Conclusion: War Hardened Life

I left the castle. After several months of presenting evidence and arguing their case, Macduff proved Malcolm's innocence and showed us who the real traitor was: Macbeth, former Thane of Glamis and Cawdor. Macbeth's wife was interrogated, and her confessions were the proof they needed. She admitted to the plot, to the murder, and how she felt guilt from the murder.

(Guilt? As if you have the right to feel that.)

In response, the common people threw stones and rotten food at the former queen; knights had to guard her and lead her inside. Whether she would be imprisoned or executed was a different matter.

Reparations were made for England, and pardons were given. Even though I killed many people, I was still hailed as a hero. Before my departure, I was called upon by Macduff and granted honors.

"Even if you fought for a wrongful ruler, you defended your homeland with valor and ferocity. You are known as the Demon in White, but you fought for the salvation of your people."

Malcolm would become the rightful King, and his coronation would take place. I wish I wouldn't have to attend, but I must.

On a tangent, I did not see the "Undertaker," Shinei Nouzen. Perhaps he was a mercenary of sorts. If not for him, I would not have saved Lord Macduff.

After a long ride, I was finally back at my estate. First, I had to pass through the village – when I did, the villagers came and threw flowers at my carriage. They sang my praises and hailed me. I felt disgusted. I wasn't a hero; I was a pawn in a political game. If Macbeth were still alive, I would've never known I served a murderous traitor.

The entire war was pointless. The blood spilled, the trauma that would curse us for life – it was all caused by greed and ambition.

"Your Lordship, you've returned!"

The maids and butlers stood outside the manor, and they jumped and cheered for joy when I arrived. My mood couldn't match their mirth. After receiving multiple hugs and gifts, I finally find Wilhelm.

"Teacher."

"Young master."

Out of the people here, he was the only one who understood my pain. I was only alive because of him.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. I taught you to fight, but I also taught you to live with scars. They are not of the flesh but of the mind.

"They are my burden to bear now."

"May you share those burdens with me, young master?"

I gave Wilhelm a melancholic smile and said, "Yes. Over drinks, perhaps."

I stepped into my manor, which felt foreign to me. Or perhaps, I was foreign to it? I walked up the steps and returned to my study. I rubbed the familiar wood of my desk and felt its sturdiness. These were familiar things, but I felt so estranged from them. It was painful, but I would never be the same man I once was.

I sat in my chair and began to muse. I thought endlessly. I thought of Macbeth, the exalted hero who fought against Norway. How? How could a hero become such a villain?

(Passion. Ambition. The dark thoughts whispering in his ears, telling him to become greater.)

I thought about ambition. It was a necessary aspect of the ego – it fueled young men and women to reach higher and achieve more for themselves. But just like anything, too much of something is poison.

Macbeth's ambition fueled him, but it was also the thing that burned him in the very end. How ironic. Eventually, I sunk into my chair and closed my eyes. I prayed the cries of the damned would not haunt my ears, and I wished the sea of blood and mountain of corpses would not appear within my mind's eye.

Perhaps the angels heard my pleas. I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

***

(Where am I?)

I stood in an infinite void. The stars were above and below me, and they lit up this deep blackness. In the far distance was a wall - it went in endless direction. Blue lettering scattered on this wall as if they were living critters.

I slowly approached. As if stepping on water, the see-through ground rippled. I saw a bright star rise to my left - I assumed it was the sun. It lit up the horizon and illuminated the wall. I stood in front of this wall and was so close - I could reach out and caress it.

[You have completed your story!]

[You have earned your ■■!]

[Your ■■ is "War Hardened Life!"]

[Please venture into the Final Wall and record your Fable!]

An opening in the world appeared. I walked inside and ventured into this dark tunnel.

(What is this?)

I looked to the right and saw the shifting letters flow across the walls.

[This is the Final Wall, where all the stories of Star Stream are recorded.]

I turned to look at who spoke and saw a man standing in a vast room. I looked there, and he wasn't there before. What was this? How?

[Ah, you come from an old-time period! I'm the Dokkaebi King, ruler of Star Stream. I oversee the scenarios and lead the Dokkaebi people, the entertainers of the Constellations.]

"You are a King?"

I was wary of Kings. After my troubling history of treacherous leaders, I wasn't prepared to trust this man. Plus, what was a "Dokkaebi?"

[Ah, a "Dokkaebi" is a creature that streams to the Constellations, the audience that feeds upon the stories. They are the storytellers that present fables to the eager stars within the night sky.]

(Wait... did he read my mind?)

[Pardon my intrusiveness, but, yes, I did. I have agency within this space.]

(What are you? Why am I here?)

[As I said, I am the Dokkaebi King. As for why you are here-]

The Dokkaebi King waved his right arm theatrically like a professional showman. An empty portion of this dark wall was shown, and I saw words cluster and form.

[-you are allowed to record your Fable onto this Final Wall. Your story will be read and enjoyed by the great Constellations until the end of time.]

"Why? Why must I do this?"

[Hm, well, because the author wanted you to!]

"Author?"

[Yes, the writer who created you! One of the gods of the world!]

"God is a writer?"

[Yes, one of the gods. The other is quite greedy - they are more of a reader.]

"So, God wants me to record my Fable on this wall?"

[Yes, if you do, the Most Ancient Dream will read it. It is a privilege for your story to be viewed by him.]

"I see."

[Do you consent to your Fable being recorded on the Final Wall?]

[Yes/y]

[No/n]

"What are these... floating things?"

[Oh, those are system messages. Imagine they are pieces of floating paper in front of you.]

"Alright. I consent."

[Your Fable is being recorded!]

[The stars will remember your Fable for an eternity!!]

I looked at the empty portion of the wall and saw the words rearrange and form. The finished title took my breath away.

[A Historic Battle]

[Hm, it appears to be a simple title,] the Dokkaebi King said. [It seems the writer is tired and can't think of anything else. Well, it will be enough.]

"Is that it?"

[Well, yes, although, should I give system rewards? You didn't complete a scenario, so I guess not.]

"May I have a reward?"

[Let's say I grant your wish. What would you want it to be?]

"May... may I see the stories of this Star Stream?"

[Hm, I guess it wouldn't hurt. You are from a different world-line after all, and you won't be able to affect it. Come, come here.]

A hovering screen appeared in front of the Dokkaebi King.

[This is a story from another world-line. It has an Incarnation named Ethan, just like you.]

"I see. What is he doing?"

[Ah, he is creating a diss track. He is using Pewdiepie's original song "Congratulations" as the base lyrics and beat - it seems he's making a parody.]

["Oops, didn't think we see? It's right here in this archived stream; get used to your past being broadcasted on the screen!"]

"Pew... diepie? Parody?"

[Those are foreign terms to you. They are hard to understand, especially from your point of view.]

I watched the music video continue. After it was over, the screen flickered away.

[Well, that was it. I showed enough.]

"Incredible. That is a different world-line?"

[Yes. It's much different from yours, isn't it?]

"It is. I wished I could visit."

[Alas, your story doesn't have any "Returnee" or "isekai" genres incorporated in its themes, so that is impossible.]

I didn't understand the first two things he said; I only understood when he said it was impossible.

"So, what happens now?"

[It is time for you to wake up and think this is an absurd dream!]

"Wait! N-"

***

"Sir, are you alright?"

My butler stood before me.

"Sir, you were thrashing in your sleep. Is... the battlefield haunting you?"

"Ah, no, I dreamt about-"

(Wait. What did I dream about?)

"Sir?"

"It seems I forgot. How clumsy of me."

"Sir, perhaps it is for the best if that continued to happen."

"Yes, I must agree."

"Would you like for something to be prepared?"

"Hm. Some tea would be nice. A beef stew as well, with soft biscuits. A nice home meal."

"I shall prepare it right away."

"Thank you."

As my butler left, I felt bored. What should I do? Should I read? I felt too restless for that.

(Maybe-)

I grabbed some parchment, a pen, and an inkwell. I didn't know what the title should be, so I made it simple.

-A Historic Battle-

(-I should write a story about the war.)

So, I wrote a story, hoping the next generations would read it. I hoped they would learn these lessons: too much ambition is poison, and war is a cruel, merciless act.

I wrote for months until the two final words were all that was left. How does anyone finish a story?

"With a simple-"

<The End>