8 Chapter 8: Would you rather die free, or live a slave?
(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.)
'This guy was nuts.' I stared wide eyed at yet another parchment, this one detailing Herpocles the Lesser's, better known as Darth Virginus of the Sith, attempt at performing The Seed Of Zeus; an ancient Hellenic ritual supposed to turn a warrior into a cheap knockoff of Hercules, giving him the strength of three men for the meager cost of his intellect and self-control.
It might sound good on paper, creating a battalion of berserkers was the shared wet dream of many a warlord in history. Sure, they'd be dumb as a rock and have nearly as many mental health issues as a modern upstanding citizen, but they would make one hell of a shock unit.
Plus the sheer badassery of having supersoldiers would crush the morale of your enemies, and that's something any Dux Bellorum would want.
But of course, something as unbearably broken is bound to have even more problems. Underserved power turning into a liability might just be a fundamental law of the universe by this point, which makes me much more satisfied with the often disheartening limits of the Game.
So what the shitfuckery do we get this time?
'The sacrifice of seven virgins to a Zeus-Ammon totem through ritual burning, the foul murder of three brothers in arms and the eating of your step-mothers smoked breasts on a night of full moon…'
"Fuck this shit." I decided to close the foul thing and throw it in the 'Too horrible to see the light of day' chest along with the fifty three other horrors I'd read earlier.
I wanted nothing more than to pick up my sword, leave this rathole and do something more productive and way less disturbing than going through the personal library of one of the most twisted minds I've ever had the displeasure of knowing.
'Magic, Arthur.' I reminded myself, 'Think about all the theory you'll learn, all the spells you'll cast.'
Investigating Herpy's cabin has taken quite a lot of my time; going through his notes, possessions and of course, very extensive and…colorful library. Sorting everything based on relevance, danger and creep to make my research more efficient and hopefully keep the mental degradation at an all time low.
It was a lot of work, but it bore fruit.
My priority was to acquire as much general knowledge about the wizarding world, identify the many deviances from Rowling's work and extrapolate to form a set of cultural, behavioral and informational standards which ought to give me a solid foundation.
In other words, common sense.
Once I'm able to interact with people without looking like an alien, it would be time to research the intricacies of witchcraft and wizardry.
By which I mean, learning every single spell I can get my hands on until my wanderlust is satiated. Of course, I would start with the easiest and most useful of the lot. Even if I'm no longer in immediate danger of dying, being turned into a frog or tortured to insanity, I'm still in a precarious position.
My initial objective has been accomplished, partly thanks to Ned Leed's cooperation.
He'd been reluctant initially. Ignored Baldy's warning and started spewing nonsense about his glorified incestuous heritage and how lowly we mudbloods and squibs were. That bit had cost him Baldy's favor, which in prison was never a good thing.
Obviously, once I'd explained that noncompliance would result in the immediate ablation of his bits using rusty scissors, he became much more docile.
'Don't know why he's so attached to them, it's not like he'd ever use it.' I snickered into my magic theory book, it was a heavily simplified version belonging to the fatass.
My renewed interest in psychological warfare aside, I had now enough information to stop pestering Ector every five minutes once something new and alien came up. In some aspects, I had more knowledge than him, though he had me beat in practical and no-maj matters…for the time being.
These new information, contrasted with what I knew of the world from Rowling's and countless fanfiction makers's pens, led me to the inevitable conclusion that first, the majority of information we might call 'canon' are still viable but twisted in a way that makes the illogical and fictive coherent.
And second, The wizarding world was full of shit.
'You were enslaved as soon as you woke up, of course it is shit, Duh.' might spew a hasty fellow, arbitrarily deciding that I wasn't woke enough before demanding that I turn myself into a queer transgender poney whose pronouns are Leeroy/Jenkins for the sake of inclusivity.
To him I say one, fuck you.
And two, it gets worse.
How? Imagine Dishonored meets Total War in a victorian era setting where the rich and powerful can cast magic and the rest are royally, utterly, most definitively fucked.
Which Total War? Fucking Warhammer.
. . .
[Swordsmanship has gone up a level.]
[Strength has gone up a level.]
'Nice.' I thought, repeating the strikes Ector had ruthlessly drilled into my body and brain.
Imagining an opponent meeting my blows had made the mind numbing practice more entertaining, but it was only when I started imagining him fighting back that things got truly interesting.
It gave me the chance to work on my footwork alongside my sword training, giving me the illusion of experience and therefore accelerated my progress. Activating my magic sensing and stealth at random, this time waiting for my reserve to replenish, resulted in me creating this overly optimized form of practice.
[Swordsmanship lvl 6]
[Stealth lvl 8]
[Magic Sensing lvl 7]
'Isn't it just beautiful?'
I had tried to bring the men into the fold, but most of them had no interest in fighting so extensive training and drills seemed like a waste of time.
In the end, only ten out of thirty six took part in our daily drills. The others were content to do their duty on the ship, daydream the rest of the time and cause problems to further complicate my life.
The loss of our common enemy had, like I predicted, allowed for more friction to happen within our ranks. Complaints of inequality, feuds and rivalries were increasingly frequent within The Fancy.
Which resulted in Ector coming to get me out of training, study or my few moments of peace to 'Play Lord' as he says it. Hearing out their complaints and deciding which ungrateful arse is the least wrong, or ideally making a compromise between the relevant parties.
I did try to throw this thankless job on his shoulder, we both knew he would be able to manage without me. These weren't questions of life and death, and didn't the less shit stained vision of a pragmatic outsider. His answers made a lot of sense, but it still ended sending in an impromptu fit of laughter.
"Of course I can remove my head from my arse long enough to recognize right from wrong, but I'm a common like'em, they'd only listen to me if their lives were on the line." The old man explained patiently, "But you…You're a wizard, Arthur."
Jokes aside, it illustrated the no-maj wizard relationship pretty well.
One side was poor, uneducated and crude. Living in a world filled with dragons, werewolves and other dangerous creatures with nothing but numbers and pointy sticks on their side.
The other was rich, had access to knowledge beyond measure and cared for nothing but their entertainment. They could wrap reality to their will, but would die from a stray arrow in the battlefield and struggled to replenish their numbers.
'There's only around three thousand known wizards in Britain and Ireland, after all.'
Wizards needed squibs to wage their wars, build their houses, create their products and cultivate their crops. Squibs needed wizards for protection, rule and structure.
'Which creates this utterly vile offspring of peusudo-feudalism and the Victorian class system they call society.'
. . .
"I'm telling ya if he looks at me sister again I'll…I'll" spat a brown haired man, whose name I couldn't be bothered to remember.
"You'll what?" snickered the other idiot, a shit eating grin on his face.
'Bad move.' I thought, shaking my head while peasant n°1 rushed to punch the fool in the face, breaking his nose. This was the seventh grievance I was presented with, and the third attempted physical assault of the day.
Anyone in the captain's cabin, which we used as a makeshift courthouse, could've tried to stop him. But it was quite obvious that Broken Nose deserved it, making this whole affair a colossal waste of time.
For me and my men, that is. The others were more than happy to watch the latest drama. Whether they enjoyed my suffering or just reveled in their fellow passenger's plights was unclear and frankly didn't matter to me.
I just wanted it to end.
"It's enough for today." I declared, frowning at the discontent I could hear. "Anyone who judges their case worth presenting is free to come tomorrow, you might leave."
It took them a moment to lift their arses and get out of the cabin, finally remembering that the seven years old they were bothering with their antics was a reality warping mass murderer who killed a whole ship with cherries and slaughtered two wizards with only ten men with crossbows.
Only then, when I was left in the company of my men did I sigh in relief. I slumped on my chair, trying and failing not to resent the masses for their ardent desire to make my life as hard as they could.
"Why do you have to deal with this shit, again?" Boris asked no one in particular, but the old coot saw fit to answer.
"Because he's…"
"A wizard, I know." I interrupted with a chuckle, this had become something of a running joke among us.
"It isn't a wizard's duty to suffer the foolishness of others." One of the spearmen, Brandon, said with a frown.
"No, but it's a leader's duty to care for them." I smiled wryly.
"Leader of whom? They've made their intentions clear enough, as soon as we reach the land they will leave for some other village." Erwin spat with contempt. "As if they'd survive a day without us guarding them, especially in disputed territory."
"Perhaps they could be reasoned with?" Ector looked at me hopefully. "After all we've achieved together, I'd loath having to part way with our comrades"
"They've already made their choice." I said with finality, this whole affair was a sore point for everyone here, whether they'd admit it or not. "Once we reach the shores, all twenty of them will take the road with provisions, arms and some coins while we sail forward to Avery's fort."
The old man could only sigh, he was too soft to let them screw up without trying to make them stay. He'd already pleaded for us to escort them to safety, and I almost gave in.
However, leaving The Fancy with only a small contingent while we travel was simply too much of a risk for an unknown period of time. The women were considered a liability by the deserters, so they had to stay. An escort mission would endanger them, the small protection force and even those who'd leave…
The Icelandic wilds were filled with goblins, draugrs, trolls and even apex monsters like giants, griffins and wyverns. Not to mention the many bandits, warbands and marauders roaming the contested territory. The waters were comparatively safer, being unsuitable for most sea monsters.
In the end, I'd rather let them go than doom us all.
"We could always sail back to Britain." muttered the old man. "At least nobody'll die that way."
Now, that was new.
"Yes, we could. We could sail dangerous waters with an unskilled crew for days on end, using a false flag in one of the most well guarded seas in the magical world. We could do that, risk our doom at the first sighting of the ship. We'd have to ration our food to the extreme, many won't make it." I said as calmly as possible "Even then, assuming we survive long enough to reach the isles, we would be condemned to a life of fear. Fear of House Avery's retribution, fear of history repeating itself, fear of being powerless once more."
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather risk my life as a freeman than come back as a slave." I smiled "The question is, will you follow me?"
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Author Note: IMPORTANT
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Hey people! Here's a chapter!
There's a lot I gotta tell you, but I don't feel like tricking you with an Announcement Chapter if I can help it. I know those things suck, giving readers hope only to crush it in the most boring way possible.
I have decided on an update schedule, I'll be using it starting from this Monday so pay attention. I'll be posting three regular chapters a week in the following days; Monday, Thursday and Saturday.
This chapter will likely be the last chapter spent on The Fancy, Arthur and his men had been coddled by the author. No death, no problem and almost no magic. Well, this is about to change!
Don't worry, though. Arthur will up to the challenge...I hope.
I'll see you guys on Monday, stay tuned.
Goodbye!
