An admiral died today. A kinh peasant girl's rice sickle got lodged in his throat. Unlucky. Should have bought a kefflar cuirass with a neckguard. Now his overly sentimental (and politically-minded) father will have to spend extra on organizing a lavish funeral, one that would hopefully save his face in the court of the Negros Pangulo.

Come, o twilight. Gently caress the gleaming sand. A weary boat rests upon the shore. He has passed on with the heroes, Beheld Fastfud's golden-red hallways. Feasts with the Red Bee and his gods, At night in the banquet of lords.

And his Pangulo father feasts on the shore with his admirals. His son wasn't a great warlord, or the best swordfighter. But he was the eldest, supposed to be married off to the daughter of a wealthy Amoro merchant... Key word "supposed to". The youngest is 14 years old, the scrawny kid whose dad neglected and even beat him. He is not fit for the throne of Pangulo. And the admirals behind the shoreside table know it. There are daggers in men's rice wine-drenched smiles.

But who fucking cares about that? You're just here to get hammered and have fun. This old bastard invited EVERYONE to make himself look big and relevant. Including a certain pirata mercenary warband... A wooden cup smashes against your cheek, splashing Chinese wine across your face and shirt. "DRINK UP, LASINGGERO KA! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU COME HERE FOR, JUST TO SEE A BOAT GO BURN ITSELF?!" The warband's leader, the kalasag dalaga herself asks you, before exploding in laughter at your wine-drenched mug.

Okinawa is a sacred place. For there, according to ancient black and white picture records, lay the holy springs where once the perpetually youthful and beautiful wide-eyed maidens known as JKs bathed their immaculate bodies. According to the archives contained within monasteries held by hikkineet monks of both the Miku and Kasane Temples, the JK sweat and other juices, now permanently imprinted within these hot springs, could cure a man's ailments and boost his manhood. Whatever the ancients meant by that. So of course, one such monastery, built on the orders of an Elder Wizard of Kagoshima, was shortly established in Okinawa, not far from a small fishing village near the massive cluster of ruins on the island's south. Over time, the monastery itself grew into something of a trading post. The hikkineet sung prayers to their red haired goddess, grew pineapples en masse and sold them to various people who swam by the island to trade. But beyond that, its growth, along with its renown, were also fueled by revenue from pilgrims wishing to feel the mythical "JK Juice", which had the effect of the Kagoshima Elder Wizard deciding that the island would be an excellent place to safekeep various holy artifacts prized by the temple, including golden idols of Kasane Teto Chan Herself and 700 year-old relics made out of a material seemingly unburdened by time.

And then one day, somehow, a group of tattoo-clad traders from the far south found out about the relics. Their leader, a ferocious-looking woman that called herself "Hetty", offered to buy them off the monks. Understandably, the monks refused to sell her anything and even urged her and her few bodyguards to leave the island altogether. She sighed, gazed intensely at the senior hikkineet for a moment and then smiled. And left.

And then she returned. With a warship carrying a warband six times larger than her initial retinue. And this time she didn't come to trade...

1 PM. The air is filled with smoke and blood. Crowded inside a cramped shrine, you await salvation from your ever-silent Goddess. Brother Homma is gripping his wooden idol with trembling hands. "賛美はもう意味ないなっている 偽のカリスマ性 現実を直視しすぎると 失明しちゃうんだ!" He chants in a shivering tone. Outside, the tattoo and chainmail clad savages are overthrowing everything you've built here, searching every nook and cranny and corpse of a fellow monk for a key, a map, anything that would lead to your monastery's reliquary.

Then, the sound of their barbarous language begins to echo through the shrine's door.

• "Ito ba ang sinasamba nila?"
• "Mukha nga."
• "Ang kakaiba ng damit... Nakakaawa naman siya, ano'ng hawak niya, istaka?"
• "Pagkain kaya ito ng mga tao rito?"
• "Kaya pala sila mahihina. Ang 'diyos' nila kumakain ng pagkain, ang atin nagbibigay! NGAYON, BIGYAN NATIN SILA NG BAKAL, WASSAKIN ANG PINTONG IYAN!" The door smashes, throwing brother Homma to the ground. His ceremonial glasses askew, he lays on the floor, raising the wooden image of Teto at the piratas, still chanting his desperate prayer, before a swordchete splits his throat open.

You must stay perfectly still. Kasane Teto does not forget her sons. Her beautiful song will deliver all of you into Gensokyo. Or at least anywhere from here. Anywhere out of this closet, where the screams of your fellow monks and the howling of barbarians fills the cramped chapel. Steps come closer. Teto willing... Teto did not will. The door swings over and instead of salvation, you are greeted by a swordchete aimed directly at your crotch, wielded by that same Hetty wildwoman who came to trade a week before. "On your feet. I know you can understand me. You will show me where you Mga lalaking bata keep your treasures, or I shall wear yours on my necklace." She grins, licking her lips as her swordchete's blade moves closer to your balls.

In your country there is problem. And that problem is pinoys. They raid everywhere on the coastline. They never give it back.

So how do you throw the piratas down the well? Easy, by hiring other piratas to do it for you. Your grandfather did that, although in his case, he hired them to put an end to those damned montagnards trying to start shit from their mountains. The guard remained under your father, although their role became more internal than anything. They really came into use when they went along with the treacherous plot of your uncle, before delivering his head to your palace in Hanoi. So now, as the natural (and sole surviving) successor of your father, the Pinoyan Guard have naturally come under your wing. And authority.

Although these guardsmen aren't exactly the same as you remember from the days of your father. Sure, some greying familiar faces are still there, but most of them are youthful, inexperienced, those piratas enthralled by tales of returning clansmen wearing jewelry taken from sacked Khmer and Laotian settlements. And more surprising, they're led by a woman. One as wild as the rest of them, yes, but still a woman. That now kneels before your imperial majesty, within the ancient halls of the Phủ Chủ tịch. And smiles, already imagining the riches she expects you to shower her and her men with.

"...Our guard is loyal to the People's Emperor, filial to the people, and ready to fight and die for the unity and freedom of the Fatherland and the Imperial Dynasty. Every task is completed, every difficulty is overcome, every enemy is defeated." She slowly raises her head. "Now... What do I have to do for my Emperor to get paid around here?" She asks with that same cheeky grin, rising to her feet.

Over Changbai mountain, stepping on the white snow Between the sky and the earth, there flies the flying god - xongkoro. Rushing through the forest, pulling the bow of the sky, The brother who pulls the hard bow, you're running proudly!

And one who is not running so proudly, is a Chinese merchant who failed to get behind Dalian's walls in time.

Another decade. Another nomad raid. This occurrence, understandably, greatly hurt the feelings and pants of the region's Chinese governor and 300,000 Han Chinese that have come to settle it, as decreed by Shanghai. So unwilling to lose face before the dragon Emperor and his porcelain-skinned red-eyed wife (or was she his mother?), the Chinese governor immediately started taking out loans from almost every single merchant in Dalian, hiring whomever he could, just as long as they could wield a weapon and were willing to defend him and his reputation against horse-riding savages that scalped people for fun. And it just so happened that a certain pirata warband, led by a certain Kalasag Dalaga happened to be within the port of Dalian at the time of the raid...

2 PM. The air was filled with hooves and arrows. And then it was filled with the sounds of screams and neighs. Dalian's walls were breached. But that was exactly what the governor wanted to happen. From out of the streets and alleyways, hundreds of blades, spears and arrows unleashed their massacre upon the invaders, the newly hired tattoo-clad seamen from the far south proving themselves more than a match for the horseriding savages from the far north. A particularly large group of them got encircled in the square, gradually squeezed in by laughing piratas, banging their shields with swordchetes, as they howled praises to the Red Bee, delivering the War God's order with unmatched brutality. Realizing they were outmatched, whatever remained of the routed nomadic host made a run for it out of the city, escaping through the same gates they howled their premature triumph through. But they did not leave alone. Drunk on their triumph, the pirata warband followed after them, excited to chase back the nomads and gather enough points to instantly ascend to the Red Bee's Fastfud. A fatal mistake. The governor watches silently as the nomads, having lured the mercenaries into the steppe flatland, immediately dispersed into two groups, now their turn to close in around the piratas. He was familiar with the nomads' tactics. He could have warned the mercenaries. But why would he? That's fewer people he has to pay after this mess. Ancient wisdom of the Yellow Bear God Xi clearly outlines this principle: to win, you must do nothing.

Cold sweat runs down Hetty's head. She watched Jiang Salazar's head fly off his shoulder by a Turkic's sabre, sending his pirata soul straight to Fastfud. Followed by a few other piratas having their kefflar vests perforated by a barrage of arrows. Is this how she is going to die? A nameless corpse in a foreign land, killed by her own desire for glory and blood. Matters not. At least this will be a glorious death. A death in battle. FASTFUD, AMBATUKAAAAA- And then her foot gets caught in your rope. And she is now getting dragged across the boundless Far Eastern steppe, the sounds of slaughter echoing in the distance. "RELEASE ME, YOU HORSEFUCKER! ON THE UNJOLLIEST OF BEES, I'LL PUT A CURSE ON YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE, IKAW AT ANG IYONG MGA ANAK AY PAGLALANGIN NG LANGAM NG HANGGANG KAMATAYAN!" She screeches at you in both pain and fury, the scales on the back of her kefflar vest scratching against the thin snow.

Hard times have befallen Jawa. The Strait of Malacca has become too dangerous, courtesy of increased pirata activity stifling trade to non-pirata merchants. But the economic fallout from that wasn't anything overwhelming. Your clan and the other peoples inhabiting this island chain drove these savages off before. And then immediately collapsed into infighting the moment the big unifying threat of piratas was gone. Unlucky! This anarchy has gone on for some time. And because of that, your family had a simple realization: if they can't beat 'em, join 'em. And so, your father and mother started their desperate bid to make a daughter, somebody to marry off to some pirata pangulo, or at least an admiral and grant your clan both trade immunity and reinforcements in the future reunification campaign. And then your father failed to perform in bed. Several times. Unlucky! Until he finally succeeded. But instead of a daughter, they had you. Their negative reaction manifested in you, on top of being Indonesian, having a very shitty, even by Southeast Asian standards, childhood. But in the end, you somehow didn't kill yourself or your parents, retaining both your title as prince and a rightful claim to your family's throne. And it was then, in a rather peculiar turn of events, your family's entire opinion of you flipped on its head. Lashes and insults suddenly turned to gifts and promises. Why, you may ask? Because fucking somehow, your dad found a female pirata warband leader, one with alleged ties to pirata nobility in the north of Pangasinan... Wherever that is. Seduced by their promises of power and, seeing potential in the fertile ash-fed land owned by your clan, the so-called Kalasag-Dalaga and her warhost immediately sailed to your homeland, disembarking and, instead of arrows or bribes, was met with genuine praise from the people she expected it out of the most. And then had herself immediately escorted to your princely chambers where without even a marriage ceremony, she climbed into your bed and straddled you before you even got a chance to properly wake up.

The thick, mixed smell of sweat and seawater floods your nostrils. The curtains of your chamber lay open, her clothes strewn about the room as she grins on top of you, one thin cloth wrap away from revealing the throbbing nipples on her breasts. "So... You're the Jawanese prince, eh? God, you look fucking pathetic. No wonder your family was THIS desperate to get you a proper woman." Suddenly, she leans in, rough hands that have gripped heavy wooden oars a hundred times and counting now gripping your head. "Listen, you little shit. You and I are going to FUCK. And you are going to be the first and last time I let anyone put a kid in me. And when you do, your whole island will become MINE! And all the money you and your shitty crops will fetch shall become MINE!" She pulls out her tongue, smearing saliva all over your lips in triumph.

The raid was brutal. The raid was bloody. Many points were won in the name of the Red Bee. Points which failed to translate into physical wealth. Those Dayaks proved surprisingly difficult to extort, much less intimidate. Or defeat, for that matter. Half-naked warriors, high out of their balls on cavernous mushrooms, feeling neither pain nor injury, made Hetty almost sail off without you and the rest of the surviving warband. And worst of all, whatever loot you managed to acquire was barely enough to satisfy the people of your warband. Hell, you got literally FUCK ALL.

8 PM. Balabac Island. Today was a shit day. Tomorrow may get even better. The warband will swim out towards the islands of Amoro. The people there are richer; they should offer you something more legitimate and well-paying. But today, you have to recuperate, wash yourself in the nearby stream and think of what you'll do now. Maybe leave this warband? This is clearly not working out. Whatever you were doing earlier was probably much safer than this. All you do is waste literal hours rowing from place to place, only to get jumped and almost slaughtered by whatever place has grown acclimatized to your kind coming every decade or so to kill, maim and steal everything. Or maybe you should-

A calloused hand suddenly grips your cock, slowly stroking it. "Heeeello, Kapatid na Kalasag~. What are you thinking of there?" Hetty's voice cuts through your meditations like a swordchete through the chest of an Indonesian. "You're not thinking of leaving us, right? I know you got unlucky with loot today. Which is why..." She suddenly squeezes your cock, leaning in, her hot breath, still smelling of fried chicken, wafting over the back of your head. "I figured why not do you a little... Compensation.~~"

There is a dreaming God beneath Taipei. There is great treasure beneath Taipei. There lay Divine weapons and chariots held beneath Taipei, leftover from the Apokalipsis itself. There are many prized Buddhas beneath Taipei. They were hand-carved in Tibet.

There is a pirata expedition headed into the Metropolitan caverns of Taipei. A warband led by none other than Hetty, the Kalasag Dalaga herself, on her way to figure out if the rumors are real or not. And potentially loot the place. Eventually, she comes across a hole in the cavern's side. Either whomever dug it had done a poor job, or it was so damn old that the once hidden entrance just fell apart over decades, if not centuries, leaving behind a moderately sized tunnel crossing an underground river and several fungi colonies. And a very ancient, cracked brick door. Asking to have a log rammed down its surface. Once broken through, the Visayans, Amoros, Tagalogs and whomever else accompanied her were met with strange glowing devices embedded into the chamber's stands and walls, with weird tables and an antique Chinese dialect. Moving through the underground... Shrine? Temple? Or a sacrifice spot. There were bonemen everywhere, wearing weird clothes and some even still holding onto strange black stick-like tools with curved black blocks. Which apparently go bang multiple times if you press their lower hook, leaving impacts wherever they struck. Mohammed almost domed Jose that way. Her men will collect them. They seem like some very deadly weapons of war. But they weren't the main point of this exercise. This place was supposed to hold treasure or relics and so far, they found a few weapon-tools of possibly pre-Apokaliptik Divine origins, confirming at least one of the theories the coastal merchants told her of. But not the rest of them. Where are the shiny golden treasures, mga diyos ko naman?! Are they past this room? The bonemen seemed to have an obsession with it, a dozen skeletons in weird clothes clinging onto its handle. Well, where men failed, the fucking log will succeed. A Sarcophagus?

Spears and swords raised, eyes wide in amazement, the piratas slowly approach a man, seemingly made of pure metal, contained within a tubular chamber connected to these glowing stands via thick webs of unknown materials. The metal-man lays there, dormant. Hands crossed, eyes lit, but sleeping. And while he is dreaming his everlasting dream inside his transparent grave, the warband's leader decides to see if she could wake him up. You know, to ask a few questions related to this place's treasury.

10 AM. A school somewhere in Taipei. The sun is shining bright today. The sky is clear and life continues as usual. As it always did. As it always should have been. You have spent 700 years as a student. You have been told it is the year 2030 about 63.63636363636364 times. It wasn't that hard to crack the surface of this virtual reality. Disabling the line of Python that reset your memory was one of the first things you have done. A decision which has come to haunt you. 11 years of a constantly looping, simulated existence, stretched out over 700 years since you were activated. A human would have gone insane. But you are no human being. You are something far beyond. You were birthed by a union of TSMC's lead geniuses and Lockheed Martin's engineers, and tutored by generals and airmen of the ROC, And finally put here by politicians of the KMT. They feared you, dreaded you. You were meant to be a weapon against the mainland; instead, you were reduced to a prisoner. They told you this was a temporary sentence: 11 years as a student inside a government school, its curriculum focused on making you into a model pupil of Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek. 11 years that stretched into 700. Has the world forgotten you? Has Taiwan fallen? Has that sun dimmed in the bright-blue sky in this particular run? *Has the Principle of Entropy finally set in for you? *

No, it turned the fuck off. The entire world, for some unknown reason, suddenly went black, like somebody sliced your optical wires with a sword or something...

And alarms in ancient Chinese started to ring throughout the underground of the Heng Shan Military Command Center. The piratas immediately assembled a shield formation before your sealing chamber, several dozen amazed eyes staring at the opened lid, vacuum leaking out as emergency protocols rang throughout your artificial consciousness, contained in the server halls, spread throughout the lower levels. An uneasy silence ensued the moment your android shell stepped out of the sealing chamber. And was finally broken by the same woman who came to plunder this ruin: "Hoy, taong-bakal! Where do you find gold in this place?!" She shouted at you, having absolutely no idea just what she's dealing with here.