Chapter 156: Getting Serious

Nearly a thousand hundred soldiers to plunder two territories in less than four hours. An egregious task to the ordinary men of this world. However, with the aid of the Otherworlders, one territory was already plundered.

But what did it mean to plunder? Plundering meant looting. It meant taking away the prized possessions of everything the village had. The Templars were surprisingly okay with it. The Holy Dynasty were a little less eager.

The innocent villagers left their homes to offer up their stuff, as though knowing what was to happen. They lined-up and awaited their fates. They were lucky none of them were actual plunderers. With every item the helmeted Templars took, they walked away faster with guilt. Whatever their institution had told was irrelevant. It simply wasn’t easy for a modern person to steal from a crying child.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Though not everyone harboured guilt. Kazi crossed his arms, watching Noor snatch necklace after necklace from their little line-up.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Noor stopped as she yanked a golden chain. “Ooh, this is from the Golden Vale. I can tell. Thank you, ma’am.”

The stammering Irish woman gave a tentative nod. Noor wasn’t stealing willy-nilly, she was carefully selecting what to take.

“Were you a thief in your previous life?” Kazi asked, following along.

“These people aren’t real,” Noor replied. “Are you judging me?”

“No, just curious.”

“Good.” A smile spread across her face and her eyes shimmered in the light of gold. “Now, gimme all the gold you have.”

’Not a thief, but…’ His thoughts trailed off. ’I see. That’s sad.’

Kazi shifted his attention to the players he was fighting with. It was demonstrated in the previous battle that Templars and Holy Knights held a distinct advantage over non-guild players. Firstly, the Templars picked the best of the best, former athletes in particular. All of them were forced to conform to the Templar’s weaponry and uniform yet not oppressively so. They carried swords and shields on the regular and on their off-time Kazi would often catch them switching to spears or their fists.

William had made friends with Max and his little Templar clique. They were muscle-heads, people that liked to go to the gym, exactly like William did. Kazi let him be and decided to approach a separate Templar group that wasn’t Emma or Samuel. As nice as they were, they also seemed quite…oblivious, to put it kindly.

Boyan, Finley, and Harrison. Levels 19, 18, and 15 respectively. Too powerful, not too weak, somewhere in the middle.

“Hey,” Kazi greeted while fresh glasses of lemonade. “Good work out there.”

Boyan tilted his head as he was forcibly given a glass. “Woah, where did you get that?”

“Inventories are refrigerators, you know that?” As he said that, he handed a glass over to Finley. The Templar quietly thanked him.

“Oh, right.” Boyan nodded as he stared at the delicious glass. Slightly fizzy, it appeared straight out of an advertisement on TV. “Yeah, our teacher says that a lot.”

“But we only get to pack boring stuff, like rations, water, and that stuff,” Harrison said. “Sugary drinks are a no-no.”

“Luckily, I’m not in your class.” Kazi winked, gave Harrison the last glass, and sat down beside the trio. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

Following that, the conversion delved into the battle and strategies and they came to be. Kazi slipped false information and proclaimed that it was Cillian that suggested it, willfully omitting the fact that he was one to suggest the pincer assault. He made them believe it was Cillian.

“That’s what the rumours say, anyway.” Kazi sipped on the lemonade. “Is Cillian really that great?”

In response, he received shrugs.

“I guess…

“He’s stronger than me, yeah.”

“Meh.”

’More mixed than I thought.’ Sip. ’I wonder why?’

“Did he do something?”

Harrison shook his head, contemplating. “Ehhh, yeah, kinda. See, last week, Cillian lost to some outsider. I wasn’t there but the battle was over in an instant. He used to be the strongest and I guess he still is since we only have a couple Class III knights but people don’t take him as seriously anymore.”

“I also heard he got so frustrated that he almost died to Goliath,” Boyan added. “His class pretty much had to jump Goliath and then fight the entire Philistine army.”

So that was who he was surrounding himself with during the assault—Cillian’s class.

’More importantly, he said last week. Don’t tell me…was it Ms. Sun-young?’

The timeline fit, as did the overwhelming defeat. Sun-young was fast and as a shieldsman Cillian’s fighting style would be based on defence. If that defence was ripped apart by speed alone, then the battle would likely end in an instant.

Siting on the ground, recalling Sun-young’s face, he looked to the street across from him. The houses were primarily made of stone. Directly across from him was a church. Cillian was the only man that went inside. Plundering churches and filling it with soldiers probably went against their sacred tenants.

The door to the church opened. Cillian walked out, a priest following him.

That wasn’t what caught Kazi’s attention.

No, what caused his eyes to widen and his pulse to race was the thing behind the priest, behind the closing door: a tall, dark man in a bloodied white mask. He blinked and it was gone.

“Uh, excuse me for a second.”

Kazi sprinted over to check the church doors. Cillain noticed him and flagged him over. “Kazi Hossain, are the mages—”

“Accounted for, yes,” he said hurriedly before opening the doors. Nothing. No one was inside. There wasn’t a window to escape from either.

’No way, am I going crazy? I swear I saw him.’

His brain didn’t make mistakes.

…right?

Cillian waited patiently for him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Kazi glanced back at the church doors. “It’s nothing.”

“In regards to the mages…”

“Yes, I’ve been keeping count. They’re all here. Me, Noor—” He proceeded to list all fifty mages in the area. Cillian was taken aback though readily accepted the information. Meanwhile, Kazi’s fingers tensed. If Jack was here amongst them, then he knew that Kazi knew. He would be next to die.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” Cillian replied. “That will be all. Thank you.”

Cillian walked off, leaving Kazi with his thoughts.

’Maybe it’s time I get a little serious.’

He went to the space between the church and the home. A secluded space filled with semi-weary civilians, secretly eyeing him and wondering what he was doing.

He flashed them a comforting smile and plopped down. “Open inventory,” he intoned, taking out a small ornate mirror. It was something he had received from Elena as a gift. Who knew it would come to be so handy.

One hand held up the mirror, reflecting his pristine features, while the other dug into his inventory for another item: surma.

In his neighbourhood (if a person could call it that), there was a close family of Punjabis from Pakistan. Once, when Kazi was told to talk to some higher-up in their local government, he was told to wear it for appearance’s sake. It would accentuate his eyes, the uncle said.

Kazi delicately traced the contours of his eyes with a finger of surma. The rich black powder surma brought out the intensity of his hazel eyes and he continued to trace till the surma went along the lash line with a single finger, perfecting a thick shadow eyeliner that would garner the envy of millions. It was a ritual that had nothing to do with physical enhancement. It was a fortification of his willpower. No magic, no secret spell, it was a way to amp himself up. Looking good and feeling good.

Metal boots belonging to Samuel crunched the ground behind him. It was a cautious, gentle approach, and he politely asked, “What is it that you’re putting on?”

“Surma,” Kazi replied. “A ceremonial thing a friend of mine did for important events. Looks cool, right?

“Well, um, sorry to say this, but it’s time.” Samuel jabbed a thumb over to the nearby summoned horse. “We gotta go.”

Assuming there were injuries, thirty minutes was the maximum amount of time they were allowed to stay at a given territory. In this case, there weren’t. It was a swift victory.

The flare was set off.

Next was Howth, and after that, Jack.

*****

“These past few weeks, I find myself musing over the peculiarities of this realm. Make-up and fashion—what idiotic concepts to obsess over, yet here we are, a society built on frivolous adornments and superficial beauty. Personally, I despise the whole affair. The endless powders, the gaudy fabrics, and the ridiculous trends that sweep through the Nebulous Bazaar like a plague. It’s all so tedious and pointless.

But, I am not blind to the power these trivialities hold. Soft power, they call it. Or is it gentle power?

Regardless of names, it is the ability to influence and control without force. It’s a subtle art, one that I, in my infinitely infinite wisdom, have chosen to leave to my daughter, Hayami of the Taira clan. She has the patience for it, and more importantly, the eye for it. Where I see foolishness, she sees opportunity. And so, I let her reign over these matters.

During the Chaotic Era as they now call it, I allied myself with Al-Khayzuran, the greatest threader and cloths-maker to ever grace these lands. She was, and still is, a force to be reckoned with. The only woman to hold influence for as long as I have, and for that, she has my respect.

It’s amusing, really. To think that our existence, fraught with battles and the pursuit of power, is so profoundly impacted by something as trivial as a shade of surma or the cut of a cloth. Surma, that fine powder used to adorn the eyes, enhancing their allure, has become a staple among the Muslim elite. The Abbasids, the Ottomans, the Safavids, the Mughal, all of them. Its origins are humble, but its impact is anything but. The women—and men, for that matter—swear by it, and Al-Khayzuran has perfected its blend.

Ah, what a strange world we live in. I love it.

P.S. If Hayami starts promoting those ridiculous feathered headpieces again, I might just have to intervene. There’s only so much idiocy I can tolerate, even in the name of power.”

– Excerpt from the private journal of the Eternal Emperor, 168 HE

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