"So let's say Blake is a runaway, where do we start?"

"The closest friend. No matter who he confides in. ”

"Who do you mean?"

"Grammar? From you?"

"I woke up once or twice at school and I hate you."

For some reason I couldn't understand, I went back to the classroom after a disastrous conversation with Matt in the cafeteria. I guess it was my feet that brought me there, just muscle memory, because I had no idea what class it was. I think it's right, though, with a little green index card pinned to the front of the board that says "Carl Stockelson" and says where I should be sitting – right in the back by the window, which is exactly where I like it. Somewhere, I could avoid the attention of others, look at the street absentmindedly, and completely ignore the class.

Of course, that's what I'm going to do right away at the end. The rest of the room turned into a dull, vague, dull hum. I can't forget the conversation with Matt. At first it was anger, anger and frustration rolling in my face, like someone pressed a hot pan against my cheeks. How can Matt be so stupid? Blake is fine, we're just wasting time and we should go out to him.

Jane also supports him! Matt wasn't always right. I'm just as often right as he is. I've done so much for Jane, you think she'll support me more. I saved her, damn it. Matt didn't help her with anything when we separated. If I hadn't found her, if I hadn't rescued her......

I shuddered. No one should have to go through that kind of pain.

The bell rang for the end of class, and more students walked into the classroom in groups, talking and laughing. I glanced around, trying to figure out what the hell this was. I saw maps of Europe and the Americas on the walls and went deep into specific countries. History, I guess? I tried to turn over everything I could remember about their history, but I couldn't determine which names and details were earthly and which were Serraville's.

Was the Auster woman the leader of the uprising that overthrew the Western Roman Empire and plunged Italy into chaos? Was it the Visigoths who assassinated the last god-king of Lauderanan, paved the way for the enslavement of Sahnvaran, and performed an economic miracle that brought the rough country back to the forefront of civilization? It was Selman or the Medici family who first discovered the problem, and then in Sylva

da

Caught and tortured by elves in the forest?

I sighed. I'll figure it out on the fly. I really couldn't have a better option, improvising under pressure has brought me a lot of success in the past.

Our teacher, not much older than me, began to lecture in an optimistic, cheerful voice that was completely out of topic. He seems to think that talking endlessly can grab students' attention—as if he can get their interest just by talking. What an amateur. I prefer a normal drone so that I can more easily ignore him and ignore the class.

My eyes are still on the street outside, but I don't really look at anything special anymore. As I immersed myself in the memories, my vision blurred. Anything that can get me out of hell on earth—on the wrong earth. I couldn't completely disappear from the classroom or class, but I found myself using it as a springboard to escape. When the teacher began to explain things about the American Civil War, I was reminded of my own war.

No story about war, not even from the most vivid storytellers, prepares you for real war. As you stand on the battlefield for days or even weeks, you feel heat, sweat, and dirt, blood running down arrows embedded in your flesh, and swords and armor clashing around you. Sword fights aren't what you might think. There are no dancing or fancy, tricky footwork on the battlefield. A real sword fight between two heavily armed guys is like two mountains colliding against each other. It is useless to swing a knife because it will only bounce off the plate. Your best bet is to try to get through the slit between the pieces, where it can slip through weak spots and stab into their flesh.

More often than not, though, I just see the strong hitting the weak with a shield or blade to bring them to their knees, and the more times the better. Once someone falls, you have to kill them.

Still, complete armor like this is rare and only available to people who are really special or very wealthy. More often than not, you'll only see hordes of people being knocked down by hail arrows while charging, or stabbed to death with spears by men on horseback. Once you're actually in the middle of it, you're just another face in a group of people in light armor holding pointy objects, doing your best not to get stuck in anything.

Obviously, none of this applies to the American Civil War. It was a war with guns, which had yet to be invented in Serraville. I used to have the idea of introducing a similar weapon, but to be honest, I really didn't know how to make a woman or something like a rifle – if it was possible in Serraville. In addition, the few transgram sprites we recruited had enough ranged firepower to replace the cannons. They were not ruined by the rain and did not run out of bullets and gunpowder. Exhausted from overuse, but given them a day and a good meal, they will recover completely.

However, I could have avoided listening to the complaints about Manaus, Settaus, etc. Elves really whine sometimes. I've never dared to mention it to Jane, but as a race, they seem surprisingly immature. Of course, you'd expect the arrogance of the elves, but despite their obvious abilities and overwhelming protection of their home forests, they seemed completely caught off guard when we attacked. This is ridiculous. A capital empire expands to completely encircle your homeland and obviously needs resources to sustain itself – don't you want them to want to enter several large forests that are growing incredibly fast without any obvious water or nutrients? Anyone would be tempted to enjoy such a rich garden.

And so they are

Aïve, almost a man. I was relieved when I found out that several people were willing to change their stance and join us. It humanizes them and they couldn't find a better word. I even made friends with one of them, even though he was old enough to be my great-grandfather. He knows how the world works and how to stay ahead of the curve.

yes, maybe we all ended up on the wrong side, but don't. At the time, it was the right decision.

I surfaced instantly, and it felt like I was swimming in a sea of memories. The teacher is talking about the reasons why the Union won the war. “… They do occupy the moral high ground, but they don't stop there. The North just has more cash. General Lee mentioned this in his surrender in 1865. War is ultimately a matter of resources. It's always been the rule. Whoever has more and who can transfer wealth faster is the winner. Leadership is helpful, but if you have more people, bullets, and food, and you have factories that are constantly producing these things, you're going to do just fine. ”

I snorted. I didn't mean to; I definitely don't need anyone's attention right now. But his conclusions don't match what I know. It's a terrible habit, but I can't help but correct someone else's mistakes.

To my dismay, I found a sea of people waiting for my answer. I tried to ignore them, staring intently out the window, trying to avoid drawing anyone's attention. The teacher smiled at me with a condescending, friendly smile that wanted me to get rid of his smug face.

"Well, we have a volunteer. Okay, Carl, what are you thinking? He asked happily. How could he be so happy about such a topic? It bothered me more than his smile. I didn't care about cars speeding by on the main road; I was determined to destroy that cheerful personality.

"Morale".

"Morale, huh?" He looked surprised. "Well, that makes sense. Many Southerners didn't actually believe in slavery, nor in the Confederacy itself. General Lee freed his slaves himself, and it is believed that he seemed to have lost his advantage when he left Virginia, in part because he believed only in defending his homeland, not the country as a whole. Like I said, the North occupies the moral high ground. This helps to maintain the morale of the troops. He seemed to want to move on to another topic, but I interrupted him. I've studied this war, just as I've studied so many other wars before. I've always been particularly fascinated by history and war, and that hasn't changed at all.

"their morals. The North, like other countries, is all about money. I took a deep breath and continued, emphasizing my point and giving the audience time to digest it. When necessary, I know how to control crowds. "Victory in the war depends on the side that is more willing to be ruthless. There are no rules. Union troops burned crops and towns. They kill civilians. They destroyed all possible infrastructure in order to weaken the resources of the South. They robbed and raped. "I saw a few people in the room winceing at the word. Overly sensitive bookworms. "Scorched earth, that's Sherman's trick. It works wonders. ”

I should know that this works for me as well. Thanks, General Sherman. The American general who studied all the success was rewarded, in a very unexpected way, definitely not what my teacher expected. Hearing my answer, he hesitated, holding the whiteboard marker between his fingers. At this point, I really got into the discussion.

"It's very common. After World War II, the Soviets were in Germany, and the Japanese were in Nanjing. There are many such examples, all the way back to Rome and Greece. When you invade a hostile country with a different culture, the most effective way to appease them is to completely destroy their way of life. You make them no longer recognize their own country. Destroy their society. If they can't unite on some common ground, they can never count on you to stand up to you. ”

I really enjoyed being able to speak to an attentive audience based on my own experience. A child decides to speak up. A man I don't remember, if I had known him from the beginning.

But a lot of wars are fought for moral or religious reasons. You can't say it's not a big factor in them winning or losing. That's what he sounded like

Aïve, I almost coveted the opportunity to correct him. The teacher didn't interject, but leaned back on the whiteboard and watched the debate unfold. He seemed reluctant to step in, which was exactly what I wanted. As we attacked each other, everyone's head in the room went round and round between me and another student.

"Once you're on the battlefield, morality becomes worthless. It's just you and the other person here, and the other person will kill you unless you kill him first. Religion is just a reminder that if he gets you first, there are better things waiting for you. ”

"Okay, but that's low-level. What about high-level stuff? He retorted. I realized that I hadn't answered his question yet. Oops.

"It's the same. Yes, something like ethics might help you recruit and retain employees, but you better hope that the people who are actually strategizing for you aren't held back by this stupidity. "Nonsense. I was going to talk nonsense. After months of hiding together, Jane's colorful curse has become a part of my vocabulary.

"What? He asked, confused, but I had already rushed to the front to cover up.

"It doesn't matter what time, what era, or if you're in another damn dimension. Wars are always the same. History is written by the victors, and everyone wants to look like a hero in the end. "Once you actually go out, it's different.

I turned back to the window and watched the car pass me again. My face is still hot due to the attention and arguments. I forced myself to calm down and focused my attention on tapping my fingers on one side of the table, following the rhythm of the March of the Legion in my head. One, two, one, two, three, four, one, two. After a few seconds of tension, I felt the anxiety disappear like a blanket sliding down. The cool breeze wafting in through the open windows was refreshing. I'm clear-headed.

Of course, this means that the real pressure I was facing came back.

"Well, I guess it'...... One way to put it. The teacher finally spoke. I briefly thought about what his name was - and then remembered, I didn't care. A few children looked at me strangely. The teacher started to lecture again, but I couldn't listen anymore.

I stood up, and the room was quiet again. All right. I can still do that. I calmly picked up my bag and strode out of the room, not looking at anyone. I can't stand being there anymore. Too many feelings started to roll in my head as new anxieties and fears of relapse returned. As I reached the hallway, I started jogging, past a worried staff member at the front desk. She called my name, but I ignored it. I didn't stop because of anything. I went out and returned to the warm sunshine to smell the trees and dirt after the heavy rain earlier. It was the first time I felt welcome after meeting Jane before lunch. I need that.

I need to leave this world and go back to where I belong.

＊＊＊

It's a cliché that's easier said than done, but it's a cliché for a reason. My first instinct was to go back to the Serraville Forest, where it all began, but the park was too far away. That night, we asked Matt to drive us and meet Blake at the place where he was calling. Today, I just wandered around the streets of the suburbs for a while. I couldn't go home for more than one reason.

Almost identical houses took a toll on my brain. They are so neat and so perfect, it bothers me. I can consciously tell myself that it is more efficient to do so, that it can do a greater job economically, but I long to go to the villages in the mountains and valleys, or to those huge port cities and capitals. They built around nature, not reinventing it at will. Of course, this is more out of need and lack of ability, but it gives them more charm and personality. I have to go back there.

Ten minutes later, I got on a bus bound for the other end of the city. The other passengers gave me a few nonchalant glances, probably wondering why I didn't go to school, but I was basically alone. I also want them to think I'm in college. I need time to think and strategize.

Since Blake wasn't at school, he had to stay home. At this point, there is simply no other option. Adela should be home by now, but she may have fallen asleep. The night shift in the hospital was nothing short of deadly, and she usually ate something to help herself fall asleep and then went back to a pitch-black room where it was dark 24 hours a day. I didn't expect to meet her. I'll go in, find Blake and we'll figure it out.

I want him to make a phone call, or send a text message. Anything goes. He knows my phone number, or he can look for me in the chat room, or send an instant message, or even a damn email. Anything. But he's the kind of person who is completely isolated from the world. He may have been so distraught by something that he forgot to report for duty.

As the bus approached the nearest stop to Black's house, I reached out and pulled the yellow rope that hung from the ceiling. As soon as the lights in front came on, the bus slid to a stop. I jumped out of the car and thanked the driver. He gave me a noncommittal nod in response, but I didn't mind. Politeness is cherished, but it doesn't need to be reciprocated. The key is the offer, not the receipt. Sooner or later, people who do not default to politeness will meet someone who offends them, and they will find out what their lack of effort means.

A few blocks away, I found Blake's home. His community is very different from mine. The houses are all older and the yards are much larger. More trees line the sidewalks and even dot the center of the streets, with roads surrounding them rather than passing through them. Despite how important Blake's house seems to my mind, it's not really that eye-catching. I built it well in the last few hours, I thought it would glow, surrounded by clouds, but it was a quiet afternoon. I vaguely remember a neighbor walking his dog across the street and another mowing their lawn, but that's about it.

Without further delay, I walked straight to the door. I didn't knock on the door. The door was unlocked, and I didn't wait to get in anymore. I quietly opened it and peeked inside.

The hallway unfolded in front of me, and in front of it was a carpeted staircase that led to the bedroom. There was a small table in the middle of the hallway with a home phone, and the red light flashed with the message I left this morning. At the end of the hallway is an empty kitchen, and the tall windows show the empty yard in the distance. I glanced to the right, and there was no one in the living room either. Thanks to the open-plan, spacious layout, it's quick to see how lifeless the house looks.

Fear seeped into my bone marrow, like I was a ship that began to sink under the waves. As I climbed the stairs step by step, my heart jumped to my throat. I was completely silent. I'm more familiar with these stairs than I am with my own home. Blake and I used to have a game to see who could sneak upstairs to surprise his mom. You have to know exactly where to go from, because each staircase has a place or two where even the slightest touch will creak. Even after seven years, I know the process inside and out. I should feel like home, but without my best friend, it's not home anymore.

No. Don't think like that. He would wait for me in his room. Probably just asleep. When he returned, he was so energetic that he didn't sleep all night and then slept all day. Maybe he stayed up late to watch his mom come back from the night shift. This is understandable. It makes a lot of sense.

When I reached the second floor landing, the two doors were ajar. One was the door to his parents' bedroom, which didn't bode well for me. When Adela slept, she covered the room tightly with thick curtains and made sure the door was closed tightly to help her maintain a regular routine. If the door is open, she's either not home yet, or ......

I can't wait any longer. I pushed open another open door and walked into my best friend's room, where I spent a lot of time playing games, watching movies, reading books, or just hanging out on a lazy afternoon. He should be sitting there now, with his feet on the table, staring at the monitor. But he's not. I turned around and thought Blake was lazily lying in bed reading.

He's not.

"Carl?"

My heart sank. The voice was too feminine. Maternal. Not him.

Adele half stood in Blake's closet, sorting out her clothes. She was tall, like Blake, with long pale blonde hair and a muscular physique, like his entire family. Her face tilted to the side, full of confusion and surprise. She threw down her clothes and jumped in fear when she saw me.

"Uh......h Hello. ”

"You're scared me to death," she said breathlessly.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, bent down to pick up her clothes, and hung them up. "That's good. Are you okay?"

"Huh?" I asked, and then connected the dots myself. Of course she asked. I didn't go to school, I should have been. "Oh. I think so. I just ......"

"Need a day off?" She blinked. "Don't worry. I won't tell your parents. Your grades are bearable, right?"

"Possibly". I shrugged. I think so too, but I don't know what I'm doing right now. "I thought you were asleep."

"You think this place is yours alone, don't you?" I decided to do a few things first. Don't worry, I'll be bothering you soon. Adele said as she continued to fold her clothes, quickly finishing the basket.

"No, it's fine." I sat down on the edge of Blake's bed and looked around. I deliberately bumped into the keyboard tray underneath his desk, lighting up the screen. The conversation from the day before we left was still on the screen. Blake, tell me what he saw. Let me go there. Matt asked. Gather everyone together and go into the woods.

He should be closed by now. I could feel the truth creeping into my field of vision, but I kept pushing it away. I was begging, begging Heaven to stop this. In my head, I'm screaming. Let it not be true. Let Blake be outside or something.

"My son didn't jump rope, right?" Adela asked nonchalantly, reaching for something on the shelf above the hanger. Hearing her words, my mind suddenly stopped. She didn't know that Blake was missing. Blake should be gone before Adella goes home. I moved my foot back slightly, and felt like I was touching the bedspread-covered backpack under his bed. She didn't know he wasn't coming to school today.

He will never be able to go back to school.

Blake is-

Oh, God. No.

I felt it cascading down on me, like a waterfall breaking through a dam after many small cracks. I accepted the reality and hit my head hard. I felt the tears begin to form, but realized that what Matt had been trying to cross ended up breaking the same mental wall.

If we want to live long enough to go back in time, we have to have fun. Blake's mother discovers that her son is missing is not part of the plan.

Even though my chest felt like it was going to collapse, like my heart was going to burst in my throat and tear my lungs to shreds, I had to be silent.

It was as if eternity had passed for that second. I finally came up with an answer.

"Of course not. He has an exam today. ”

Adela turned. She looked suspicious. I was nervous, and it was so strange to me. I interrogated the scum in this kingdom, but she still has influence over me. Did I hesitate for too long to answer? Does she know?

"Carl, what's wrong?"

"Is there something wrong?" I tried to pretend to answer as if nothing had happened. Guilt slowly crept through my body, accompanied by a raging whirlpool of sadness and anxiety. I confessed the fate of her son to a woman I saw as a second mother – who supported me again and again – and who supported me again and again. I felt terrible, disgusting.

She walked over and sat next to me. There's no way I'm going to lie to her anymore, right? That's not true.

"Did you quarrel with your dad again?" She asked calmly.

Finally breathed a sigh of relief. There was some calm in the storm. She discovered something completely different, something familiar. The bottom line is that in my current state of mind, it's not fake.

"Almost," I replied honestly, glancing up at her. Her eyes are so kind and wise. I swore to myself that I would tell her the truth. Not today, but I will. She has the right to know that her son was once a hero. He has saved countless lives. I will immortalize him, go down in history, and let everyone hear his name.

She put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a brief hug. "Carl, I know he can be a bit harsh at times, but he does love you."

"Uh-huh," I snorted sarcastically.

"Believe it or not, all parents make mistakes."

"You've made speeches like this before," I pointed out sullenly.

"It's still true," she said. She was running through my hair and I always pretended it annoyed me, but to be honest, it was really comforting to me. "He wants you to succeed and he's doing what he thinks is best to make it happen."

"But I've succeeded." I muttered.

"As a student, it may be, but there are more important things in life than a student." Of course I do. I wasn't just a student a long time ago. It's hard to argue with an outcome like mine, building a guild from scratch and becoming the emperor's closest advisor and friend. Power and success are things I'm used to. Here I am just helpless.

Weak.

I can't change anything. I can't do anything. My best friend is

Emotions roared back into life, and this time I was powerless to stop the oncoming flood. I felt drops of water fall on my legs and warm droplets on my cheeks.

Adela looked panicked. "Carl, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," I said, choking up. I don't know what to say anymore.

"What? Talk to me. Tell me what's going on. ”

"I can't." I stood up, a little too fast. Blood poured out of my frail and old body, making me dizzy. I stumbled a little, but I kept it under control. I kept it under control. I headed for the door. "I have to go."

"Carl, wait." Adela had just spoken, but I had already left the room. I walked up two stairs in one step. I need air. Except for the nightmarish cramped spaces of this suburb. I walked out into the street, and the sight of the trees was enough to calm my panic, even if only for a moment. But as the fear dissipated, it was once again replaced by a spreading, overwhelming fear and utter despair of loss.

Blake is dead.

The phrase finally crossed my mind. I've been dancing around it, dodging, trying to avoid its thorns.

My best friend died.

I started running. I don't know where to go. I don't care where I go. It's fine anywhere, but I can't go anywhere.

Blake is dead.

And there's nothing I can do about it.