Chapter Six: Lazerine (Part Two)

“How do you feel about this?” Dumps asked.

“Running is impossible now, but that might not be such a bad thing,” Virak replied, trying to help his two close friends accept the situation first. He planned to gradually find a way to reveal his circumstances later and work together with them to chart a path forward. “The Thomas family is very wealthy. They need me now, and all I have to do is help them get through this period as they say, and I’ll earn a huge reward. With that money, we can firmly establish ourselves in Lazerin and never have to return to that poor backwater town of Zwald.”

Nord’s eyes widened, his voice trembling to a whisper despite his fierce expression. “It’s not that simple! They want you to impersonate that Chris guy. If you get recognized, we’ll be thrown into the sewers to feed the rats!”

“But we have no way back now,” Virak said calmly, patting Nord on the shoulder. “Resistance would mean certain death. If we follow their instructions, who knows? Maybe we really can change our unchanging fate.”

“So you’ve made up your mind?” Dumps asked.

“Yes.” Virak nodded.

Dumps’ gaze flickered before he lowered his head slightly. “If that’s your decision, then so be it.”

“You must memorize everything carefully. If you don’t understand something, ask Fletcher. Absolutely no slip-ups, or we’ll all end up thrown into—”

“I will,” Virak interrupted Nord firmly, locking eyes with him. “Trust me.”

Nord, Dumps, and Virak had known each other for many years and understood him well. Virak was never one for empty boasts; he was steady and reliable. Since he had decided and given his promise, all they could do was believe in him and walk alongside him.

Nord was momentarily speechless after being cut off, his mouth slightly open. After a long silence, he said, “I trust you.”

“Take us to see the big city,” Dumps said with a light smile.

That smile eased some of the weight in Nord’s heart; he began to understand certain things.

They were the most overlooked people in the world—ordinary folk who could be summed up in a few words. In their twenties and thirties, they worked as waiters, steelworkers—jobs with no future. No matter the hardships ahead, their fate could not be worse than before.

They were three damned lives.

Others thought so, and so did they.

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“All right, let’s leave it at that for now.” Virak stood and said, “I’ll keep studying the information. I don’t yet know how Fletcher will assign you two, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you close. You can’t remain complacent either; try to grasp as much as you can. The city is full of opportunities—we can’t miss out.”

“Got it!” Nord’s initial fear soon transformed into excitement.

Virak smiled slightly, looking at Dumps. They exchanged a glance but said nothing.

After leaving the private room, Virak reopened the booklet prepared especially for him and read every word carefully, recalling details about his connections with people. Among those near or far, there must be key figures linking the rebel organization and Chris. There were also people Virak could manipulate for his plans.

Time passed unknowingly until noon, when Fletcher came out of his private room to join Virak for lunch.

Though Fletcher maintained a polite facade, Virak knew this man despised them deeply. Because Virak was valuable to the Thomas family, Fletcher trained him during their meals. Nord and Dumps were lucky to be alive; dining with them was something Fletcher would never accept.

So Nord and Dumps ate separately in the private room.

During lunch, Fletcher meticulously taught more dining etiquette and tested Virak again afterward to ensure his progress met expectations before returning to his own room.

During a break, Virak went back to the private room to reassure his friends once more. To help them remember better, he took Nord and Dumps outside to teach them dining manners.

Nord, a waiter at a high-end restaurant in Zwald, was already familiar with many customs and caught on quickly. Dumps, a rougher character, struggled to shake old habits. Virak patiently explained the use of each utensil and the proper behavior during meals repeatedly. Dumps listened intently, sweat beading on his forehead.

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Sunday, July 16th, 7 p.m.

All lessons paused for the evening. Nord and Dumps did not stay in the private room but joined Fletcher and Virak. Together, they stood by the train window, gazing at the towering buildings stretching to the horizon—the dazzling city of Lazerin.

Fletcher, knowing Virak had never been to Lazerin, began to explain: “Lazerin is called the City of Art and Culture. It’s one of the most prosperous cities in the world. The Mene River, the second-largest river in Blesi, runs through it. The terrain is flat, with mild summers and winters. The city’s population exceeds 1.5 million. We are about to pass through the northern suburban manufacturing district.”

Though Virak had already witnessed the city’s splendor, he still felt immersed in its grandeur. No one would refuse to live in paradise, and to them, Lazerin was just that.

“There’s a saying in Lazerin: ‘Whoever controls Lazerin controls all of Blesi,’” Fletcher continued. “I just returned from Zwald and can’t help but marvel at it. Although I’m from the Bash Empire, I must admit Lazerin is undoubtedly the greatest city in the world.”

“Your accent doesn’t sound Bash at all,” Virak remarked.

Fletcher exhaled. “I’ve lived here over twenty years but still can’t understand the southern Blesi dialect, haha. Fortunately, you are all from the north. The northern Blesi accent is basically the same, which spares us from many troubles.”

“Indeed, changing an accent isn’t something you can do overnight,” Virak agreed.

“Look.” Fletcher raised his chin slightly.

Virak looked out the window to see a large area under construction not far from the train tracks, featuring grand buildings with distinctive artistic styles.

“That is the Mene Pavilion, built to resemble Lazerin’s most iconic building,” Fletcher explained. “In two months, it will host the World Expo to showcase national strength and celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Blesi Great Revolution.”

“Named after the Mene River?” Virak asked.

“Yes.”

The train soon passed the emerging Mene Pavilion. Virak returned to his seat as Nord excitedly discussed the unique buildings and stylish pedestrians with Dumps.

“Go freshen up. We’re almost there,” Fletcher instructed, arranging for someone to give Virak a final appearance touch before arrival.

A little over ten minutes later, the train stopped at the station.

Fletcher and Virak, dressed sharply in a suit and full of vitality, stepped off first.

Standing on Lazerin’s soil, Virak took a deep breath and lifted his gaze to take in everything within sight.