CHAPTER FIVE

The Greatest Lie Ever Told

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The Journey’s Respite, the town’s lone inn, was the last of Reise’s attractions that Bram and Rowan visited.

Its interior wasn’t anything like the fashionable inns of Bastille’s Hightown, but it was cleaner than Bram expected. The furniture was well-maintained for an inn in a small town on the outskirts of the shire. The seats they found at the Respite’s bar were comfy enough, while the food that was brought to their table—plates of meaty sausages, squashed potatoes, and hot onion soup—smelled scrumptious and looked delicious despite its commoner appeal. More importantly, at least for Bram, there were few patrons at this hour, giving them the privacy required to continue their conversation.

“Did you see the townspeople’s faces?” Rowan asked.

“I saw their dumbstruck expressions while they ogled you. The men and the women both,” Bram teased.

“I cannot help that,” Rowan smiled impishly. “I wasn’t speaking of the weak-minded though, but the armed men milling around the square.”

“Yes,” Bram’s expression darkened, “I noticed the mercenaries as well.”

It would have been harder not to notice them. There had been too many able-bodied people lined up outside the local mercenary guild’s front door.

“They looked eager…excited,” Bram deduced. “The excitement of those who smell opportunity coming and have begun preparing for it.”

“This gives credibility to the shopkeeper’s tale,” Rowan agreed. “The rebellion of your northern nobles may begin soon.”

“Which is why we need to move up the timeline of our plans,” Bram insisted. “How soon can we summon the first—”

A young server arrived to drop a bottle of cheap ale on their table, drawing both Bram and Rowan to silence until she left.

“I do not believe myself to be an altruist,” Rowan’s brow furrowed slightly, “but are you certain you want to summon unsuspecting otherworlders during a time of brewing conflict?”

Truthfully, the thought of using innocent lives to fight for him ate at Bram’s conscience. However, the seventh prince knew he had no other recourse for he had no allies to call on.

“It is like poison to my soul,” he admitted. “I have no choice but to swallow this bitter pill…although I do have an idea of how to make it more palatable.”

In his youth, Bram had researched all the ways one could acquire power without magic, and apart from the martial styles of the eastern continent, the seventh prince had found hope in the ancient legends of long-lost civilizations that had once populated Aarde before the time of the imperium’s rise. Among such legends was a tale of demigod-like beings called the fae who wielded trickery and bargains to steal the souls of mortals who’d captured their attention, forcing such mortals to serve and entertain the fae whilst they slept. In those sleeping hours, these mortals were transported to the fae courts to live half their lives in a magical realm. While in waking, these same mortals were returned to their regular lives to live as they would until they were called again in their dreams.

“I know of what you speak of…” A shadow passed over Rowan’s face, though it lasted only a moment before her smile returned. “And yes, such a scheme is possible for our situation. Instead of summoning their bodies to Aarde, we could limit it to the otherworlder’s soul instead, ensuring that they remained tethered to their world while they live in ours.”

“That would be best,” Bram agreed. “So long as their bodies remain in their world, any deaths on Aarde won’t be permanent.”

“Such deaths will leave scars on their souls though.”

“Life is pain. We both know that.”

Rowan didn’t disagree. Life on Aarde was difficult even for the nobles who could afford to live in it.

“We cannot simply steal their souls either…” The thought of such a theft made Bram’s stomach churn. He didn’t want to become a tyrant who forced others into submission. “We’ll make the transfer an enticing one that they’ll want to seek out repeatedly.”

Rowan’s hand froze in the middle of slicing a sausage so that she could look up from her plate. “What sort of trickery would entice them to give up half their lives to us?”

Bram recalled a vision of the other world that had fascinated him during his youth. It was an interesting contraption—a black box with glowing knobs and the visor and gloves that came with it—that allowed the people of the other world to experience strange and fantastical things as a form of entertainment.

“They called it…virtual reality,” the words felt unnatural to Bram’s tongue. “It is a game many of them play.”

“And you mean to trick these otherworlders into thinking they’re playing this sort of game?”

“Yes.”

“And when they die…what then?” Rowan challenged. “Will they simply return to Aarde when next they play like the undead fiends of old frightening your people with their undying nature?”

Bram shook his head. “For this to work, both sides must be fooled into believing the lie.”

The seventh prince contemplated this while he ate a slice of sausage.

“After dying once, they’ll be forced to start over under a new guise different from their last life…” Bram took a swig of wine. It left a lackluster taste on his tongue which was used to finer fare. “Their past achievements will remain in recorded history, but the people of Lotharin won’t recognize their new guises.”

“Assuming their faces remain the same, this will require tricking the minds of the locals as well so that they will not see these otherworlders from being the same person as the one that had recently died,” Rowan deduced.

“It is possible then?” Bram sounded hopeful.

“There’s nothing easier than tricking a mind into believing the improbable is impossible…” Rowan’s brow creased. “Still, to redo a life from scratch after having spent a great deal of effort on it…this sounds more like a punishment than a game.”

“An easy game is a boring one,” Bram insisted.

“And a game too challenging will not attract the numbers you require,” Rowan countered.

“It will,” Bram said confidently. “Aarde is a realm of wonders that will fascinate the otherworlders just as I am in awe of my visions of their world. Once they have had a taste of Aarde, they will long for it, desire to dwell in it, and choose to explore it of their own free will.”

“Tis true that men are easily swayed by beauty and wonder,” Rowan conceded. “And you may be right that Aarde will fascinate them, but living in a new land and fighting in a war are two different matters. How will you persuade them to join the undertaking?”

“Humans are filled with desire, and what they cannot achieve in their world, we must make them believe they can achieve here.”

“You think them too like you.”

“They must be…” Bram gulped down the entire glass of cheap wine as if to fortify himself for his next words. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have such a strong connection to them as I do now.”

“Perhaps,” Rowan conceded again. “But why would they risk pain and suffering for you?”

“You underestimate a person’s capacity to endure strife and struggle to achieve their dreams,” Bram answered.

“Certainly, they may choose to fight and die, but why would they choose the ill-fated prince?” Rowan challenged.

Bram frowned at hearing his ill-fated moniker from her lips. “Must you say that name…?”

“I thought I would try it out once.” She smiled impishly at him. “Still, my question stands. Why you when they could easily choose another of Atlan’s royals or nobles to serve?”

“They cannot.”

“Why not?”

“The system we build will have safeguards to ensure our interests are prioritized.” He poured more wine for himself and Rowan. “It will grant them their heart’s desire while binding them to me, to you, and Lotharin.”

“And what of their freedom?” Rowan asked.

She took a sip of wine. Her wrinkling nose told Bram she did not enjoy its taste.

“They will be free to choose how they live their lives on Aarde but within the limitations of the system,” Bram answered.

“I see.” Rowan smiled again. Wider this time. “Limit their choices to those that will benefit only the great undertaking.”

“Exactly,” Bram replied. Then, with a sigh, he added, “It will be the greatest lie ever told…”

Rowan shook her head.

“Not a lie, My Prince,” she whispered, tilting Bram’s chin up with delicate fingers so that they locked gazes. “It will be the greatest trick ever sold.”

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Bram and Rowan left Reise with full stomachs and happy thoughts.

They came scouting for a town that had the infrastructure already set in place to help otherworlders begin their journey on Aarde without any nobles around to impede them. Reise’s amenities were deemed passable by the duo, and with a little capital investment from Bram, it would serve as an excellent base of operations from which to begin their grand undertaking.

“About this system…” Rowan glanced sideways at Bram who walked alongside her on the dirt road. “How exactly do you plan to build it?”

“We’ll find others to help us manage and improve it, to extend its influence across two worlds, but the system exists already,” Bram replied.

Rowan’s face lit up with understanding. “The fascinating sorcery inside of you…it works as a guide to aid in your improvement, does it not?”

Bram laughed.

“For years its existence was just a reminder of my failings,” he scoffed. “Only with your help did the system finally deign to be of use.”

“Then I am to be the battery that will empower this system so that we might share it with the otherworlders?”

“Will you be able to do it?”

“I will…though it will weaken me greatly.”

Bram’s steps slowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Like any act of sorcery, the magic required for so great a trick will consume most of mine…and it will continue to drain me so long as I maintain it, which also means I can be of no help should your enemies choose to strike at us again.”

Bram’s face turned contemplative.

“What if we found other magical sources that could help empower your spell…sources you might be able to absorb to replenish your power?”

“Tis as if you’ve read my mind.” Rowan linked her arm around Bram’s. “There are many artifacts on Aarde that I could use to supplement my power… Relics that could make me stronger.”

“Relics…” Bram couldn’t help smiling. “I assume you speak of items that hold divinity in them?”

“There is no magic more delectable than that which comes from the arrogant gods,” Rowan answered.

Bram recalled such relics that he’d read about during his research. They were many and varied, these powerful sources of magic and divinity; the bones of saints, rings of power, the vestiges of past champions, even the great symbols of the high clergy…

“We’ll use the otherworlders to seek these sources out,” he promised.

“Good.” Rowan led Bram onward as if they were lovers taking a stroll at a park. “I too will need to grow stronger if I am to have my vengeance…”

As she said this, Bram recalled a strange sight he’d seen after they left the Journey’s Respite. One where a well-manicured lawn had turned into a wasteland of shriveled grass and dead earth while the priests of the sun god Phoebus tried desperately to cure the now-blighted lawn with sorcery fueled by divinity. They’d failed. Rowan’s curse was that potent.

“We shall both have our hearts—”

Bram frowned.

They had walked a fair distance from Reise and could now see the auto-carriage that waited for them. Only, as he saw it idling there by the side of the road, Bram couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss. It was just a feeling, but the seventh prince had learned to trust his gut.

“Rowan…can you sense anything?”

“I wondered if you would notice.”

“What do you see?”

“Tis not what I see, but what I smell.” Rowan tapped a finger against her nose. “They are very potent, the stench of blood and steel…”

“How many?”

“More than enough to trouble you.”

Bram frowned. “What do you…?”

Rowan unlinked herself from him and then stepped aside.

A smile, impish and taunting, appeared on her face. It was the face of a true trickster. “If the power inside of you is to be the backbone of our great undertaking, should we not attempt a trial of its capabilities?”

Rowan’s gaze drifted to the sword tied to Bram’s waist.

“Wield this sorcery to fight, struggle, and live.” Her voice had become like the booming challenge of a thunderclap. “Show me you are worthy of your great ambition!”

Bram sighed.

Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. The moment that the trickster of legend would demand proof of his determination—his worth. He would show her. For as always, Bram had a plan.

“Watch me then.” The seventh prince’s expression hardened. “Show status.”

The All-Seeing Eye blinking at the corner of his vision expanded, unveiling a ghostly blue window that gave Bram the quantitative representation of his abilities.

 

 

 

There was a blinking (+) symbol beside intelligence that made Bram tap on it, causing a new notification to appear.

 

 

‘I was prepared for this…’

Bram tapped on [Administrator Lv.1] next.

 

 

It seemed strange to Bram that such promising sorcery could not help him in his youth.

 

 

The notification failed to explain how growth was possible. Nor did it detail what a system update meant or how to trigger one. These inconsistencies did not deter Bram, however, as he’d vowed to figure out all there was to learn of it soon enough.

 

 

‘So, others might be able to switch professions at a whim while I am stuck in place… How infuriating.’

The final lines of [Administrator Lv.1] were a list of his abilities.

 

 

As Bram checked the first of his only two abilities, a new incantation appeared in his mind’s eye. “Emulate…”

 

 

 

‘Curious that even the system recognizes her chosen name…?’

 

 

Necessity drove Bram to tap on [YES]. With this choice, a great deal of pain wracked his body—and then oblivion took him.

 

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