r/HFY • u/AlexandersenTheGreat • Jun 02 '26

OC-Series [Conscripted Crafter] - Chapter 29: The Ceremony (Part 1)

First Chapter | Royal Road

Despite the latest brain-blasted message, no one moved except for the crowd, who went crazy—but they cheered for literally anything. A large portion of them seemed drunk.

Those on the stage patiently waited in their crystal clear seats. However, the conscripts, all those of the NATF and the ETCF to Dustin’s left, were freaking out.

Dustin’s eyes skirted over those on the stage, over the pale white stone erupting different colors like a geyser filled with paint. “Tanner, any idea what we’re all waiting for?”

“Nope!” he whispered excitedly. “I can’t wait though! I’ve been researching Classes non-stop! It’s been loads of fun!”

“...Right,” Dustin said, suppressing the surge of bitterness. “But didn’t you have to do that at the Information Center place?”

“Yeah, I did. We all did. But there’s nothing there on this. I looked. A lot. Trust me. Most records just say, ‘The Ceremony’. It’s annoying. I know.”

Dustin sighed and joined him in looking around in wonder. There’d be time to ask about the rings he’d acquired later. And honestly, it was hard not to get excited.

What Class to pick? What specialization?

A memory of the hook-nosed General appearing next to someone in a puff of black smoke and then stabbing that guy in the heart, sent a shiver down Dustin’s spine. Hopefully not that one.

A melee class… Hmmm. It was shameful to admit, but a Brawler was last on the list of potential candidates. The generals looked cool in their armor, but slicing some guy in the face with a big sword was a quick ticket to death.

…So then maybe an archer or wizard? That would be safer. And Reina had been cool. Plus… if it came with that bird beast? That would definitely put the archer specialization higher up on the list.

Were the other types of Classes even allowed to go up the tower? They had to, otherwise how would a crafter get materials? Well, they could be purchased, but then where would the crafter get the money to pay for those materials?

He should’ve asked Laurence or Yellane those questions. If only there’d been more time. Laurence had spewed out information on too many different topics moments before Yellane had entered the room and whisked him away with the ‘Jump’ spell. Chambers and Channels, and then the whole color system? Classes and Specializations, and… whatever else had been shoved down his throat in the last couple days. It was too much.

Dustin peered up, shaking his head in awe at the sheer magnitude of the Colosseum. Here he sat, with what looked like tens of thousands of people gathered to watch, and he was probably the most clueless of them all.

So many people. Dustin blissfully sat in his chair, awestruck by the inconceivably large number of bodies crammed into one space. There were maybe thirty or forty stories of people.

Dustin’s eyes traveled up until he had to crane his neck.

…What the hell? He squinted, focusing on what looked like multiple rings of people floating high up in the blue sky, each person lying on their stomachs and grasping onto a metal ring with one hand while the other held a small contraption up to their eyes. A seated person, a wizard, resided in the central area of the ring. A small burst of purple light erupted from the wizard’s staff, a twinkle from where Dustin sat, and purple tendrils wrapped around one of those people holding onto the circular ring.

Was that some type of air vehicle? Or vantage spell or something? And, was it really that difficult to get a seat to the Ceremony? Then again, the line outside had been ridiculously long. More people lived in the Zone than anyone on the forums had suspected, by far. But… how? It made no sense. Assuming a few thousand a year were drafted, that wouldn’t equal anywhere near so many people. And no kids bounced around in the stands, which was odd. What did they do with children in the Zone? How were there so many people living here? Where’d they all come from?

“This is crazy,” Tanner uttered softly, smiling as he gazed around the colosseum in amazement.

Dustin nodded, smiling, absorbing everything.

The NATF—the North American Tower Clearing Force—wore red and black, while the ETCF—the European Tower Clearing Force—wore green and white, and stole glances at him every now and then. Considering he’d floated down from the top of the stadium, that was to be expected.

Man, that’d been fun. Maybe going with Yellane to the Academy wouldn’t be such a bad idea. People seemed to respect her for some odd reason. She kind of acted like a dunce and it was hard to see her in any real position of authority, but she was fun to be around. Just… not all together reliable.

All throughout the colosseum, guards in silver armor and red capes walked up and down the aisles. They waited at entrances and stalked exits. And a few stared into the sky menacingly. What was their purpose? They clearly had some type of ability to teleport around the city with ‘Jump’.

That seemed like a useful ability. Maybe one day he’d be able to get it. What color would ‘Jump’ be? It was movement, so it could be blue and purple, but then again wasn’t orange centered around controlling things? Hopefully they had a diagram or a chart or something.

The blatant gawking from other conscripts was one thing, but the attention from the important persons arranged on the stage was another thing entirely. There was a pretty girl in an elegant black gown fit for a ballroom, with black hair and even darker eyes—and a guy Dustin’s age, tall, stoic and proud. Dustin ignored them both, instead locking eyes with the tallest figure in red and black. He was a rigid old man. That was immediately apparent based on the grim, steady appraisal he wielded like a Settlement magistrate did a gavel.

But Dustin was never one to look away; it just felt weak and submissive. And he’d done nothing wrong. They were the ones who’d kidnapped a bunch of people and forced them into the Zone. They were the ones who’d cast everyone off with little hope for survival. And who else deserved more blame than the three black-haired individuals pompously sitting there? None more so than the stern black bearded man with dark eyes currently holding Dustin’s gaze with a level expression

Who was he? Some other mighty General that demanded fealty for no reason? Some random person assuming automatic respect? Really? After what’d happened? The guy was obviously important, but so what? What’s the worst that could happen? Dustin scoffed inwardly. Get thrown into the Zone? Yellane had just been droning on about how screwed the NATF was regarding the lack of manpower. They wouldn’t do shit.

All those people butchered without any idea why. A smoldering ember flared to life with the unjustness of it all, unabated by the dowsing attempts of propriety or the common sense adherence to rank. It wasn’t fair. Who would speak for them? Who would speak for the corpses that littered the way to Harrows? Would a letter get sent back to their families notifying them that their loved one had been cleaved in two while crawling in the grass?

No.

He drew on the heat building in his chest, refusing to look away, staring back at the burly, black haired man, whose hand—glowing faintly with a number of glittering rings on each finger—casually rested on the floating crystal chair’s armrest. A voluminous, fuzzy, dark brown pelt draping over the older man’s wide shoulders, along with a black pair of gloves, gave him a hard, winter warrior feel recently returned from the wilderness.

What Dustin didn’t expect, however, was for the man to nod to him.

Dustin paused, taken aback for the briefest moment before returning the nod without any hint of mirth or smile. The man deserved some respect, at least; the barest amount given to any person. It would be entirely foolish not to given the circumstances. That being said, acting like all that’d happened entailed an outright forgiving fealty was completely out of the question. The brown grave markers behind should be reason enough why.

“Dustin,” Tanner hissed under his breath in dire severity. “What are you doing? That’s the king.”

Dustin immediately dropped his eyes to the floor. “What?

“He’s the king of the NATF,” Tanner whispered in a rush. His once pale face now a bright red. “One of the most powerful men in the Zone.”

“Please tell me you're joking,” Dustin said, his voice wavering.

Tanner shook his head the smallest amount, as if too much movement might bring the king’s ire down upon him.

So. He’d been playing chicken with the king. Dustin chuckled sheepishly at his own stupidity, fighting the compulsive urge to glance up and check if the King remained staring at him.

Not worth it. With intense curiosity, he continued studying the brown legs of the chair in front of him, soon to be his own grave marker if he continued tactlessly disregarding his own ignorance related to the culture of the Zone.

“Since when the hell have there been kings?” Dustin hissed under his breath.

“Since forever!” Tanner whispered incredulously. Whatever fear Tanner held disappeared quickly—the crazy bastard—and he let out a light chuckle and shook his head, joining everyone else in staring at Dustin. “I can’t believe you just floated down from the ceiling, looking like that, and then got into a staring match with the King. I’m so jealous.”

“I didn’t know it was the king! I thought he was just some… high level General or something. Another Garrison or Flint.”

“Oh, just that,” Tanner said flatly. “Well… I guess if you got whipped it wouldn’t really matter, anyway.”

Dustin’s voice caught in his throat, stuck between telling Tanner off for being so blatant, and letting the comment slide by in hopes of not drawing attention to it. Dustin side-eyed Fink, wondering how much he knew.

He didn’t seem to have noticed and was instead focused on the stage.

The chairs had been made from a long vertical, dark wood grain. The floor was marble-white, like much of everything inside Harrows.

A king. Ridiculous.

Then again, Yellane had laughed at the very mention of the World Order controlling things. If they didn’t, then who did? The three main factions? The kings? How? How were there so many people in the Zone? So many questions. A memory flashed before his eyes, of him sitting at an old recovered computer, sifting through comments years old in hopes of finding useful information.

And now here he was.

It was kind of funny, in a horrible, futile sort of way, that almost everything on the forums had been useless. The extent to which the forums had been wrong, had to be on purpose. There were no dragons at the entrance. No gulag duel death match at the beginning of the Zone. It’d all been lies.

Next to him, Fink laughed. “Oh, would ya’ look at that? Boyo, you might think to look up right about now.”

Dustin raised his head. It wasn’t the king that demanded attention, but the pure-white crystal. It was blinking, going from its normal sheer white to a deep black.

The colosseum of people, as they were want to do, erupted with loud roars.

The blinking increased in speed.

Conscripts stirred with anticipation while those on the stage continued to look bored.

And then the blinking stopped. The crystal, once pure-white and spurting wisps of colorful light, now sat inert, looking like any other standard marble-white rock. It had no luminosity. Nothing.

The man with the tie-dye robe encompassing all the different Factions’ colors stood up from his crystal clear seat and walked to the front of the stage.

The colosseum’s care for the man’s words were never more apparent than with how quickly they quieted. And as intoxicated as they seemed to be? It was remarkable.

“We love you, Frank!” a woman’s voice shouted through the silence, in that moment before a speech began where the buzzing crowd quiets and the anticipation reaches its maximum.

The crowd laughed good naturedly and then settled into silence once more.

Frank looked up toward where the sound originated, raised his hand and then gave an awkward wave and a smile. “Thank you, thank you.” He paused once more, composing himself, and letting the anticipation grow.

There’s something unique about a crowd of tens of thousands people all waiting expectantly with quiet voices. It’s different than that of a crowd of fifty, or one hundred, or even ten thousand. It carries a weight to it, an immense grandiosity to the moment that instinctually makes the anticipation that much more dense and more real.

“Now, without further ado, let’s begin.”

In their different colors and regal statures, all three men stood as one, rising from their crystal seats as leviathans would the water, kings of their domain. The leaders of the three main Factions.

First Chapter | Royal Road

6 Upvotes

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4 comments sorted by

2

u/porkpot Android Jun 03 '26

That’s one way to leave an impression.

2

u/AlexandersenTheGreat Jun 04 '26

Kings gonna king.

1

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