[Hogun - POV]
I woke up cradling the same damn brick that had been in my bed all night. I didn't even question it anymore—just another day in Ashenhold.
Dragging myself out of bed, I walked to the bathroom, the weight of too many responsibilities—and far stranger things—settling on my shoulders. The water was cold as I splashed it on my face, trying to chase off the lingering remnants of dreams I couldn't remember.
Then I looked up.
And there it was.
Not my face. Not the face of the man they call "General Hogun," leader of Ashenhold, conqueror of steel and flame. No—this was the face before. The one I buried deep, the one I erased when I became... this.
He smiled at me.
A familiar, broken, traitorous smile.
From within the mirror, his hands reached out—impossible, intangible things becoming real with horrifying ease. Cold fingers wrapped around my throat like steel cables.
And then he screamed.
[???]: Give it back, usurper!
Cold, unnatural fingers closed around my throat from within the mirror. I gasped, struggling, claws of panic scraping at the edge of my mind. I tried to tear him off—but it only made it worse. The man didn't just hold tighter—he began to pull himself out.
His body slid through the mirror like oil through water, bone snapping as it forced itself into reality.
I reached into my coat, gripping the one thing I always had.
The brick.
With a roar, I hurled it straight at the mirror. Glass exploded, shards slicing into him—into me. The reflection shattered, but he didn't fall. He laughed.
Blood dripping from his split form, the smile on his face widened. The lower half of his body was gone, severed at the waist—yet from the shredded meat, black tentacles burst forth. His neck twisted with a sickening pop, his head lolling sideways as his eyes locked on mine.
I didn't hesitate.
Another brick fell from nowhere—sky? Ceiling? I didn't care. I grabbed it and slammed it into his head. Again. And again. And again. Brick against flesh. Bone. Whatever he was. Until his face could no longer smile.
Until there was only silence.
—
I woke up with a start.
Warmth pressed against me.
Yelena.
She was curled beside me, eyes wide, face glowing red in sheer embarrassment. And in my arms, clutched like a sacred relic…
A warm, red brick.
She looked at the brick. Then at me.
Then away.
I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and muttered:
[Hogun]: …It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?
[Later – The Citadel, Central Command Office]
Paperwork again. Always paperwork. James sat across from me, sorting through folders like a machine. My trusty brick sat loyally by my side. Yelena, still angry and sleep-deprived after waking up to me hugging her like a plush toy, had stormed off. I granted her a few days off. She deserved it.
I signed another form, sighing deeply.
[Hogun]: James… did you really have to wake me up after just two hours of sleep?
[James]: With all due respect, General, the Citadel's been in overdrive since we landed in this world. I've been pulling twenty-hour shifts, just like everyone else. And today, you have a full schedule—hospital check-up, academy inspections, and welcoming the newest batch of Civil Protection units.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
[Hogun]: James, doesn't it usually take a year to train Civil Protection, not… a week?
James straightened his back and tapped the datapad in his hand with military precision.
[James]: Correct, sir. Normally. But due to current stress levels and accelerated deployment needs, we dropped the candidates into VR simulation pods running at a 100:1 time ratio. They've undergone one to two years of training in a matter of days.
He paused, then added flatly:
[James]: The Same was done for the military division. Ten years of combat simulations. Some of them may have… Vietnam flashbacks. Figuratively. And literally.
I blinked.
[Hogun]: …Did you run real war scenarios?
[James]: Yes, General. Everything from trench warfare to orbital bombardment campaigns. One of them came out screaming about jungle ghosts and napalm.
I leaned back in my chair, glancing at the brick beside me like it might share my pain.
[Hogun]: James, one day this place is going to eat us alive.
[James]: Yes, General. But not before lunch. Also, sir… we've had a few religious disputes. New world citizens, post-refugee intake.
I paused mid-signature, lifting my eyes toward him with a tired groan.
[Hogun]: Let me guess. The Clerics of the Ten Flames arguing with the Spirit Worshippers over sacred trees again? Or the Church of Knowledge trying to dissect someone's soul for 'research purposes'?
James didn't answer right away. He was sweating.
[James]: Well, sir… those three are active, yes. But this time, the problem is… different.
He cleared his throat.
[James]: There's a new group. The most rapidly growing religious organization among the refugees. They're calling themselves… the Neo Legunho.
I frowned.
[Hogun]: …That sounds made up.
[James]: It's not. It's a religion… based on you, General.
A long silence. The pen slipped from my hand.
And in that moment, as I turned to look at James, I knew. I had reached the tip of the iceberg. The one made of pain. And mental breakdowns.
I stared at him for five full seconds.
[Hogun]: …Give me a beer. Or wine. Whatever's stronger.
[James]: Apologies, General. Miss Hast declared a permanent alcohol ban for your safety after… the incident.
[Hogun]: …What incident?
[James]: You set fire to the Citadel. Declared yourself the God of Eternal Flame. Then sang opera in full armor while riding a warhound.
[Hogun]: …Right. Cake then. Big one. I'll finish the paperwork and go greet the sick, then check on the kids at the academy.
I paused.
[Hogun]: Wait. James, please tell me the students didn't get shoved into VR simulation pods, too.
[James]: They did, sir. Classrooms reached max capacity, so the students moved their desks and chairs outside to make standing room. Eventually, we gave in and assigned them simulation pods for accelerated curriculum testing.
He handed me a datapad with the results.
[James]: We ran one standardized exam for them after their time in the pods. Results: 100% pass rate.
I blinked.
[James]: Also, on the bright side, we don't have to create new jobs for them. There are enough abandoned sectors in the lower Citadel that need workers, and… well, many of them have already started organizing work units.
[Hogun]: Children unionizing themselves for manual labor after surviving a hyper-accelerated VR curriculum…
[James]: Yes, sir.
[Hogun]: This place is insane.
[James]: With respect, sir… You are the symbol of this civilization.
Sighing deeply
[Hogun]: Let's just finish this paperwork before my soul clocks out.
[Later – citadel central hybrid Academy]
The sound of synthetic birds chirping in the artificial sky greeted me as I walked into the Citadel's Central Academy Grounds. Massive banners fluttered in the artificial wind, each bearing school crests alongside heavily stylized symbols of the Citadel. Some kids were practicing drills, others assembled weapons with terrifying speed, and all stood at attention the moment they saw me.
[James]: Sir, you did say in Article 74-B of the Education Codex: 'Any student team that wins a tournament may name their own legion. Their leader will receive the title of Deputy Commander, with privileges equivalent to Rank V officers—two ranks under my own.'
[Hogun]: I really need to stop writing laws while half-asleep…
As I stepped forward, a wave of children saluted me like they were hardened veterans.
[Cadet #1]: GLORY TO THE GENERAL!
[Cadet #2]: LOGISTICS WINS WARS!
[Cadet #3]: A weak flank is a dead flank, sir!
[Hogun]: They sound like mini yous.
James was sighing with pride.
[James]: Thank you, sir.
We entered the academy's open VR field. A massive floating scoreboard hovered above, flanked by drones broadcasting live footage to various screens throughout the Citadel. This wasn't a training session — this was a tournament.
Two teams stood on either side of the field: one in blue exo-suits, calling themselves "Legion of the Twin Suns," the other in red, wearing visors and sleek armor, proudly bearing the name "Ash Children."
[Announcer Drone]: Initiating VR Simulation: Urban Hostile Extraction. The winning team earns naming rights and immediate promotion for the team leader!
[Hogun]: Is that… one of them dual-wielding mock sniper rifles?
[James]: Yes, sir. That's Cadet Elisha. 12 years old. She also wrote a 40-page thesis on guerrilla ambush doctrine during the simulator load screen.
[Hogun]: …Terrifying.
The match began. Simulated bullets flew, kids rolled through cover like elite commandos, drones deployed smoke grenades, and two squads executed synchronized flanking maneuvers using hand signals.
[Cadet Elisha]: Squad B, breach the eastern entry! Squad C, suppress their advance and prepare the fallback corridor! This is for the right to call ourselves the Legion of Eternal Dawn!
I rubbed my eyes.
[Hogun]: James, these kids scare me more than actual war.
[James]: You taught them well, sir.
[Hogun]: I taught them to wash their hands and read maps…
[James]: Yes. They optimized both.
At the end of the match, the "Ash Children" team emerged victorious, barely. The crowd (mostly proud parents and instructors) erupted in applause. The leader, a quiet girl with silver hair and too much determination in her eyes, walked up and saluted with machine-like precision.
[Cadet Leader]: General Hogun, request to name our legion 'The Crimson Howl' and request recognition of my authority as Deputy Commander.
I paused for a moment, staring at the terrifyingly focused eyes of this child.
[Hogun]: ...Granted. Try not to overthrow a nation, alright?
She smiled.
[Cadet Leader]: No promises, sir.
James leaned toward me again.
[James]: Sir, you also wrote in Appendix C that each new legion leader gets a ceremonial cape, personal sidearm, and coffee privileges.
[Hogun]: Why the hell would I give children coffee privileges?
[James]: It was written after your third espresso binge during that 90-hour administrative lockdown.
[Hogun]: Right… Let's just hope none of them discover energy drinks.
A shriek of excitement came from the field.
[Cadet #4]: I found a hidden perk menu! It gives me dual energy sabers!
[Hogun]: Too late.
After ten grueling VR matches, twelve holographic explosions, one drone malfunction that triggered a three-minute lockdown, and five more new legions being named with disturbing enthusiasm, I was mentally exhausted.
"The Bear Roar," "Children of Teekaz," "Yan Dragons," "Hogun Fire," and—heaven help me—"The Block Busters."
I rubbed my temples as holographic banners for each unit were generated in real-time, projecting their names across the academy walls like military graffiti. The cheering never stopped. Nor did the war chants. I swear one of the smaller kids was chanting in Latin.
James handed me a datapad.
[James]: Final tally, sir. 'Bear Roar' scored the highest in teamwork, adaptability, and... blunt force trauma application.
I glanced at the field. There she stood—Zima. Muscles, smirk, and spiked bat held across her shoulders like a queen who'd conquered a nation. Her armband read "Bear Mafia," the logo featuring a bear chewing on barbed wire. The other Ursus students stood proudly behind her, fists raised, like a youth rebellion force ready to overthrow whatever regime they were ironically now a part of.
[Hogun]: James, tell me that's not a real gang name.
[James]: No, sir. According to our records, it's more of a 'philosophical lifestyle militia.'
[Hogun]: That's worse.
Zima sauntered up, boots crunching bits of broken training drone underfoot, bat lazily twirling in one hand.
[Zima]: General Hogun, permission to deploy the Bear Roar as an internal response unit. We're good at smashing, tracking, and making people cry when necessary.
She gave me a grin that could break a brick in half. I looked past her to the rest of the squad. All Ursus girls. All grinning. One of them was sharpening a butter knife with a laser file.
After a long pause
[Hogun]: Approved. Try not to burn down more than one sector per month.
[Zima]: We'll aim for half.
As "The Bear Roar" marched out, some carrying mock machine guns, one dragging a VR dummy labeled "Target: Bureaucracy," I leaned back into my chair. Behind me, a drone handed me a slice of the cake I never got to eat earlier.
[James]: General, do you remember when this place was a peaceful floating Citadel meant to preserve knowledge and offer sanctuary?
[Hogun]: No. And if I did, I'd hit that version of me with a brick.
[James]: Speaking of which, sir, 'Hogun Fire' named you as their spiritual mascot. They built a mechanical shrine that burns scented bricks and plays opera on loop.
[Hogun]: I want that shrine found. And demolished.
[James]: Too late. It was declared a minor holy site by the Church of Flames. City law prohibits us from interfering for the next 72 hours.
I took a bite of cake. Chewed slowly. Blinked twice.
[Hogun]: …I'll deal with that tomorrow. For now, I'm going to go pretend I'm doing a surprise inspection somewhere quiet.
[James]: Shall I notify the Sector 12 bakery or the abandoned observatory you like to hide in?
[Hogun]: You know me too well.
I stood, adjusted my coat, and began walking away from the battlefield of small children and big egos, only to hear Zima shout behind me—
[Zima]: Bear Roar! Formation B! We've got graffiti privileges now—let's paint our territory before the Yan Dragons steal it!
I started to mutter to myself.
[Hogun]: This is fine. This is totally fine. It's not a child-led paramilitary uprising. It's… a youth leadership initiative. With baseball bats.
[Extra: A Secretary's Holiday]
Yelena strolled through the humming streets of the Citadel, dressed not in her usual administrative uniform but in a soft lavender coat and a pair of well-worn boots. For once, her datapad was off. No urgent messages. No "General, you forgot to sign this" or "General, you can't threaten ambassadors with a chainsaw again."
Today was hers.
She passed a street bard playing something that sounded suspiciously like a military march played in lo-fi jazz, then turned the corner toward her destination.
{Thick Plate Paladins Café}
A warmly lit establishment run by the Clerics of the Ten Flames, where the servers wore full ceremonial plate armor and moved with surprising grace. The clinking of their armor mixed with the smell of cinnamon syrup and roasted hazelnut coffee.
W was already there, lounging at a corner table, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup that looked absurd in her fingerless-gloved hand. A bandolier hung casually from her hip because even on a day off, W was still W.
[Yelena]: Hello, W. How's the army treating you?
[W]: Surprisingly well. Got myself a boyfriend too.
[Yelena]: Really? Can someone survive and handle you?
[W]: Hey, I'm charming when I want to be. And you remember Shadowy13, right? The one who shot Crownslayer during that battle? He makes explosives and cuddles. A rare combo.
Yelena gave a small laugh, trying to hide her genuine surprise. She took a seat, letting the scent of cinnamon and sanctity wash over her.
[W]: So? How far have you and the General gotten?
Yelena went red instantly, steam practically rising from her teacup, but she composed herself in moments with practiced elegance.
[Yelena]: I'm not here to discuss classified feelings. Actually… I wanted to ask you something. Do you know anything about Whiteveil?
W's smirk faded. The air shifted slightly.
[W]: They keep whispering about it. Like it's taboo. All I know is it's… a place, a battle, and an incident. Maybe all at once.
Before Yelena could speak, one of the armored clerics approached. His armor shimmered faintly blue, unlike the usual red or gold of the Ten Flames. His voice was warm, steady.
[Paladin]: If you're looking for knowledge of Whiteveil… I can help.
[W/Yelena]: Really?
He removed his helmet, revealing a young man with short silver-blonde hair and a calm gaze.
[Ark]: My name is Ark.. A follower of the Blue Flame of Kindness. Information about Whiteveil is rare, but I've heard tales passed down in my family. My grandfather… was from there.
He sat with the weight of someone about to speak forbidden history.
[Yelena]: Can you tell us what happened there?
[Ark]: I'll tell you what I know. But remember—my grandfather only shared pieces. Some things, even in memory, were too heavy to carry.
A hush fell over the café. Even W stopped smirking.
[Ark]: Whiteveil was once the first Citadel—jewel of the Golden Age. A sanctuary of art, science, and sorcery. But something happened. An Inversion. A chain of seven catastrophic events, overlapping in space and time. It wasn't just a fall. It was a turning point.
He paused, fingers tracing the handle of his mug.
[Ark]: No one knows who started the Inversion. Some blame external forces, others whisper that it was born from within. Whiteveil became worse than hell—it became… wrong.
Yelena swallowed, her hands tightening slightly on her teacup.
[Ark]: There were 128 people considered 'pillars of civilization' at the time. Leaders. Legends. Heroes. After Whiteveil, only twenty made it out. Then, later… only five remained.
[W]: Let me guess. One of them was Hogun.
[Ark]: Yes. The others were Madam Hast, The Red Khan, The Pirate Queen, and Light Angel—Mechanical. Blessed be his name.
He made a sign with his fingers that glowed faintly blue. A moment of reverence.
[Ark]: Some say the survivors made a pact. Others say they carry curses instead of medals. What I know for sure is this: Whiteveil isn't just a ruin. It's an echo. And it's not done yet.
He stood, placing a crystal disk on the table. It shimmered with a pale memory fragment—just flashes: a city of gold, a scream, a burning sky, a sword piercing light.
[Ark]: This is all I can share. I wish you peace on the path. And caution.
He bowed and walked away, returning to his duties, delivering waffles to another table.
Yelena and W sat in silence for a moment. The crystal slowly faded.
[W]: So… we're ordering more tea? Or are we about to break into a vault?
[Yelena]: Both.
[Chapter end]
[check out my other story {I will become the ice jellyfish queen with the Chat Group}]