《Page of Memoirs》


 Chapter 1: Naked Courage

    This feeling is intricate, complex, mind-boggling, and most of all. Absurd.


    I¡¯m in a room that I identify as something that I own. Despite this conclusion I only see blocks of white accompanying me in a closed-off white box.


    I know what these boxes are supposed to embody. I take a look to my right to find a rectangular block that is registered to be my bed, reminiscing on its checker pattern; I also have the nightstand¡¯s likeness overlap with that of an overly generic blank box meanwhile.


    I¡¯m losing my perception as well, despite my very little understanding of what I¡¯m perceiving. As I continue my attempts at registering information, I know one thing for certain; stuff I am standing on what I wouldcall ametaphorical sinking shipas the surroundings continue caving in on me. Except, instead of mere water; I am surrounded by darkness.


    Though I call it darkness I don¡¯t know what it actually is. It isn¡¯t registering in my mind as an object I can process with my perception. I try to move, things like moving my hand or sticking out my tongue, but my body doesn¡¯t respond to me at all. All of the mental force I could muster from the depths of my brain failed to even make my body twitch in the slightest.


    As the darkness surrounded me; it spread a stone cold chill throughout the entirety of my body (I¡¯m not entirely sure at the moment) as if it were toying with me, taking me apart and recombing me together on a molecular level with whimsy. At some point, the feeling could be likened to that of a snake slithering around its prey. The ¡°Snake¡± showed its inherent dominance as the predator by it slithered slower, heightening the previously unperceived pain.It seeped into my organs as if it was venom itself sloshing away my organs. My eyes were the last to endure this sensation. It encompassed all of it I was left only with darkness.


    As I lay in this inconceivable dimension I wait and sense a familiar touch. I¡¯ve had access to this feeling for an entire lifetime, but I can¡¯t seem to put my finger on it. I take to ponder what this feeling could possibly be as it expands through the reaches of my body.


    This goes on for several minutes until I realize what this feeling is. I blow air through my newly formed mouth with my fresh lungs in a failed attempt to express my confusion with my current state.I come up with some weird line to try to describe it, but it honestly makes no sense. They must have not finished my brain yet.


    Familiar darkness slathers my eyes; I then proceed to open them to have an overwhelming sight of new objects. My brain started reeling back from the pain of trying to process stuff after my ¡°experience¡±. While my head was still pounding, refusing me the luxury of passing out, my senses honed themselves. My sight was the first to return to a somewhat comprehensible manner, even if it was paradoxically blurred beyond my comprehension.


    My other senses begin to kick in as well. My skin relays to me the coldness of a stone table; I can also feel the little bumps and gaps indicating the presence of a pattern. Despite the enjoyment of a familiar concept, I have the instant reflex to try to get off it because my brain associates that my naked presence atop this table means anything but good news. Oh¡­ I just realized that I¡¯m not particularly robed or covered in any way. Oh well, there are more important things to worry about besides this. One such instance is my tongue begging for the taste of anything. Be it a first-rate meal or freshly cut grass, my taste buds desire to fulfill its only real purpose. To discern what exactly I put in my mouth. Let that be a quote for the agesto come and go. My sense of smell is preoccupied with the smell in the air to even complain about the abruptness of its existence. The room bathes in a particularly stale stench of alcohol bringing my nose to cringe in its presence as a form of protest. Lastly, my ears pick up the sound of a conversation.


    ¡°H###, #a# yo# h##r m#? I a# trying to s##ak to ##u. If you un###sta#d what I¡¯m say##g pl#se #a#e a# e##o#t t# r##s# #o#r r##ht ha#d,¡± spouts the blur.


    I can only partially understand what I heard. Some of the letters registered in mind but others didn¡¯t. It is just like trying to sync up to a radio for a better connection.


    ¡°He cl###ly doe##¡¯t under##and you do#t. Just r##eat yo#rs#lf like a brok## #eco#d u##il he can fin##ly und##sta#d,¡±the other blurretorts.


    I understand more from this one indicating that my understanding is growing better as they continue to speak.


    The fog-like figure states, ¡°Hero, can you hear me? I am trying to speak to you. If you understand what I¡¯m saying please take an effort to raise your right hand.¡±


    The word hero instantly sends my mind for a whirl. I know what it means definition wise, but my mind doesn¡¯t hold it in any other connotation besides a sad existence. What happened to me to foster this sort of impression? I then stop the man¡¯s (my guess) voice, leading me to question whether my ears gave out or they just stopped talking. Was it something I did?


    The slimmer being claims, ¡°Well seeing as you¡¯ve heard enough of this idiot, we will take you to your room to recuperate. Try to raise yourself to see ifthere is any abnormality we should be aware of.¡±


    I take the lady¡¯s proposal as it seems reasonable enough to me. Like computer just starting up; I control my hard drive in a sluggish manner. I attempt to simply raise my hands, a simple action by any means, tosee if I can foretell the result.


    *Thud*


    It seems I foretold correctly. The two beings look at me with a bit of disappointment as if I let them down in some way. They begin to carry me to some place located elsewhere; I begin to piece their faces together. The first one to speak seems to be a male. He looks to be somewhere in his forties and holds slanted eyes, but still seems to hold a child-like demeanor with his crooked smile. The other is a female with an eternally unimpressed expression seemingly ice cold. I would like to point out that she isn¡¯t really attractive but not horrendous either, much like her companion in that sense.


    ¡°It comes to my mind that you thought of something incredibly rude. Can you refrain from those thoughts,¡± remarks the lady.


    I am left speechless, even if I wasn¡¯t speaking earlier. The intuition of some people is something to fear, especially at times like these. It seems that wasn¡¯t the only one I felt the chill as my carrier¡¯s spine. The silence continues to dominate the atmosphere until something rises within me.


    *Grumble*


    ¡°You can¡¯t even control your stomach huh.¡±


    She was quick to criticize. Yet I can¡¯t even bring myself to open my mouth to retort. Is this what they refer to as an oppressive fear?


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case it can¡¯t be helped. I¡¯ll take him down to his quarters and you can bring a plate of food,¡± says the more muscled fellow


    I commend this man for his bravery. Even in the harsh storm of this conversation; He still thought to give me some nutrition. Though food can¡¯t buy my complete trust it is certainly a good start.


    ¡°I refuse. I have to return to the lab to input my research,¡± responds the woman frigidly.


    I can truly say that he did certainly put up an effort. I hear the man sigh as if this outcome was decided from the start.


    The man goes on to say, ¡°Fine, have it your way, Nina. I¡¯ll just drop him by his bed and then come back with some possible grub.¡±


    ¡°You should have known this from the start, Ryan. Whatever, you corrected yourself in the end anyway,¡± one blur emotionlessly replies, what I presume to be Nina


    Deciding to step on some verbal landmine, Ryan replies, ¡°This personality of yours is the reason why you won¡¯t ever get married.¡±


    Nina, in turn, says, ¡°Who said I wanted to get married? You know more than anyone that it isn¡¯t even something on my mind.¡±


    They continue to ramble on like lifelong pals. I wonder what that feels like? Why do I ask that? This goes on until my courier reached a door. He opened it, and plopped me on the bed like nothing and proceeded to walk out. Of course, he remembered to close the door like a proper gentleman.


    ¡°What the fuck is actually happening today? Where am I? What happened that led to this entire situation,¡± I say in complete disarray.


    My innermost thoughts begin to spill from my mouth. I ponder on how to answer and I come up with my best answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± With that unsaid, I proceed to take the daily motions. My body seems to be more responsive than it has been for this experience. I raise myself to take in my surroundings.


    I then state, ¡°It seems my strength was gradually returning huh. I guess that explains why I couldn¡¯t do much at the altar.¡±


    I put power into my now energized legs as I begin to hobble to an object of reflective property: the mirror in the room. These kinds of feeling or event don¡¯t normally occur without downsides; so I need to check for some unwanted side effects. I wobble some more until I realize that I¡¯m right in front of my objective.


    My vision displays the image of a naked fifteen-year-old. This is one of the unexpected side effects I talked about, though I can¡¯t say that it is really too much of a disadvantage. This ¡°youth¡± holds a plain face, blue eyes of the teal tinge, gray hair covering my head which holds a cleanly shaven face, an average body with no real muscle, and something that luckily remained where it should have been. Some scary suspicions have been cleared but confusion still remains. I remember that I had brown eyes accompanied by the hair of the same color, so this distinction leaves me with only more questions. The door creaks signaling its opening.


    ¡°Oh, It seems you got up,¡± says the aforementioned Ryan with a tacked on grin.


    Silence engulfs the room to further accommodate the awkward atmosphere of the current predicament. I stand my ground without giving a response. He begins to speak.


    In hopes to defuse the situation, he states, ¡°It seems that you are confused about this entire predicament. It isn¡¯t much but if you calmly sit down in the bed I can clear up some of your questions.¡±


    I try to nonchalantly say, ¡®I don¡¯t have much of a choice in this though,¡¯ which ends up translating, into a meek, ¡±Alright.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    After my short remark, I walk to the bed with a greater (attempted) steadiness than before. In order to get real answers, I need to play my part as well. I compose an aura calmness despite my mind¡¯s state of turmoil. He sets the food on a table and then sits with me.


    ¡°Where would you like me to start? I know it should take more than just a quick explanation, but that is all I can offer you now,¡± Ryan states in a relaxed manner.


    I divulge, ¡°Can we start with where exactly am I? I haven¡¯t really gotten the full scope here.¡±


    ¡°You are currently located in the capital of the United Minds, otherwise known as Checkmate,¡± said Ryan with a matter of fact tone.


    I curiously ask, ¡°Who exactly are you? You also seem to be nonchalant about my current disrobed state.¡±


    ¡°I am a royal scientist of the U.M. and you are my object of research, there won¡¯t be any direct experimenting, but I am going to be observant of behavior, patterns, traits and the such,¡± responds Ryan with no care or response whatsoever to me being naked or otherwise.


    Then I drop the big one by saying, ¡°Alright then, now why exactly am I here in the first place?¡±


    In a stern manner different from his previous distinction he details, ¡°That will be answered tomorrow when you are presentable enough to be in front of the king. Your little interrogation is over, now you will be returning the favor.¡±


    The thought to refuse him is quickly reduced to rubble as his stern face in the matter discourages any other action. His previously childish face holds a cold vibe to it. It is as if he is trying to tell me that if I don¡¯t play my cards right I would lose my head.


    ¡°Fine, what is that you want?¡± I respond reluctantly, ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem I get too much stake in the outcome either way.¡±


    ¡°Wise choice. We will begin with the first question,¡± says Ryan going back to his childlike temperament. ¡°What kind of world did you live in? It is hard to say I¡¯m not curious,¡± He details with a childlike grin.


    ¡°Hard to say. We might have advanced our own respective technology but you guys seem to be from the Medieval period. You know, swords and the such,¡± Isay.


    Ryan proclaims, ¡°Really? I guess our worlds must have developed differently because of some factors. Research shows that you guys usually come from worlds with no trace of magicanyway.¡±


    I bookmark the word ¡®magic¡¯ for another time. He doesn¡¯t seem too far off in his postulation though, I¡¯m especially curious how I was just brought to this existencebecause my ¡®modern¡¯ science has yet to explain this entire situation.


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s time for the next question,¡± said Ryan with a pinch of sorrow. ¡°Do you still have all your memories? It is uncommon to lose your memories in the summoning process but it has happened before according to records,¡± adds Ryan uninterested, ¡°Though Heroes, unscientifically, regain their memories by the end of their big journey.¡±


    A bitter taste reemerges from hearing the word Heros again, still leaving me with a characteristic bad aftertaste. I do heed his words about memories and notice that some are missing though.


    ¡°I seem to have forgotten little details here and there, but I recognize nothing that should do much harm to me,¡± I hesitantly respond.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case could you tell me your name, I would like to at least know who I¡¯m studying,¡± says Ryan.


    ¡°Sure¡­,¡± I bitterly smile saying, ¡°My name is¡­¡±


    I try to continue the sentence, but I don¡¯t have the word for it, I¡¯mmissing the final puzzle piece. But my mouth continues to hang open and distribute an unexpected silencebecause I can¡¯t finish my sentence. I am left in shock for I forgot my name. One¡¯s name is something that should never be forgotten because it is essential to maneuver through society. Yet here I stand now nameless.


    ¡°I see you forgot your name huh. That will be a problem for the audience,¡± explains Ryan sympathetically, ¡°I hope that your name comes back to you before the audience starts but if necessary¡­ You might need to make a new name.¡±


    I believe I tried to put an effort in subduing the expression, but I hold no doubt that I looked at him as if he were insane. I really couldn¡¯t help it, but this only goes to show the importance of someone¡¯s name: something I absolutely didn¡¯t want to give up under any circumstance.


    ¡°I¡­ understand,¡± resounds my mouth. I responded this way because I understood that I didn¡¯t have the luxury to pick and choose.


    Ryan seems to look at me one final time with pity enamoring his face. He lays down a pill leaving the words ¡®If you have trouble sleeping.¡¯ He somberly leaves in an attempt to prevent any further deflation of my ego.


    I both focus, and force my eyes to monitor the pill that was cautiously placed on the nightstand. I feel the movement of my right arm and by the next blink, I see the pill placed in the center of my palm. I begin to wonder if I should take it, but ultimately decide against, leaving it under the pillow as if to put it under some sort of confinement to the end of a trial. I lay my head on the pillow to request my mind for some much-needed sleep. I stare at the ceiling for an uncounted amount of time until I pass out into the coma-like sleep.


    <hr>


    I open my eyes to see myself surrounded by bookshelves filled with a variety of books, scrolls, and scriptures as if I had spent an entire night in the library. I soundlessly move without making the conscious effort, my body is functioning on an autopilot of sorts. I continue upon countless corridors of texts, and works and I suddenly stop. My gaze becomes fixated on a single text, as it stands differently from all the other texts in its own pillar inside an unlocked box. I draw closer towards it. I hold a book that I can¡¯t feel, only my sight functions in this state. I begin to sit down in crisscross applesauce and then I split open the book to reveal what is written in its innards, the words branded on the page.


    I draw closer towards it. Opening the box with a draping unlocked glass; I hold a book that I can¡¯t feel, only my sight functions in this state. I begin to sit down in crisscross applesauce and then I split open the book to reveal what is written in its innards, the words branded on the page.


    I look upon the scribbles and my brain draws another portrait by every page, every letter. My brain pieces together my personal experiences like one would sew the hole of ripped jeans, instead of patching cloth it patches my memories.


    I remember multiple things: my rocky childhood, my first kiss, graduation from high school, delightful performances, and the delicate high that came from succeeding a difficult task; all of this was this was displayed in my mind like a film with an ever growing detail to it. It was a compilation of my life, that I so desperately needed in my great time of massive uncertainty. Parts of my life that I would forget as I turned the page.


    Parts of my life that I would forget as I turned the page. It would go in one ear, right out the other. My frustration only grew the more pages I flipped through; the more I had forgotten.


    I flip more and more pages, siphoning through memories that I wasn¡¯t allowed to dwell on, as what I presume to be hours pass to find out my origin, my reason, me. Yet this book is just as cruel as everything else because it cuts off the moment I had the brush of what I am. Itleaves me here in silence with a blank page.


    It couldn¡¯t even give me an answer that I could properly forget.


    Outrage inhabits my rationality.My body throws the book making the fallacy that this action of outburst would have solved the problem. My body fits itself into a fetal position to come with reality, while my sight catches my tears falling onto the floor. This continues for several minutes until my body decided to stop weeping.


    It pushes itself up from the floor gently to respect the floor that stood at its support and sets course towards the innocent book that was unjustly harmed by my sudden outburst of violence. I take a look towards the non-existent title located on the blank cover page of the book. I open it to flip the pages all the way to the end. I look at the blank page of the book and decide to finish the book, to give it a proper title.


    I look at the page and fill it with my own meaning, my own mind. My sensesexpand as evidenced the feeling of my lips mouthing the words ¡®I know howto end it. My name is¡­¡¯ The surroundings around me collapse to bring in something entirely new.


    <hr>


    My eyes crack open to reveal the patterned ceiling I passed out to last night. My ears register the sound of knocking at the door. With a newfound drive, I find it within me to lift myself from the bed and answer the door. I open the door putting on my biggest smile asking what is it in a kind voice. When I receive no reply I release the strain of action on my face to see the face of a blushed maid looking downward angle 45 degrees. This is when the reality that has been ignored until now is brought to horrific attention.


    With a forced smile, I strain, ¡°TTTThhhaat¡¯s right¡­ I don¡¯t currently have any clothing.¡±


    ¡°EKKKKKKKKKKK¡±, releases the maid in a natural reaction to the strange situation that unfolded upon her.


    I would have screamed out loud too if it weren¡¯t for the fact that I was already internally screaming. My mind works overtime trying to find the answer to this predicament and to crucify myself for letting things come to this in the first place. I must have continued to deem it unimportant because of those two¡¯s lack of reaction to the subject! I really should have paid more attention because this bull shittery right here is what happens when you forget to beattentive! I stood still for the entirety of this experience with the expression of ¡®Now I¡¯ve done it.¡¯ In this time, the maid arouses whatever dignity needed to stand in a more elegant manner.


    ¡°I was told to bring you to the tailor give you your suit for the audience,¡± informed the maid at an attempted calm manner, ¡°Please follow me to see the tailor about your appearance.¡±


    I decide to indulge in both our desires to quickly end this experience; I follow her through what would be my educated guess of a palace. As I continue to walk through the corridors no one makes a single fuss about my disrobed state. Does this make the maid, and I strange for overreacting?No. I quickly nod off that notion, as what this really means is that everyone else is crazy enough to accept this as commonplace.


    We stop at a door, while I recount to myself that being naked in a palace isn¡¯t big of a deal to ward off my uncertainty. The door creaks open to reveal a stylish clothed man (for the time) with a curly mustache that seems to finish his wrapping as some sort of archetype in a novel. He calls for me to come in with no reaction to my current disrobed state like the other.


    I enter the room to find an assortment of different suits on display throughout the room to showcase its well-done craftsmanship. There are several garbs that catch my eye such as; a blue Chinese silk suit, some ceremonial African wear, and most of all: the modern suit and tie of my era.


    ¡°Please, choose any attire you like,¡± courteously states the tailor of great mastery, ¡°You must dress to impress if you are to satisfy the Royal Highness¡¯s palate of taste.¡±


    Hearing these lines continue to confirm my strange suspicions, but my end goal is ultimately unchanged. I point at the suit of my modern times mainly because of my familiarity towards its design; I had to wear these a few times myself back in the day.


    After finally putting on the clothing, I was promptly lead out the same way I entered in the first place. The difference lied in who was waiting for me when I got out because I no longer saw a blushed maid, but instead two staunch men in full armor with strange engravings. They stared at me, that was enough to substitute an actual explanation of the moment as they soon left to lead me to my next destination.


    I continue to meander peacefully while they march rigidly until we stop any further movement at the steps of an enormous door. They signal me to open the huge door which made me think, ¡®Me? Open that door,¡¯ but sadly ignore the conception of negotiations. I push the door that soon opens itself; it only needed the intention of my palms, not by force.


    My sight carves in the picture of the glaringly bright room: it looked as if someone liquidated all of the borrowed gold in the vault of America, and decided to coat the room in its entirety. I steady my sight to view the man sitting on the throne: he held an aged face of experience lacquered in a majestic beard and his flowing chestnut locks. This man held the attention of everyone in the room.


    ¡°Welcome Hero. You have arrived at my kingdom,¡± he smoothly stated, ¡°You have been summoned upon us to fulfill your duty.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± I say cautiously, ¡°I know very little things but may I ask what is my duty.¡±


    I would love to break down right at this moment just to show how tiring, frightening, and nonsensical this situation is, but for the sake of preserving my life, I have to proceed. You must never offend a great power, they will weigh their odds and decide whether to bring an end to your time on whatever planet. This isn¡¯t because they are particularly prejudiced; It is merely the way they were raised to take care of critics.


    ¡°I understand,¡± the King suavely proclaims, ¡°Your duty as a Hero of this realm is to prevent the great collapse of this world, The Descent.¡±


    It seems I am now responsible for preventing the Ragnarok of another world; I leave myself with the sarcastic thought ofHow Wonderfulto accentuate my great joy to receiving an incredible job. Everyone else either accidentally or purposefully mistake my expression of self-derision as a form of enthusiasm for the upcoming days. They release cheers from their boisterous chests as if to further sink in the promise of peer pressure, and mob mentality.


    With a plastered grin on his face, the King proclaims, ¡°A true hero to be celebrated for the Ages.¡±


    I personally wonder where all the other Heros went,but I decided that the question is to true to be revealed.


    He continues while everyone else is celebrating the joyous occasion, ¡°Now won¡¯t you tell us your name messenger of the God of the wise.¡±


    I will give him the same answer that I gave the book in my dreams.


    ¡°My name is¡­¡± I proclaim, ¡°Algernon.¡±

 Chapter 2: Cloudy Patch

    I find myself back in the room that I slumbered in once. The room is shrouded in complete darkness if it weren¡¯t for the single candle carrying on the job of the sun in its place. I closed the door behind me to trap myself in my much-needed silence; my poor deafened ears were in need of a break right now.


    To describe the debauchery and depravity of the party of my naming. I need you to imagine one of those excessive party montages from Wolf Of Wall Street except instead that it has biologically stronger people, the existence of magic, a bigger assortment of drugs with little to no harmful effect, and to top it all off, an alcohol producing cow that can milk (brew?) itself. I wish I was making this shit up.


    I never thought they already surpassed my previous governors, leaders, and corporate conglomerates. This behavior is of unknown origin to me, but I would think they would actually keep this a secret. A part of me wants to believe that they showed me now rather than later to avoid a worse confrontation of this Truth yet, one side thinks it was just so engraved into them to them they simply didn¡¯t care about whether I was there or not. Chances are that it was a bit of both.


    They used my appearance as an excuse to celebrate as they pleased. I stayed away from the party in general and its fun activities like some other leaders did. The King was one of these people if I need to remember. No, normally people wouldn¡¯t be so open to helping so they might have a sort of safety measure that was made to make me keep my word. This thought is far from comforting and I wouldn¡¯t like to dwell on it for too long on the time of my rest.


    In my room, I locate several items of interest: new clothing to wear for tomorrow, sleepwear for immediate use, and a pamphlet. It seems to be the general information on the summoned Heros, and I decide to read it for thirty minutes because my need for sleep is heavily inhibiting my logic and reason.


    Some important details are that Heros are bestowed five by one of the major twelve major gods; they will discover these relatively quickly if they do their job properly. It seems that these twelve higher Gods are also the reason why Heros was ever a thing, to begin with. They bring Heros here themselves through their own power. In this process, they reconstruct the body for the body to fit in this reality. This entire summoning was actually more lottery in nature than I thought. Even if a kingdom is small, as long as a higher God decided to summon them on the summoning stone it was all good. This summoning stone I¡¯m referring to was actually that stone table I laid on last night.


    I finished reading through the pamphlet with ten minutes to spare and I take a glance at the pillow that I used last night. My memory nags at me to check the underside of the pillow. I stick my hand under the pillow to check if a certain item still remained where it was left.


    I feel the solid object which brings me to realize that the tooth fairy (Maids) didn¡¯t clean the room, instead, they only left a few things and everything else was left as is. I leave the pill in the pocket of the new day¡¯s clothing; the strangest things can come in handy so I decided to keep it just in case. I change into my pajamas: they were quite comfortable, there was no real pattern though.


    I lay my head on the pillow to indulge my want to sleep as I close my eyes. I open my eyes to find myself in that strange place again. This time, I am stood up in anatomical position without being able to do anything, for two hours. After one-half of an hour later I decide to try to do something.


    I try to control my own body but my endeavor boils down to the same result as the last time I tried to take control of my body in this place, so I give up. I gave it another go after what I believe to be three more hours because the boredom was starting to be a problem with my psyche. This boredom reliever continues for a total of four hours until it bore any actual fruit.


    In hour one I could twitch a single finger. Hour two gave me full control of all of my ten fingers with the added boon of my moving toes. Hour three and a half gave me control from my hand to my wrist and feet to ankles. At four I could move my elbow robotically. I did the same for my knees, and ended up with my face flat on the floor and begin to think about taking back my thanks to the floor from last time.


    I ultimately decided against taking back my apologies. I renew my attempts to move with a newfound better reason to start moving again: My face hurts, and it¡¯s cold down here.


    After some uncounted hours pass (I stopped counting by eighteen) I took control of my limbs although not perfectly. There is a delay between my thoughts and actions, I am not completely synced to my body so it may lead to a¡­


    *Slam.*


    ...freefall. Specifically to the face. It has passed my mind why I fall on my face, but I have continuously fallen on my face so many times I question if my own body is out to get me.


    After beginning to pick myself up from the ground to my right of the lower shelf I recognize a familiar book. It is especially recognizable because I just read it just this night.


    After making a few unsynchronised steps to reach and check the contents of the book, I began to read the pamphlet. The pages fly and flutter to reveal the exact same text. This might be connected with one of my unawakened. If I thought about this further, the entire experience was probably connected to the ?skills? mentioned by the text of the book, however, it seems more likely that two different stages of my skill happen to be working in accidental tandem.


    If that is the case, it happens to be favorable to my prospects of surviving if used properly. I try to find another book to maybe further confirm some of these theories; I find a familiar and personal favorite of mine in this dream-like place that starts with a C and ends with a 2 made by someone who has a name that rhymes with Yosef Dweller.


    I read the first chapter and it was the same lines I remembered. I closed the book in the hope to sort out my current stance on the entire situation, but everything begins to draw towards me as I¡¯m forced out with my clear surprise.


    I open my eyes in the cold sweat of my sudden awakening. I couldn''t remember what I was dreaming about earlier, bits and pieces of it were here and there, but I still didn''t have anything near a convincing thesis paper. I have the idea that whatever this thing might be, it could hold a good advantage, but it seems to be unusable to me at the moment.


    I decide to pay more attention to this stuff later because I have some new otherworldly duties to undertake. I begin to equip the prepared clothing for the day confirming that the pill I hid stayed where it belonged. I should leave it somewhere safer soon as I don¡¯t really find my pockets secure enough in this situation.


    To describe the clothing I¡¯m currently wearing, it would be like the corsets from the medieval age. It doesn¡¯t have a clear indication of what it is to me, it could be the wear of a mage¡¯s apprentice or a knight in training and I wouldn¡¯t know any better. I change into the suggested outfit.


    Opening the door I find the knight that is to escort me to my training area. We pass through the uninteresting halls of the kingdom until we stop in front of a singular tower. The knight stops at the door to signal the clear message that I need to enter the Gandalf-like tower. I follow his unsaid suggestion and open door. Inside, it reveals a massive winding staircase of a grand degree. I then take the action that would destroy the romance of winding staircases; I proceed to use them to get to the higher floor.


    After a solid thirty minutes of mindless walking; I arrive at my presumed destination. It is a decently wide room of a circular structure; It contained an assortment of chairs, tables, and even a judge¡¯s podium (this one caught me a bit off-guard). In the middle of me observing the room in all of its awkward reverence, an unwarranted amount of people began to enter this room.


    Most of them have strange features like cat ears, scales, and one was straight up on fire. They all began to take a seat in their respective seats. Fire dude was sitting on an unignited wooden chair without it bursting into flames, bringing me to further believe the phenomenon of magic in this world.


    ¡°Welcome Hero, we are the council of El Duende¡±, says the moderately young looking man sitting in the gavel-less podium, ¡±We are the royal magicians of the United Minds. Our goal is to find the amazing secrets of magic, and to guide magicians to the right path¡±.


    Seeing this spectacle, I calmly proceed to ask, ¡±And how am I supposed to do this exactly?¡±


    This is a genuine concern of mine because I seriously doubt that magic will be something easily mastered, Hero or not.


    ¡°Do not worry,¡± resounds the man in the judge¡¯s seat, ¡±Today we will only measure your amount of magic by giving you a fog staff.¡±


    On cue, a staff gradually floats from the audience of the mages to a place close to me to invite me to grab it. I did so and then heard my next instructions to gaining aptitude with magic.


    ¡°Attempt to pour you mana into the staff¡±, explained the young man, ¡±It will produce a fog where we can judge your capabilities.¡±


    I stand in the center for a good minute until they understand that their explanation wasn¡¯t sufficient enough to be put into practical use. I presume all of these were magical geniuses of some sort because they all seem to have gone off to their own world wondering how to explain what was breathing for them. This goes on until the flaming person of previous note begins to explain after no one else seemed to be up for the challenge.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how it may have been in your past world,¡± Sparky (until further information) sternly states, ¡±But right now there is an undeniable force inside your body. This power comes from multiple sources known as aspects and magic is all about the use of this power. Through it, you can will the object to consume your mana to use it.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t answer everything, but it is much better than the ¡®just do it¡¯. It takes some effort to move this mana (it is similar to how I moved to ?Dream Scape?) and I let the staff ''consume'' my magic and¡­


    [POOF]


    I quickly open my eyes to find myself in the library again, which prompts the following question in my mind. What the fuck did I just do?


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú ???: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I am the great mage known as one of the elusive Magi: Jonah Harbor of El Duende. I am now responsible for this kid¡¯s magic tutoring so I pass him the fog staff through magical means to inspire wonder and a future in magic or what not. To reveal the truth, I don¡¯t want to teach this kid at all. I¡¯m all for making disposable pawns for myself, but I''m not too passionate about making someone stronger than me. There are enough people like that as it is. I can¡¯t directly go against these orders sadly, that king would hunt me down for sure, there is no doubt. So I drop the obvious and tell him what he needs to do.


    ¡°Attempt to pour you mana into the staff,¡± I explained, ¡±It will produce a fog where we can judge your capabilities.¡±


    I wait for the results, but nothing happens. He stands there doing nothing like a hapless sheep. I then realize that this man doesn¡¯t have any idea what to do with my information. This realization begins to infuriate me to the point that I want to shock the Hero with a bit of lightning magic.


    Of course, I think all of this in a completely neutral face, I can¡¯t show my struggle to my subordinates as they would take advantage of it if given the chance. This entire farce continues until my right hand in command takes control of the situation himself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how it may have been in your past world,¡± Smolder sternly states, ¡±But right now there is an undeniable force inside your body. This power comes from multiple sources known as aspects. Magic is an art for the purpose of expressing that force into the physical world. Through it, you can will the object to consume your mana to use it.¡±


    The kid holds his face as if he harbored any more questions, however, he decides that it was enough and tries to control his mana. Oi, how was it that you understand my direct subordinate, yet not my wonderful explanation? I don¡¯t ever want to understand this whelp.


    I then hear the light-hearted *Poof.* from the staff that was inserted as a joke. What came next was anything from a light-hearted joke. The staff grasped a hold of his mana and just exploded!


    The reason why we choose the fog staff as a capability measure is that is the least damaging and the most modifiable. We modified it to take much more mana to have it produce a small amount of the cloud. He overloaded it to the point that the staff itself turned into fog itself!


    This doesn¡¯t even begin to compare to the wind that we had to face! We had to put up some high-level barriers so that we wouldn¡¯t suffocate, That fucker! I began to march down to accidentally end his life until I was assaulted by a burning sensation.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°You will not kill him!¡±, shouts Smolder vehemently, ¡±He is a valuable asset to the country, and if he is harmed you will lose more than just your rank.¡±


    ¡°Like I care about that! This fucker can be a problem for us all!¡± I snarkily reply, ¡±Besides how exactly are you going to stop me!?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate me. I am more than willing to end your life for the good of the kingdom,¡± he responds in a coolness that contradicts the flames spewing from his body.


    Shit! He fucking means it too! This is why I fucking abhor fanatics!


    After calming down and returning to what remained of my seat, I state firmly, ¡±Get him the fuck out of here! I don¡¯t want to so as much see him, much less even teach him! No one in this organization will do as much direct help with intent! That goes double for you Smolder! No, make it triple!¡±


    It''s moments like these that make me think that all the Gold in this entire kingdom is far from enough to make me do this job. I entirely regret and resent my decision to work here! I¡¯ve done enough for the King I eagerly await the end of this kingdom!


    Jonah Harbor: 1st perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I took my time to read in ?wherever I was as I decided to catch up on another book. This one is named The Businessman Behind the Presidency that was released in early 2021. It was a book that showed the marvel of human stupidity and the possible repercussions, and hilarity of it.


    Oh. Something must have happened on the outside, this location doesn¡¯t usually just start breaking apart unless there is outside interference. Then again it¡¯s not like I would know, this is my assumption. Knowing what your skill doesn¡¯t give you all the information. One still to do a hefty amount of experimentation to further understand its side effects, be it beneficial or harmful.


    I find myself awake atop a stretcher of some sort. It was surprising to find that there was no sort of fatigue. Above me stands a rather attractive looking man wearing a leather tunic.


    ¡°Are you awake? I was starting to get worried,¡± says a grinning man.


    Proposing a genuine concern of mine, I ask, ¡°Are you an Angel?¡±


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯m your doctor. Even better,¡± he says with a bit of a sly grin.


    If he is the doctor then I guess I have to be in some sort of healing facility, it only makes sense. I try to recollect my body from where it left off. I begin to lift myself off the bed to leave my feet on the ground.


    ¡°In any case what happened?¡±


    ¡°You seem to have pissed off the leader so he isn¡¯t willing to teach you anymore.¡±


    ¡°Then does that mean I have to give up on magic? It might be too much, but I am deeply curious about this subject.¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry. You will have to be somewhat self-taught now, but that shouldn¡¯t be a major problem, to begin with,¡± he says with a quirky smile.


    ¡°Alright if that¡¯s the case, Is there anything I should know?¡±


    ¡°You probably shouldn''t touch a magic staff or any item that involves having to use your mana in your future lessons.¡±


    ¡°Why is that? I find it hard to think magicians of any sort wouldn¡¯t use any staff,¡± I say with a sarcastic smile plastered on my face.


    He then, nonchalantly stated, ¡°But we wouldn¡¯t want you to blow up. Something about your mana ends up overloading the magic staff, or so it goes¡­¡±


    He then motions and mimics the sound of an explosion. Sugar honey ice tea! This gesture leaves me with my mouth open. If I learned this too late I might not be here right now! I make the mental note to never underestimate magic unless I suddenly gained an unlikely death wish.


    ¡°I see. I will make a note of that detail,¡± I respond stuttering.


    ¡°Since you are not needed elsewhere you can take your time to explore the palace¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be on my way.¡±


    I was glad that I just got a bit of free choice. Within the confines of a huge sandbox, but a free choice nonetheless. I begin to explore the Palace and marvel at its beauty. If I had to describe the place, it really exudes a European vibe from back in my world. Wait a moment.


    After further thought, it really is a European landscape. There is no doubt in my mind of this fact. I also have the great urge to call it very Spanish, but as I didn''t have the memories to remember what Spanish even consisted of, I quickly dropped the thought in favor of more useful questions.


    The real question I should be asking now is, how did this happen? Did the previous Heroes spread the design, and it caught on? Did the entities somehow shape human knowledge to do so? There still lays the chance that this is all a coincidence, but that still doesn¡¯t clear my suspicion.


    I continue my attempt to immaculate an answer from the confines of concepts as I continue to keep walking through the halls. This goes on until I reach a place that has given me personal peace, comfort, silence, and content. I seem to have stumbled upon the palace¡¯s library, and I am more than just a curious onlooker. I resemble an overexcited child who had just found the playground. My face begins to brighten up with a clear enthusiasm, which prompts my face to make the biggest grin humanly possible. I enter the library.


    Before me, there is a site that would bring me to tears if I really let it. I get euphoric just being near so many books! It comes to my perspective that I really lucked out with having books as a huge hobby of mine back then, If I was addicted to T.V., I would have surely gone crazy. No need to worry though, I focused my love on running, performing, and reading. I move to ask (persuade) the librarian to let me read the books.


    I meet what seems to be the librarian. It is a woman that seems to be in her 50s wearing an elegant dress. There are spectacles on her rugged face, as if its own miniature mountain, and crevice. She raises her face and begins to smile. It was a business smile that only saw me as a customer, not a person.


    ¡°Hello, what do you do here? May I be of service?¡± She says professionally, ¡°I believe we haven¡¯t met before.¡±


    ¡°I would like to know if I can read the books,¡± I state forthcomingly. ¡°It would be great if I could get immediate approval please.¡±


    I am much more direct than usual, but that is only natural when it is about books, me, and the chance of reading them.


    With a clear apprehension to my request, she states, ¡±I see sir, but I can¡¯t exactly do anything about that.¡±


    She empathizes this fact by wearing a bitter smile on her face.


    ¡°I need to read. If I don¡¯t. I will blow up¡±, I slowly state; menacingly.


    I don¡¯t mean any real harm towards this lady, but backing away isn¡¯t an option. This lady¡¯s opinion of me dwarfs my want, my need to read away all of this stress away. I am a bibliophile through and through. If you need further proof, my friends would be more than willing to attest.


    The lady flinches back from my threat for the smaller cause, and replies, ¡±If you would like to read. I suggest that you take the farther corner to avoid any unnecessary or any unwanted attention.¡± She says this all in a trembling voice. The back of my mind ponders if I overdid it, but, that notion was dashed when I realized I could read now.


    ¡°Thank you. I hope we can have a good relationship.¡±


    I run to the corner with a big smile in the hope of a much-needed stress reliever. While running I see the librarian hold an expression of fear. It is no longer my problem. I got what I needed, and I left. It was that simple.


    Hours pass as I indulge in all the books that surround me. Choosing books detailing this world. I learn and collect plenty of relevant information that will matter in my stay. Specifically Dungeons. There are things called Dungeons in this world. There are many different types of Dungeons as well.


    Some are more humble ones that only seem to take root in the underground. This led to these Dungeons being called Roots. They change the structure and generate monsters. These ones can lead to monster outbreaks. Roots disappear when someone claims the treasure in the deepest floor.


    This seems to be a trait that most Dungeons are modeled after, because more likely or not; most Dungeons disappear after the main treasure are claimed. There seem to be variants where you have to subjugate a certain, while others just continue running, regenerating the treasure in a couple of days or so. There are two types of Dungeons that disappear without fail though. The aforementioned Roots, and the Grand Dungeons. Not much is known about Grand Dungeons besides the understanding of the amazing benefits of conquering one.


    I finish my last book totaling about 6 books today. I place everything back where they came from. I look out through the window to see a setting sun. No matter how I look at it, even with so many hours. I find it hard to believe that I could finish that many books in so little time. It probably has something to do with a dormant skill, I¡¯ll have to investigate that a later date.


    I take my steps back to my room so I can make tonight¡¯s sleeping schedule. I open the door which reveals some interesting baubles with a note on the nightstand. These baubles are comprised of a ring, several vials with unknown substances, and a silver looking seax. A form of Latin seems to be inscribed on the hilt of the blade. My interest in the seax grows to the point where I unsheathe it to find its edge. I find more of this Latin on the sides of the blade and then¡­


    *Drip.*


    No blood dripped from my finger nor a sense of any pain that remained. It quickly regenerated and ceased to leave any trace of its existence. The pain hurts but quickly dissipated.


    I cut my finger to check its efficiency in its job, stabbing people, and slicing on the side. I am more than aware that I could have just made a terrible decision. I could have accidentally ended my life in a very stupid way. Well, I can¡¯t waste any more time on the possibility of my untimely demise. I still found out that it is the real deal though.


    {Dear Amil,


    We have taken into consideration your circumstances and apologize for the behavior of our court magician. Even so, we cannot secure you a living mage willing to teach you thanks to his actions. In our deepest apologies, we are giving you a new instructor to a more open range of subjects, free access to all the royal library, and the useful items place near this note.


    The ring is a storage device. You simply need to think which object you would like to store. Before you ask, It will not explode like the previous one. You can not store an item if someone¡¯s thoughts on logical ownership clash with your ring. You can¡¯t steal the property of others with this ring.


    The vials are refined potions to be used for your benefit, and yours alone. The red potion will redistribute blood into your body while closing your wounds. The green potion will revitalize physical stamina, eliminating fatigue. The blue potion is responsible for healing the mental fatigue that comes with a stressed and burdened mind. I hope you will use these potions wisely.


    Lastly is a unique dagger called Damage Debtor. We have set you to be its owner. It has properties that don''t allow permanent damage to be done by its owner. It also has a type of ?Form Fitting? which adjusts it to one''s measurements. There is a possibility of more attributes or traits we are unaware of so look forward to the future. I pray that it is useful to you for the future.


    Sincerely, United Minds}


    Wasn¡¯t it more accurate to call this note rather than a letter? It does explain why my wound immediately regenerated after cutting my finger a bit. That helps.


    I put the ring on my finger like a bride, and attempt to use it. A new option pops into my brain as I suddenly view a space about the size of a squared storage shed. 8x8x10 to be exact.


    I begin to will the potions into the free space. But nothing happens. I make a second attempt while holding the potions in the hand that contains the ring. This time, after a bit of grabbing, the potions disappear from the nightstand and now reside inside the space currently viewed inside my mind. I grab into my pocket to find the pill. I close my hand to the point where the pill is no longer visible. I feel it disappear, knowing where I sent it. You never know when something can come in handy.


    I decided that this was enough for the end of the day. I switch into the Pajamas that I wore the other night. I lay on the bed to say farewell the rest of the day.


    I open my eyes to realize that I was in that place once again. I jerked my leg to see that I still have full control of my body. Improvements are nice, aren¡¯t they? Especially since last time took so long to just maneuver my fingers, effectively axing a fine portion of time that could have been spent furthering my knowledge of the place. I browse through the wide array of available books that I may have encountered in the past, leading to the unlikely encounter of books that I''ve already read here. I continue reading in this manner until I settle in reading one of the books I don''t explicitly recognize,  prompting me to deeply immerse myself in the following narrative.


    It is the story of a twelve-year-old trying to survive in the nation known as America. He lived on the streets with very little food. He was so deprived of food that to him, crumbs were considered to be a decent harvest. An entire slice of bread was a feast. The Boy didn¡¯t mind though. He lived this lifestyle so long he knew he wouldn''t mind it unless he gave up.


    He had to do his usual begging, as someone of his age doesn¡¯t really get too many opportunities at job interviews, much less actually paid work. These are your chances in the land of opportunity. A girl from the side of the street stared at the boy with bewilderment akin to a child. Which made sense, as she was twelve herself. Like everyone else though, she quickly walked away like everyone else on the street. Nothing new.


    A couple of days continue to pass by uneventfully. He switched a couple of times to appeal to more people. That was the case until he was by the police.


    ¡°What are you doing here kid,¡± said an officer?


    ¡°Existing,¡± replies the boy in a nonchalant manner.


    The officer recoiled just a bit at the surprise of having to listen to a child say something so dreary, at least until he returned to his work persona. ¡°Well. You can¡¯t do that like this,¡± the officer said raising his hand to offer him some sort of false sense of security.


    The boy knew better than to take the officer¡¯s hand, like his word. He understood that they would only put him back in a weird daycare where no one would dare to choose him if they realized who he was.


    The boy runs with all the energy he can muster, as this is an amazing trade-off compared to going back. The officer pursuits after him with good intentions, but bad offers. In front of the running boy lied an edge.


    What should have slackened his pace quickens him. It offered escape, why wouldn¡¯t he run as if his life depended on it? If he lived, he could continue to live with his limited options of freedom. If he died, he wouldn¡¯t need to live in this world anymore. The boy takes the leap, hoping for a sunny day...


    *Crack.*


    ...preparing for a rainy day.


    The boy looks at his newly crack leg. It lied on the cold cement motionless. It looked like a snapped twig. A snapped scrawny twig that leaked a thick red liquid of a pungent smell. The pain would have rendered him unconscious if it weren¡¯t for the boy¡¯s immense desire to see his own demise. He learned at a young age, you must never turn your back on a dead body. The boy added his own touch with his ¡®even your own¡¯. He didn¡¯t want to wake up realizing he wasn¡¯t dead after he eagerly waited.


    Waiting for his precious minutes to finally waste away. Right then and there he sees the face of a girl. She was blurred from the last time he saw her but held no doubt that it was her. The boy questions why he has to see this face.


    The girl puts her hand forward and states, ¡±Would you like to join my family?¡±


    The boy was absolutely astounded at this development. A young girl of twelve was able to say something like that to a child bleeding out on the floor with genuine emotion.


    ¡°Ha¡­ HAHAHAHAHAHA¡±


    The boy lets out a manic laugh, his final tethers to sanity fall apart. Evident in his incessant laughter. As he laughs away the irrationality of the situation, tears drop on the floor. This shows the dissonance of his emotion and logic. His tears are overshadowed by the increasingly bigger pool of blood. Despite that, the girl put on a deeper smile, as if the scene unfolding in front of her was a heartwarming moment.


    This entire scenario played in my mind. It was a strange memory, the characters don¡¯t have a working brain this one. I would know better than anyone because I was there. I was the one that remembered this moment in my life. One of the memories that I seemed to have retained on my arrival.


    Yes, I was the previously mentioned boy. It seems back then, whatever that meant, I wasn¡¯t fully sane at the time, possibly because of my circumstances. What irks me more is how much of that moment I remember. Some might think that a newly made amnesiac shouldn''t be someone to say whether memory is complete or not, but trauma isn''t the type of wound that fades away. It is the scar on will always retain.


    I speak aloud to the spacious room, in hope of some sort of answer.

 Chapter 3: Hard Facts

    My cry met me no response, leaving me terrified, alone, and out of the loop.


    After I finally got rid of my initial dejection, which still persists in the back of my mind; I decided to make more productive use of my time here. I go through corridors of books, some were locked in different glass cases on the shelves with varying levels of security, while others were freely placed anywhere.


    Currently, I don¡¯t have the capacity to fully understand, much less explain, but I have a few useful theories about this place. First, all of this bull shittery is probably connected to a skill of some sort. Second, I don¡¯t have the full picture, but all of these books are compilations of my own memories. I know this because it shows every scenario from my perspective and my unusual amount of nostalgia. However, they only consist of the memories that have stayed with me, I can¡¯t go into the locked books, nor do I get more information from what I remember.


    Armed with this knowledge, I inspect the catacombs of texts to fully utilize whatever this is. I find some old classics, a bit of useful knowledge, and some old memories (some which I would happily burn if I could). I buried myself in these records of books until I inevitably wake up.


    My eyes open to signal the end of my self-study, still left with as many memories one can remember from their own dreams. I quickly survey my room to check for any substantial changes. In my search, I spot a lone note. My face expresses its own sentiments being ¡®Why is it always the nightstand? There is a table, a shelf, and plenty of other surfaces. Is there some sort of reasoning behind this?¡¯ I reach for the note to read its contents.


    {Dear Amil,


    We have found you a teacher responsible for teaching you general combat for the future. His name is Marcus Freighter: A leading Knight of the First Regiment who is well versed in both magic and weapons. He is also in possession of a mentoring skill which will allow students to pick up taught concepts faster than average. I hope that with this we can be forgiven for our previous blunder.


    Sincerely, United Minds}


    Though I find it incredibly helpful that I was given such a good mentor, I can help to find the call for apologies to be a bit pre-recorded. It is a lot like saying thanks for a gift for something you hate. It really reeks of ¡®forget this already¡¯. I don¡¯t have a reason to not take free gifts though.


    I take the map that is supposed to take me to my new teacher. I look at it and try to piece it together to find myself training as quickly as possible. I am someone who will do everything he can to live if he can do something about it. Training will be painful, I may even have to ask for a more rigorous one. but the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle. I never really cared much for the armed forces, but I don¡¯t deny the truth behind this quote. I finish analyzing the map and know how I¡¯m going to get there. I grab my new knife, taking my steps from I would like to believe be Living 101.


    After traversing the long-winded Palace I stop in a place I would soon call my new training ground. Before me, lay great meadows, with plenty of trees, animals, and other beings inhabiting the grounds. In the middle of this beautiful scene; there was a single man who stood in the center of the scene as if he held the focus of the portrait in front of me. I make the obvious guess that he is my new instructor: Marcus.


    ¡°Are you Marcus? The one I was informed about?¡±


    Turning to view the voice, with a goofy grin, the man responds,  ¡°That I am. Are you the new Hero?¡±


    ¡°Haha. Yes, but I would prefer if you just called me Algernon.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Ahh. Sorry, but could you tell me the reason why you only have a first name?¡±


    ¡°I have no family here. What is the point of a family name when there is no such thing?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ you¡¯re not necessarily wrong,¡± he states with a bitter smile; ¡°I can¡¯t help, but feel that wasn¡¯t the point.¡±


    We both seem to have stumbled into territory we were better off leaving. A suffocating silence puts a halt to our little dialogue. The silence is held between the both of us until he initiated the conversation again.


    ¡°Well¡­ That matter hardly holds importance to me anyway.¡± Marcus then states, ¡°What is important is teaching you combat skills that will serve you in your future.¡±


    I nod my head in agreement with his statement. This is when training session number one began. First, he had me test an entire arsenal of weapons: claymore, daggers, scythes, different types of bows, crossbows (different, because it¡¯s a crossbow), and several types of firearms. Unsurprisingly, in a twist that could never fool me, I showed no special talent for any of these weapons. I can¡¯t remember much of my previous life, but I was in no way the athletic type. At least not enough to allow me to steadily hold the weight of the weapons.


    Marcus told me to choose five weapons I would like to continue, to focus on desired weapons. I then made my pick: short bow, arming sword (obvious choice, I¡¯m aware), daggers, brass knuckles, and a whip. I made it my goal to pick things that didn¡¯t weigh me down too much; it may have also helped that these were some of the only options I could carry. Being in a different world doesn¡¯t excuse my lack of real muscle.


    After that display, the rest of the training consisted of physical training such as jogging, sprinting continuously, and letting out an enormous amount of healthy cursing to lighten the exhaustion. And boy¡­ there was a lot of exhaustion. Every time I couldn¡¯t move any further, he would use one drop of stamina potion for me to come back to functionality.


    The droplets didn¡¯t really have any specific taste, having a taste that would resemble the atrocious combination of a sports drink (I¡¯m not talking about those energy drinks but the blended stuff in training montages, disgusting isn¡¯t it) and medicine. Even if I only had droplets, I had to mourn the loss of a good portion of my taste buds. I improved so much, but at what cost?


    After my eight hours were up, I kindly escorted myself to the library for some reading. I arrived at my sanctuary of books to find that the librarian was still as terrified of me as before (It was clear when I saw her trembling). I decided to give an apology for my behavior yesterday, but I think our relationship is already irreparable at this point. I decide to just accept things as they are, and focus on my own things. I really just want to read that bad huh.


    I read more about my current world through books; I heard footsteps approach me. I pry my eyes away from the page to view Ryan: he is dressed in a white lab coat, and glasses on his eyes. He still sports that childish smile though.


    ¡°Hello, I didn¡¯t expect you to be here at all.¡±


    With a smirk, he states, ¡±Don¡¯t worry about it. I am only doing my job.¡±


    ¡°By any chance is this job even authorized? I can¡¯t imagine that would be with all of this wonderful treatment I¡¯ve been receiving,¡± I respond in kind; I raise an eyebrow to emphasize my words.


    ¡°No. It isn¡¯t at all. Purely personal curiosity,¡± stated Ryan, notably chuckling a bit; ¡°Would you happen to be okay with that?¡±


    I look back at my memories of our encounter from before. I state, ¡°Go ahead, research me. It would help if you could consider it repayment for before. I don¡¯t believe I was that heavy, but the gesture of sympathy was appreciated.¡±


    Bowing out of either formality or genuine thanks. He quietly states, ¡°Thank you for being a reasonable person.¡±


    ¡°Since you¡¯re still here,¡± I mention, ¡°any recommendations for the books?¡±


    ¡°If you go down there,¡± He states, pointing at the other corner, ¡°you will find books pertaining to magic lore. I heard you were interested in it.¡±


    I close and place my book in its original spot. ¡°Thanks for the advice,¡± I say, as I begin to stand up from the floor. I begin to walk toward the other corner; I was getting tired of only reading fables.


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú Marcus Freighter 3rd perspective.


    <hr>


    ¡°Well, then Sir Freighter,¡± resounds a man covered in the darkness; ¡°How is his training faring?¡±


    ¡°He is¡­ average,¡± replied Marcus with a solemn face; ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean he is in terrible shape. He is just terribly underwhelming for what he is supposed to be.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­ Any particular weapon choices.¡±


    ¡°He went for lighter weight weapons that held close to mid range. Though I fear that he only choose the close range ones out of necessity.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°He chose the dagger, because of his enchanted Seax. Brass knuckles in case he is unarmed. The armed sword in case he needs longer range in a close up fight. I am also convinced he would have chosen the longbow if it weren¡¯t too long and heavy for him. The choice of the whip befuddles me, however.¡±


    ¡°And his approach to your strict training?¡±


    ¡°He did have the power to continue that for an hour, but that seems to be more of a liability. He didn¡¯t do it for the prospect of a safe Kingdom; It is more likely a showcase of his want to survive.¡±


    ¡°Well, a hero must live on for the people. His drive for life is normal and should be encouraged.¡±


    ¡°It would be wise if it weren¡¯t for the fact he would stab us in the back to secure his own life.¡±


    ¡°Add magic use in your training session to find a possible talent, as he has already confirmed a massive mana pool. His tenacity doesn¡¯t need to be fixed immediately, focus on exploiting his want to survive to initiate hars¡­ *Cough, cough.* Ahem, more effective training¡±


    ¡°I shall do as you say, Sir.¡±


    Marcus Freighter: 3rd perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I wake up after a hearty amount of peaceful sleep. I begin to walk to my training grounds once more. After twenty minutes of preparation, and walking; I arrive to have my combat teacher greet me.


    ¡°It seems you found your way here again. It¡¯s good you aren¡¯t directionally challenged. It was unexpectedly common among Heroes in the past.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I will make sure to have a general idea of my location. That information is very valuable don¡¯t you know¡± I respond with a fake grin; ¡°So what must I learn about today?¡±


    ¡°Today we will discern your talent in magic. I will teach you a low-level flame spell of this world.¡±


    I wonder if he didn¡¯t get the memo. I have a high enough magic power to blow up magical items effortlessly! That must be a talent of some kind! I still play along with his training today giving a silent agreement, as I nod my head.


    ¡°Since it seems you are ready. I will demonstrate and explain. First, you cast the spell, such as, ¡°I gnirb eht levram fo erif otni eht dlrow.¡±


    After speaking what I believe to be gibberish, a flame the size of a flame produced by Bunsen burner ignites on his fingertips. The flame holds a fiery glow while dancing atop Marcus¡¯s finger without even singeing his leather gauntlets in the slightest. I am completely mesmerized by this sight only breaking away when the flame disappears as if it never existed.


    ¡°Did you even listen to me at all,¡± says Marcus with clear (and understandable) annoyance in his voice.


    ¡°I was listening all the way until you finished the chant. I zoned out while marveling at the act of magic.¡±


    ¡°At least you show an interest,¡± he said sarcastically. ¡°While chanting, you focus your mana at one of your fingertips. This is normally utility magic, sometimes certain people can turn the most mundane of magic into dangerous weapons. Wield with caution.¡±


    I show immediate excitement to test out something as mythical as magic. I begin to recite the chant, as the energy known to be mana crawls up to my index finger. The feeling of mana moving within the body is akin to having move within you. When it concentrates in a certain area, the droplets begin to consolidate: giving the feeling of a finger drenched in some sort of water like force. I notice that Marcus has taken a few steps back; I guess he really did get the memo after all. I finish the chant to see the result.


    *Plick.*


    Unaware of what just happened, Marcus shouts from the back, ¡°Can you finish the chant already!¡±


    With immense self-disappointment, I stated, ¡°That was it.¡±


    Beginning to run towards me, he bellows, ¡°Oiii! What do you mean that¡¯s it!?¡±


    The shame runs through my mind as fast race car runs multiple laps in its circuit. When Marcus arrived I showed off my capabilities with magic. I recite the chant, I pour the mana, and I get a single spark of fire that collapses upon itself. My face produced much more heat than the pathetic spark ever could.


    I look away from my finger to see the reaction of my teacher; he is on the floor laughing up an entire storm. My knees fall to the ground to better present my devastation at my lack of ability to make an actual fire. My chest¡¯s stability fails me as well; I luckily have my arm react fast enough to prevent my complete fall. I am left in an iconic position known to express my current feelings.


    Still trying to muffle his own laughter, Marcus says, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it too much. This only means that the basic magic system isn¡¯t compatible with you. If you find a way to access personal magic, you can surely use your magic efficiently.¡±


    I will not lie to myself, his words soothed my shattered heart to the point that some of the broken pieces have already stuck themselves back together.


    ¡°Thank you for the nice words.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t fix anything from my perspective, but it kindles a small hope.


    ¡°No problem. Well, we should get to the other part of training early then.¡±


    ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    ¡°We are going to start with improving your skill with the short bow. It would be best if you could pull out your weapon now.¡±


    I began by summoning the short bow and quiver full of arrows out from my spatial storage ring. I can do this because he told me to store my five chosen weapons in the storage ring himself when he told me to choose them.


    ¡°Good. If you look to your left, targets can be seen in your nearby trees. I will you to shoot at them to correct your stance on the way.¡±


    I turn my head to the left to see the classic red and white rings of a target. I look at them know what I must do, as I pray for inanimate objects in my mind. I look at the closest target from where I¡¯m standing; I decided who will be my first attempt.


    I slide an arrow from the quiver to attach it to the bowstring of the short bow. I put the arrowhead next to my left hand¡¯s index finger in the hope that will have an effect on accuracy. I pull back to hear the sound of the taut bowstring as it plays its unique sound. I let the arrow fly, and it landed nowhere near the target.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Alright. Next time straighten your arm further for more of a reach. Attempt to memorize this movement because the short bow is all about speed. Again!¡±


    I do as he commands, progressing at a rapid pace. There is a slightly fast pace to learn this skill, but I think this is coming more from his mentoring skill rather than an unfound talent. I fire the second shot to see it reached further than the arrow before it. I repeat this process constantly until I presented a result.


    ¡°Even though it took a solid five hours; You finally obtained a bull¡¯s eye in the closest tree.¡±


    It is as he said. I took five hours what other people would take days, possibly months to achieve. It seems to be the effect of his previously mentioned mentor skill.


    ¡°Do it again.¡±


    I fire the arrow to see it land on the mid-ring of the target. Just, because I achieved it doesn¡¯t mean it can be done continuously.


    ¡°That is the end of the bow training as you now have the basics. For the rest of the training session, we will focus on building up your muscle now.¡±


    And with the end of that statement, what I would call torture has finally begun. The thing about this training is that it leaves your entire body sore, like exercise back on earth. The twist is that back in the earth, you alternate between muscles to prevent any muscle damage; This process forces one to take their time. Here, we have access to potions: drugs that can heal you without any harmful side effects (most of the time). I am constantly consuming instant revitalization pots for my stamina and mental vitality. With the phantom pain, I am in a state of an incredibly sore body without it being the case.


    Marcus earnestly says, ¡°That is the end of this training session. You may leave now.¡±


    After being released from this torturous experience known as exercise, I make my way to the library to find out more about magic. I come to the conclusion that I need to learn about this original magic business quick. From how he described it, it holds potential for a good power up. I hasten my steps to the library.


    I found a book that talked about how magic generally worked. Magic is actually a general power, a mixture caused by debatable sources. No one in this world really has an exact idea of what these sources even are, but the most popular theory says that mana was essentially handed down to us by some higher being. Though I could see this happening (you learn to be more accepting of unbelievable stuff when it destroys your previous life), I choose to follow the twelve aspect theory. It makes more sense in my opinion.


    Either way, this allows there to exist many systems of magic and varying compatibilities for any person that tries to learn from said magic. This creates a giant subject matter for what magic should be considered, how it should be studied, and the types of personalities their caster will form.


    After ending my study in the library, I take off to my room to sleep. I lay on the bed immediately, as I was in desperate need to rest. It also seemed that the phantom pains fully overcome me. I pass out on my bed without even changing clothes.


    I woke up in the strange place again as if I just woke up from a hangover, really showing how strenuous that exercise was considering the pain of the exercise followed me here. I look to my surroundings as the pain quickly dissipates to decide that today is a good day to further test out what was possible here is capable of.


    The thing about dreams is that they very rarely hold a consistent structure, things suddenly appear, and disappear at strange intervals. With this in mind, I walk down the aisle of books until I suddenly find myself in an archery range. I look at my hand to find a grasping a bow while a quiver is attached to my back. I take the recently learned form to take a shot. I fire my shot and it misses bull¡¯s eye to match my actual skill. Seeing it clearly fail on realistic standards relieves me. This means that my desires won¡¯t tamper with the actual result. I take this as a good sign and continue firing at the target for the next hours available.


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú Ryan: 3rd perspective.


    <hr>


    A room lit by a single candle, one that slowly melts away as the moon moves forward at the dead of night, a time where very little souls should be awake. Two very close individuals partake in the security provided by such a room, conversing.


    However, this time there are no conspirators in this room, only embracing lovers. Ryan ejaculates the last of his energy into a moaning figure, leaving him with the warm embrace of his partner in no crime.


    ¡°Are you done?¡± says Nina, with an uncharacteristically seductive smile, with the sweet hint of playful mockery, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I honestly thought you would last longer tonight.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sweety, I really exhausted myself with work today,¡± cooly states Ryan, experiencing the afterglow of his night of carnal fun.


    ¡°Really. I remember that being a reason to do it even harder. Has that changed?¡±


    ¡°Well then, how is the research progressing?¡±


    ¡°The research seems to be going well. We are further developing the technology from other worlds. At the moment, we have only created muskets, revolvers, and rifles here and there. I hope we can eventually make a breakthrough to things such as ak47s. We will have to stay content with the development of cars for now. The Copus Tower seems to be progressing as well.¡±


    Tracing her petite hands on his face, she says, ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t be such a workaholic. I worry whether you would choose me, or the country.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I will never come to such a choice, my dear.¡±


    Nina holds a face of doubt as if she was conflicted between to decide one, or the other.


    Picking up on the clear distress, Ryan says, ¡°Dear, you know I am a terrible liar. I hate making promises after that incident. But you should know I really hold a deep love for you. Please don¡¯t doubt that.¡±


    ¡°I know. We are people of science after all. And as a trained professional of observation, and inference. I know you can continue to have some fun.¡±


    Ryan sarcastically states, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I was caught,¡± before delving back into pleasure.


    It seems Amil isn¡¯t the only person that makes use of the hours of the moon.


    Ryan: 3rd perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    ¡°You missed, again.¡±


    Even after having a dream that was all about me practicing the bow and arrow rigorously.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    It seems to have meant nothing.  I really shouldn¡¯t have expected a sudden breakthrough or progression, especially from a dream.


    ¡°Good, you made a shot. Continue.¡±


    I decide to improve where I can, here, and continue as he said. After some slightly sore arms, this little exercise goes on until the end of the first hour.


    ¡°Good. Put your equipment away, and equip your whip.¡±


    I take out the whip from the storage. The whip logically lands on my hand, as the bow and arrow-filled quiver dissipate from my touch.


    ¡°We are going to begin some whip training. When I deem you¡¯ve learned the basics, you will go back to muscle training.¡±


    I nod my head to show my agreement with this appointment. He informs me on how to wield a whip; I let it rip.


    *CRACK.*


    ¡°Not bad for a first try. Let us continue. Again.¡±


    I continue to learn about how to wield a whip while a certain Adventurer who held fear of snakes plays in my brain. After a suitable amount of practice, I returned to muscle training.


    The next day was much of yesterday, one hour for previous subjects leading me to swing a sword for a bit of time. The real difference lied in the light spar I was put through for sword training. It made me understand how skilled he was as I remained pretty unhurt if you didn¡¯t count the bruises and nicks. Then came close to combat fist training.


    ¡°AHHHHHH¡­ Fuck,¡± I screamed out to no one in particular.


    That bruise hurt like a real bitch! There is a baseball-sized bruise on the left of my abdomen, right next to my sorta six pack as well! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


    ¡°C¡¯ mon. Get up. You won¡¯t learn anything besides a more efficient way to cry yourself to sleep.¡±


    In front of me is a teacher that has proven to be more of a demon than a human. Wait, if there are actual demons in this world, would my statement be racist? I decide to correct myself in the case of future misunderstandings, as I get my ass handed to me.


    ¡°Do you even want to help this kingdom?¡± says the intimidating figure in front of me with a unique bloodlust.


    I begin to stand up knowing that I called this hell upon myself for the prospects of a longer life in the future. There is still a part of me that curses the universe for putting such a situation, to begin with; I take another punch straight to the face while accepting the universe could care less about my problems.


    Unless my resentment can somehow help foster lasting power, no need to really dwell on the emotion. I make a pot shot to his dick to relieve my resentment. I find my more sober ass laying on the grass aching all over. The dirt doesn¡¯t taste especially good when you face dive into it, trust me on this.


    On the fifth day (whip day, instead of five golden rings), after completing all of the rigorous training of the day, Marcus decided to approach me.


    Holding a complex expression, Marcus states, ¡°Alright then, we¡¯ll continue with the original training schedule.¡± After saying those words, the attitude and tone of my surroundings changed to fit the solemn nature of his words. My body reacted to: there was a weird twitch in my legs; I stopped blinking my eyes, and my spine started to shiver.


    Marcus begins to pace away from me by ten steps, then asking, ¡°Do you intend to survive? No matter what it takes?¡± His words commanded a form of respect that demanded a moment of silence. I complied as my mouth was figuratively shut by wires.


    I discern his seriousness from his tone. It held this cold indifference that denied anything less than what it demanded. Not allowed to disappoint, I respond, ¡°Yes, no matter what;¡± with the truth.


    After thoroughly dissecting my response to its very inflections; he determines it to be the full unadulterated truth. ¡°Then take your dagger from your storage, toss it to me, and then turn back,¡± he says, contradicting his behavior from the previous day.


    I notice that he implied that whatever happens now, my opinion will the nothing to shape its outcome. I was just denied my right to choose something for myself, and I wasn¡¯t even the least bit infuriated; I was too busy cowering in fear


    I do as he says in the hope to reduce whatever pain I may have to feel as a result of this change. He told me to turn around and remain stationary no matter what. I wait in anticipation of his next action as I hear the sound of his steps retreat from the range of my eardrums. I embrace total silence for the remaining seconds of the suspense


    Silence breaks when I hear the *Shunk* of a knife piercing into soft flesh; my flesh.


    I fall to the ground in reaction to being stabbed in the back, both metaphorically, and literally. My dripping blood stains the grass with its darkish red tint. I grit my teeth at the pain of the stab wound. I release a screech when it all begins to come back upon itself. As all of my bits continue to fit each other like a puzzle piece, I relive the pain of the stab in the back. I lie on the ground with a barely lucid mind.


    ¡°If you want to survive. You are going to have to do more than talk. You are going to walk it off too. Stand up.¡±


    I feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes, reminding me of why exactly I never wanted to go to war. I hate being put through this kind of shit. I am more than aware of the inevitability and necessity of conflict, but I don¡¯t feel any happier that it¡¯s happening to me.


    ¡°Stand up.¡±


    I stand up with the knowledge that I¡¯m going to be stabbed again. Every part of what comprises me is shivering: from the muscles to my very soul.


    *Shunk.*


    I fall down trembling at the pain. My remains insert themselves into me once more. I lift myself up because it is much better to be stabbed standing than taking it lying down.


    *Shunk.*


    I see Marcus grinning. He grins because he is aware of the laws of the land. The strong will eat the weak. I stand up again.


    *Shunk.*


    I continue in resistance. It is my only real option. I also want to test out a theory of mine. I want to check the credibility of Niche¡¯s words. If this knife doesn¡¯t kill me, I will end up stronger. This does not even begin to lessen any of the current pain I am feeling at the moment, making this thought utterly useless.


    This torture goes on for its intended four hours. I should have known this was going to last a while; he had prepared my clothes for the likely event. Normally, people would want to keep a five-mile radius out of his way after such an injurious event; I break norms by asking the mind-boggling question of why he put me through such torture.


    That will traumatize me for the years to come as I continue to live my life here. The very idea of something piercing skin is something so wretched to me that I swear I just might have an anxiety attack the next time something shaped like a dagger so as much scratches me.


    With the fanaticism of a crazed man, he preaches, ¡°I wanted you to realize that your only purpose is to serve the kingdom. In the past, lots of Heroes didn¡¯t follow this principle. I needed to make it clear that you won¡¯t die without our permission.¡±


    Every part of my body is screeching so loud, that my brain could no longer think straight. He stabbed me in any little crevice of my body he could stick a knife into, to not only muddle my mind but to satisfy his sadistic urges.


    Stupidly, in outrage, I ask, ¡°How the fuck can you possibly predict that this won¡¯t backfire in any way? What¡¯s to say that I can grow much stronger in the future to destroy you.¡±


    He responds, ¡°We have our countermeasures. Plus, do you really think you can take on an entire mob of people in your current state, much less a trained army.¡±


    I attempt to pry open my mouth to respond, to rebel. Contradictorily to my desire; I said nothing as I had nothing to say. In this world the weak are voiceless.


    ¡°Besides, you are a coward. One that hasn¡¯t given up on life. It can be easily spotted by the look in your eye. Cowards that desire to live will do anything, no matter how dirty, to live.¡±


    I once again hold my best attempt to keep any sort of straight face. It will come up off as an attempt at best; I can feel my trembling face give away my thoughts.


    ¡°This time, you will work with us to achieve your goal as a hero. On the side, you boost the kingdom a bit.¡±


    He opens my hand to place the sheathed Damage Debtor in my care once more. I take this moment to leave the training grounds with the very little control I still have over my life. Be it over my emotions, or for my future as a being of any kind. It only reaffirms my hatred for words such as Hero, politics, destiny, and humane.


    I go back to the library to read my time, in the hope to soothe myself. I find a librarian who is scared more out of her mind the usual. I take this as a notice to calm down, my resentment will not help me now. I imagine people would find it strange if the Hero fell into a glum mood.


    It is day eight today. My schedule has been set where I spend an hour on each weapon, the remaining three hours spent on muscle training. It is absolutely torturous, but I can¡¯t deny its effectiveness considering I obtained the muscles I think I¡¯ve never had in as little as eight days. I spend the rest of the day like usual: I hit the books to go to practice what I need to in sleep central. Whether it consisted of polishing some memories, some time to ask why this happened to me (despite knowing the answer very well) and to make more patented magic just for me.


    Day ten was very similar to days eight, and nine with the exception of an added hour of being reintroduced to a knife, because of my previous trauma. It pretty much consists of me passing out repeatedly (due to my foretold anxiety attacks), non-stop. I can now say that I can ¡°wield¡± a knife, but my skin will always clam up in an attempt for me to put away the knife as quickly as I could.


    Day Fourteen: It is safe to say that nothing eventful happened during this day. The only noteworthy things would be my improved skill in combat thanks to me being forced to spar him. Me reading more about magic as I obtain nothing for my effort.


    Day Seventeen: the day went on, as usual, but it seems something unusual happened in my dream. I just dreamt about some of my past memories which only served to make me sadder than I already was.


    Day twenty-one: I had another training centered dream tonight. It doesn¡¯t really augment my skills out here in any way, but I guess it is a bit comforting. The idea that a small part of my brain hasn¡¯t quite given up hope is a fruitless but enjoyable cognition.


    Day twenty-five: I had a combat centered dream where I ended up fighting a good bit of people. I felt very detached from my dream, so it won¡¯t really affect my skills in combat, but it has given me something to think about in the morning. I have started hypothetical situations to at least be prepared on a superficial level.


    Day twenty-seven: Ryan interviews me further, as usual. He asks me some questions about my previous world like ¡®Who were some amazing scientists?¡¯ or ¡®What were some of the societal norms of that world?¡¯ with that same sort of grin. I hide my uneasiness towards him. Though the grin on his face really looks genuine, he holds a high position in this Kingdom, the chance he is one of them is very probable.


    Day twenty-nine: It seems that even in my dreams, I am not exempt from the stress of my situation. I am trying not to break down every moment I live as a puppet. I am no longer a person responsible for his own choices. I am a tool designed to move at their very gesture. If they tell me to be happy; I need to be happy. If they want me to use my skills to perform an award-winning show, so be their word. The only reason I haven¡¯t told them about these dreams is that I¡¯m sure they already know, and I refuse to tell them what they already know!


    I am no longer in possession of a sound mind anymore; I lost my sanity when I had to accept all that has happened to me. It¡¯s humorous really.


    It is amazing how I don¡¯t feel too different from before, being a raving insane madman now. It has come to me that maybe I was never sane, explaining tons of my past choices. Sanity could also be a fake construct made to somehow give us a nonexistent divider between sociopaths, and office workers. Either way, it doesn¡¯t change that I am currently empty inside. What good is a mind if it can¡¯t even do anything? Hell, can I even call what I have a mind


    Hell, can I even call what I have a mind, to begin with? First, I no longer have an identity to base my choices off because I can even fully remember my past life. Second¡­


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú Marcus Freighter 3rd perspective.


    <hr>


    ¡°I will admit that your training is effective, but it seems to be giving him an unflattering view of our little syndicate.¡±


    ¡°I am more than aware of the impression I¡¯m making.¡±


    ¡°Alright then, explain it to me.¡±


    ¡°Do you know a method commonly used in interrogation.¡±


    ¡°Physical torture, and threats towards one¡¯s family if they still give a shit about them.¡±


    ¡°Those are correct answers, but I was looking for another little routine some interrogators use.¡±


    ¡°And what would this routine be called?¡±


    ¡°They have termed the phrase good cop, bad cop sir. It is when one is overly harsh while another is caring, slowly gaining whomever¡¯s trust.¡±


    ¡°You mention this is a routine of two. How exactly will be playing the role of the ¡®good cop¡¯. I hope you haven¡¯t chosen a government officer. They can get rowdy, and hardly anyone would trust an organization who would allow such a thing to him. Directly or indirectly.¡±


    ¡°The good cop will be the populace, sir. He is smart enough not to blame an entire country for its government¡¯s crimes against him. We will do this at the same time where we give them the silver spoon of some actual rights. We will use his own thinking against him. Have him fall in love with the country, hate the government he can¡¯t do anything towards.¡±


    ¡°And what will these liberties be exactly?¡±


    ¡°We allow him to become an adventurer to play around in his sandbox with four promising recruits I¡¯ve already found. He will be eating right out of our palm.¡±


    The shaded man, now grinning states, ¡°Intriguing. And when will this plan be carried out? I imagine it would require my special set of skills.¡±


    ¡°You have guessed correctly. Would you please make sure that this plan is secured to happen in our history books by the end of the month.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. The parliament will surely make the debut of the subject. Even if the king himself is against it, it will be passed no matter what.¡±


    The shadowy figure began to sneer at the formation of the closest thing to a solid plan.


    Marcus Freighter: 3rd perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    Day thirty: I wake up from my slumber to my clear dismay. I then find a note to stay in my room until further notice. I decide to do some of the workouts engraved in my muscle memory to pass the remaining time. Effectively, acting like a good little robot as seconds go by, then minutes, maybe hours.


    An interesting detail about this world is that all their months consist of thirty days. The rest is the same old system back on earth though. It also seems that I was born in this world¡¯s version of December. The reason why there was no snow in the kingdom was that of some sort of magic enchantment. A waste I say.  While I think of this small tidbit the door opens.


    While I think of this small tidbit the door opens.


    ¡°Hello, Hero. The King and Parliament have told me to call upon and guide you to their room. They have made a decision regarding your future.¡±

 Chapter 4: Silver Cage

    I hear all of the surrounding voices in a surrounding clamor. I see flocks of people living happily in the confines of the capital as they go from store to store, bartering possessions such as food, clothing, supplies, and jewelry. I reckon that I am standing in the middle of this marvelous scene. It makes my personal experience with torture seem like a brim outlier.


    The basic summary of what led to this sorta slavery would be the following lines. I am called to the council to ¡°discuss¡± my further future. It seems that this government¡¯s legislative decided that I should be able to explore and grow in their lands. Despite this decision being one the king was against; I got to go sorta free. The situation ended after kissing upon the hand of the king as a formality. Also wanting to keep my identity and existence secret from the world; the legislature gifted me with a few items and a new identity to traverse the land covertly.


    My middle finger throbs from the discomfort of suddenly bearing the Ring of Appearance. It itches at the cost of being able to both slightly change minor details, or hide them completely. No matter how I view it, this is an ability people would covet; It reminds me of a certain hobbit.


    ¡°Hey! What are you standing there for!?¡± says my future partner.


    I lazily reply, ¡°I¡¯ll get there when I get there. What¡¯s the rush?¡±


    ¡°But everyone has already left. We need to get moving already!¡±


    When I mean future partner, I refer to my new fellow co-worker in my newly gained profession: adventuring. Her name is Alana P¨¨rez: she is athletic, slim, well proportioned, and holds an entrancing vibe. Something that she maintains effortlessly as if she merely breathing. Even more like a thief. The fact that we are paired up is another ¡°gift¡± of the officials. She is one of the five most promising recruits of this generation. Are you wondering where the other four could possibly be? I guess it¡¯s time to start this thing with them huh.


    I walk to meet the rest of my party to be to see them preparing the carriage for our little country expedition.


    ¡°You finally made it back, I was wondering when I would have to drag you here.¡± says a small and exceptionally laid back little man in the carriage. Gnome is the better term though. His wavy hair held a green intonation, allowing him to pass for a potted plant in humor. His clothing looked more modern than all of the others as he was wearing a sort of medical uniform.


    ¡°Goddammit! Get the fuck out of there, and work already!¡± says a jaded mage with the mouth of a sailor. He was dressed in a robe currently surrounded by an aura of hostility in an attempt to put the other man to work. He held decently long hair that flowed with the wind at times.


    An earnest-looking man sharpens his cuirass, then stating, ¡°I understand the purpose of order and relaxation. It seems you two are overdoing your respective sides.¡± He begins to smirk like a know it all, betraying what I believe to be his appearance. He had this greasy looking hair to accompany his calm face.s


    ¡°Ah! Welcome back Alg¡­ I mean Amil!¡± speaks a straightforward noble looking lady.


    It may sound weird that I¡¯m given a secret identity to only reveal my actual name, but it would be immensely awkward if someone called my actual name to be welcomed with no response.


    They all are unaware that I am the newly summoned hero of this kingdom, it is a secret to them because they weren¡¯t trusted. They were all the newest generation of adventuring prodigies this kingdom had to offer, but the government here decided to withhold the truth. However, their amount of loyalty still comes with the benefits of the entire kingdom funding them, akin to scholarships back in my world, yet I hold a position that renders their achievements null in comparison.


    This form of espionage, I would be lying if I were to say that this action alone didn¡¯t make me feel at home. I mumble, ¡°We trust you, but not that much.¡± It seems to apply to other worlds as well. It seems this world was also steep in our same sense of values towards people that aren¡¯t part of the higher brass.


    ¡°Thank you for the greetings,¡± I say with a big smile on my face, ¡°Is there anything I can do to help with fixing the carriage?¡±


    I decided to show gratitude for their work to appeal to the idea that I don¡¯t have to do anything. I am willing to do my fair share of work if I have too, but it would serve me to learn more about the current setting. I need to learn about the technology, societal system, racial hierarchy, and anything else I can kiss up too; I am in desperate need to fill in a good proportion of my personal questions for survival¡¯s sake. I do have another ulterior motive being¡­


    ¡°You really want to take a shower that badly huh.¡±


    The noblewoman is to be referred to as Alisha Garc¨ªa from now on swiftly chops the lackadaisical man, the one residing in the carriage, in the head; she hoped that it would do more than just signal him to sigh.


    ¡°I can help you out with your little tour of the town.¡±


    Before I properly understand his words, his arm was wrapped around my waist because of his little predicament with height as he led me away from the rest. While everyone shows either a bitter or dismayed face at the development, they all return to do their share of the required work for departure, with the exception of one. ¡®Get back here you twit! Don¡¯t skip out on your work!¡¯ I hear Alisha shout out with no regard for the surrounding, and continued to complex the audience that had to view her performance.


    After walking a good distance from the group, the culprit responsible for my abduction, says, ¡°You really could have just said so if you really wanted to. No need to display such shoddy acting.¡±


    ¡°What gave you such an impression? I might need it for future reference. It would do me a great justice if you informed me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve watched my fair share of plays you know. You might fool others with your little theatrics, but not me. I was a bit of a maniac for plays, I know acting when I see it. So spill. Why are you skipping out on your work? I know why I¡¯m doing it, but I don¡¯t know you enough. The cat is out of the bag, no need to make it worse.¡±


    ¡°I only want to learn more about the town. It should be a good start for forging a common sense for this land. Having too little information is unsettling for my exasperated mind.¡±


    ¡°Having heard its reasoning. It lets me slack and act like a smartass. A benevolent opportunity if I ever saw any.¡±


    ¡°Well then my tour guide, where are we off to now? I have a curious temperament so expect a good amount of questions.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I know the terms and conditions to the more lax path. One must utilize them to the full extent.¡±


    He flashes a grin to show his acceptance of our little arrangement. He quickly stops and raises his hand waiting for me to do the same. I follow the motions, both shaking the other¡¯s hand, to cement our agreement further.


    ¡°So take your pick of the possible districts: Housing District, Cultivation District, Market District, Industrial District, Arcanum District, Academy District. Which one will it be?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go to the Industrial District. Lead the way,¡± I say with a clear grin on my face.


    ¡°Why is that so good sir?¡±


    ¡°It checks out most of my requirements,¡± I respond jokingly. ¡°After all, the scene in front of me requires a bit of an answer.¡±


    I see the sight that is both unbelievably modern while also retaining an archaic nature, blending into an intriguing display of complete astoundment. Cars are sounded in my ears as they move from my vision to disappear out of my sight. It rouses my human curiosity, like a tiny kid who was just dropped in a new sandbox.


    ¡°Do they not talk about cars in the royal palace?¡±


    We walk through the road as there aren¡¯t any stoplights anywhere around here. This used to be the system before corporations realized their lost profit in car crashes. Creating our newly appointed title of ¡®Jaywalkers¡¯, not like I¡¯m going to tell anyone, I hold no interest in bringing a bad habit from my world here.


    ¡°Never mind that. Anything you can tell me about the town in general. All information is welcome in my eyes.¡±


    ¡°Are you absolutely sure?¡±


    ¡°I know what I¡¯m talking about you know.¡±


    He stops, forming a grim expression on his face; he lifts his arm to have his index finger to point at an alley. It is a dark alley that is hard to spot, something that can be found with semi-serious effort.


    ¡°Behind that corner in the way back of the alley. Something wondrous occurred in that spot.¡±


    With a face imbued chock-full nostalgia, he says, ¡°That was where I got my very first blowjob. Truly an event one should never forget.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    I quickly draw a palm to my face, silence tends to be the best response to these kinds of answers.


    Peeking at his face through the crack of my fingers I see his smirk was exactly where it belonged, below the nose, he is currently rubbing with his index finger as if the event mattered that much to him. Well¡­ I guess it would to some people huh. What would I know? I have long forgotten about such things.


    ¡°Did¡­ you just insult me somehow? I would like to hear it with my ears, reading faces is too troublesome to even bother for such small offenses,¡± he speaks wearily.


    ¡°No, I only thought of how I should really be careful about my words in the future when I¡¯m asking you for favors.¡±


    ¡°A smart, but an ultimately futile decision. I would like to give you a D for effort, however, I wasn¡¯t seeing your soul in it.¡±


    We continue to pass through more streets and turns until we reached a gate: pressure locks and a huge latch are in visible sight. This scene is jarring in all of itself. It shows me the urgency I should be taking to find out the current technology. I raise my head to see the puffs of the ashy residue called smoke that floats up from the other side. I hoped I wouldn¡¯t have to see such a thing, but it was an almost good as done case when I learned about guns.


    ¡°We need to go through that door over there. We need to wash up before we go anywhere inside that place. Same stands for going out, health is important,¡± he says with a shit-eating grin.


    I calmly respond, with actual amazement,¡± So you guys realized the importance of cleanliness too huh.¡±


    ¡°With that tone, I would think you didn¡¯t expect this outcome. Some people might take it the wrong way if you say it that way.¡±


    ¡°Sorry if it sounded the way it was supposed to. No bad feelings but most groups in books I¡¯ve read had ancestors held an era similar to this time. It took them several decades to even realize the connection between mortality rates and bad hygiene. No harsh feelings right?¡±


    He replies, genuinely offended, ¡±Jesus Christ! I would be lying straight out of my damned teeth to say I¡¯m not offended! It really shouldn¡¯t be rocket science! What are you going to tell me next?! They bathed in their shit because they believed it held medical effects! Please tell me you don¡¯t really believe we don¡¯t take showers that! I know that you were raised in the palace, but could ignorance really reach this far.¡±


    This phrase begins to remind me of another thing that is occurring thanks to this shitshow of a situation. Since I can¡¯t simply drop the bomb that I am the hero; I have been directed to take a new identity: Amil Feliciano. Mr. Feliciano is a ¡°person¡± who was raised in the palace for his show of ¡°talent¡±. This event had granted him the esteemed privilege to join the best potential of the generation.


    ¡°First of all, I¡¯m sure people learned the importance of not being covered in feces. You needn¡¯t worry about me, I just wanted to see your reaction. I can tell you they unintentionally bathed in shit before,¡± inserting a little pause in between my lines, I say, ¡°They have progressed far indeed.¡±


    My guide held two conflicting emotions fighting over who should be displayed in his face. This was an intense conflict between understanding and disgust that would drag his mind into turmoil, until vacancy washed his face to show his want, and need to banish the images he conjured up to torture himself. These kinds of moments bring me a good amount of joy because it reminds me of how I don¡¯t need to suffer alone. In fact¡­ everyone is going to suffer with me from now on. I smirk a bit for the promise of the future.


    We pass through after having properly cleaned ourselves to see the industrial district. My impression of it was a solid ¡®meh.¡¯ Not quite as lifeless as I thought it would be seeing how everyone isn¡¯t being abused right now. I know I shouldn¡¯t be holding this world¡¯s values to be the same as my own, but I can¡¯t help it. I wonder if they can sue me here?


    The workers consist of the common pattern of humans, dwarves, and hobbits. They are all wearing equipment that heavily reduces the effect of terrible side effects, adding on to all the already established safety guideline that actually work. I was confident in seeing some more than unpleasant images. I end up more astonished than correct.


    I see the workers piece multiple things together such as cars, refrigerators, stoves, tables, textiles, firearms, etc¡­


    There were other buildings where I assume more of the chemical based products resided, but we weren¡¯t allowed inside there for obvious reasons. We decided to leave the industrial district in favor of the trade district because there was nothing else to view there.


    Hair dyes, European-based food, children¡¯s toys, household tools, fashionable clothing (for the time), some magical trinkets, and weapons are the sorts of items up for grabs in trade district. My good guide Seb, and I peruse through the various shops wielding Seb¡¯s deep knowledge of all the businesses. My first stop was the book store


    My first stop was the book store. I ended up buying two copies of the same books, as it seems, it really is hard to kick an old habit apparently. The books I bought consisted of the various offered subjects: myths of the land, translation books, survival guides and such.


    I then checked out the food stalls to understand what is the local produce of the land. Hoping to not only fill in some more blanks with this world but to also discern what I going to eat in the foreseeable future. One must do research to ensure that they get <del>good food</del> ahead in life.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°Well, we have beef from the cows if you were asking for that. Our products consist of apples, pears, raspberries, damsons, and black currant for fruits. If we are talking about vegetables: angelica, mustard, parsnips, radish, rapeseed, and turnips to offer. All of the rest consists of goods from elsewhere such as tomatoes, corn, potatoes, carrots, etc¡­ Now that I¡¯ve answered, are you going to finally buy something? I don¡¯t like to hold up a line of profit you know.¡±


    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll take two cartons of tomatoes, potatoes, parsnips please.¡±


    With a big grin, she states, ¡°Nice doing business with you.¡±


    We quickly leave the stall in favor of an alley to stash our newly bought goods in a ring. After the task, we move to our next stage.


    ¡°Do you think it was so wise to spend so frugally? I haven¡¯t tried the new goods yet, but the color of red is the same as blood. Some people hold clear caution towards it, you know.¡±


    I put my hand in a pocket of mine to act as if I pulled out a tomato out of my pocket like a magician would pull a rabbit out of their hat to not cause immediate worry from any strangers. I hold the tomato in front of his face to then say, ¡®Bite it. You can make a judgment about it after you¡¯re done chewing it.¡¯ He takes a hold of the tomato to soon sink his teeth into the tomato in question, showing a face devoid of surprise.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t to my personal taste, but not something to deserve the name ¡®mockery of all food¡¯.¡±


    ¡°It is good that you can understand my point. Now look stiffer. We are in front of the boutique, and I am not about to get kicked out of another store because of your disorderly conduct.¡±


    ¡°Why are you blaming the victim here? It isn¡¯t my fault that they had no sense of humor.¡±


    I give him a stink eye (one he deserves) that emanates something only parents or uncles could ever understand. It comes to me I should rethink my plan.


    ¡°You know what? Stay out here. I can¡¯t trust you.¡±


    I head into the shop while I hear him say, ¡®So you are going to leave me outside instead.¡¯ I quickly retrieve my objective of hair ties, and hair dyes to head outside before my hobbit friend does something stupid again. Confirming no visible damage, we head to the weapon shop to make an order of mine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you already have some decent gear that was given to you by the U.M.? I know it wasn¡¯t the absolute best they could offer, but not at the point where you should replace it at any shop you find. No offense.¡±


    The owner nods to show his understanding, which is to say about zilch.


    ¡°I¡¯m more than aware of that. I just need a different kind of weapon,¡± I claim, shifting my focus to the owner, ¡°Do you have any good rifles? Pistols? And ammo for said firearms?¡±


    He takes action to accomplish a task he knows how to operate and profit from: meeting a customer¡¯s expectation to the best of his abilities. He points to the rack loaded with wonderfully named boomsticks to point to a door immediately afterward, what I assume to be the testing ground. I grab the guns that look to work the best and shot them off with their own distinctive bang in the test room. This goes on for some hours until I discover my wanted rifle. I the rifle that met my standards, beckoning me to leave the shop after having paid my bill.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that one of the weapons you would have trained with? Did they even give you the option?¡±


    ¡°They gave me the option. I just need some secrets of my own in this world. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t imagine one would be so open to a resident of the kingdom you are keeping it secret from.¡±


    ¡°I get the vibe that you wouldn¡¯t sell someone out easily. It could be attributed to your laziness.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you that was a stupid decision. I can easily sell you out right now. All I need to do is go to an officer right now.¡±


    ¡°The very fact you are telling me how terrible of a decision I made shows me that it ended up being the right decision.¡±


    He flashes the image of a man who hasn¡¯t even finished half of his complaints towards an incomprehensible dimwit but quickly drops it thinking nothing can be done now.


    I need to clarify something. Seb Vineyard is actually quite mature for his considering he has only lived for fifteen years. Since I was much older in my past life, I am going to really appreciate I have someone to actually talk to.


    We walk back to the group that is currently very anger towards both of us.


    ¡°Where the fuck have you been!?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t suddenly just disappear!¡±


    ¡°¡­ Uh¡­ don¡¯t do that too often.¡±


    Alana Perez lets a weak laugh while Alisha takes her time to scold the battle junkie on the power of words. What he really understood is how it can be used as a weapon in the form of incessant nagging. He is someone who learns from personal experience.


    ¡°Sorry! I am truly sorry, but I needed to see the town before we left! There are too many things that could be left undone if I didn¡¯t take an opportunity like this myself. I also couldn¡¯t bring myself to deny Seb¡¯s offer of advice when he lent a hand! I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    This was all said while I was lowering my head to show my lament in showing, what seems to them, reckless behavior. They all hold their sturdy gazes on me and Seb until they all collectively sigh in agreement to just let it be for now.


    ¡°Wait! Where are you taking me! Why aren¡¯t you punishing him too!? That¡¯s unfair! That¡¯s unfaaaaaaiiiirr!¡±


    Only I was spared. The same did not apply for my newly made acquaintance Seb as they found a dark corner to take a shot at him for a good ten minutes. They would later say they only roughed him up a bit. I proceed to let out a cold sweat when I saw Seb come out with a couple of bruises on his face.


    We all board the carriage that Seb and I had no hand in making. The warrior looking man named Carlos Cavallero was in charge of the horses that moved the carriage in the first place. He cracks his reins to start the controlled running of the horses, marking our departure from the capital.


    This goes on for several hours. Seb simply took a nap in all that time, no big deal. Alisha looked like she wanted to wake him up, but lacked the reasons to do so. Alana was sharpening her knife while our mage Francisco Mart¨ªn sharpened his wit with a book pertaining to the magic theory that I haven¡¯t read yet.


    Emphasis on Yet.


    ¡°So what are you reading over there? It seems interesting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m reading about some magic theory passed down from my old man. Nothing that should matter too much to you. Not to someone who has been through the royal library.¡±


    ¡°I beg to differ. I would actually love to read that book you¡¯re reading right now. So can you lend it to me yet?¡±


    ¡°Persistent fuck aren¡¯t you. My answer won¡¯t change. I need every single detail I can stuff into my deplorably small brain.¡±


    ¡°You really like cursing, don¡¯t you. How about we compromise? You can continue the book you¡¯re reading, I am only interested in reading a new book. So how about you lend me the books you aren¡¯t currently using? It seems to be a much better use than just leaving it to rot in your book bag.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to put this into two simple words. Fuck Off. Do you understand my point.¡±


    ¡°Interesting offer¡­ I will have to decline though.¡±


    He looks like he is about to burst several vessels in his bloodstream willingly. I can recognize and respect his attempts to protect his books as if it were an extension of himself, but as I stand on the opposing side, I can¡¯t afford to show mercy to the enemy of today.


    However before I can even open my mouth to initiate my personalized offense, the cart stops. This sudden stop causes Francisco and me to produce a wonderful knock sound from the wood, destroying our earlier momentum in more ways than one. As I rub my now bruised head, Francisco doing likewise; Carlos calls out to us from the front to explain why we ended up with throbbing bruises on our head.


    ¡°Hey! There is a horde of monsters outside and would be a real pain in the ass to have to avoid them so I made the carriage stop. Anyone have any idea of what I¡¯m suggesting?¡±


    Alana, just waking up from her slumber says, ¡°Are you proposing that we personally deal with the matter ourselves?¡±


    ¡°Yeah is there a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°No. It can serve as a good starting point for learning, says Francisco Martin as he raises himself, and his reddened head to leave the carriage.


    The rest follows as his proposal wasn¡¯t actually a bad idea, all of us have been put through rigorous training of our own, but not all of us have experience with fighting monsters. Everyone goes outside in the hopes to find their need place, to test out the waters.


    In our arrival to the unknown, we are shown the main problem we came out here to deal with. They aren¡¯t really terrifying to say, but It is enough to know why they can be a massive pain in the ass.


    The creatures look at us with their singular shadow tinted eye as if we appeared out of thin air. They began to prepare for the inevitable conflict by bearing their fangs with an appalling grin, flex their four hind legs to prepare for their forward sprint. I can already see one of them openly drooling at the thought of new food. Well¡­ from what I¡¯ve read, this is the typical behavior of cypups. There is a grand total of forty-three from the ones I can see. Oh¡­ one more of them are already giggling.


    My party and I begin to make preparations of our own as vanguards take their position in the front. Alisha increases the power of her grip to ensure that her sword will pierce true for her shield to remain strong towards anything she hasn¡¯t killed yet. Carlos takes to the side of Alisha as he sharpens his cuirass, not to ensure that it won¡¯t break, but out of habit that only dedicated swordsmen could ever really understand. Alana takes her place behind the two brandishing her two daggers, ready to make new holes that weren¡¯t supposed to be pierced that way.


    I stay in the rear guard with Seb and Francisco; I begin to aim my arrows towards their eyes. Seb sits down to see if he even has to do his job while Francisco murmurs what I believe to be magic belonging to the branch of wind. There is a moment of silence between the two sides, both thinking the other side would be completely wiped out by the end of the battle.


    The cold breeze of air wipes through the field as battle converges.


    I mentally prepare myself for the heat of battle as I draw back an arrow and let it fly into some thing¡¯s eye. Alisha bashes a cypup with her sword, bashing the life out of it, and defending against an attack with her shield. Carlos takes the opportunity to take two heads from the opposing side seeing how easily their bloody heads could roll. Alisha makes use of my buff to take care of any foes that pass through from the barricade of death. I release a couple of arrows after Francisco lets them rip with razor-sharp winds, while Seb sits, convinced that he isn¡¯t needed here.


    I should be feeling a sort of regret, shouldn¡¯t I? I shouldn¡¯t be the one to speak for anyone who has had to kill, but isn¡¯t there supposed be hesitation here? My body is doing what it can for self-preservation, and I thank it for that, but I¡¯m positive there should be a natural hesitation. My morality should be fighting my logic, but nothing like that is happening whatsoever.


    I continue to pick off foes from afar; I arrows either strike or slightly stray from their eyes as it was a weak point I noted in the bestiary. The blood flows just as quickly as they fall due to the realization they can¡¯t continue to move. They had no more lives to continue.


    An entire thirty-four of the pack that attacked us no longer dwells within the living. Five percent of the remaining pack to note of the situation, stopped where they stood, and either began running away or stood there frightened, now functioning as easy targets. The rest was made up of what I would believe to be the warriors, martyrs, and muscle headed idiots thinking they might find a new mate after this.


    One of the monsters somehow finds a way to pass through the guard, making a straightforward charge toward the most unassuming of us. Seb continues to sit like nothing is going to happen as he internally foretold himself. I can say that nothing is going to happen to him but only because I have to take action for him.


    The hound jumps to take what he believes to be a free meal to suddenly experience the taste of metal in his tongue, coming from his own blood, and the alloy of my sword. The creature would have realized that the sharp end of a sword was protruding through the back of its head if it weren¡¯t for the fact that the sharp end of the sword was protruding the back of its head. It was truly an ironic deposition.


    I unsheath the blade from the fleshy scabbard, known as the now dead cypup, to see its wound trickle blood like a leaky sink, and my sword coated with blood and brain matter. I look at the scene, and my mental troubles multiply by the power of two.


    The scene itself wasn¡¯t what was bothering me, not directly. It was my unexpected calm of the scene itself that truly terrified me. I was a simple inhabitant of the earth who didn¡¯t like fighting. Why am I not internally disgusted in any way, shape, or form? Is this the result of a skill? Is this the effect of being stabbed more than several times a day? Or¡­ Could I have always been this way?


    The loud sounds of the battle were drowned out by the whirlpool of my all-consuming thought. I don¡¯t know how long this went on for, but my mind freezes, putting a halt to my moment of self-disgust. Still gripping the bloodied sword, my hand was trembling in the fear of what I¡¯ve done. My empathy is still in here somewhere! I couldn¡¯t be happier (I imagine someone smiling after regretting murder isn¡¯t normal but) I still have in me yet, somewhere inside of me.


    I encapsulate my emotions for the future, a time where it won¡¯t be a disadvantage. It is the natural decision to make with this relevant information. I must bottle it up. It is going to be absolutely painful, but it doesn¡¯t change its inherent downfalls in this kind of world. Better I lock it up than have it destroyed, or worse, perverted.


    I stand up after my little moment of self-discovery to see the outcome of the external conflict. It was an overwhelming massacre that was stanched with the smell of blood and littered with the little seeds of flesh that embedded themselves into the hallowed grounds, not by the absence of dirt, but by the presence of death. A little part of me decided that I didn¡¯t need to see a scene of carnage just yet.


    The side of my head gets hit by a pathetic pebble. I crane my head to try to see who was the culprit. The culprit was Fransisco, accompanied by a facial expression that can only be described in two words: royally pissed.


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú Francisco: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    Who the hell is this guy? I simply can¡¯t understand him! He confounds me as much as he annoys me!


    With a frigid tone, I state, ¡°Hey Fucker. This is a battlefield. People don¡¯t have time to zone out when they please in it. Do you know how many fucking pebbles I had to throw at you to finally begin to notice me? Twenty-fucking-five, it¡¯s even worse that you lost the sense of awareness in a battlefield of all places. Luckily, as our friends are part of this generation¡¯s prodigy group as the rear guard were able to handle things even with the sudden loss of your contribution.¡±


    After stating the harsh facts his face dons an expression of shock accompanied by a cold sweat as if to show that this realization had just come to him.


    With a face occupied by guilt, he asks, ¡°Did I really drop the buff! Fuck fuck fuck! Did they-they get any injuries because of my mistake!¡±


    With my two cents of complaints in mind, I ramble, ¡°Alisha had one of the little fuckers bite her in the ankle while Carlos took the charge of a cypup straight in the stomach, expelling his breath. Alana had to take over because of the staggered breathing of Carlos so he could regain his breath while I had to divert my attention from crowd control to take the little fucker out. So make it a torn ankle and a bruise in the stomach.¡±


    He lowers his head in both great shame and understanding the possible severity of his mistake. This prompts me to think, ¡°At the very least, he knows when he makes mistakes,¡± cooling me down as I thought he might try to not own up to his mistake.


    ¡°I will make it up to you. I swear I will.¡±


    Now, with a frown formed on my face because the naivety of those words, I respond, ¡°Coming from you those are only words. Don¡¯t try to imitate an adult if you aren¡¯t one, to begin with, fucker.¡±


    I take out one of the knives from my knapsack to hand it to him hilt facing out. His face seems to harden at the gesture. I pull out another knife for my personal use which only seems to confuse him further.


    ¡°Now look at this knife here ass-hat. Both of us are going to do our jobs properly and get to collecting our materials so it will help if you can do your job properly this time.¡±


    I take a head start for the rest of the bodies finding that the rest of the crew have already started collecting the items without me. I get there with a single and very specific intention: to get shit done.


    Francisco: 1st perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I come back from the dismantling absolutely exhausted both physically and mentally. I could, and did resist to urge to just start passing out to prevent another reason to not be on the team because as it seems, I am in no way near their skill level.


    I completely underestimated these ki¡­ people because I dismissed them by their young age. I knew they would immediately be much more useful than my next door neighbor¡¯s son, but not by this much. It really must have been an insult to judged like that by someone not only weaker but also physically the same age, I know I would have been.


    I¡¯m now back in the carriage, but now the air is so tense and suffocating that I could swear that I just choked on it earlier.


    Understanding that there is nothing that I can do about this situation; I decide my next plan attack. I do the only acceptable action (by my standards) that anyone can take when facing an impossible enemy: running away.


    I rest my head in the most comfortable position that one can achieve in a carriage, hitting my head on the planks to then peacefully pass out, ignoring all confrontation. I have successfully retreated into my dreams, allowing me to forget that I am a little tiger cup in a cave full of strict tigers.


    I enter Sleep Land like I usually do every time I sleep, but there is a distinct difference this time. First, there are no bookcases near me. The floor I am standing on doesn¡¯t feel stable at all; the surroundings are in a constant state of distortion causing me to have a very limited vision; I try to sniff using my nose to no success; my tongue tastes something both absurdly sweet and bitter, eliciting me to wince.


    I try walking around to realize that even my sense of distance has been screwed over as my first step seemed like a mile, while the second felt like ten meters despite being what I believe to be the bigger step. I continue my attempt to maneuver without any internal GPS while tripping because of my loss of coordination and balance until I hit a blurry wall.


    No¡­ it isn¡¯t a wall, it is, in fact, the one thing that isn¡¯t blurred or distorted. It is a colossal cage, and I¡¯m trapped inside of it, I think. Now I am in the center of it all seeing how I somehow walked myself here, of course after tripping three more times to get there in the first place.


    I can¡¯t control anything in this area. In previous attempts of Sleep Land, I would hold some reign of the area, being able to decide my direction, location. I also wouldn¡¯t just trip, it was only that one time!


    I know this is in no way the correct way to use the scientific term sub-conscience, but I can¡¯t help but feel that on the surface level, it is a fitting name. First, I am stumbling around like an idiot, not understanding half of the things I¡¯m perceiving, and two, it feels as if it is revealing something that I am not bringing out fully.


    With that said, unaware of all the time that may have passed, finding out a way to slip while sitting, I sit in the center of the birdcage. The area around me was already spacious; if I were to walk, I would only be going in circles, trapped to move only within the confines of the silver bird cage that keeps me inside here. It looks absolutely gorgeous, breathtaking even, but it doesn¡¯t make up for the fact that I¡¯m stuck here. I wonder how have they clipped my wings.

 Chapter 5: Hold Me

    ¡°Is it really alright to wake him up like this? I don¡¯t know the guy personally, and he might have underestimated the battlefield, but I really don¡¯t see the point in doing this.¡±


    ¡°Oh my dear Alana, it may be true that he isn¡¯t really consistent, lacks in term of power, and is unintentionally condescending, but we don¡¯t do this for some petty grudge. We do this for entertainment!¡±


    Alana begins to shrug off her conscious for what Seb believes to be a good bit of fun. She wasn¡¯t ever the type to think deeply about the consequences of her actions anyway; she further affirmed instinctual nature when she then pushed Amil off the carriage.


    Amil: 3rd perspective ¡ú Amil: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    No one ever really wakes up as a result of being hit by the ground. One wakes up in the middle of the air, further confusing anyone who can properly recognize that they are falling, but aren¡¯t skilled or fast enough to do anything about it. If I were on the other end of such a humorous situation, I might¡¯ve laughed at that sort of sight. I am currently in the situation that I just described, and I can¡¯t seem to bring myself to laugh.


    I panically below, ¡°AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.¡±


    Gravity takes its toll on me, as it would for any other being, and has me drop to the ground with a loud thud. I being twitching, confirming that I¡¯m not dead, or just about to die.


    After what anyone would call a rude awakening I look towards the responsible culprits: one grins fully understanding the severity of his crime, and embracing it; the other averted my interrogative gaze as she felt just the twinge of guilt.


    Releasing a tired sigh, I state, ¡°Thanks for waking me up. I suppose that you two know where we are now, right.¡±


    The two didn¡¯t know what to make of those words. Well, I guess someone that has just been rudely awakened through flight wouldn¡¯t be so calm to ask his perpetrators where he was, but I hold more gratitude rather than pettiness.


    I was terribly bored wherever that place was. I had to stay in the silver cage of the entirety of the night and morning, with nothing to entertain myself while I was in there. I even tried to play rock paper scissors by myself! Which just wasn¡¯t possible because everything was distorted to hell.


    ¡°If you¡¯re concerned; I¡¯m not mad. I¡¯m more grateful that you got me out of a terrible dream. That said, can someone please tell me exactly where we are?¡±


    Hoping to redeem some sort of trust, Alana states, ¡°We are in the town of Woodpusher in the north of Checkmate.¡±


    Seb jokingly mentions, ¡°Well we have to obtain the rights to visit and plunder the dungeon. This would be something we could do immediately as well if we didn¡¯t have to incognito. So our first priority is to wait here as the others to collect the quests we need to clear.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you guys just go with them? It would have been more efficient,¡± I say calculatingly.


    In response to what I thought was a decent idea, Alana states ¡°That might be true, but that would be the classic case of putting the cart before the horse. You are asleep, inexperienced, and very important to the kingdom. You might not have noticed yet, but if something happens to you.¡± She stops to breathe, looking away from me, choosing rather face it towards the direction of the blue sky, then stating, ¡°Our heads might not be attached to our own body by the end of it.¡±


    I feel as if an incredibly gelid bucket of water had decided to fashion itself on every corner of my body. This kind of feeling always happens when you make a terrible connection.


    I, shocked, respond, ¡°No. I guess I knew the connection from the start. However, I was intending to live no matter what. I didn¡¯t perceive it to be so important.¡±


    ¡°Well, of course, you think you¡¯re going to live. Everyone thinks they¡¯ll live to very little success. Naivety like this is what I expected from those raised in the castle,¡± says Seb, exhaling a momentary sigh, shortly conceiving to a grin as he comes down the carriage to wrap around his arm on my back. ¡°You should thank us now! We are going to make you just like one of us! You¡¯ll fit in before you know it!¡±


    Alana sarcastically states, ¡°says the son of one of the biggest corporate leaders in the entirety of the United Minds: Vineyard. This whole thing has truly put me through some interesting sights.¡±


    Vineyard? From the sound of it, it sounds like they are one of the titans for U.M. economics. I heard the name dropped in the palace so many times it stuck onto my brain. I have no idea what kind of business they are, or the goods that they deal with (though I do expect some connection to alcohol), but shouldn¡¯t they behold their son enough to not allow him to be an adventurer?


    By no means is the social status of an adventurer bad. What I said earlier was a pretty big lie. If one is not careful, they could just be seen as a common thug, some even being common thugs. Adventures seem to have a fluctuating value to the public. It definitely isn¡¯t something so remarkable that corporate powerhouses would willingly allow their children to choose adventuring over business responsibilities. There seems to be more to the picture than what was said.


    Seb then states, ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking. And to answer that. I am not going to answer any one of those questions right now. I hold a private right to my experiences.¡±


    Saying what he needed to say, his eyes lost their previous vibrancy. His cocksure smile plummeted into a depressing frown, his hands lost their force and confidence. All of the previous traits were replaced with an imaginative distance.


    I quickly cancel any idea that involves having to overstep clearly made boundaries of Seb. I can¡¯t muck up the team structure by forcing someone to cough up their current life story.


    To change the subject, I state, ¡°So why are stopping by here, to begin with. Anything we need to do here in specific.¡±


    After my little statement, the figurative border does not disappear but instead chooses to retreat from my view. Being knowledgeable in these sorts of things, it seems to be a form of trauma. I want to help, but I can¡¯t do anything if the person in question doesn¡¯t want to solve it himself. The best course of action right now is to not bring it up, and wait for him to confide in me himself. Granted, I wouldn¡¯t imagine one would want to consult a fifteen-year-old boy about psychological problems.


    Alana replies, ¡°This place is going to be a pit stop for us. Carlos wanted to sleep after driving the carriage for the entirety of the night, while the rest of us decided it would be a good time to stalk up on more materials and Francisco decided to go to the guild to pick out a quest for us to do in the meantime.¡±


    I prop myself up, ruining the arms hold of Seb, from the ground to view the sleeping Carlos that I hadn¡¯t noticed earlier. He slept soundly, not only through the entire conversation but my sudden scream as well. I proceed to wonder whether this can be attributed to the exhaustion of driving a carriage for a night or simply being that skilled at sleeping.


    I claim, ¡°Well I want to check out the town. I assume that one of us has to stay for Carlos.¡±


    Seb mutely shows his desire for his role to stay at watch by raising his hand. Alana and I take a quick glance at each other to gauge the other¡¯s thoughts about this request, ultimately accepting Seb¡¯s offer at guard duty.


    Alana lowered herself from the carriage to make her way to the town. Seb picks himself up to sit in the carriage, silently sitting in the front.


    I go to join Alana as she walks to town, trying not to lose my guide; I turn my head back to see Seb waving us goodbye as we disappear from his range of visibility.


    We had gained a good distance towards the town and a further distance from the carriage prompting Alana to express, ¡°If you have any questions about all of that, it would be wise to ask now.¡±


    I ponder what sort of question I should propose, stating, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I know I should stalk up on information, but these sorts of things should be told by him shouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Alana continues to make an appraising gaze at me; she shrugs her shoulder to show that my response was acceptable, subsequently, we walk all the way to the town without any more words to each other. It was really awkward afterward.


    Arriving at the town, we saw a beautifully decorated plaza with a statue in the middle of everything. The statue seemed so out of place in the center; it commanded and demanded respect, reverence, and awe.


    It painted an image of a man not garbed in armor, but in a tunic fashioned for battle with a shoddy sword, at best, to the side of his waist. Instead, it held a flag higher than the statue itself in an effort to prove some sort of cryptic message. He is depicted with a clean-shaven face, a brazen smile was carved on its stone face; its eyes were determined. I looked at my back to see what it was looking, what he was looking at.


    I position myself to take a similar point of view of the statue; I make a one hundred eighty degrees turn, facing south. I see the enormous success that is Checkmate from this entire distance. Others would have this moment and begin to smile and foster pride for their country; I see the same sight with a sickened stomach, the urge to punch something, and a depressing state of mind.


    Any enthusiasm or fun is currently being executed inside of me. While wallowing in my despair alone, something I have been doing much more often recently, I listen to Alana try to start a conversation.


    ¡°Are you okay? You seem terribly upset. Are you homesick? It might feel better to let it out rather than keep it inside. I know we haven¡¯t known each other for very long, but if I c¡­¡±


    I momentarily open my mouth in my big moment of weakness, in the back of my mind; I screamed out my desire for someone else to know what¡¯s happening. I almost spilled everything out again, but my experience tells me that letting everything out has never truly worked out for me. It hasn¡¯t in the past, and the same stays true for the present.


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,¡± I exhale self-deprecatingly. ¡°It is amazing how despite all that rough and tough training. I can still look like I¡¯m sick,¡± I murmur, ¡°Well, she is right about that one thing though. Just a bit homesick. Nothing else.¡±


    I proceed to walk away from the statue-like I ran away from the conversation: immediately. I hear Alana screaming, ¡°Bullshit!¡± and ¡°You aren¡¯t running away from my interrogation!¡± with a fiery temper. I don¡¯t need to look back to know that she was incredibly irritated. I can already feel the murderous glare, however, that works.


    We continue to walk down the street with confused onlookers, relentless hounding, and stone cold indifference. As a result of the screaming, we attract a familiar face to our location.


    ¡°Alana. What the fuck? Why are you screaming a god forbidden banshee that woke up on the wrong side of the bed,¡± details Francisco? He turns his head a couple of degrees to see me: the reason behind this mess. He exhaled a sigh, hoping to avoid any more conflict as it is, stating, ¡°Let¡¯s come up with a better subject. Alana you start.¡±


    Alana shows a reluctance but ultimately follows suit understanding that continuing her interrogation won¡¯t help either of us. She breathes in and out to somehow suppress her earlier outburst of what I describe as brutal honesty. She states, ¡°Whatever.¡± taking a shot at my earlier behavior.


    ¡°Since you¡¯re here now. What quest are we going to do in this town for now? I doubt we¡¯re going to spend so much time here.¡±


    ¡°I only took a simple extermination quest. It should be six monsters tops, but, since we have such low credibility¡­¡± Francisco quickly glances at me too soon turn away. ¡°This is the only quest we could take, requiring a total of three people.¡±


    After saying his final words, it was blatant how this terrible situation was going to progress. No one else in the group was free enough to replace any of us, forcing us to be a group in spite of our terrible chemistry and battle imbalance. They couldn¡¯t wait for very long because if they did, we would already have to leave the town.


    Francisco tiredly states, ¡°Let us just go to the guild already. We have more productive things to do than quarrel.¡±


    Alana and I decide to follow along with that plan because, in this world, only soon to be dead men hold work interfering grudges. It goes to show the tempered mental maturity of this world when young children are able to accept such mature content.


    All three of us began to walk to the adventurer¡¯s guild in an orderly fashion.


    We then arrived at front of the (now nonfictional) fine guild establishment: two visible floors, windows that peered inside and surrounded by flower pots to give a flowy sort of feel. Francisco pushes the door to hear a classic bell sound that one would typically find in restaurants, inciting the image of good service.


    Francisco says, ¡°Get in. We don¡¯t have as much free time as we would like. We¡¯re getting lunch, and then we¡¯ll go to finish our little quest.¡±


    Sometimes, at the beginning of their career, adventurers are allowed to have thirty free meals from the guild before they have to start paying for it. This system was set in place so that adventurers would be encouraged to even be an adventurer, prevent any death from starvation as some of the fees to even survive as an adventurer usually leave them penniless, and to avoid adventurers that rob or threaten for food. No one will follow anyone if they aren¡¯t fed properly.


    With that said, I decided to order a simple sandwich so that I could down the hunger I felt from sleeping through breakfast. It was an okay dish, nothing really remarkable, just a decent sandwich. I found it odd that they called it a sandwich too.


    Alana took a bite of her omelet while Francisco was starting to finish the last of his soup. Francisco starts to slurp on the last of soup while Alana barely even nibbles on her dish.


    ¡°Do you mind imparting more information that we need for the quest? It would be nice to know where I need to go,¡± I question.


    Not before delivering a stare filled with blatant distrust, he states, ¡°We are going to head up a little bit north up the town until we reach a small cave. The guild reports say this was a recent update, signifying that there will probably be low numbers of monsters. It recounts that they had a humanoid shape, and they were carrying items as well. There is the case they might be immigrants, in that case, we have to either confirm it or bring them here safely for an extra fee of an increased fee. If hostile¡­¡±


    This is when Francisco stopped his words to allow a somber silence to flood our lunch. I and Alana perfectly knew what words were supposed to fill the silence, causing Alana to lose her already appetite, and me to remember something from my past, tugging me away from awareness of my surrounding environment.


    Snapping me out of overwhelming episode; Alana suddenly rises from her seat suddenly, to the surprise of Francisco and I.


    Alana-still vividly angry from our previous interaction, with the added effect of our new quest, gets up and states,¡± I¡¯m going to get my gear. We¡¯ll reconvene at the north gate when I come back. Any questions?¡±


    Francisco and I then ask, ¡°Then can I have your leftovers,¡± in accidental unison. We both stare each other down to showcase the other should just give up on the food.¡±


    Alana, not deriving any fun from this humorous situation, proceeds to say, ¡°I don¡¯t care. Just share it if you want,¡± walking out of the guild at a brisk walking pace to then make a runner¡¯s sprint towards the carriage: an obvious coping mechanism.


    Thinking our conversation was over, I say, ¡°Well. I¡¯ll head to the bathroom for my needs n¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop. I want to make some things clear. I don¡¯t want to insure debilitating misunderstanding into the group as it is,¡± asserts Francisco. ¡°If I criticize you. I¡¯m not doing this to separate you from the group. I¡¯m just trying to bring up flaws that can be fixed. I¡¯m calling for a truce.¡±


    The fifteen-year-old boy was earnestly asking for a truce, a form of reconciliation after his harsh critiques. His intentions were very clear; it oozed out from the very word few people would even burden themselves with thinking. It would be a massive lie to say that it hadn¡¯t resonated me in some way, some of the memories I had left


    I know that deep down, that I should really pay heed to his words as he clearly has more experience. I may have lived for more years, but he has lived fifteen years in this world. As an adult, I should be able to take this criticism in understanding that it is for the benefit of the team and me.


    However, despite being a technical adult, I spat, ¡°I¡¯ll try not to get in your way.¡±


    All though it could be argued that these words really state the full extent of my goals with the group; I ingrained a clear antipathy to the idea.


    A previously fifty-seven-year-old (at least what my oldest memory tells me) man is acting like an angsty teenager! Look at me acting my current age! My wife was right, I really don¡¯t act my age. That thought is very depressing.


    Yet, I refuse to take back anything that I¡¯ve said. I further cement this fact with my leave to the restroom to (not in this order) change, clean up, and get this shit out my system.


    Amil: 1st perspective ¡ú Sebastian Vineyard: 3rd perspective.


    <hr>


    Sebastian continued to sit on the carriage, focusing all of his perceptive senses on a single silver coin: it held a hollow hole in the center of its spherical design, a string the size of a hair strand-one that might make one think it would be easily snappable-fastened around the previously mentioned coin to make an odd charm of sorts. There was no other person, object, or setting that held as much importance as this comparably small possession of his, as evidenced by his single-minded attention towards the bauble. It moved in a linear left and right swing, accompanied by a hypnotic entrancement.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    He stops swinging the little trinket from swaying any further, preferring to place it calmly and still, stagnantly still within the palm of his hand. However, even the motionless artifact still endowed a much-needed sense of relief, through magical and memory entrenched history with himself. Opting to rely on its enchanted usefulness, he then adorns it as an inconspicuous necklace under the layer of his warm clothing.


    Sebastian then took a long view of the beautiful nature that surrounded him and the man-made creation of the carriage that he was sitting on. It would certainly not be anything to look at if one were a normal denizen of the area, some even bordered on a tinge of disgust if they weren¡¯t being completely dismissive of it. One can see a miracle so many times that it would no longer matter, this also applies to the mundane as well. However, the steps of someone disturbs the serenity of the scene. They were very quick steps at that.


    Alana, finally entering the view of Sebastian, quickly enters the carriage in a very frantic manner, echoing the frustration she bore dealing with an unresponsive nitwit. The interaction had left such a deep mark that, in the middle of searching for her equipment, her anger was worsening the more she thought about it. All of these displays anger, unexplained in the eyes of Sebastian, only seemed to have incited a sense worry for the well being for Alana as she was heatedly putting on her adventuring equipment that consisted of a set of leather armor, her belt, and the sharp knives themselves.


    Sebastian looks at Alana in careful contemplation of what buttons he needed to push to prevent the worst case scenario. Lines such as, ¡®what happened,¡¯ or, ¡®how do I make her say it,¡¯ and, ¡®what is the success rate of successfully calming her down,¡¯ passed through the brain of Sebastian seamlessly, not considering the option of just leaving things as they were. Taking a blink to map out all of the possibilities he could think of, he says his piece.


    ¡°Why do you look so enraged,¡± says Seb respectfully.


    Stopping in her tracks, angry as a womp, Alana replies, ¡°Why?¡± Taking a bit of time to replace the malice in her voice with bitterness. ¡°Our new party member Amil,¡± she says before returning to her original destination in a sprint.


    Sebastian became very disappointed in himself. He had the opportunity to help a friend, and the chance slipped away so fast that he debated whether it even really happened. When he came to the obvious conclusion, he took it personally by the means of facing his head down to sulk. Hoping that nothing too bad would happen. Thinking that if Amil only gets stabbed once, he should thank his own fortune.


    ¡°Well you don¡¯t look so happy, do you. Not nearly as bad as Alana though. She was absolutely frigid.¡±


    Sebastian raises his head to see his comrade Alisha, the one with the uncanny ability to always appear in the time of need for any of her male companions. Alisha continues to show a face that reeks of puzzlement from all that she just had to process. That didn¡¯t matter to Sebastian however as he immediately began to hug Alisha, rambling on about how someone was going to be stabbed and such.


    Sebastian Vineyard: 3rd perspective ¡ú Francisco: 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I have to wait at the front gate for about ten minutes to see that Amil finally caught up with me; Alana arrived fifteen minutes after Amil. The tense atmosphere from the dining scene carried over to our little reunion as well. Serving to only extrapolate the situation.


    We decided to carry on with the quest until we ran into some escapee monsters that probably came from a far off dungeon.


    Luckily, they only consisted of three exceedingly weak monsters: Goblins. They may be very powerful in high numbers, but we would be able to easily dispatch of them very quickly.


    Alana and Amil decided to take care of the monsters as it is very easy to get exhausted through the use of magic.


    Alana, taking two monsters, quickly dissected the head of the two goblins from the rest of their body using her meticulously polished iron knives. There was a bit of blood splatter in that department, but unless someone was purposely sneaking around, it was easy to forgive.


    Amil, taking a different approach from Alana, decided to go bare fisted, choosing to dispose of his own nuisance through the use of his fist rather than his previously established weapons. This only makes it harder to pinpoint what Amil is. It really boggles my mind if he¡¯s just an archer, swordsman, or a pugilist. He does trip up very often though.


    If it was just that, I wouldn¡¯t have to be running an entire marathon, at full speed, nonstop. I can¡¯t tell if he is actually suffering or is playing the rest of us of a huge fool. He has all of these childish moments of his that really show his immaturity, making one think that he has an uplifting attitude, but¡­


    Amil states, ¡°I took care of my goblin after punching it in the face one too many times. If you want, we can store it in my storage ring to prevent any big trouble,¡± with a face of minimal interest, purposely drawing a line in the sand.


    There are moments where his nonchalant nature delves from that childish tone to something more somber, more darker. His eyes tend to blank out in these moments as he begins to stray from his humanity. In these moments, a shaking spine is to be expected as some part of him just scares us to that very core. It puts my mind in a constant state of disarray.


    With irritation haunting his voice, he states, ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I still understand that he wouldn¡¯t be able to handle the combined might of our team, it is reflected on his level of skill. He has no clear advantage, being more of a jack of a trades. But¡­


    Come on let¡¯s go. We should complete this mission as quickly and efficiently as possibly can,¡± I state as I continue to walk behind Amil.


    He would without a doubt find some way to end us all. His eyes are supersaturated with death drive, those types of eyes belong to one of the most dangerous species of beings in the entirety of existence: a martyr to his cause.


    We finally arrive at our desired destination: a deep gray of the cavern that the moss has decided to stain in its own color.


    Alana, with a clear purpose, says, ¡°Someone needs to stay outside to keep track of any other roaming monsters. Monsters that escaped the grasp of the dungeon tend to consist of the clever bunch.¡±


    After a pause of silence, ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll stay out here so you two can exterminate the supposed goblins. You guys can take your time too. After taking a second look at the sun,¡± putting his back to the cave, ¡°The both of you should get comfy. We have time in spades.¡±


    Alana then promptly walks into the darkness drenched caverns without a second thought. I try to put a word into somehow smooth something over, but my attempt is dashed as I had to run for the disappearing outline of Alana.


    Deeper into the cave, nothing can be seen because we¡¯re in a cave.


    ¡°Fran, could you be a dear and cast some sort of lighting skill now,¡± says Alana in a more friendly tone. This more calm tone of voice can be attributed to the trust they both share for each other as fellow trainees and the disappearance of the volatile chatterbox Amil.


    After mumbling a light spell in my hippocampus¡¯ possession, ¡°You could do with being just a bit nicer. It could ease up the tensions.¡±


    Reiterating how badly I fucked up with that statement, she states, ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear this from the very first person to snap on his,¡± accompanied with a frown. Drawing back from her earlier warm tone, ¡°He is just so irritating! I tried to be kind and understanding, but he shows no interest in revealing the truth.¡±


    This is very typical of Alana. She is the kind of person that demands the absolute truth no matter the cost. Of course with the good intentions to somehow held, but it is a part of her that is just a bit out of hand.


    ¡°Look, I know I wasn¡¯t kind to him at first, but only because I was pissed off. I hoped that my little snap that he would realize his problems, which in turn caused this whole slew of new problems.¡±


    ¡°And that has helped the group so much. Thank you, Fran, for not thinking properly.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m not the only culprit you know! I¡¯ve kept quiet to prevent our heads to be put on the chopping block, but what were you yelling at him for?¡±


    ¡°He is hiding something. I don¡¯t what it is, but whatever it may be, it causes him an enormous amount of heartache.¡±


    ¡°Was it so easy to read his face? You would think that someone that has supposedly lived in the Palace for so long would be better at keeping his emotions in check.¡±


    ¡°He actually did an exceptional job that time. His face still gave a clear indicator of someone who was only experiencing a regular tragedy. However, his heart was in such dismay that it forcibly made me more unreasonable. If you weren¡¯t there I would have decked him in the face.¡±


    What Alana is describing is her skill ?Sensitivity? which allows her to receive signals from one¡¯s heart: discerning emotions like unease, happiness, or even love (with the exception of hate, luckily). She has become very perceptive of emotions thanks to this ability, but it has its fair share of setbacks. Working similarly any other sense, it can not only be overloaded if there is enough of a certain emotion, but it also couldn¡¯t be turned off. If someone was to feel abnormally happy, she would be forced to invest in a specific emotion so it doesn¡¯t hurt as badly. She can sorta choose which emotion to take into extremes, but anything that is taken to the extremes can have terrible after effects.


    ¡°Was it really that fucking bad? Is that why you sprinted out of the shop like that?¡±


    I am of course unaware of how exactly how bad the consequence of her power even feels, but I remember her describing it like like having her heart being constantly impaled by multiple stakes. From my objective perspective, that sounds both painful and an experience I would never want to deal with.


    ¡°Ha, you¡¯re putting it lightly. It is just like having a thorn bush as a replacement for one¡¯s skin. One slathered in poison if the day is bad enough.¡±


    *Chink.*


    We both heard the sound vibrate through the cavern walls, causing us to tense our bodies.


    ¡°I would hate to experience such a terrible sounding form of torture.¡±


    Both of us continued our little dialogue to give off the impression that we haven¡¯t just heard that sound. Alana and I are hoping to purposely set off the trap of the monsters in hope of getting this mission done faster. Goblins are clever, but still, have quite the limited perception when it comes to mind games. They can add while we can multiply.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe the amount of pain I can withstand thanks, this little ability. It has barely paid me back for the amount of pain it has caused me.


    Afterward, when Alana had finished her sentence, we both entered the place where the sound came from. It was a part of the cavern that had more of an open deposition, more breathing room in general. The room also had supply scattered around, just not the ones that I expected.


    As if saying out loud would answer my troubles, I state, ¡°Quilts, makeshift beds, cooking stations, toys¡­ This can¡¯t be the work of goblins, it has to be¡­¡±


    ¡°Watch out! Your rig¡­¡±


    I turn to view my right to try to analyze the danger. I see a dark object fly directly at my face. I think it would have become a knee if I could observe it more, but I would know the answer to that because I¡¯m about to get knocked out.


    *Slam*


    Francisco: 1st perspective ¡ú Amil 1st perspective.


    <hr>


    I have continued to do nothing for what I believe to be a solid hour. This is a time where one is ordered to stay watch and stay out of everyone else¡¯s way. I once again see the purpose of why this tactic was implemented, but still, have a hard time coming to terms with the sour taste in my tongue.


    While standing watch bitterly, I saw a tiny shadowy figure run to the cave that I happen to be standing. The tall field grass, with the help of the covert bits of melting snow-now simple water drops-, covered the rest of the shadowy figure¡¯s body, allowing his body to appear like a snow bunny grazing on its food.


    I stood myself up to take the obvious course of action when a shadowy figure appears in a world filled with dangerous monsters. Not even beginning to indulge in the hilarity that this event is occurring in an area with tall grass, taking my bow and respective arrow from the storage ring; I position myself in the manner that a rifleman would at deer, a hunter, and his target, predator, and prey.


    However, just before I let my arrow fly into the organs of my supposed prey; I saw it tremble in absolute fear of what was to come, paralyzed in fear of its death with its long rabbit ears stretch out to its maximum height. This is when I decided to take a few mental steps back at the new discovery of its ears; my personal suspicions begin to form. Hoping to elevate assumption to assurance, I walk towards my previous prey after putting away my bow and arrow in favor of a dagger more suitable towards close combat. Stepping, in careful paces, towards the frightened little thing only seemed to dramatically increase the number of shivers the poor thing could handle. When I got close enough; I fixed my gaze upon any detail I could obtain: its bunny ears, childlike face, injured body with nicks, dirty blond hair, and its terrified blue eyes.


    Whenever something in your mind comes to fruition, it will always be accompanied with something to show the importance of the revelation. It has a tendency to be a click or some annoyingly bright light bulb. The light bulb didn¡¯t accompany my remarkable discovery, it was horror, and the consequences of knowing how things might just play out.


    ¡°Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,¡± screamed the androgynous bunny child as it ran to the nearest creek, in an attempt to warn the rest-what would likely be his family and friends to the danger of the scary man with a knife.


    And in an uncanny unison, ¡°Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu¡­¡± I ran back towards the cave on my own to inform my acquaintances with information that would be incredibly helpful towards preventing a moral catastrophe on our part. In the middle of my iteration of breakneck speeds; I internally contemplate the best way to stop bad things from happening in the quietest, speedy manner, taking note that I have just entered the cavern. Exhaustion begins to catch up to me, specifically my lung area, as my speed takes a slight hit as it inclines down in levels of speed vs distance. Feeling the throbbing pain of my feet confined in shoes; I hear the loud echo of a smack enter my receptive range for hearing, prompting not only a small boost in speed but a direction to move towards.


    I reach my destination to see a dismaying scene; Alana is heavily panting with several knife wounds on her body; Francisco is laying on the dead cold ground, luckily breathing, as I begin to catch glimpses, better described as black blurs, of the culprit responsible for this image. Seeing the black blur ready to take one of his daggers through the heart of Alana; I immediately conjure up the whip from my storage to ring the loud crack of the whip resounds the short retreat of the blurred figure. With a quick observation of his environment, noting that I was still running to regroup without a whip in sight, to take the time to once again follow its original course of the plan. It of human shape with a tail of its own takes the steps to make an even faster pace towards the impaling of my comrade (now to the face) as she begins to make her own statement on how stabbing should be done.


    More than the dreadful sound of the *shunk* and tear register in my brain as I am still seeming to be processing the pain that comes with it, and still calculating the total damage of this development as I include the fresh new stab in my mathematics. The stranger sticks into my shoulder as I dodged the forward thrust to the back of my neck, resentfully thanks to the torture I was put through in the palace, while Alana happens to take the front when she decided to stab me as evidenced by the hole in my stomach, the touch of metal under the skin in my hand, my red blood smearing her polished knife, and the eyes of her showing complete confusion rather than dread.


    If they both hadn¡¯t decided to pull out (their knives) shortly after their realization, I might have just forgotten the pain for the minimum of one nanosecond. My blood spills onto the floor as a result of pulling a hard right for that previously mentioned fatal near miss, pain surges through my nervous system as my muscles spasm in the immense pain output I had to register just then. Both make their paces back-in classic dueling fashion-to the abrupt pause of me standing in between the both of them, against the advice of my currently screaming body as it howls about its pain to my appeal to pretend to pass out.


    Alana¡¯s expression takes a turn for the worse as she converts her bewilderment into a rage to hopefully take down the opponent that I am currently blocking access to. The black blur-now very hard to see considering his black garbs synergy with the darkness with the added bonus of standing still remains where he is in a fixed posture, showing its curiosity in the opportunity of this newly created scenario in the only limp I can visibly see clearly: its glowing eyes. Silence and immobility station themselves into the picture, allowing me to say, ¡°Alana, trust me when I say that no matter what I do, don¡¯t move.¡± Not allowed the time to even confirm whether she even decided to even follow my decision; I turn my head to face the stranger to gesture taking off my rings, a transfer from me to them, and the possibility of negotiations. The efficient fighter then gestures back his own set of commands: summon the knife, take off the ring, toss it over, stab me with the knife without flinching keeping eye contact, and they¡¯ll think about it. Reluctance loads my mind, but decide that it would be much better than to incite something I would undoubtedly regret in that hypothetical future.


    I conjure myself a knife, of the none magical variety, from the storage to heed to his demands, as I also conjured a potion and a belt to bite on, which I had to quickly return to the ring with his uncooperative attitude towards leeways. I quickly make an incision into the clothing, ripping it to make a bigger hole, bearing the skin that I would have to soon pierce as I sat on my feet with my knees on the ground. I establish eye contact with the contractor of this agreement, having the sharp knife end dance around my goosebump ridden skin. I flip the coin and direct my most neutral gaze towards the stranger as my mind screeched, ¡°You¡¯re signing your death warrant,¡± only serving to make me all the more reluctant of what is to come.


    Gripping it with two sweaty hands; I raise the knife in decreasingly fast pace until I felt the blunt end of the knife¡¯s hilt bump into my shoulder. That was the moment when I felt snake envelope around my arm to heighten the terror griefing my already devastated heart as it sunk into new lows, definitely reflected in my now swimming eyes. The slimy slithering on my arms was enough to send shiver from the bone to the soul as it continued to produce more second thoughts inside me. The snakes that I couldn¡¯t see only seems to wrap around my arm in a stronger fashion, slowly restricting the already slow movement of my arms. Trying to push my arms downward, it only seems to be pushing at a wall of some sort, also beckoning more snakes to surround me, leading to more constricted limbs: legs, fingers, shoulders, back. Some even bound several of my internal organs like my lungs or spine.


    I saw the stranger sigh deeply as if to say that he was disappointed in my display of gaining his trust, as was accompanied with of a snake now nibbling on one of my ear lobes, integrating itself as another anxiety in my performance. I continue to keep a neutral front in the light of my eyes, all while I felt the symmetrical presence of two individual snakes as they continued to wrap around my neck. These two snakes, after more rotations around my neck, faced each other at the level of eyes: the level of equal stature. The teal snake made a preemptive strike towards the snake of the darker shade of red, continuing conflict as I had to remain unmoving, restrained. The conflict between the snakes continued, stanching themselves in the other¡¯s bite marks, the blood of their foe, but they stopped, then; they stopped fighting each other to look at me. Their piercing glares did more than just instill the ever-present concept of fear in my mind, they; the things forced me to conceive what would happen to me if I failed my objective: certain death. When both snakes, hungry for any substance of me to curb their hunger pangs, began lurching at me; the picture-perfect image of easy prey, trembling in a cowardly manner compared to the little rabbit I had frightened; I finally danced to the song.


    *Shunk*


    A song that contains all of the following: a tense and uncomfortable position in which many lives-of different personal evaluation-is at stake, the continued and careful dissection of a recent psychological trauma, the forcefully stifled howls of pain that is accompanied by the actions of (voluntary or not) self-harm, and the sudden disappearance of all what I would presume (and hope) to be imaginary- of all of the snakes that made it their purpose to torture me. The sudden alleviation of my sensorial conceived pain had also transferred over to silence my mind, cease my erratic heart palpitations, catalyst my thought process, lower my quantity of adrenaline, clear my eyes of weakness, and halt my nerve induced frenzy of my formerly shuddering clasped hands.


    Despite all of these apparent and immediate changes after dancing with the melody, some things simply haven¡¯t changed, much less could be said for ¡®changing for the better.¡¯ I am still bowing to the will of another person (very reluctantly), a person who has absolutely no qualms in ending all our lives for the sake of his treasured people, a feeling that I can both identify and respect. Adding to my long list of strategically hidden grievances, it serves none to still have a knife embedded in my leg, along with the pain and suffering it brought.


    The stranger, with no hint of mockery in his tone, even going out of way think it was dangerously bordering an intonation of brief respect, stated, ¡°No. More¡­ Stand now, ¡± in terrible parallel world Spanish. I decided to heed his words, considering that the action of taking out a knife would indeed be indeed, filled with my wholehearted agreement. I quickly pull out the knife-moaning in pain this time around and took a moment in trying to stand in the leg I just stabbed myself. I was a painful endeavor, to say the least.


    Me-still wobbling-listens to the robed stranger state, ¡°Follow.¡± After his bold statement, it began to point its gaze at my female comrade: the one who looked like a ticking time bomb just ready to explode at a second¡¯s notice, as if consigning her to the same order as well. Taking his time to point at the passed out Francisco his meaning became crystal clear: we¡¯re to follow him if we want to take interrogations any further.


    I then position my head to look at the furious face of Alana, her very demeanor permeated reluctant obedience, something I thought to be a very familiar as I sent a pleading a glance to just do what she was told. Following on my request; she began to pick up the passed out Francisco, taking the deep breaths one take in very deep bouts of sleep, being fashioned onto the back of Alana out of purposes of convenience, survival, and utility. Alana, seemingly calming down after seeing some results, takes her time to take some breaths of herself, swearing to herself to tread lightly, preferably with an extreme amount of caution. I followed her little show of determination by making a mantra: don¡¯t fuck up, of my own.


    All of us, warden and current prisoners, collectively moved deeper into the cave where we left behind the remaining speck of light any of us could see. This bothered our new master none, they not only easily identified where each path would take them, but also decided to keep a meticulous eye on their new set of prisoners. Maybe we weren¡¯t chained literally, as the prisoners were only chained by the promise of what disobedience would beget, the idea of what was worse came to mind.