Chapter 9: Arise My Feeble Wall!
Year 0002, I-II Month: The Imperium
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The Final Bastion Had Fallen
Emperor Janus Cornwall, First of His Name, Grand Protector and Sovereign Guardian of the Mighty Elms-Arkanus Empire, stood on a distant hill overlooking the charred ruins of what was once a thriving metropolis. The capital city of Bastille, the proud heart of the Fresco League of Kingdoms, now lay in smoldering ruin beneath the weight of his conquest—a long-sought victory decades in the making.
His meticulously planned two-pronged pincer attack had decimated the armies that their enemies had managed to muster against the overwhelming Imperial might. The Fresco commanders, caught entirely unaware by the flanking maneuver, watched in horror as Imperial forces closed in from both sides like the jaws of a predator. Their enemies' leadership panicked, their chain of command crumbling from within as contradictory orders spread confusion through the ranks.
What had begun as a unified defense deteriorated into chaos, their armies scattering into the wind, desperate men fleeing to save themselves from the inevitable slaughter. The Imperial soldiers, hardened by years of bitter conflict, seized upon this opportunity with ruthless efficiency. They gave chase with mechanical precision, methodically eliminating everyone and everything that remained of their former slave masters. No mercy was shown, not a single spark of life spared—at least for those unfortunate enough to be caught in the Imperium's path.
Janus's fiery gaze burned as intensely as the flames consuming the city below. Every ember, every flickering tongue of fire, every column of black smoke seared itself into his memory. This was a victory that belonged to him and his people alone, a conquest forged through a millennium of bloodshed, tyranny, and madness. The cries of the last survivors, their final wails of despair, echoed through the night like a macabre symphony that only heightened his sense of triumph.
The Emperor stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, chest swelling with savage pride. He knew that he had delivered the greatest victory in the history of mankind—at least in the eyes of his people. The once-mighty oppressors who had subjugated their ancestors for generations now lay dead beneath his feet, their lifeblood soaking into the earth, nourishing the roots of the newly established Empire of Elms-Arkanus. A fitting end, he thought, for those who had once treated his people as less than human.
To those who beheld his figure silhouetted against the burning horizon, he was nothing short of a savior, a hero sent by the gods to cleanse the world of its corruption. Songs of his glory would be sung for generations to come, his name immortalized in history as the liberator, the unifier, the architect of a new age.
To his enemies, however, he was a nightmare given form—a ruthless judge, a merciless jury, and an unyielding executioner who had brought fire and death to their doorstep. His justice was swift and absolute, permitting no appeal, no compromise, no surrender that might leave the seeds of rebellion to sprout anew.
In the dancing shadows cast by the burning city, the Emperor allowed himself a rare smile. The wheel of fortune had turned at last.
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For Reasons Unbeknownst to August
Meanwhile in the secluded village of Maya, nestled within the forgotten valleys far from the Empire's reach, none of this mattered to August.
To him, the Emperor was nothing more than a bloodthirsty tyrant—a genocidal madman who had left his home in ruins. The village of Maya, the cradle of his childhood and the keeper of his earliest memories, had been butchered under the Emperor's banner. The atrocities committed there were not officially sanctioned but rather carried out by overzealous allies who twisted the Emperor's decrees, ignoring the discipline and protocols of the Imperial Army in favor of wanton destruction and worldly desires.
Maya had been founded by the first generation who had fled the initial fires of war, carving out a hidden sanctuary away from the world's mounting chaos. These founders were not warriors or politicians but simple folk—craftsmen, scholars, healers—weary souls who had long grown tired of the endless wars fought by ambitious men with bloodstained hands.
For two precious generations, their tiny enclave had served as a haven for peaceful hearts. Children had been born who knew nothing of war, who fell asleep each night without fear, who woke each morning to the songs of birds rather than the clash of steel. But peace, as it so often does, proved fleeting.
Within the span of a single blood-soaked night, their sanctuary had been discovered, invaded, and nearly obliterated. The villagers believing they could survive the storm that is coming in their way and continue this peaceful village isolation paid the price. The raiding soldiers came and the systematic slaughter and other brutalities known to man occured—house by house, family by family, until the dirt roads ran red and the air filled with the acrid stench of smoke and death.
Now, August alone remained—a solitary witness, the last survivor, the final storyteller of a people effectively erased from existence. A child burdened with memories too heavy for his young shoulders, forced to carry the legacy of Maya into an uncertain future.
He did not yet know the face of the man ultimately responsible for his suffering. He could not picture the features of Emperor Janus Cornwall, could not conjure the image of the hand that had signed the decrees that had led, however indirectly, to the destruction of everything he had ever loved.
But one day, he would.
And on that day, the world would bear witness to his vengeance—a vengeance that would shake the very foundations of the mighty Elms-Arkanus Empire.
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The Struggle for a Better Wall
The past few weeks had been grueling for August and his new companion, Gel. But mostly for August.
He had thrown himself into an all-consuming project, one that had taken priority over everything else: the construction of a new wall on top of the old one—if that flimsy arrangement of materials could even be dignified with such a term. Day and night, he labored tirelessly, his small hands blistered and raw, pouring every ounce of his meager strength into the task.
The mission objective assigned to him by the System had been vague, cryptic even, but one thing stood crystal clear amidst the confusion: he needed a form of defense. Something, anything, to protect what little remained of his shattered world from further harm. And so, despite the exhaustion gnawing at his bones and the tremble in his overtaxed muscles, he persevered with single-minded determination.
The result of his herculean efforts? A pitiful, makeshift haphazard patched up wall that barely deserved the name.
To August, blinded by stubborn pride and childish hope, it was a grand wall, a mighty barrier that would keep the dangers of the outside world at bay. In his mind's eye, he saw not what stood before him but what he wished to see—a fortress, impregnable and imposing.
To the System Manager, Dorothy, however, it was an abomination, an insult to the very concept of defensive structures.
[SYSTEM MANAGER DOROTHY: >>>IDIOT<<<]
Her disdain was palpable, her frustration evident in every silent glare that August could feel boring into the back of his skull. To her coldly analytical assessment, August's so-called 'wall' was nothing more than a collection of spindly wooden sticks haphazardly strung together with frayed rope on top of an existing dilapidated wall—a flimsy structure that would collapse under the weight of a strong breeze, let alone an actual threat.
But August, stubborn as only a child can be, remained gloriously oblivious to her scorn, wrapped in the protective cocoon of his delusions.
"What?! Preposterous accusations!" he proclaimed with theatrical indignation, puffing out his chest with childlike pride as he stepped back to admire his creation. "This is a magnificent wall, and it shall stand the tests of time!" His voice rang with conviction entirely disproportionate to the reality before him. "No beast shall ever lay eyes upon me when I am inside its protective umbrella!"
Dorothy had long since learned that arguing with him was a futile endeavor, like trying to reason with a particularly stubborn rock. Instead, she chose the path of least resistance—ignoring him entirely, though not without a parting shot.
[SYSTEM MANAGER DOROTHY: IF YOU SAY SO]
And with that, her presence receded from his consciousness, leaving him alone with his pride and his pathetic excuse for a wall.
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A Compromise: The System Managers Dissapproving Stare
The days stretched into weeks, and August continued his tireless struggle against the limitations of his environment and his own inexperience. His dream of constructing a proper Wooden Palisade—something that might actually offer some semblance of protection—remained tantalizingly out of reach, a castle built of wishes and air.
The surrounding forest, teeming with ancient trees that had stood sentinel since before the founding of the current continental Empire, offered abundant raw materials but presented an insurmountable challenge. These titans of the wood towered hundreds of feet skyward, their massive trunks too thick for his small arms to encircle, their weight far too heavy for a mere ten-year-old boy to manage alone. The village's tools, salvaged from the ruins and worn by years of use before the massacre, were rusted and dulled by time, utterly incapable of biting into the dense, resilient wood.
Faced with these insurmountable odds, August did what he had been forced to learn in the wake of tragedy—he adapted.
Instead of continuing to reach for an unattainable fortress wall that existed only in his imagination, he settled for something within his grasp. His so-called 'wall' may have been flimsy, may have been an affront to proper defensive architecture, but to August, it represented something more profound than mere physical protection. It was a beginning, a foundation for greater things, a symbol of his refusal to surrender to circumstance.
[-_-]
Dorothy, observing his pitiful efforts from the digital realm of the System, remained decidedly unimpressed.
She knew he was either intentionally trying to provoke her with his absurd proclamations or drowning himself in a sea of self-delusion so deep that no rational thought could penetrate its depths. Neither possibility improved her opinion of her human charge.
Rewarded by His Efforts
Then, when August had all but resigned himself to Dorothy's perpetual disapproval, the unexpected happened.
[DING! MISSION COMPLETE: YOU HAVE JUST COMPLETED AN IMPORTANT MILESTONE!! A WORTHY ACHIEVEMENT!]
A deep, booming voice—not Dorothy's usual cold, clinical tone—resounded through the chambers of his mind with startling clarity. The System itself was rewarding him, acknowledging his persistence if not his skill.
[YOU HAVE NOW GAINED ACCESS TO THE BLUEPRINT FOR A LVL 1 PATCHED WALL.]
[IN YOUR NEXT BUILD IT WOULD COST 10% LESS OF THE ORIGINAL MATERIALS USED AND A DECREASE OF 5% IN CONSTRUCTION TIME.]
[IN CONSIDERATION, IF YOU DECIDE TO UPGRADE THIS PATCHED WALL TO LVL. 2, THERE WOULD BE A 15% RETURN OF THE MATERIALS COST.]
[MINOR REWARD: SLIGHT INCREASE TO BODY CONSTITUTION AND HEALTH, +1 TO ALL STATS]
[MAJOR REWARD: ACCESS TO PERSONAL PANEL GRANTED! CONGRATS, MASTER AUGUST!]
August blinked, momentarily stunned into rare silence. This deep, boisterous voice filled with artificial enthusiasm had completely replaced Dorothy's usual monotone announcements. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing—praise, acknowledgment, rewards for what Dorothy had dismissed as worthless effort.
Then, before he could fully process this unexpected turn of events, a new sensation overwhelmed him—a sudden surge of energy coursing through his small frame, accompanied by a veritable flood of notifications. The System had apparently been silently keeping track of his actions for months, tallying achievements, calculating rewards, and now, all at once, it had decided to bestow them upon him in a single overwhelming deluge.
[DING! DING! DING! DING!]
The sound rang through his head without pause, relentless and unyielding, each chime accompanied by a flash of light behind his eyes, each notification bringing new information too rapid to process.
For five solid minutes, he endured this storm of sensory overload, his vision blurring, his senses spinning like leaves caught in a whirlwind. Nausea clawed at his stomach with increasing intensity. His knees weakened, muscles turning to water beneath him.
And then, as if the world itself had dimmed, the sounds fading into a distant murmur and the light receding to a pinprick, his consciousness slipped away into merciful darkness.
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The Unforseen Side Effects
Gel, who had been gathering wild berries near the newly patched perimeter wall, returned just in time to see August standing unnaturally still, his expression vacant, eyes unfocused as though staring at something far beyond the physical world. Then, without warning or sound, his small body crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut.
"Gus! Gus!" she cried, dropping her gathered bounty as she rushed to his side, wild berries scattering forgotten across the forest floor. Her hands trembled as she shook him desperately, her voice rising in pitch with each unanswered call. "August, please wake up!"
But he did not respond, his form limp and unresponsive beneath her frantic ministrations.
As he slipped deeper into unconsciousness, a familiar voice whispered in the recesses of his mind, carrying the unmistakable note of smug satisfaction.
[SYSTEM MANAGER DOROTHY: TOO WEAK! HMPH.]
If August had been awake to hear it, he would have cursed her for it, and would have railed against this final indignity. After all, what could he have possibly done differently? The System had deliberately withheld information about his accumulated upgrades, only to unleash them all at once like a dam breaking. The sadistic machine had orchestrated this entire debacle simply to mock him, to prove once again the limitations of his human frailty.
As he lay there, unconscious and vulnerable, Dorothy's final words echoed in his fading mind, a parting shot aimed at what little pride he had managed to salvage from the ruins of his life.
"Arise, my great (feeble) wall!!!"
The words echoed his own earlier boast, but twisted, hollow with mockery and disdain, the parenthetical addition a cutting reminder of the reality he refused to acknowledge.
His childish antics and stubborn determination may have tugged at a string in the heart of his cold-hearted system, awakening something almost like amusement in its digital consciousness. Or perhaps this had been the plan all along—to break him down completely before beginning to build him anew.
Little did August know that with the system's activation and his subsequent collapse, when he finally awoke, the course of his fate—and quite possibly the fate of the entire world—would change forever. The path of vengeance stretching before him would no longer be walked alone, for better or worse.
In his dreams, as consciousness fled, he saw not the pitiful patched walls he had constructed but the mighty walls he would one day build—walls to protect, walls to separate, walls to define the boundaries of a new world rising from the ashes of the old.