Education is a necessity to war. I was a fool. Judging from the last few days, I now know why mages are kept safe and utilize near-suicidal magicks. The danger and nature of the ghoulish menace requires this kind of military strategy. Fodder has to be kept at the line to zone in the hordes, and every enemy contact can then return a messenger to call in the devastation of mages. With such a danger of overwhelming numbers and the capacity to convert our own warforce, these ghouls must be met with suicidal bombing; no live men should be left behind for the enemy to turn against us.
Now I know why they must live in comfort. Everyone is disposable, both the peasant militia and the arcane elite.
Beside that, I need to connect with denizens of this world, and for that, I must be educated.
"Re uo eomfortabl?" The maid helps me out of the wheelchair.
I take off my patient blouse. "Honestly miss, I don't know a word you're speaking, but thank you."
I'm not risking another arcane recoil. No translation links for today.
There I changed into another of those odd pioneer uniforms - red ribbon, white blouse, brown trousers and black boots. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother changing; my homely Alcatraz's outfit is better than this piece of trash! Although, I think this is just a statement of assimilation; that I should just get with the program and stop charging against the curve.
"Hey miss?" I point to a little can of pomade on the mirror stand.
She wheels me over. "Fo eours."
Oh sweet holy mercy, thank God for hair produc- Shit, coconut oil doesn't exist in this world. My hair, it's uhh- it's not the greatest, but still, I give my little tuft of pretty hair the good familiar rinse off and slight towel dry. Take the pomade product, spread it upon my palms till it's near-invisible, and then ruffle it into my hair beginning from the roots and then out into the ends.
Sweet mama! I got my hair that rough and defined look, and uhh. Uh.
Acne breakout.
I cry on the inside.
"Miss, to the carriage, please!" I smiled.
The maid wheels me down from the sickroom to my mode of transport, and there I ran into my two fellow Americans - goth girl and nerd. Try as much as I can, I attempt to lift myself off the wheelchair and into the carriage, but alas my muscles fail me. The maid pushed up, and the goth chick came down to help me up.
"Was it fun being reckless?" The nerd flicked his glasses.
"Yes, actually, it was a productive endeavor. I've learned much of our enemy, and the reality of the battlefield."
"Yeah. Sure. Asshole."
The goth chick groans. "Don't be like that, lil bro. He's got bigger balls than some of us."
"He fucking punched me and threw salt at me!"
What a great way to start the ride to school. The same old carriage takes us down an awfully smooth yet bumpy road, with the same old classical concrete and cobble cityscape. The fresh smell of piss-and-shit-pot rains down from some insula's second floor; praise be the glory of fantasy sanitation. I can only pray my gratitude to God for allowing me some magicks; we still use the same shit-pots but at least I can explode my shit into non-existence. You'd think exploding a shit-pot would splatter the room in fecal matter, but nope, the power of "lux luminous" is akin to the collision of anti-matter and proper matter.
Fuck this shithole
There the iron gates of the good old citadel-ish academy came to view and beckoned us into the halls of suicide-bombing magicks. Nothing is really escapist about this at all; the important part of conventional magic is that it's wondrous and provokes curiosity. The magicks of this world is just unadulterated chaos. Does it grow trees? No. Does it make tiny magic fireworks? No. Does it cause self-harm? Yes. Yes it does.
My blood pressure thickens at every new piece of knowledge about this fantastic world.
I turn to the goth chick. "Did I ever get your name?"
"What?" She just looked at me stupid.
"I don't think we've been introduced before."
"M-Motherfucker!" Her black mascara squints in anger. "It's Eris! I've told you before! I'm going to kill y-you-! Ow!"
The maid pulls us two by the ear. "Thu eh fuck pu! Fucking eittl evis!" She wrangles us down and out the carriage.
Did they ever have the word "fuck" in their vocabulary, though? Feels like we taught her that.
Through several amounts of bickering and stern guidance, we manage to make our way to our classroom. Navigating this little academy is a little smaller and easier than one might've thought. The hallways are planned out like a square with an intermediary cut-through hallway, and rooms surrounded and were within said hallway routes. Of course, we only had to climb a single staircase to get to our lecture-thingy; which was easier said than done. I had to piggy-back off of the goth chick whilst the maid and nerd pulled up my wheelchair.
We stood by the lecture door.
How should I introduce myself? Should I be profound? Impassionate? A bit dramatic? Anxious? Excited? Although, maybe I should speak in simple subject-verb-object sentences. This translation link - more like a translation barrier - isn't gonna pan out well for me. The goth girl nudges me in the side. Shit! Should I write down my introduction on some scrap paper?
"Uh, excuse me?" The goth girl taps on my shoulder again.
I turn to her. "Huh?"
"Earth to Aaron. You there?"
"Please, just uh, go on ahead first."
She rolls her eyes and makes headway into the classroom. I follow in, and there we stand at the little podium. Before us was a marble array of seats and desks arranged like an amphitheater; the lecture room felt more like a senate rather than a typical classroom. My heart sinks further; I gaze upon the open-air windows which were less like glass rectangles and more like the great arches of a cathedral. O-Oh dear, look at all those judging eyes!
The lead instructor casted a golden aura upon the room, and then turned to us. "Good morning, heroes. Introduce yourselves."
The goth chick clears her throat. "Hi... My name is Eris."
Eris? Is that your entire intro?
"Fuck." Shit. I clear my throat as well, and speak up. "Uh! My name is! Aaron! That's spelt with an A! A! R! O! N!"
And the nerd, uh, he's the worst one. "Hi! My name is good morning."
And we all bow. My heart races. It's so surreal, I feel like I'm back in elementary school when I would sit through class pretending to be asleep because I never wanted to be called on the spot by the teacher.
He's not a teacher, though. The lead instructor stood there tall like a military officer; his black blouse dotted with brass decorations and his white dress pants coming down across his lacquer boots. "Class! File in and greet your new classmates!"
With military synchrony, the pioneer students marched down in perhaps the straightest lines of all straight lines. They came down at right angles, distanced themselves at measured intervals, and even came down that intermediary stairway like a zipper. Like machines, their uniform red ribbons and white blouses destroyed their identity and all appeared like a nauseating singular blob to me.
Huh. Maybe this lecture room is the only not-playground of the academy.
Like an assembly line, the class came to meet our hands, clasping and shaking it at intervals
The first handshake, my classmate said, "Good morning."
"Good morning." That's the fifth handshake.
Uh, how long is this gonna go? "Good morning." I think that's the twenty-first handshake.
And likewise in the same military fashion, the class took their seats like an arched formation. It was almost comedic; how rigid these people were acting, it reminded me of some sort of weird religious ritual. Did I get myself into cult? A little glorious draft into a cultish military? It's not completely unlike the Romans, whom followed an imperial cult and claimed Caesar as their saviour.
And with the last few introductory moments, us three American heroes filed into our vacant seats, squeezing our way in with some casual wheelchair-pushing and totally unlike the rigid discipline of this class.
"Class! Heroes!" The lead instructor stomped his cane. "Know that I will give you the same pain as our common nobles. This is only fair! Your talent may have left us humiliated at the range, but know that our dear director witnessed this sight and installed me as your lead senior instructor!
"Sit up straight and look at me now!"
I sat there slumped and- Ouch! Fuck! Something punched me in the stomach! Shit, fine I sit up straight!
"I am Lead Senior Instructor Arch-Dragoon Mikael! You will address me by Arch-Dragoon, and you will address each other as Trainees! You Trainees are entrusted under my leadership! You will be trained to the best of my ability with fairness, discipline, and force! You will be indoctrinated, and you will love both the Legion and your Empire like the gods they are! Now stand up and stay the fuck awake!"
What? What the fuck! The entire class around me stands up like a machine, while I just sat there dumbfou- Ow! Fuck! I got punched in the stomach, again! Shit, shit! I sit up straight, heels together, eyes wide damned fucking open, and stared right at this lead instructor fuck.
"Trainee Aaron!"
"I can't stand, I'm in a fucking wheelcha-ah! Ah! FUCK!" My stomach caves in again!
"You will learn discipline either by compliance, or by force! Everytime disobey an order, I will magick-punch the fucking shit out of you. Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes, Arch-Dragoon Sir!"