Restore Balance to the Force

"So you know who I am," Mark sighed, his voice cut through the soft breeze. "How?"

The crashing waves were quiet within the spiteful scene. All sounds calmed as the Principal spoke.

"I know everything," the man smirked, though his back still turned to the frozen Mark. "Because of that, your boss and I talk a lot."

'My boss? End? For fuck's sake…'

With his guard slightly lowered, Mark took a few steps forward—now slightly off to the side of the Principal. Now he could get a proper look.

He was a middle-aged man wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a white sleeping mask over his eyes. His beard was shaggy and unkempt, with long brown hair that went down his back. A few grey hairs shone through.

"You confuse me," Mark admitted.

"I know you have questions. I'll get to why you're here later," the Principal stretched. "For now, just be good company."

Mark was even more confused than he let on. So many questions rushed through his mind—many he couldn't even begin to answer himself.

The two sat in silence. Mark's gaze switched from the waves to the Principal.

His eyes drifted to the man's hand: a glass bottle.

'Is that… a fucking Corona?'

"How do you—"

"This thing right here?" the Principal lifted the Corona bottle. "A price for my services. You recognize it? Didn't know End's Apostle was an actual Otherworlder. That's new."

Mark was gobsmacked. The Principal had turned a simple gaze and half a question into vital information within the blink of an eye.

It happened so fast and with such ease that Mark couldn't even expend the energy to be frustrated at his greatest secret being spilled. He just had to roll with the punches.

"So you exchange information for beer?"

"Otherworld items in general, but otherworldly beer to be exact."

"Seems a bit irresponsible for a man of your prestige. Not to mention quite low hanging."

"Prestige? Low hanging? Give me a break," the Principal laughed. "Look around. This is the life."

"What about the Academy? I mean, you're called the—"

"Ahhh, I'm gonna stop you right there," the Principal interrupted, his finger shushing Mark from a distance. "You're gonna kill my buzz."

'Ridiculous. This guy is a nutjob.'

Though Mark believed that some of the blame lay on himself. He also had the power to stop it.

In the original novel, this attack never happened. William had stopped the Kriophorus' sabotage from ever occurring after noticing a few suspicious figures.

'It was a throwaway scene meant to stroke the reader's ego. I didn't realize the implications…'

It was a simple mistake. He wouldn't lose much sleep over it—especially with the most egregious offender sitting right in front of him; comparatively, Mark's folly was nothing.

Thinking of the attack, Mark realized he hadn't heard from the main cast—besides Ronald Montour. Though perhaps no news was good news.

Another silence emerged. Mark took the time to sit down atop the bare beach sand.

"Shit, I think I got some in my boot," Mark muttered.

"Is the sand coarse, rough, and getting everywhere?" the Principal jokingly asked as he took a sip of his perspirating beer.

Mark's head snapped to the lounging man.

"Shit. Did he give you Star Wars? And a video player?"

"Yup," he replied, emphasizing the 'p.'

"For what?"

"Information."

"On what…?"

"A guy named William von Westergard."

Mark leaned in, his attention fully grasped at the mention of the name.

"And? You know where he is?"

"Nope."

"I thought you knew everything."

"It was hyperbole, kid."

"Seriously? You have nothing on William?"

"All I know is that he teleported into Kolzig-Bondra's Lab, somehow bypassing the barrier. He grabbed the Bolstered Core, teleported to the Elven Realm, bathed in the Progenitor's Blood Lake, teleported all over the Human Realm collecting stuff, then teleported to the Demon Realm and disappeared from my sight."

'Wow, that's a lot. Wait… the Progenitor's Blood Lake? So now he's invulnerable to all magic? And he probably took a shit ton of Items too. Great, just great.'

On the bright side, Mark was now a physical fighter. On the dim side, Mark was ridiculously outmatched—even more than he could possibly have imagined.

'Even after I got gifted the Sword God's Will—an S-tier bullshit skill—I'm still incredibly weak in the grand scheme of things.'

Mark was most confused about the ending. What could William possibly be doing in the Demon Realm? Shouldn't End have some way to track him in his own land?

'What could not only mess with insanely busted divination magic while also being of importance, all inside the Demon Realm? I can't think of anything…'

Another gap in his knowledge of the 'novel,' if he could even call it that at this point. It was clear that End had messed with the novel's information—and not to Mark's benefit.

End's mountain of lies did nothing but fuck him over at the end of the day. Mark already knew he was forced into this task of killing William. If he wanted to just get it over with, End would be better off giving him the proper knowledge.

'Perhaps End is afraid of me? Wait… can he even kill me with the System? He wouldn't pump all these resources into me just to kill me at the first sign of disobedience, would he?'

Now that Mark thought about it, his entire situation appeared like a thinly crafted veil designed to disguise End's powerlessness—taking advantage of Mark's fears to perpetually keep him in line.

'If End keeps me in the dark about the extent of his information and power, he can create the illusion of control, tricking me into doing his bidding…'

That seemed plausible. It also seemed a bit obvious in hindsight.

But on the other hand, there was just as much evidence against that notion.

For one, End definitely had power. He could grant S-tier Skills with a single flick of the finger—not to mention the Unallocated Shards Mark had been given.

He could transfer objects from other worlds

And the Curse mechanic worked. Though its power didn't seem to originate from End, but rather some hidden overlord of the universe.

But still, End had control of the System. Surely he could activate the Curse mechanic onto Mark.

'There are fates worse than death.'

There was too much he didn't know—perhaps by design. He was stuck in place, waiting to be played by End's hand. His grip tightened at the thought.

"Ahem," Mark cleared his throat and collected himself. "Why exactly did you call me here? Wherever 'here' is…"

"It's a little pocket dimension," the Principal explained. "As for why you're here… hmm. I actually can't remember."

"Seriously…?"

"Guess I just wanted to see the Demon God's Apostle for myself," the Principal shrugged.

"So? Are you impressed?" Mark asked jokingly, though his tone wasn't unexpectant.

"More so by your place in the world. I know little of your character," the Principal admitted. "But at least I can use your status for my own benefit."

"I would prefer that you didn't," Mark stated, his teeth grinding. Anxiety overtook his angered demeanor.

"Calm down kid, it isn't that serious. I just want some recommendations."

"On what?"

"So basically, every time the Demon God comes to me and asks for information, he pays it with otherworldly goods. Cause you know, that's his whole gimmick. He can interact with other worlds. And it's also all I want from him."

'Huh. I didn't know that. At least, not precisely.'

Honestly, his leisurely conversation with the Principal was anything but tense—much to his glee. Mark gathered a ton of information.

'Now I can save the hassle of hiring information brokers...'

"And you want recommendations for those goods?" a confused Mark asked. "For next time."

"Precisely."

"Wow, uh. Can you give me something to work off of?" Mark thought out loud. "There's a ridiculous amount of goods from my world."

"I want something that'll fuck me up," the Principal slyly grinned.

"Like… hardcore drugs? Like really bad addictive drugs?"

"More like alcohol. I like these 'Coronas' but they're quite dull without the beach and the lime really. Quite weak as well. Do you know how many I have to drink just to feel something?"

"Alcohol?" Mark asked, a smile creeping up on his face. "Do you have a pen and paper?"

The Principal snapped his fingers—a pen and paper instantly appeared in his hands.

'How convenient…'

With a devilish grin, Mark went to town writing, though with very poor handwriting. His handwriting was already poor from his previous life, but writing on his leg didn't help either.

Written in shabby penmanship read:

'An 8-pack of 2010 Four Loko's.'