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SCL Chapter 2: The Noble Blood of Mengsk
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 03:25:08 +0000 UTCAs the door automatically unlocked, Augustus stepped into his bedroom and switched on the ceiling lamp. Warm white light filtered through intricately carved lattice panels, illuminating the room.
The decor was not particularly extravagant. A large, bronze-framed window dominated the opposite wall, offering a view of the estate’s sprawling gardens, lush and vibrant under the lamplight. Paths of fine gravel wove through the greenery, leading to the servants’ and security staff’s quarters. Beyond the fence, a broad asphalt road stretched toward the landing pads, where sleek, gunmetal-gray dropships were docked, and underground garages housed hover cars and armored vehicles.
Along the adjacent walls, a single bed and towering bookshelves filled with tomes occupied the space. Firearms from various eras—antique muzzleloaders, colonial-era semi-automatics, and state-of-the-art railguns—were mounted as part of a collection.
The original Augustus had a deep fascination with firearms, not just as collectibles but as tools he had mastered. It was one of the reasons he aspired to join the military. If Arcturus dreamed of being an explorer, Augustus had long set his sights on becoming a general who would command the stars.
Lying on his bed, he contemplated his reality.
'Augustus Mengsk' had never existed in the original StarCraft lore. Angus Mengsk had only one son and one daughter—no second son. Rather than replacing someone, it seemed Augustus' very existence was a consequence of his arrival in this world.
At the very least, his noble lineage provided him with certain advantages. In the brutal world of StarCraft, being reborn into this timeline with this identity was far from the worst outcome.
With Arcturus having enlisted in the Confederacy Marines and being away from Korhal for over eight years, their parents had frequently clashed over the future of their remaining son. Angus strongly opposed the idea of both his children joining the military, which led to Augustus’ forced transfer from the prestigious Styrling Military Academy to a family-funded university. When he eventually enlisted in secret, he had to start from the lowest rank.
The Terran Confederacy operated on a volunteer recruitment system, meaning conscription wasn’t enforced across all social classes. However, once enrolled and having passed a series of entry tests, withdrawing was considered desertion. With enlistment rates declining, this rule had only been formally codified into law in the past two years.
The good news? It was the year 2488—over a decade before humanity’s first contact with the Protoss and Zerg. For now, there were no nightmarish alien horrors to face.
Barring any butterfly effect from his presence, Augustus would complete his service and discharge before encountering the extraterrestrial factions. Besides, his brother Arcturus, now a colonel in the Confederacy, had made it clear in an email last week that once Augustus completed basic training, he would be transferred under his command.
Augustus let out a sigh, rising from his bed. He walked to a full-length mirror, gazing at his reflection for the first time since arriving in this world.
His face was strikingly handsome—one of the many signs of his pure Mengsk lineage, one of the oldest and most distinguished bloodlines among the Terran.
Like all Mengsk men, he bore sharp features: high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and piercing, cold-gray eyes. His thick, dark-gray hair was neatly styled, further emphasizing his composed demeanor.
Decent. Passable. Acceptable.
"Mengsk," Augustus murmured the ancient and noble surname. To the countless workers in the factories and settlements under the Mengsk family’s dominion, they were nothing short of royalty.
Yet Augustus vividly recalled the fate that awaited them in the game’s timeline. His father, Angus Mengsk, would attempt to lead a rebellion against the Confederacy, striving to liberate Korhal from its control. In retaliation, the Confederacy would send three Ghost operatives to assassinate every member of the Mengsk family—except for Arcturus.
As for when this would occur, Augustus wasn’t certain.
Would he have the power to prevent such a tragedy?
Of course, as a transmigrator, he also had the choice to simply walk away.
[Knock, knock—]
The sudden chime of the doorbell snapped Augustus from his thoughts. The door’s interface displayed the visitor’s identity—Dorothy.
After a brief hesitation, he unlocked the door.
A girl with silver-gray hair tied in a single ponytail stepped in. She wore a pale lavender nightgown, her cold-gray eyes wide with a fragile, pleading look. The sorrow in her gaze clutched at Augustus’ heart.
Like a jolt of electricity, memories surged through his mind. Compared to Arcturus, who was already twenty-eight, Augustus and Dorothy had grown up together, their childhoods intertwined. He had watched her transform from a tiny girl dragging a stuffed pony everywhere to the graceful young woman standing before him now.
"Augustus…" Dorothy whispered, then suddenly leaned forward, pressing her forehead into his stomach.
"They said you might die."
"I promise you—I won’t die," Augustus assured her.
"You have to write me a letter every week." Her misty eyes shimmered with unspoken fears.
Augustus found no reason to refuse his sister’s request.
"Alright," he said.
...
The Mengsk family convoy, emblazoned with a golden wolf emblem, passed through the grand colonial-era walls and into the capital city of Korhal, Styrling. The armored vehicles rolled along the wide circular roads, heading toward the Terran Confederation Marine Corps recruitment center in the heart of the city.
Towering skyscrapers cast vast shadows, their glass facades reflecting sunlight in dazzling flashes. The convoy, composed of Vulture bikes and armored vehicles, navigated through the steel-and-glass canyon of the metropolis.
Traffic thickened as ground cars and hover vehicles filled the lanes, creating a symphony of movement and noise. Augustus remained expressionless, but inwardly, he marveled at the city’s technological prowess and prosperity.
Morning in Styrling was a bustling affair. Sidewalks teemed with people in business attire and work uniforms, interspersed with IAA sanitation bots and advertising drones. At sunrise, countless individuals toiled for their families and ambitions—an endless cycle that upheld the world’s prosperity.
A skyscraper owned by UNN Global News Network displayed massive holographic billboards showcasing an array of luxury goods—ornate art pieces crafted from rare metals, extravagant designer gowns endorsed by celebrities, and more.
As they passed Styrling Academy, the armored convoy slowed. Angus deliberately instructed the driver to reduce speed.
“The academy’s dean and vice principals have tried to expel you multiple times,” Angus remarked, glancing at the academy’s grand marble walls draped in deep purple vines. As onlookers turned toward the convoy, Angus waved with a practiced politician’s smile.
“Those teachers had nothing left to teach me long ago,” Augustus replied with his usual detached indifference, recalling his frequent rebuttal. “Staying in their classrooms just to graduate would’ve been a waste of time. And weren’t all those petitioning deans and principals fired by you?”
After nearly two centuries of influence, the Mengsk family's reach extended across Styrling and other thriving cities of Korhal. As one of Styrling Academy’s primary benefactors, Angus essentially employed the very educators who had opposed his son.
“That was because they were corrupt—outwardly respectable but secretly lining their own pockets,” Angus said. “Regardless, I want your time at the academy to be a fond memory.”
Augustus cast one last glance at the academy grounds. Behind its gray fences, verdant lawns stretched before a towering granite clock tower, statues of historical figures, fountains, and vibrant flowerbeds. Freshman students in elegant uniforms practiced rapier fencing under the guidance of an instructor, their movements graceful and precise.
Augustus never had much interest in fencing, but his older brother, the Mengsk heir, Arcturus Mengsk, had a passion for bladed weapons.
Arcturus excelled in everything he loved. He had become a renowned master of fencing at a young age—not to kill, but to refine his will. To him, the graceful swordplay of the academy’s students was little more than feeble theatrics.
Augustus’s gaze briefly lingered on the long, slender legs of the girls practicing before he tactfully looked away.
“Not too bad,” he muttered.
“Take care of yourself.”
Angus suddenly broke the silence with a statement that seemed out of place, though he quickly followed with, “Youth often takes detours due to inexperience. But in the end, you’ll find your way back to the right path.”
“The Mengsk family is destined for greatness.”
Augustus nodded in acknowledgment.
Not far from the academy stood the Confederation’s recruitment center, located in one of Styrling’s most prestigious districts. The center was a cold, metallic fortress, its entrance adorned with a billowing red and blue banner featuring a diagonal cross, its quadrants filled with white stars.
Two Confederation Marines, clad in pale blue powered armor and wielding rifles, stood guard at the arched entrance. These were the infamous Federal Marines.
Their armor was formidable, covering their chests, backs, shoulders, arms, thighs, shins, and even their hips in thick exoskeletal plating. Their boots, designed for enhanced stability, featured reinforced soles with traction claws. Their matte-orange helmets obscured their faces.
These suits were interconnected by screws, capacitors, servos, and haptic feedback systems, housing life-support units within. The servo motors enabled them to wield heavier weapons, such as the AGR Gauss Rifle.
CMC-200 Powered Combat Suit
Before the Guild Wars, this model had been heralded as a revolutionary breakthrough in Terran military engineering. Even with the advent of the more advanced CMC-300, the CMC-200 remained a favorite among Confederation soldiers. Meanwhile, in the outer colonies and frontier worlds, law enforcement officers still relied on outdated power armor and even centuries-old ballistic weaponry.
