or privileges! And they tried to stop us. War, famine, and plague, all the worst tragedies ever imaginable have attempted to crush the Free City of Maria and its people. But a Marian does not complain, a Marian does not cry, and Marian does not live in regret—no one saved us but ourselves. Pain has been our greatest ally, teaching us our mistakes without missing once, and in the end, we bent reality to our will. We are the authors of our own lives, and our destiny can be rewritten according to how much we are willing to pay for the ink, a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. That, ladies and gentlemen, is—Il Sogno Mariano!”
“Today, we are here to save the Marian Dream from ourselves. From an administration that has allowed the fruits of our sacrifices to be devoured by Suzerain sharks. As all of you know, no tragedy has brought us greater devastation than the nest of devils known as the Free City of Suarez. To call its inhabitants leeches would be an insult to parasites, for nature itself is innocent in its excesses—fire and fire alone is the cure for fire. Suarez is a city rotten to its core, founded by the most loyal Dog of the Twilight Queen—once a heretic, always a heretic—and until the Suzerains will continue to breathe the same air as we do, there can be no peace.”
“Yesterday, an old woman stopped me and begged for an answer to a question no one else dared to ask let alone answer—Where has the Maria of my youth gone? Dead, I told her. Butchered on the altar of a Heretic god—stability. We are the Children of Chaos, and death is not our enemy—stagnation is. Let the Wheel of History be bathed in our and in the blood of the Suzerains alike, and let's reclaim the right to die as we choose!
”Vote for my uncle. Vote Gianroberto Di Mario as the next Podestà of Maria. VOTE FOR THE DEATH OF SUAREZ!”
Yeah, I was so cool on that stage. After that, my uncle’s victory was a landslide.
Jacques smiled as he drowned into his memories.
“Thanks for opening my mind,” Carmen continued. “The hatred between Suzerains and Marians is artificial because we’re both pawns in the hands of those scum who pit us against one another for personal profit.” She straightened her arm, punch high and tone firm. “So, starting today, instead of hating all Marians, I’ll hate just one of them. The root of all evil, the physical embodiment of that is all wrong in this world, and the only being who does not deserve Adam’s Gift—
"Rinaldo Di Mario.”
