002: Astel Meros Visconti
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Astel Meros Visconti.
The man who had returned back from the realm of the dead.
The man who had two identities.
The man who had attained the pinnacle, and the man who had lost everything.
Astel Meros Visconti.
Yes, that was him.
After reconfirming his name, he cleared his mind of unnecessary thoughts. He looked straight at the paved street in front of his vision, with the insides of his head wandering to somewhere else. He pondered as a question loomed inside his head: "What should he do now?"
Should he finish off the unfinished business of Meros Visconti's? Should he grant him the wish of him chasing after a fleeting star?
No, that would be impossible. He had no powers nor resources to fight against a kingdom head-on, much less even a normal being. He was no soldier, chief, king, or an emperor. He was simply a beggar; powerless and weak.
Even Meros himself knew that. After all, what could a beggar possible do against the might of a hundred thousand battle-hardened men? And against this machine called "Kingdom?"
It was ridiculous to the point where he could not help but think if this was a badly written joke.
And yet...
His heart, or rather, Meros' heart, still raged with desires of doing just that. It squeezed itself as it sent torrents of emotions of sorrow and grievances across his body. His skin shuddered, and his face crumpled with pain as Meros' feelings spread everywhere.
Despite having passed into the otherworld, Meros Visconti's desires still lingered on. It was a raging flame, unable to be pacified.
He gritted his teeth as he clenched his chest. Was this his fate? To be chained with these... impudent, filthy desires of someone else? Not only he became a beggar, his dignity and status became that of a slave, controlled by someone else he did not know.
It was ridiculous but it was being proven as a fact right before his eyes.
He could not help but scoff. Not to Meros Visconti but to himself.
'Fine, as an exchange for a second chance in life, I would at the very least, attain one of your ludicrous dreams.'
He said, marking the kingdom of Meros Visconti as his final goal. And only then did his new heart calmed down. It returned back to normal, beating as if nothing had happened.
Heaving the scent of the soil, he started to think plans. Small and big. Grand and elaborate. He continued thinking despite the thunderous tapping sound of the cold, harsh downpour.
It was obvious that he had to adapt and improvise as simply being a beggar could not face an entire kingdom all by himself. He had to change. He had to become something that could rival this final goal of his.
He thought about his old identity as Astel Hass. However, he rejected this thought immediately. He had the body of Meros Visconti, not Astel Hass. Even though his consciousness was transferred to this body of Meros, his powers and ability did not. The fact that his unkempt hair of his did not turn white as soon as he became Meros further supported this idea.
And even though he had vast knowledge and secrets stored inside his head, so what of it? Most of the untold secrets and knowledge he had collected as Astel Hass were simply useless to his current life. He and Meros Visconti lived in a totally different way of life, in a totally different body, and in a totally different world. And even if he could re-learn those "magics" of Astel Hass, it would only produce zero results and his own death.
Astel Hass' magic was only made for him and no one else. If someone who was not Astel Hass used those reality-bending magic of his, their body would be drained off of its fat and flesh, like a prune. Their ears and eyes would bleed, and most importantly, they would not be able to move their limbs again.
That was how dangerous Astel Hass' magic for everyone else.
Though he did not admit it, he knew he was pretty useless for someone who was known as the "Magna Magia," the World-Ending Calamity.
Sighing, he looked down. If he could not use his former status and ability, then he could become a warrior of horse and lance. After all, Meros Visconti already did that, and to a surprisingly amazing extent. He could follow Meros Visconti's original path of a horse-lancer step-by-step by recalling Meros' memories.
But just as soon as this idea rose up, it also got shot down. Because of Meros Visconti's unrestrained behavior of drinking and thinking of ridiculous thoughts, his memory had become muddled and vague. His time as a soldier in battle became a blurred mess and a memory blanketed by veiled darkness. Even worse is that his body would be unsuitable to handle a lance, or fight even. His hobby of drinking booze from all those years took tolls on his body. His body was not as it was used to be. He had become weak and fragile.
Despite having two identities, it was amazing that both of them would turn out to be this useless. It was amazing in fact that he wanted to clap for how absurd the situation before him were.
He looked around. If he could not fight, then...
Then... then?
Suddenly, a flash of white exploded inside his mind. If he could not fight, then, he could make the others fight for him.
Yes, this was the answer. Yes, this was it.
He gazed up the beggars. Like him, they were at the lowest of the low, trash beyond trash. They were society's garbage, useless and filthy.
But even a garbage could be recycled. It could be molded, crafted into something more. Something...
Better.
Yes, this was his only way out this this predicament of his. This was the correct decision.
These garba—beggars, who had succumbed to the gears of society, could be crafted into his henchmen, his followers. These men, who had lost their purpose in life, could be remodeled into something new. His soldiers, his hands, his eyes, and most importantly: the backbone of his power.
A smile crept up his lips. With the right manipulation and persuasion, he could amass devout followers and eventually, build up an organized group. And given enough time and resources, this could be enough to face the might of an entire kingdom.
Immediately, he recalled his past as Astel Hass. Although he lurked in the darkest shades of the world, he had no following. After all, those who were close to him or even those who wanted to become his followers were either dead or hunted down by those pretentious "heroes."
He continued searching, recalling those others who lived in the same shade as him. Those tycoons, kingpins of underground, criminal masterminds, and leaders of innumerable cults. He recalled how they turned others to their willing puppets, obeying every single thing they asked for.
Money. And power.
That was how they did it. No matter how extreme, their followers did their bidding because of the lure of money and the backing of the group they were in.
But he had no money. Nor influence and power.
He continued thinking. If he could not persuade others using money or power, then he had to think of something simplistic in nature. Something that could be used by a beggar like him.
Words? No, that was farcical, laughable even. What would words do against someone whose mind was broken to the point where they were nothing but mere soulless husk of a human being?
They would simply laugh at some foolish orator trying to persuade someone to follow them.
Allure of wealth and power? No, that would be similar to the former. He needed something raw, something that could be given in an instant. He had to reel them in with something hard and something that could make them obey his and his every command.
And for that, he needed something that could decide whether they live or die. Something that they desperately hungered.
Food.
That was the answer. The basic building blocks of life.
He looked at the beggars. They fought not for material wealth but for their very lives. They begged for whatever trash and coins others threw away because they had to. They scavenged for whatever filth and waste that came across their eyes just so they could live for another day.
They needed something to survive this nightmare called life. And for that, they needed food. To fill their stomachs. To live. To survive.
As soon as the question of "where to find food" sprung up from his mind, he recalled everything Meros Visconti saw during his life as a beggar in this city. Because of Meros Visconti's blurred vision, however, he could only see vague things similar to how someone looked something up from afar without glasses.
That alone, however, was enough for him. He did not need to see the whole city. He only needed to see places of interests, places where there might be food.
And soon, few areas rose inside his head. Stores, granaries, and markets. Some located far from his current location, some near. He recalled the area he was currently at as he navigated those places atop his mind.
Part of the slums, the street before him also known as the Seventh Lane. And on the eastern side of his vision lied the Eighth Lane, also called as the "Underground District" mainly because of the large amount of brothels and amusement shops for the filthy. On his west was the Sixth Lane, a street that bordered the slums. It consisted of mainly taverns and shops, particularly those of foods and beverages.
Because he had no money, it meant he had to steal. And thankfully, the downpour was there to aid him with his plans. He could only hope that those shops he saw inside Meros Visconti's memory weren't closed.
Standing up, he navigated his way west. He toured the slums, seeing more and more beggars sitting on each side of the street, all drenched under the same rain. He also saw houses poorly built atop one another, and saw crude, makeshift clothing that were sewn together from different rags hanging on strips of line. Upon looking at the state of those clothes, someone must've placed them under the rain to wash away the filth or was simply negligent on their part.
He continued marching and eventually, he got out of the slums. He saw a large paved road that headed on three sides, like a fork. One was directed in his direction, whereas the other two evaded the slums and headed directly both north and south.
He was at the Sixth Lane.
Under the torrential downpour, he navigated his way towards one of the shops inside his head. He saw a two-storied building with the lower part fully open for everyone to see. Near the entrance of the store, he saw rows of sacks cut open, revealing fruits of varying shapes and sizes. He also saw loaves of breads stockpiled on a shelf not far from the sacks.
He sighed in relief. Thankfully, one of them was open amidst the rain.
He walked closer. People came in and out from the shop, with paper parasols on their other hand as they trod under the rain. Some of them went inside a carriage parked on the side of the street, while some simply walked their way out towards the street, heading to somewhere else.
He stepped another foot forward. He saw the shop's owner; a pregnant woman with two kids on her side. The woman was handing out fruits and bread to a person in front of her. Meanwhile, the person before the woman took out his purse and opened it to pay for the goods he bought.
As he tried to guide his foot forward, he abruptly stopped. His heart, which drummed normally, suddenly ached. Instantly, he knew the reason why. Though his morality as Astel Hass had already passed, his morality as Meros Visconti thought otherwise. It told him that the woman before him was powerless, and he should not do this.
However, he had to. Just so he could save them both. Just so he could fulfill Meros Visconti's wishes.
'So please.'
Grimacing in pain, he pleaded for his—Meros Visconti's heart. And though it still ached in pain, it quelled itself enough for him to walk and run. Taking this as an opportunity, he executed his plan: He ran towards the shop and with his hand, took everything he could take. Bread, fruit, whatever he saw. The woman and the others, appalled by this behavior of his, took action and shouted.
"Help!"
"Pa!"
"It's a thief!"
"Thief! Thief!"
As one of the shop's customers came closer to him, he immediately took off, running away from the store. He did not care whether the food he stole would be drenched by the rain or not. All he cared was to run, and ran he did. He led his feet back to the slums, his mouth fully open as he breathed heavily.
Some men tried to chase after him but because of the torrential rain, they could only give up their chase and head back.
Meanwhile, he continued to run. Towards where someone could not chase him easily. Somewhere he would not be able to be caught easily. However, on the midst of his running, he stopped. His stamina caught up to him. Placing the goods he stole on his right hand and elbow, he rested his back on a wall.
He panted. Heaved every air he could inhale. Exhaled everything he could exhale. Just that act of his alone took this much toll on his body. And if he were to do more strenuous acts like fighting, what would happen to his already ragged body?
There was no question. No, it was ludicrous to think of it even. His body was already hurting so much that it was obvious what would happen to him.
Once he regained enough stamina, he dragged his feet somewhere within the slums. He entered narrow alleyways, ignored the beggars eyeing for the food on his hand, and entered places Meros had vague memories of.
Eventually, he entered a court, with two-storied poorly built houses acting as a wall to keep the prying eyes from seeing what was inside the court. He looked around, seeing beggars and the impoverished with their backs against the walls. Then, he moved his gaze downward, looking at the food he stole. Three fruits and three loaves of long bread. It was good enough.
Taking one of the loaves and placing it in his mouth, he asked himself; which should he give them to?
Though the answer was obviously a beggar, he had to pick someone strong. Someone capable enough to aid him in his future plans. He had to choose a meat shield, a person who could prove himself as a useful tool.
Memories of interacting with the other beggars moved inside his head. He watched Meros' communication with others like a film. Because Meros came from a different place, the communication was simply put, rough. Over time, however, Meros became more and more experienced at the tongue of the Hyjell, the area where he was at.
As the film of memories continued, he abruptly stopped Meros' memories as he looked at a certain person. It was a beggar, and just like him, came from a different place. The beggar had black hair in contrast to his gold, and always carried the expression of gloom and depression. Unlike him, however, the man always carried a sword on his waist, in spite of being a beggar or not.
It was obvious that this man was a swordsman of some sort.
Though the two never communicated with one another, they knew each other after seeing each other beg on the streets numerous times.
'He should do.'
He looked around, inspecting all the beggars before the court. He looked if there a sword on their waists but unfortunately, there were none. As soon as he didn't saw the man, he left the area and headed to places where the man in question might be right now.
Alleys, houses, courts. He continued to look. Time passed and eventually, the rain grew stronger, throwing thunder once in a while. That, however, was not enough to stop him.
Inside his mind, only the thoughts of finding his first servant remained. Not even the storm could disrupt his thoughts.
More time passed and eventually, he saw him. Just like Meros, the man sat behind a massive wall of stone, with his head facing front.
Carefully, he approached the man. As the man noticed Astel's feet and legs in his vision, he looked up, seeing Astel's face.
"You."
Astel said, his word in Hyjell. He looked at the man. Like a puppy, the man looked at him with eyes of curiosity. The man's gaze, however, was weak. His eyes were slowly faltering, collapsing as he succumbed to the harshness of reality.
If Astel were to be any late, perhaps the lady of death might have already took this man's life.
"Serve me."
And as soon as Astel's word of his reached the man's ears, the man simply stared at him, his eyes fixed on Astel's eyes. Astel did not waver, but deep inside his mind he was panicking. After all, he did not know how did those kingpins in his world hired people to be their obedient puppets.
This was his first time making someone his servant on his own accord.
'Was the word I said wrong?'
He nervously thought. However, he did not show his nervousness in front of the man. He looked at the man with eyes unwavering, full of determination.
The two stared in each other, engaging in a silent war of staring. Eventually, Astel gave up and coughed.
"You want to live, right?"
The man did not move, nor even uttered anything. He simply looked at Astel, full of curiosity. Perhaps this man in front of him was delusional, or simply had enough, he did not know. All he knew was the words coming out from this man's mouth.
"Then serve me."
Astel said, taking a fruit with his other hand and placing it high enough that the man's eyes could see the fruit dangling before him.
"Live."
'So you can serve me.'
Oh god finally I finished this, because god knows how much I re-wrote all the stuff and whatnot. This chapter, or rather, the area where he was at was originally set in an arid country (think of it like somewhere in the middle east, basically) but if I were to put that I thought to myself "the future chapters doesn't make any sense? How does this scene go? And how does this one go? Would the story even progress normally?" So yeah, if you saw any errors or just stiff scenes in this chapter, I'm truly sorry but that's the product of dozens or so rewrites haha...
Also, I need to fix the hair of the main character. It's not black but rather, blonde. I was thinking of another character when I wrote that so I'm truly sorry for that m(_ _)m
6
This chapter definitely builds nicely with the first. I'm excited to read the next one. I really do appreciate your approach to writing. I'm not sure what your background is but I see a lot of potential.
great work thus far. this looks very promising. and there's no rush. take your time
Great second chapter and I can already see the hard work you put into your story, also I like the how the seventh Street which is full beggars and filth is like a divider between the sixth Street that leads bright and beautiful parts of town and the eighth Street which is the dark and ugly parts of this town, it's something small but it makes the world building greater , am already making a mental map of the city.
Anyways author keep up the good work and take your time to churn out the good stuff