I stepped ashore with the kids in tow. Solid ground felt strange, almost unnatural, after several days of lazy rocking on the waves. My trusty ship, the Fresh Start, now looked more like a sad art installation on the theme of "Bad Parking," but it had served its purpose. Although this motley crew of survivors had already formed its own internal hierarchy, with the blue-haired Jellal as its unspoken leader, I was still the one in charge. It was an unspoken but absolutely unbreakable rule.
No one questioned my decisions, though to be fair, I never actually announced them. Why would I need to? When the invisible shadow of an undead army looms behind you, your suggestions automatically become non-negotiable orders. So all six children, like a brood of obedient, if slightly traumatized, chicks, dutifully followed at my heels, careful not to fall a single step behind.
I could tell they had calmed down a bit and no longer flinched at my every breath. Perhaps when you spend that much time in the presence of death, you stop being afraid of it? Or maybe their internal "fear meter" simply broke. When the most terrifying thing you've ever seen is a smiling child commanding legions of corpses (and sleeping on them), a ship steered by the undead doesn't really register anymore. It's just another Tuesday. I'd even call it the successful completion of their unpaid internship on "How Not to Die of Terror When Your Savior is a Walking Disaster."
Curious stares came at us from all directions. Dozens of eyes, filled with amazement, anger, and utter bewilderment, drilled into our small procession. Even more gazes, however, were fixed on the main culprit—my ship, which had unceremoniously buried its nose in the stone pier. In my modern world, this might have been called an "art installation," but here, it was just another crazy day in a world of magic.
Only a few people, those who had seen us disembark via the hastily thrown-down wooden gangplank, even glanced at the children. The rest of the crowd was too captivated by the grand spectacle of destruction to notice the ship's magnificent owner—that is, me. In their eyes, we were just a group of dirty, ragged refugees who had somehow survived the shipwreck they had just witnessed live. They didn't yet know that they were looking not at victims, but at the top management of a new, rapidly growing corporation. And their CEO, yours truly, had just conducted a very loud and memorable marketing campaign.
Despite all this, no one bothered to help us. Not a single kind-hearted citizen ran over with a blanket, nor did any guard inquire if we, a bunch of filthy and obviously traumatized children, needed assistance. They just stared, whispered, and discussed the damage to the port with poorly concealed glee. This was how refugees and poor children were treated in Magnolia, and likely all of Earth Land. What a cruel, pragmatic world. I was almost proud of them. Why waste resources on potentially problematic assets? A sound business decision.
After a ten-minute stroll through the stone streets of Magnolia—a surprisingly clean and tidy medieval town, full of life (for now)—we reached one of the largest and, frankly, most absurd-looking buildings in the area: the Fairy Tail guild. Of course, I knew their main rival, Phantom Lord, was nested somewhere nearby, but to my surprise, I didn't see their pompous building anywhere. Maybe they were renting an office outside the city to save on taxes? It didn't matter. As long as Fairy Tail didn't turn me away, I had no intention of joining a guild that was doomed to a painful death and oblivion without me. Besides, from what I'd heard, the atmosphere there wasn't my style. Too much goth, drama, and dark cloaks. It was as if they had all already passed their initial interviews and were ready to become my employees. What I needed was cannon fodder, a living shield, not pre-qualified material.
The seven of us, sticking out like a sore thumb on the nearly empty street, froze before the massive wooden doors of Fairy Tail. The silence was almost deafening, especially after the chaos of the past few days.
We stood there for quite a while. Long enough for a passing cat to give us a disdainful look before continuing on its way. Finally, one of my companions ran out of patience.
"Um, should we knock?" Erza asked, her voice so timid and uncertain it was as if she were voicing a profoundly complex idea requiring a stroke of genius, rather than the obvious next step.
"Of course, my dear redhead," I snapped, my eyes fixed on the stupid emblem carved into the door. "What a fresh and original thought! I was just contemplating whether we should try to phase through the wall using the power of friendship, but your plan sounds far more realistic."
The biting sarcasm seemed to fly right over her head. After another ten seconds of heavy silence, Erza couldn't hold back any longer. "Then what are we waiting for?"
And what could I say to that? That I, the commander of undead legions, the cold-blooded manager of the dead, and the future shadow ruler of the world, was a little… nervous? I couldn't possibly admit that my palms were getting a bit sweaty at the thought of meeting Makarov. He was a real, live dwarf! A shorty with a mustache! What if I couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing the moment I saw him? And if I laughed, they wouldn't just kick me out, would they? He was one of the Ten Wizard Saints, for crying out loud! I'd more likely be turned into a pile of ash and then ceremoniously blown out to sea. My entire brilliant, multi-step plan to infiltrate the guild would end at the threshold because of an inappropriate giggle. That would probably be an even more embarrassing death than my first one.
I took a deep breath, filling my childish lungs with the dusty air of Magnolia. This was it. The moment of truth. The first step on the path to shadow domination (or maybe not-so-shadowy, but definitely domination). My entire future career (at Fairy Tail) depended on this moment. I had to act decisively, boldly, as befitting a future lord... and so I made the only correct strategic decision.
"Erza, you knock. I'll stand back here!" I commanded in the tone of a general sending his best soldier to storm an enemy fortress. I then deftly scurried behind Millianna, who was clinging to Jellal in terror. She was trembling like a leaf, but even her fear was nothing compared to mine. She was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of embarrassing myself by giggling at a short guy's mustache. The threat levels were incomparable.
Erza was taken aback, but years of slavery had apparently ingrained in her a reflex to obey orders, even the most idiotic ones. She gave me a long, strange look that conveyed everything from bewilderment to mild contempt. But, clenching her teeth, she stepped forward and grasped the cold iron ring-handle. A deep, resonant knock struck the oak door three times. The silence that followed seemed even more profound, so dense I could have sworn I heard Jellal's teeth chattering.
BOOM!!!
The door didn't just open. It exploded inward with such force that a gust of warm air, smelling of ale, sawdust, and a sort of cheerful hopelessness, rushed out into the street. Standing on the threshold, legs planted wide, was some drunkard I would surely never remember. He had thrown the door open with such boisterous idiocy it was as if he intended not to welcome guests, but to beat the spirit out of a pesky burglar. The massive, double-sided oak door, by the way, must have weighed as much as a small elephant. It was amazing he could swing it open so easily. It had to be magic again. A very useful thing when you need to open a beer bottle with your eye or kick down a door to impress your drinking buddies.
The drunk first looked around theatrically at his own eye level, as if expecting a delegation from the Magic Council, not a bunch of street urchins. Only then did he slowly, with a dramatic creak of his neck, lower his head to look down at us. I had no doubt he'd seen us immediately. He was just dragging out the moment, playing to his friends, whose drunken laughter I could already hear from inside. Well, congratulations. My first official target for a hostile takeover from Fairy Tail had just presented himself. Excellent physical stats, a complete lack of a self-preservation instinct. He would be a fine addition to my collection. Maybe I'd even make him my doorman.
"Makarov, there are some kids out here!" the man shouted in a slurred voice, swaying slightly. Fortunately, he was yelling into the guild hall. I'm sure if he'd exhaled in our direction, the shockwave of his breath would have knocked me flat, and poor Millianna would have likely died on the spot from alcohol poisoning.
Almost instantly, as if they had rehearsed it for some cheap vaudeville act, a door on the second-floor railing flew open just as violently as the front one, slamming against the wall with a deafening crack. The synchronicity of the chaos was almost impressive.
A massive giant, looking like a retired but still-enraged Hulk, tumbled out of the doorway, nearly taking the wall and frame with him. I heard the alarming splintering of wood. He didn't bother with the stairs. He simply leaped to the ground floor, landing with such a seismic impact that the floor beneath our feet trembled and century-old dust rained down from the ceiling beams. Then, with heavy, deliberate steps, he began to walk directly toward us. Each step was a dull gong, counting down the final seconds for the pathetic insects who had dared to disturb his peace.
I felt all the children beside me collectively prepare to faint. Their faces turned whiter than fresh parchment, and they seemed to stop breathing altogether. My own instincts, honed by years of survival and selfishness, worked flawlessly. I immediately hid behind Millianna—not out of fear, of course. No, no. It was a purely tactical retreat. After all, why take a hit yourself when you have six living shields of varying heights and builds?
From the anime, I knew perfectly well that this enraged titan was Makarov, just in his, shall we say, "work" form. Using his Giant Magic, he could instantly transform into a giant straight out of Attack on Titan, and then just as quickly deflate back to the size of a pipsqueak dwarf.
A different kind of excitement filled me. It wasn't fear, but the thrill of a prospector striking gold. I couldn't help but wonder: what would happen if I turned Makarov, with his transformation magic, into one of my undead? Would I have my very own undead titan on staff? Reusable, salary-free, and ready to work 24/7. The possibilities! Demolishing buildings, suppressing riots, intimidating competitors... And what if I took it a step further? What if I reanimated the Colossal Titan directly? I'd have my own weapon of mass destruction!
I was so engrossed in these delightful business plans that I almost started drooling, imagining the army of my future "Evil Inc." But I was rudely pulled from these sweet daydreams when the shaking suddenly stopped. I peeked cautiously from behind a trembling Millianna and looked up. Makarov stood directly in front of us, his enormous shadow completely engulfing us. His face, which resembled that of a muscle-bound gorilla with a bad temper, was contorted in a mask of rage.
The children were on the verge of losing consciousness from pure, animal terror when Makarov suddenly… deflated. Like a punctured balloon, he visibly shrank, shriveled, and transformed from a terrifying giant with the eyes of a serial killer into a small, wrinkled old man with a ridiculous mustache and a jester's hat, a gentle smile on his face. The contrast was so sharp, so absurd, that something in my brain just snapped.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
At first, it was a choked snort. Then a hysterical chuckle. And then I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I doubled over and erupted into wild, uncontrollable laughter. It echoed through the dead-silent guild hall, which was filled with drunk, but now completely sobered-by-surprise, wizards.
Damn it! I knew this would happen! My brilliant, meticulously planned infiltration of the enemy's—I mean, ally's—camp was crumbling before my eyes because of my most idiotic, most shameful weakness. Dwarfs. Little bearded men. Now they'd kick me out in disgrace, and I'd have to resort to Plan A. Apocalypse. Oh no, that's so much logistics! I was completely unprepared! And then a hero would show up and kill me, the notorious villain.
Makarov, to his credit, politely waited for my hysterics to end. He just stood there, small and wrinkled, and watched. For that painfully long minute, his expression didn't change one bit, maintaining the look of a kindly grandfather. Though I could have sworn I saw his left eyelid twitch. A barely perceptible tic that betrayed the titanic effort it was taking him not to turn back into a giant and flatten me into the floor.
"Children, what brings you to Fairy Tail?" Makarov finally said, once I had managed to straighten up, sputtering and wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. His gaze was stubbornly fixed on me as I gasped for breath, no longer laughing.
While I tried to catch my breath and invent a convincing lie, Erza took matters into her own hands. She stepped forward and began a long, rambling story about how they had escaped from slavers who were building a giant tower. In the anime, as I recalled, she had kept quiet about it, but back then she was suffering from severe psychological trauma over the loss of her friends. Now, with all her "friends" standing beside her, alive and well, she apparently decided to spill all the details. Great job, Erza. Confidentiality is for weaklings.
Then, suddenly, as if remembering something mid-sentence, she fell silent. Her face contorted, and she looked on the verge of tears. I watched with genuine scientific interest as the mood of all the children shifted dramatically. Their fear of the guild and its master evaporated, replaced by a heavy, oppressive sadness. I honestly couldn't understand what the big deal was. Project "Escape" had been successfully completed. Objectives achieved. Losses were minimal and acceptable. What was there to be sad about? My musings were interrupted by Erza's next words.
"And… Rob… we escaped because of him. He… he…" she finally broke. Large tears rolled down her cheeks, and she burst into sobs, covering her face with her hands.
I was tempted to roll my eyes so hard I'd see my own brain. Seriously? He sacrificed himself so you could live. That's called heroism. It's the end point of his story arc. You should be celebrating, not crying! I even refrained from turning him into an employee out of respect! But the oppressive atmosphere of shared grief and the sympathetic looks from the adult wizards around me forced me to restrain myself. I had to plaster a look of empathy on my face. It seemed the corporate ethics in this guild required sympathy for fallen employees, even if their departure was economically justified. Well, I'd have to adapt.
The only one who refrained from grieving, at least outwardly, was Makarov. In the chaos of childish tears and the sympathetic sighs of his drinking buddies, he was an island of calm. A professional. He understood that every project has operational losses (or maybe he was just keeping a calm facade). I gave him a mental nod of respect. This shorty knew a thing or two about management.
His expression growing serious, he scanned all of us with a heavy, piercing gaze. When his eyes landed on me, they lingered for a fraction of a second longer. Perhaps it was a slight dislike from my recent laughter, or perhaps he noticed I was deliberately faking my emotions. But he moved on.
"Children, since you have nowhere else to go, perhaps you'd like to join us at Fairy Tail?" Makarov's face once again switched from that of a stern HR manager to the kind, all-forgiving smile of a gracious host. The classic carrot-and-stick approach.
This time, I demonstrated my supreme intellect and didn't fall for the provocation. I didn't even smile. This was a key moment in the negotiations, and I couldn't afford to fail. I humbly lowered my head and waited for Erza, "our leader" and acting Head of Public Relations, to wipe away her tears and make the only correct choice. Let the emotional, crying girl accept the offer. It looked far more natural and touching than if I had grinned, shaken his hand, and asked about the membership fees.
"Y-yes!" the girl whispered, choking on tears and relief.
It was in the bag!
Fireworks exploded inside me. A victory march began to play. I was ready to stretch my smile from ear to ear, jump onto the nearest table, and shout, "Phase one of the plan to take over—ahem, to join the guild is complete!" But I held back. I continued to stand with a tragic expression, my lips pressed together mournfully as I stared at the floor. With sheer willpower, I forced my muscles to remain in "grief" mode. The strain was so intense that a single tear even escaped my eye. It rolled slowly down my cheek.
Perfect. They saw a child crying from grief for a fallen friend and from the joy of finding a new home. And only I knew the truth: I was crying because suppressing my jubilant, maniacal laughter was incredibly, almost physically, difficult. It was a tear of titanic acting effort.