"So…Here's how it all went down.
I wake up in a forest, the lovely sun shining on my face. I'm feeling real good, you know?
Kind of annoyed that I'm out here sitting on the grass, but the character creation clothes come with self-cleaning and self-repair enchantments, so I'm not all that annoyed. I'm still in a pretty great mood.
Then, a pleasant surprise catches my eye. On the road, I see a nice carriage. And when I say nice, I mean real nice.
Black and gold designs, big beautiful stallions at the front. Some random old guy was driving it, but it's whatever.
Anyway, I wave my hand and ask for a ride, and the carriage comes to a stop. But then—"
***
"Vrakk tol'shah, kihn! Vessar'tu drah zhun akhul'nar? Ka'reth jhaal akh'nakar!" The coachman shouted angrily, but the one his anger was aimed towards appeared absent-minded.
'Shit, I forgot to turn on auto-translation,' Giuseppe thought, pressing a finger on 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, his eye twitched, instantly regretting turning on the translation.
"Who the fuck do you think your talking to, huh?!" He yelled back, voice rising in anger.
"I done told ya! Fool boy!" The coachman growled.
The whip cracked. 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.
The carriage thundered past, the driver laughing like a maniac. He turned his head back to mock Giuseppe.
But his laughter got caught in his throat as a shocked expression took over his face. The scene he expected didn't appear before his eyes; what he saw was the boy climbing on the carriage, grinning like Kha'zul.
"Miss me already?"
Before the coachman could react, Giuseppe lunged forward, his martial arts shoes slamming into the man's chest. He flew off the carriage, crashing and tumbling across the cobblestones.
***
"However… I do not know how to drive a carriage…"
***
Giuseppe stole the driver's seat, snatching up the reins as the horses snorted and fidgeted beneath him, but continued running. Loud pounding echoed from within the carriage, but he ignored it.
Up ahead, a sprawl of canvas tents unfurled across the horizon. A trading camp, maybe. Or something else.
He grinned and cracked the whip, mimicking the way the coachman had done it. The horses bolted forward with surprising speed.
'What the hell were those guys on about? If carriage riding is this easy, Horse riding must be a breeze.'
Unfortunately, the voice 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. Lord.'
He finally snapped back and looked over his shoulder without missing a beat.
"Would thou shutteth the fuck up!!"
Suddenly—
CRASH!
BOOM!
***
"It appeared I misjudged the distance between myself and those tents.
Or maybe it's because I am simply garbage with horses.
Actually, no... It's because of that bitch in the carriage, yeah... It was her fault."
***
The horses crashed straight into the largest structured tent.
Fabric ripped. Wood splintered. Screams rang out.
The carriage toppled with a violent lurch, flipping sideways as everything inside and out was thrown into chaos. 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 his anger bubbled up within his chest, overtaking his pain.
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.
He heard the distinct sound of weapons being drawn as he looked around him.
Giuseppe blinked, disorented, then froze.
Surrounding him on all sides stood over a dozen armoured men, blades drawn and levelled at his throat.
Behind them stood a long banquet table, adorned with golden chalices, silver 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.
At the head of the table, sitting atop a high-backed chair, was a broad-shouldered man clad in silver and blue robes—the king, going by the crown on his head.
He said nothing at first, he simply stared coldly at Giuseppe, the fury in his gaze so sharp it could've split stone.
Then, a 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 table.
One woman, young, elegant, and dressed in a flowing gown of blue and silver, much like her father, her eyes glowed with anger as she glanced around her, looking for the source of her anger, only to not find him.
The king's daughter.
Meanwhile, the king never broke his stare.
"Vaelen…"
The attendant nodded, and—
***
"I just tried to talk to them, you know. Diplomatically, and all that. But seriously, they acted like savages."
***
"Detain him, this instant!" The attendant ordered.
Giuseppe charged at the knights 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 that was done was to his own wrist.
'Holy fuck, what is that thing made of.'
Giuseppe was used to tearing through old metals with his bare hands, so this random 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 brought 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.
But 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 seemed to only harm Giuseppe's ankle.
But he didn't seem 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.
And then—
Tap.
The sound of a single finger tapping on a table rang throughout the tent.
And Giuseppe's world went dark.
***
"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 seemed unimpressed. Clearly thinking he was blatantly lying.
"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 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. And yer even dressed weird. 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, they misinterpreted it as the desire to forget about where one came from.
"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' bastard in 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 prisoner 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." He gave a crude nod toward his groin.
That got a laugh out of the other prisoners. Even Giuseppe found himself chuckling.
Then, another prisoner spoke—this one clad more neatly than the rest. Draped in modest grey robes not unlike those of a priest, he held himself with a quiet, reserved air, his voice softer than the others.
"W-well, since it seems we're all sharing," he said, almost sheepishly, "I do hope you'll permit me the same courtesy."
"Not in the slightest, mate," the drunken prisoner replied with a hiccup and a grin.
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.. 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 cold eyes, previously disinterested prisoners in the surrounding cells all walked to the cold black bars.
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 of his skin.
'How did I not notice him earlier?' Giuseppe thought, slightly alarmed that his senses hadn't picked up on the man.
"My daughter was good friends with Melissa before her disappearance." The man said, his voice turned grave, "Now I know why."
"He's mine."
Without a single sound of protest from the other prisoners. The man stepped toward the cowering priest, who finally appeared to understand what was going to happen.
"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
;)