The guard on the western parapet yawned, blocking it with his hand. He shifted his crossbow on the other shoulder, letting his free shoulder rest. Facing the starry night sky, he sighed.
“Rough night, ain’t it.”
A gruff voice came from the guard’s right. A senior guard, a bow in hand with quiver strapped to his back, walked toward him on his patrol route.
“Rough isn’t the word, sir.” The guard placed his hand on the crenelation, his gaze shifting to the senior guard. “I would say it is... quiet—much like the previous two years I patrolled here.”
“Ten years strong. Either all the threats have been neutralized, or there is no danger on this side o’ the—”
ROOOAR!
All the heads shot at the forest in unison, their weapons trained on the treeline.
“SENTRY! SOUND THE ALARM! ALL UNITS WESTWARD!”
Before the sentry could sound the alarm, they all heard yelling in the distance.
“AHHHHHHHHH!!! IT’S BEHIND MEEEEE!!!”
The silent forest gave way to the sound of crashing footsteps approaching the castle. The guards from the northern and southern parapet sortied to the veteran guard’s position, their metallic footsteps a crescendo. All trained their weapons at the edge.
The crashing footfalls got louder and louder. The guard re-adjusted the crossbow—resting on the edge of the wall.
In… and out… In—
“AAAAAHHH!!! TOO CLOOOOO—”
SNAP!
The sound of twig snapping hitched his breath. The snap was followed with the sound of multiple branches being whacked. Then, a cloaked figure and a boy in white clothing dove out of the treeline, leaving a trail of dirt behind.
“OVER THERE!” A guard beside him yelled.
ROOOOAR!
It’s coming… It’s coming…
The thuds grew louder and louder, the source shaking the trees around it, giving away its position.
“NOW!”
On the cue, the sound of arrows releasing filled the air.
ROOOOooaa…r!
The orc exited with its club raised. The arrows pierced the head, the hand that held the club, its chest and thigh—the same places with ten or more arrows.
BOOM!
It fell with the crash, before it could release its last roar.
The veteran guard looked at the same guard with the crossbow. “Go with the others! Investigate!”
With a nod, the guard and a few others ran to the cloaked figure and the boy. Reaching them, the guard and the others gasped.
“I-It’s His Highness.” A voice beside him said, looking at the shell-shocked boy, his head cradled in the gray cloaked figure’s hand. The boy’s mouth trembled and his eyes darted rapidly.
The guard crouched to see the cloaked-figure’s face, spotting blood falling from the corner of the mouth—a dark pool already gathered.
“CALL THE ROYAL GUARD! AT ONCE!” Someone barked behind him.
Move body… Move!
A body-trembling horn sounded, rattling the insides of the investigating guards.
That’s… the Royal Guard’s alarum.
A few seconds later, the guard heard the familiar voice of the veteran guard from the parapet. “It’s His Highness… Yes, he is down there… Oddly, he is not with his escort…”
After the veteran guard finished speaking, a figure dropped from the parapet and landed before the guards. The shockwave kicked up a cloud of dust that hid the figure’s identity.
After the dust settled, a violet-haired maid crouched down from landing. Her long, slender frame, hair tied in a ponytail, and violet eyes were laser-focused on the shocked prince in the cloaked figure’s arms.
* * *
Huh? Why’s everything dark? Hello! Anybody home! What happened? I… remember running, then— Oswald’s attempt to recall events was interrupted by the skill menu opening.
SKILLS SP: 47
STRENGTH 15
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 9
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 13
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 28
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
Oh, the stats increased. Anyway, I remember the boy over my shoulder… sprinting through the forest… then snapping, flyin— THE BOY! WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM! AY, LET ME OUTTA HERE… WHAT?! I CAN’T LEAVE!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! F-Fine! APPLY APPLY APPLY! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE! QUICK!
Current Skills
SKILLS SP: 0
STRENGTH 15
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 9
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 42
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 50
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
* * *
His eyes shot open to a white ceiling. A blue-gold chandelier hung above the foot of the bed, its lapis lazuli ornaments gleaming.
Wha— Where?
He caught the scent of lavender and turned his head.
“WHAT THE F—”
THUD!
He fell off the bed with a thud—his body forming a ‘C’ on the floor. The source of his jolt was a violet-haired maid, asleep on the left side of the bed, a person’s width between them.
WHY IS THERE A MAID LYING BESIDE ME?!
He jumped to his feet. “I got no time for this bullshit. Where’s the boy?”
He spun on his heel, eyes widening at the sight of the white door. “The door! I gotta find him.”
After two steps, his vision blurred as church bells rang in his head.
“Argh! Ah—”
THUD!
He collapsed, face hitting the blue Persian carpet on the floor. The crescendo of pain dragged him back into sleep.
* * *
He had acquired a single skill point in ‘Defense’ and allocated it to ‘Speed’ before waking up.
“Damn it,” he said with a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“I think… I think I may have pushed myself too hard. The boy’s probably fine… probably, and all that over-exertion was for nothing.”
“Haaah. Where even am I?”
He looked around, finding himself on a king-sized bed in a blue-themed lavish room.
“What in the Queen Elizabeth-ass room is this? So much blue!”
Looking to his left, he saw the glistening blue of the thick blanket, lying perfectly flat where she had been.
“Why was she sleeping with me? Why is any of this happening?”
He lay back on the bed. “Lavishness… Queen Elizabeth ass room… a very lapis lazuli looking vanity table in front of me. Am I… in a castle?”
His eyes widened.
“I’m in a castle?! Why am I—”
The door to the room opened.
“Her Majesty is requesting your audience.”
The violet-haired maid stood in the opened doorway, one hand tucked formally into the opposite sleeve's opening. A polite, neutral posture, but his heightened perception pierced the courtesy, revealing the precise grip of a dagger under her wrist and the faintest hint of purple at its tip.
“I have so many questions. First of all,” he pointed at her, “is that a dagger in the left armhole?”
Her expression shifted to bafflement for a millisecond—how could he see the concealed dagger?
“Second of all, you…” His mouth opened to mention her earlier actions, but he thought better of it.
“Never mind, I’m coming.”
He removed the blankets, looking downward.
Whoa! White castle pajamas! That’s some nice material.
After changing into his clothes and putting on his cloak, he followed the maid outside the room.
* * *
Wow!
Oswald trailed behind the violet-haired maid in a grand hallway, looking at large paintings of former monarchs hung above white, ornate vases. Their gilded frames glistened in the light of the suspended candlelit chandeliers.
It’s beautiful! The walls, t-the portraits. Absolute Picasso! But… It looks like it ends here.
The last portrait, a queen with magenta, braided hair tied behind her back and a three-lapis-lazuli-embedded golden crown.
Last portrait, huh. My guess—I’m meeting her.
“Here we are.”
She stopped by a large blue-gold door, twelve feet high with a golden door handle.
Holy giant door! It screams ‘throne room’.
She pushed open the door. A long blue carpeted path with golden patterning lay before him with fluted pillars on either side. The carpet ended before a two-step stairs and the king and queen’s golden thrones—the king’s being the biggest.
Walking on the carpet toward Her Majesty, he smelled a mix of rose and lavender.
Look at these pillars! It has that flat cup-lanterns in gold like ancient Greek. Don’t know the word but it’s pretty sick!
His head swiveled, each turn bringing a childlike marvel.
“Your Majesty, here is the individual in question.” The maid bowed, then stepped aside.
He looked at the queen, his throat immediately dried up.
Bro, she’s just… looking at me—smiling. Her head rested on her fist. But her gaze…
“Welcome to my throne room, O savior.”
Savior?
His legs trembled as he knelt. “T-Thank you, Your M-Majesty for um… calling me? In your presence.”
What was that, bruh?!
The queen straightened, chuckling behind her palm. “Oh, there is no need for such formality.”
“Ahahaha. T-That’s easier said than done i-in my position, Your Majesty.”
“Very well. Let us proceed at once, to bestow upon you your due reward for saving the future heir.”
So that’s what she meant by savior… Hold it! I SAVED A PRINCE!
“Indeed, and such a deed shall not go without its reward.”
WAIT! She read me!?
His head lowered.
I don’t care about money, women, and land. I don’t want anything. Haaah.
He rubbed his temple.
… Hold on! YES! Aelindor’s debt!
“My reward is gold...”
The queen’s eyes squinted. “Hm. How much?”
I don’t know! Only thing I know is dollars and yuan.
“Uhh… Five… hundred gold coins.”
“Then it shall be don—”
“Wait! Not me! It’s for an inn. It’s owned by my friend’s family. He’s an elf—Aelindor Thalorian—so I guess it’s owned by the Thalorian family.”
After a pause, Her Majesty dipped her head. “So be it, consider it done.”
“Thank you, your majesty. I’ll be uh,” he pointed behind him, “taking my leave.”
He bowed and headed for the door. About halfway, he turned around, scratching the back of his head.
“Um, can you… tell me where the exit is?”
* * *
“Thank you for helping me.” Oswald bowed to the violet-haired maid, who stood in the open doorway.
“It is us who need thanking you.”
“But you did, and I appreciate it.” He raised his hand to wave. “Alright, see you la—”
A yell from inside cut him off. Both their gazes shot toward the source.
“HALT!”
A boy’s voice yelled as he ran toward the entrance. He wore a white, collared frock coat with gold lining and embroidering, black lapels and cuffs.
Who’s that? Baby Claudio Serafino?
His eyes flashed in recognition. “Wait, you’re—”
The prince jumped and clung onto Oswald. The force threw him off-balance, sending him stumbling backward toward the stairs.
“Whoa!”
CLAP!
She clasped his extended hand, saving him from a royal headache—literally.
“Jes—Heavens above, Your Highness! I was about to go back into the castle when I just left!”
The prince looked up to him while clinging. “I command you! You shall take me with you, savior! I would be pleased to become better acquainted with you.”
Oswald’s neck jolted backward. “Take you? To where?! Kid’s park? Shouldn’t you be resting like I did—twice?”
“But, I insist.”
“Insist what?! Your safety? I don’t even have weapons.” His hand met his forehead. “I didn’t even get paid from my last quest for cleaning the dam. My entire plan has gone extremely off course.”
I’m getting a headache.
He took a deep breath through his nose, his gaze shifting to the maid. “With your permission…”
She gave a single nod. “His safety is assured. Our eyes are already upon you.”
What a creepy way to say ‘our spies are watching’.
“I guess you’re coming after all.”
The prince beamed back.
Look at that smile, you’d think everything that happened yesterday was a bad dream.
“Welp, time for me to head to school.”
I bet they’re waiting for me there.
“See you later.” He waved to the maid before turning on his heel.
He began walking down the stairs to the castle’s courtyard, stopping at the last step.
“You can stop clinging, y’know.”
* * *
“Had a squiz 'round my parts for him, but no one's heard of an Oswald in a gray cloak.”
Zharrak clenched its fist. “Where he coulda gone? I asked around an’ no one’s gotta clue.”
Aelindor frowned. “’Tis even so with me. I did inquire at the inn if he had returned, yet he had not. For two days’ space he hath not come again. I confess, a disquiet hath settled upon me.”
Around them, a hubbub began to bubble up.
“What’s goin’ on?”
Korrin pointed in a direction with his widened eyes. “LOOK!”
Zharrak and Aelindor followed his finger, flabbergasted at the sight before them.
“Heyyyy!” Oswald waved from afar. Beside him, the young prince was doing a poor job of maintaining a regal stride, his steps frequently breaking into an eager, boyish skip to keep up with him. Around them, people looked at them with tilted heads—their whispers questioning the prince’s company.
“Look who I got!” Oswald pointed at the prince.
The Mary Band of Idiots ran up to Oswald.
“Where were ya the past two days and… Is that His Highness?”
Aelindor bowed, followed by Zharrak and Korrin. “’Tis mine honour to make thy most noble acquaintance, Your Highness. Yet wherefore dost thou attend upon him? For two days hath he been absent.”
“Wherefore? Because it is he to whom I owe my very life. He is my preserver.”
All his friends’ eyes were on Oswald.
“I can explain. Remember when I told you I’d do my solo quest?”
“That ya did.”
“Right, so the request was to clean the dam in the forest for a village connected to it. I followed the directions, got to the dam and cleaned it. Then, men screaming interrupted my return. I ran to the source, finding guards encircling a boy—the prince here—protecting him from an orc. It took out his protection in a single swing. After that, everything was a blur. Next thing I know, I wake up in the castle’s guest room. I was asked to follow to the throne room, where I discovered the boy I saved was the prince. And the rest is history. But seeing you guys here, I think you’ve been trying to find me.”
Korrin nodded excessively. “Yeah, but no one had a clue who ya were or where ya rocked up from.”
“I mean, that’s understandable. I haven’t used this kingdom’s facilities other than Aelindor’s inn for a night’s sleep.”
Zharrak scratched under its muzzle. “Now ya said it, makes every bit’o sense.”
“Yep. Anyways, all this talking and recalling has made me hungry. Should’ve asked for food there, but eh, I get to eat with you guys.”
“I know a ripper spot, best feed in town, hands down.”
And so, Oswald and his friends—alongside the prince—headed out to eat.
He should’ve eaten at the castle. I mean come on! The queen said anything you want, you selfless buffoon!
* * *
She wasn’t kidding when she said the spies would protect him. Look at them, blue-cloaked and perched on rooftops, Assassin’s Creed style.
After their meal, he and the others headed to the guildhouse to get their first team quest.
Korrin began, “Reckon what our first request’ll be, hey?”
“Somethin’ like exterminatin’ monsters, or protectin’ somebody important.”
Will they give us escort quests at our level? I really need to learn this world’s stu—
Oswald felt a sensation, like heat on the back of his neck.
What?!
He turned around, rubbing the back of his neck.
What is this…? Spidey Senses?
His gaze shifted from one person to the next: a dog-eared family chatting among themselves, human children eating bread, a black-cloaked figure, a couple.
WAIT!
His gaze shot back at the black-cloaked person, their gaze lowered, arms hidden in the cloak.
Is it because of him? Why? If it is then… what do I do? This… sensation’s telling me he’s the bad guy, but I have no proof.
He pinched his chin, gaze lowered.
If he’s bad, then he has a target… The prince! If he’s that guy’s target then… Hmm… Ah hah! Maybe while our backs are turned during the quest request, he’ll try to stab the prince. It doesn’t matter if he gets caught—his goal must be achieved… like a skilled assassin. Yeah.
He nodded to himself.
Let’s go with that plan. Another thing…
He looked at his friends.
Should I… inform the—
“What is the matter, savior?”
The prince, walking beside him, noticed his concerned expression. Hearing him, his friends turned to Oswald.
Here goes nothing.
“Look, this is serious. Everybody, look ahead. Again, this is not a joke!”
The serious tone made everybody heed his command.
“We are being followed. They’re black-cloaked, and their target must be the prince. I have a plan.”
“Spill it. The guildhouse’s a comin’.”
He's right—the guildhouse is two buildings down.
“I suggest you guys should sit at a table by the reception. My job is exposition—while the prince walks beside me—I want everyone to know he’s the threat. And you all, apprehension. It’s in the name.”
He let out a silent whistle. “Good luck. I hope the plan will go as planned.”
His friends gave a nod, still looking ahead as they turned to the guildhouse entrance.
* * *
Together, they entered. Silence fell again—too deafening. Amplified by the prince’s presence and the tension of what would happen next. His friends, like Oswald, betrayed their tension in their own ways. Zharrak clenched its trembling fist, Korrin brushed his hair with his hand, Aelindor adjusted his hat and coat—already perfectly in place.
Ho boy. Hooo boy, it’s about to begin.
Whispers followed them past each table. Adventurers’ gazes shifted between the prince and Oswald’s friends. Though unplanned, the table near the reception was empty.
Oswald whispered, “Take your positio—”
CREAK!
The door behind him opened as the last word barely escaped. The world fell silent; only slow, deliberate footsteps sounded behind him. His gaze fell on the prince while facing forward.
“Your Highness, this is real life…”
The footsteps drew closer.
“I’m… afraid as you are, and I… I won’t sugarcoat it.”
It drew even closer, the prince's lips began trembling.
“It worsens when your protectors are outside… and all of us are inside.”
He let out a silent whistle, his eyes closed. The footsteps were directly behind them now—close enough to smell the scent of oiled leather and something metallic. Every ounce of his heightened perception screamed toward the space over his right shoulder.
“Remember, when things like this happen… don’t let it stop you. Let it strengthen yo—”
CLAP!
The clap drew the attention of every adventurer present, followed by gasps from those who couldn’t control their shock. The sound wasn't a clap of celebration, but the sharp, wet smack of his palm against a sweaty wrist.
Oswald’s eyes snapped open. He hadn't even turned yet his left hand had shot backward on pure instinct, intercepting the thrust—an inch from the prince's spine.
After the shock passed, “QUICK! APPREHEND THIS MAN!”
His command broke the trance, everyone jumping into action. The assassin was knocked to the ground, the dagger was knocked free from his hand.
“I will request the guards!” A man’s voice called out, then the entrance door opened with multiple footsteps leaving.
The assassin, pinned under the weight of several people, looked at Oswald with a knowing, cold grin not worn by a failed killer.
I don’t like that face. There are more of you?!
The door burst open.
“WHERE IS HE?” the guard at the front yelled, four others behind him.
A Brown Horse beastman archer pointed toward the reception. “Yonder, by the reception!”
The guards spotted the apprehended assassin and cuffed him. One of the guards’ heads swiveled.
“Who took this man into custody?”
In unison, all the fingers pointed at Oswald.
“Wha— Me?! I didn’t do anythi—” He sputtered, falling on deaf ears.
“Hmph, I see.” The leading guard turned around dismissively—all the humble ones act like him.
The guards headed for the exit, with the assassin in custody. Before the door closed, cheers exploded in the guildhouse. The door’s thud blocked out the rest.
* * *
“Your Majesty.”
A blue-cloaked figure knelt with his head lowered. “The future heir was saved from an assassination.”
“By whose hand?! And by whom?!”
“Your Majesty, though his name remains unknown to us, the man was clad in a blue shirt, gray shorts, covered by a dark gray cloak. Within the halls of the Knighter’s guild, he seized and subdued the would-be assassin.”
“That boy? Once more, he proves himself. Haaah. Yet he will spurn any reward I might bestow, for he is too altruistic”
She paused a moment. “And what of the assassin? What knowledge have we gathered?”
The cloaked figure produced a paper from within his cloak and read from it.
“The assassin is revealed to be of the Shattered Accord. A profane cult whose cataclysmic designs brought forth the sundering that set our islands upon the skies.”
The queen rested her head on her fist. “So, they have returned…”
She closed her eyes, head slightly lowered.
“We shall lay our snare in the guise of a contest, feigning lowered defenses…”
The queen relayed her plan in full. When she finished, the spy vanished, tasked with forwarding her orders to the respective parties.
* * *
“Just when the eyes begin to adjust, the sunlight hits them again, ruining the adjusting! That’s eyeism, man.”
Oswald and his friends—with the prince in tow—trekked deep into the forest on a quest to deal with a goblin population, attacking a nearby post-town.
“’Tis not thee alone. Count me and the prince not among those forsaken.”
“I do agree with your friend. It is slightly irritating.”
See! Only for this occasion, fuck you sun!
“Hahaha. We’re gettin’ blinded same as you lot.”
Zharrak raised an eyebrow. “Me? M’peepers are fine.”
“Sorry, mate, forgot you’re a lizar—”
“Shh!” The banter was interrupted by Oswald.
Everybody ceased at once, even the forest.
So the forest does get silent when danger is present.
He walked up to Zharrak who scanned shadows cast by the thick and overlapping branches.
“How many are we looking at?”
Zharrak glanced back, whispering. “Too many, we four ain’t enough to handle the horde I am lookin’ at.”
“We can’t escape or we’ll get surrounded…”
“Ya better come up with somethin’ quick, they comin’ closer.”
Oswald spotted a flash of green before darkness enveloped it.
Oh boy… This again. Um… Umm… Nothing? REALLY!
“I— Nothing is coming…”
Zharrak turned around, looking at Aelindor. “Our leader’s drawin’ blank, ya got anything?”
Ah shit… Ah shit! He shook his head, man. Think Oswald! Think!
“Hey! Say somethin’!”
Oswald's clenched his fist, his breathing hastening, the clenched fist trembled.
“I… I…”
He turned to his friends, “RUN! PROTECT THE PRINCE AT ALL COSTS!”
And so they sprinted, Zharrak grabbed the prince on the way, hauling him onto his back. Swift footsteps followed by multiple twigs breaking sound every few footsteps.
The sound of his friends’ footsteps quietened to a silence, only his footsteps remained as he ran past the horde.
I am so stupid.
He spotted yellow eyes, beaming with malice. The orc—the one he'd fled before—now stood behind the smaller goblins, and there were more of them.
“This is so fucking stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. I just woke up, saved the prince—twice!—and now I’m about to sacrifice myself, AGAIN!”
He unsheathed his double-edged sword—Aelindor bought for him. His free hand joined the other on the hilt.
“I’m so stupid. I’m so—Argh!”
His knuckles whitened on the hilt, the horde chasing behind him.
“I’m so fucking stupid, MAN!”
SQUELCH!
He swiped his sword rightward, the leaping goblin caught in his swipe, dying instantly.
“Oh my god—” Tears of failure fell, making him pinch his eyes. “Why am I even the LEADER!”
WHOOSH! SQUELCH!
Two heads left their bodies.
”I-I saved the prince, and NOW!”
SQUELCH!
He thrust his sword through a heart and the neck. “I’m a leader. A fucking LEADER!”
He split a body in half—green blood and guts spilling out as the top half fell.
“What am I achieving with this? NOTORIETY!”
WHOOSH!
He side-stepped a club, piercing the head that missed him.
“What did I expect? Standing on a pile of goblin corpses! Like DOOMSLAYER!”
WHOOSH!
He slowed his pace a moment, a goblin whizzed by.
“What are you doing you FUCKIN— AH!”
From the many, one of them struck him—right on the shoulder.
“RAAAAAAH!”
He spun around with his sword extended, killing every goblin in the blade’s path—their screams echoed through the forest.
Then he sprinted away, for their numbers haven’t dwindled. His quickened breaths propelled the sweat falling on his mouth as he ran toward a group of huge goblins, forming a wall.
“You… You thought you were the main character… in ANIME!”
BOOM! SQUELCH! THUD!
One of the orcs swung their club down, he side-stepped, slashing its foot then running away.
His clubbed-arm screamed, his legs begged, his lungs were on fire, but he kept sprinting.
Endless trees rushed past, countless twigs snapped, yet the excited breathing behind him never wavered.
After an eternity, the forest opened to a cliff. He skidded to a stop—cloud of dust flying from his brake. He stopped just before the cliff, kicking rocks over the edge. Below, a thin line of water snaked through the pebbles.
He turned around, standing before a sea of yellow eyes, staring from the shadows within the treeline.
This is so pathetic.”
THUD!
He flipped his blade and drove it into the ground, sending crisscrossing cracks through the earth. He collapsed, his back resting on the long side of the blade.
“I’m so pathetic… pitiful.”
The horde of goblins began inching closer. His head hung low, shaking it.
“I don’t want to be saved last minute. What is my sorry, tragic and wretched ass going to do?” He clenched his fist. “The same thing. Do a monumental, impossible task, collapse, then get hailed as a hero.”
He curled into a ball. “I… J-Just end me… I don’t want to play the part… anymore.”
Their jovial breathing neared him, closer and closer. Countless pitterpatters increasing in volume.
Then all sound ceased.
* * *
The skill menu opened before him—a mocking display of his labors’ fruits.
SKILLS SP: 86
STRENGTH 50
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 15
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 46
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 91
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
Haaah. So I’ve been saved. Tch! Just get this over with.
Current Skills
SKILLS SP: 0
STRENGTH 73
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 15
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 100 (MAX)
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 100
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
* * *
He woke up to the white ceiling of the servant’s quarter, the lapis lazuli chandelier at the foot of the bed.
“Damn it. Now, I have to face them…Ugh!”
He shifted on the bed to the right, facing a blue three-person sofa. The scent of lavender hung in the air.
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“After my stupidity and utter failure, is… the prince safe?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes, letting out a silent whistle.
“That’s good… I mean… I did all that to buy time.”
His voice cracked at the last word.
He got off the bed, walking toward the door, he paused before it.
“Y’know, I… Haaah. Thank you.”
Respect her rescue…
“Tch!”
His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m such a selfish savior.”
He left the quarters and the maid inside.
* * *
I want to go home…
Remembering the path to the exit, he passed ornate vases with the former monarchs’ paintings on top.
…return to school, return to… watching anime with Vlad and Li.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hands balled into a fist.
Go back to mom… dad—try all that talking thing again.
He rubbed his temple with one hand, the other still balled into a fist.
Heroes are… only for movies and animes. It’s… not for me.
The current queen’s portrait passed by and a few meters later, the throne room.
Her Majesty is standing outside the throne room door, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now… Only a little courtesy.
“Good morning, Your Majesty—”
His voice cracked as he said his greetings with a slight bow, then walked past her.
“It is unbecoming to depart before I have spoken.”
He paused mid-step.
Oh boy, I— Ugh, man.
He turned around on his heel.
“Sorry.” He looked at his feet as he walked back to the queen. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
He stood before her and silence fell between them.
What do I say to get out of this situation? I don’t want to be in the kingdom any more.
“Does some trouble linger from your recent venture? Speak freely.”
Still facing his feet, he nodded.
“I made… a terrible decision. I… let everyone run away, while I was the bait.”
His fingers began digging into his palms.
“Oh? I perceive it as a prudent decision, well made in the moment.”
He shook his head profusely.
“No, no. I-It’s the foundation where the decision came from. Haaah.”
His hand ran across his face.
“What kind of… ‘leader’ thinks of himself as… as a hero in some novel or a children’s storybook.”
A sharp exhale escaped him.
“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, the words strained.
After a pause, the queen answered.
“What I see is but a mistake—a mistake in leadership, and a needless commotion arising from it.”
Wha— Needless commotion?!
“Pray, how many times have you stood in this role?”
He gazed upward while his head was lowered. “O-On—”
“Once! Does that not merit some leniency toward yourself?”
He replied like a child getting a stern lecture. “Y-Yes.”
The queen frowned.
“Then I suggest you release this burdened state of mind, and carry forward the wisdom your mistake has granted.”
Wow, uh.
“Haaah. Yes, mo— I mean your majesty.”
The queen’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, the regal mask slipping for a full second.
He scratched the back of his head as a smile—one his face had long been without—finally returned.
“I never thought I’d be reprimanded by a queen. Please, keep this between us—it’s… not a good look. Heheh.”
“They won’t believe that I have been chastised by a monarch. The only people who do know are the servant behind the guest room door, and the prince, behind the throne room door.”
The throne room door opened, revealing the baffled prince.
“How did you know, savior?”
Oswald grinned.
“Magic… and you were breathing loudly. As for the maid.” He gestured toward the guest room door. “It groaned from weight every few minutes. Anyways,” he faced the queen and bowed, “thank you for the reality check, Your Majesty. I’ll be taking my leave.”
He left the two surprised royals, heading to the swordsman school.
“Hm…” The queen looked at his form getting smaller with distance, the guest room door opening behind her. “He possesses exceptionally keen eyes and ears, yet… an undercurrent of longing is ever present within him.”
* * *
“I am but newly returned from the castle; the guards did make report unto me that he doth yet lie fast asleep.”
Zharrak nodded.
“Haaah. He did us good. Despite not comin’ up with somethin’ in the moment, he still made the right call.”
Korrin gazed downward, his ears touching his hair.
“Hope he’s all good and only copped a few scratches. Heard they even bumped the quest up a class.”
Aelindor dipped his head.
Zharrak pointed behind Aelindor.
“Look! He’s comin’.”
Both Korrin and Aelindor turned around.
Among the passersby, his dark gray cloak fluttered in the wind—a hand emerged from beneath it.
“Hello!” Oswald waved.
The three ran up to him.
“Wait! Before you guys hit me with a barrage of questions—I’m good! Great even. They took care of me.”
Korrin sighed, shaking his head.
“Mate, I swear—the bloke’s built like solid steel.”
“Ha! All that worryin’ for nothin’.”
“Yep.”
All because of Her Majesty.
Aelindor smiled, then turned to the school.
“Now that his plight be ended and our schooling nigh upon its commencement, let us proceed within.”
With everybody’s nod, they entered the school's premises.
“And let it be recorded: a party of greenhorns faced a horde meant for seasoned knights… and lived to tell the tale.”
You don’t say. Heheh. Although, I really hope I don’t go back to the castle again—not after passing out.
* * *
“Hi—could you tell me which class I’m assigned to? I acquired the fire skill.”
He and his friends were next in line by the receptionist—the students filtered by their skill.
The Siamese cat-eared receptionist gave a nod.
“Room 1-1.”
“Understood. Thanks.”
He turned to face his friends and the other students still in line behind him.
“Well, see you after class.”
With his wave, and their acknowledgment, he left the line.
Where is 1-1? I don’t understand a thing the signboard says… Wait!
Six rooms lined the hallway—three to the left, three to the right.
I went to the third one in the right, so I’ll go to the first room in the right side.
He entered the aforementioned room—the instructor was already present, standing by the green board.
The instructor was a burly, brown-skinned man with red hair and a beard, donning armor of red and orange, his weapon two battle axes strapped behind his back—the pommel in the shape of a dragon.
He stood with his arms crossed, surveying Oswald and the new students with a gaze that felt like embers.
The room was silent, save for the students’ footsteps outside the classroom.
“I am Thorne IronFlame, your instructor for those who have channeled fire. And for those with sense…”
The fire instructor bent slightly, a smile crossing his bearded face.
“You will learn that fire is not just destruction—it is control.”
He straightened himself, the smile disappearing.
“Unfortunately, the kingdom has denied me luxury to fan the flames within you.”
He scanned from left to right.
“Five days, including today, a duel will be held. A match between the captain and the students. Now, I ask, who dare cross swords with us captains… including myself. Who among has the guts to duel those who have protected and instructed the candle flames like you. Raise your hands if you desire to take part.”
After his proposal, Oswald raised his hand. He and no one else.
The instructor walked up to his side, bending down, face inches from Oswald’s—he didn’t even flinch.
Too close! Facade… almost breaking.
“Do you dare?”
Ahem.
“Yes, I do.”
Bafflement and shock was painted on the students’ faces.
The fire instructor straightened, repeatedly and methodically stroking his beard.
“Hmm… Lack of flinching, answered swiftly without hesitation, and accepted the challenge despite the threatening announcement… So the report wasn’t wrong about you.”
What?! They have reports of me?
The instructor looked at the other students.
“We will head to the arena, where the duels are taking place. Now, form a line!”
A line of students were formed.
As they filed out, Oswald caught a few of his new classmates staring at him—some with curiosity, others with outright disbelief at the lone volunteer. He kept his eyes forward, fixed on the broad, armored back of his instructor.
* * *
SLAP!
He slapped his forehead.
“Dammit! I forgot my sword at the room because of my haste!”
He stood before a giant wooden door, the fighter’s entrance. The arena itself was a sandstone-walled circular building, like the Rome Colosseum.
“Now, how am I supposed to fight?”
He looked at his fists.
“With these? The only thing I’m getting are broken knuckles from whoever’s kicking my ass.”
He began pacing around.
“Who am I even fighting? Five days? Five Captains? Oh no.”
He rubbed his temple.
“I am falling into doubts, even before the whole thing started.”
He looked at the giant door.
“This place better have weapons for me—”
CREEE-E-EAK!
The giant door creaked open to a small hallway to another giant door. Torches lit the space, illuminating an assortment of differently sized weapons on both sides of the sandy and cracked wall—swords, long swords, broad swords, spears, javelins, etc.
“Hoowee!”
He rubbed his hands with a large, childish grin on his face.
“Which one will come to Papi, huh? Is it you? You? Or maybe you?”
He pointed at a broad sword, then a battleaxe, and finally at a double-edged sword.
“Yep, you’re definitely the one.”
He picked up the double-edged sword and inspected it—chipped and scratched along the blade.
“It’s not in its best shape—probably used in hundreds of fights. That’s the price to pay for being forgetful.”
He stood before the second door, the entrance to the fighting ground.
Okay, I guess I stand by this huge door and wait for its opening.
As if on cue, a game show host’s voice boomed from behind the door.
“People! Welcome to the ARENAAA!”
He heard the crowd erupting in cheers.
“That’s right, a student will duel against the captains of Solara Prime!”
Solara Prime? Is that where I am at?
“To the fallen goes the defeat. The prize? Anything the winner desires!”
Oh, for fuck sakes! Not this again!
“On the student’s corner, the savior—not once, but twice. We have, OSWALD JAAAACK!”
Did he just— Oh no! The walk around town is gonna be a pain in the ass.
The huge door creaked opened.
Holy Gladiator, and 300 arena! THIS IS SICK!
He stepped outside, grinning under the sun. A circular American football stadium-sized arena, high walls around him cracked with spiderweb of cracks, indents and holes scattered in the walls. Above the high walls was the source of the cheering, the audience.
Through the sea of spectators of all races, he spotted his three friends in the crowd, above the door he entered from.
“HEYYYY!”
His arm flailed as he waved his friends who waved back—Korrin and Zharrak shouting something but drowned out from the cheers.
“In the other corner. They are no spring chicken! They have fought in two wars! Started from the bottom to the top! Like their forefathers, became an instructor! We have, Garrick IRONVEEEIL!”
The crowd exploded, and the door to the captain’s corner swung open.
WAIT! I am fighting HIM? Oh boy. Fought in two wars? Like his forefathers? Bro, he’s a whole rooster.
Instructor Garrick walked toward the middle of the arena.
Yo—his blue cape fluttering in the wind, that slow, deliberate walk. He is him!
Oswald joined Garrick in the middle of the arena, stopping a few steps away from each other.
“Heh. I must admit, I was rather taken aback to discover that only a single student would stand against us. More astonishing still, that student would be you.”
He gestured with his free hand—the other remained on his hilt, never leaving it.
“Now then, tell me, what is your purpose? What compels you forward?”
Wow uh… Already going philosophical. Umm…
“Honestly, I… don’t have a path yet. Because the path I uh, used to walk across was taken from me, making me trudge a new path.”
His head lowered, looking at his palms—with the double-edged anchored in his thumb.
“I hope there will be an apex in this new path, so… So, I know where I am heading.”
After a pause, Garrick silently nodded.
SHING!
The instructor released his weapon from his sheath, British Rapier, with a wolf insignia separating the hilt and the blade.
OH COME ON! MY SWORD SUCKS!
He readied his own weapon, both hands meeting the hilt.
DING!
The bell rung, and they began.
CLANK!
Sparks flew as both blades clashed together, a trail of dust behind Garrick.
Holy my reaction time!
“This is hardly a time to be gobsmacked!”
Garrick pushed his sword, shoving him backwards in a staggering retreat. He found his footing just barely before Garrick’s sword met his vision.
CLANK!
Oswald's blade at an angle, drove Garrick’s sword away with sparks flying—a parry.
OHHHHH! NOW TAKE THIS!
He counter-attacked but the instructor side-stepped his sword.
Damn! Happiness short-lived.
He tirelessly fought—parrying, dodging, and his attack dashed away. Many repetitions later, Oswald dashed back from another attack—leaving a trail of dust in front of him.
His breath came in rasps, his face and neck glistened under the sun. He moved his trembling hand to look at it. His palm was filled with splotches of red within his skin, the skin below the fingers purple.
He turned to instructor Garrick, who sweated without gasping for air.
“Hey, Teach… I think… I’m runnin’ out… of juice… Let’s make it… the last strik—”
Coughing interrupted him, until a phlegm surfaced, which he threw out.
“If you wish.”
The sword’s tip faced Oswald as Garrick dashed toward him.
Good.
Oswald ran toward the instructor, his footsteps unmeasured.
Nearing the instructor, intense pain shot through his head.
No… n…o…
His vision blurred, eyelids slowly closing.
WHOOSH!
Garrick’s blade an inch away, Oswald fell sideways, Garrick’s sword a hair’s breadth from his nose. His appalled face followed Oswald as he hit the ground, his sword falling beside him.
Garrick skidded to a stop, cloud of dust flying behind. He turned around and ran through the plume, splitting it. He knelt down, the heat of the sand radiating through his armor as he straightened Oswald.
Turning away, he winced.
“The aim of the competition was never victory, but survival. You fought with such resolve, I forgot you were but a student.”
Garrick sighed, shaking his head.
A shadow cast over Oswald—long and slender, their crinoline fluttered in the wind.
“I see... See to it that he is taken care of…”
WHOOSH!
After his request, Oswald disappeared from his arms.
* * *
The skill menu opened before our victor.
SKILLS SP: 91
STRENGTH 111
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 39
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 100 (MAX)
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 140
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
Huh. Oh, I collapsed. Did I win…? Lose? Fuck! If I lost— Argh! We were having such a good fight! Fuuuuuck! Haaah, my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined… Why is the reward always ‘anything you want’ when there’s a humble character…… Anything I want…… Wait! WAIT! That raccoon demi-human. I-I could establish a law since it comes in the “anything”. I-I have to win this, for the demi-human race. Okay, time to wake up.
Current Skills
SKILLS SP: 0
STRENGTH 152
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 39
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 100 (MAX)
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 200
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
* * *
His eyes fluttered open to a blurred view of the quarter’s ceiling.
“Mm… What?” His voice was a tired strain.
Rubbing his eyes, he found himself in the servant’s quarters.
THE CASTLE’S guest room!
“What?!”
He frantically looked around lavish quarters—themed in white and blue.
“W-What am I doing here again? Why is this bed so… comfortable?”
“Under the queen’s order, I—”
“WHAT THE F—”
THUD!
He fell off the bed, staring at the ceiling between his legs, body curled into a crescent.
“Oww.”
He rubbed the back of his head.
“Also, continue,” he said to the maid, peeking over the bed—her lips twitched upward in a smile for a millisecond.
“Under the queen’s order, I must take care of you.”
“O-Oh…”
He sat on the floor, legs back on the ground.
“I guess that’s the perk of saving his Highness.”
She dipped her head without answering.
He began standing up to leave.
“Thank you, if I need anything I’ll—”
GROWL!
His stomach gurgled, pausing his walk.
He looked down, frowning.
“You were supposed to be quiet! Now I have to tell her what to eat—it’s embarrassing. Can you believe yourself?”
The stomach replied with another gurgle.
“Haaah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to eat in an inn because I-I don’t feel I deserve high-class treatment, man.”
His stomach protested the previous statement.
“What do you mean ‘now’? I’ll eat when I—”
The stomach gurgled with furrowed brows.
“Okay, okay I give in. Haaah.”
He sighed, his head drooping.
“Just a… simple glass of milk, two eggs, and four slices of bread… please.”
He gazed at the floor, his cheeks reddened.
She closed her eyes and gave a nod.
“Understood, it shall be done.”
He heard her footsteps pass by him, the sound of the door opening and closing.
Groaning, he lay down on the floor, staring at the roof.
“Now I’ve done it. All the foods after this will be ruined. Because I know it’s going to be delicious.”
And he was correct.
She brought an omelet with four slices of sweet bread and a cup of milk, then left the room. All of it was served on a blue-gold tray with golden handles. The cup—which completed his sublime breakfast—was made entirely of blue-gold.
The first bite of the omelet, sandwiched between two slices of bread, triggered silent tears, his mom’s memory flashing in his mind.
“How… How did she…? Damn it… it’s so good.”
He ate his breakfast as tears fell, accompanied by silent sniffles.
* * *
“How was it?”
She asked as they walked together down the hallway, heading toward the prince’s room at his request.
“I don’t know…” He gazed upward as the blue-gold candle chandeliers shimmered. “Does food that reminds me of my mother—count as a compliment?”
Her eyes widened for a millisecond.
“…Another thing the breakfast did for me… was ruin other omelets. No eggs will ever taste better than this. Haaah.”
He sighed, his head lowering. “At least I got to taste what the monarchs eat, even if only a little. I can finally say they eat good! I-I mean, they eat marvelously exquisite!”
He opened an imaginary notebook, holding an imaginary pen. “The world would like to know: how do you make your food taste the best? Answer with honesty.”
“It is a secret.”
He groaned. “How is breaking the eggs in a bowl, mixing it until it becomes yellow or orange, putting it on a flat pan or area, heating it, and adding salt or pepper or both—before or after the egg was put on the flat pan—a...”
He inhaled deeply.
“Secret!”
After a pause, she answered. “There is more to it than merely breaking the egg.”
Huh.
“If what I’ve tasted is any testament, then I guess there must be.”
The two approached the spiraling staircase, its carpet winding upward toward the prince’s room.
* * *
“We have arrived,” she said, pointing at a large, blue-gold door with a golden doorknob.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
She knocked once before opening it.
EEEEK!
The prince let out an excited squeal, leaping onto Oswald and clinging to him.
“Savior! Savior! You were simply splendid!”
Oswald looked down at the clinging prince. “If you are saying that then…” He scratched his chin. “I guess I am. So, what part was great?”
The prince released him and walked farther into the room, Oswald following.
“When you fought and the dust flew all around you! And your last strike—oh!—even when you fell, you were just barely touched by the instructor’s blade! It was all splendid!” he said with arms raised.
“Wait, I fell barely touching the blade?!”
He looked away, gazing upward, the image playing in his mind.
“Wow… I wonder how that’d look in slow motion…”
“Hehe, impressed by your own feat?”
Ha, it seem that way.
Oswald’s eyes fell on an open yet ancient book on the bed, depicting four islands outward and an island in the middle—like the dots on the die representing the number five.
“What’s that book over there?”
The prince followed his gaze. “Oh, that. It’s the book on the islands, we’re dwelling in the middle one—Aurelia Dominion.”
The middle one, huh. Aurelia Dominion… its capital, Solara Prime. Wait! Why are they all islands and not countries?
Ahem.
“Interesting… So, what are the other four islands?”
Finally, lore!
The prince smiled, skipping to his bed and grabbing the book, holding it for Oswald to see—covering his whole face.
“The top right is Sylvian Enclave, island of the elves. Its capital is Lunara Glade.”
That’s Aelindor’s homeland. Now I know where it is—and where he’s from.
“The bottom right is Ferrum Tribes, island of the demi-humans. Its capital is Fangspire.”
That’s Korrin’s home.
“This one on the top left is Bestial Dominion, island of beast-kind.”
Zharrak’s home…
“Finally, the last one is the Arcanum Sanctum, home to magic, healing, and other stuff.”
Other stuff, he says. So basically wizards, witches, and the whole nine yards. Another thing, this world is just these five islands?
“Wow, what a great explanation. I understood everything… Maybe you can be my tutor.”
“I’d love to.”
“Heh, I’m sure you would. Well, Your Highness. I believe it’s my time to head to the arena. See you later and thanks for sharing info.”
“I see.” The prince waved. “Come again soon!”
Oswald turned to the door with a wave. “Will do.”
He exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Only five islands? Are there only five islands in this world? Oh, maybe it’s like this country has five islands, then there are countries with islands scattered about?
He nodded.
Yeah, that’s it… probably. Alright, time to head out.
He faced the direction to the stairs.
The maid stood in his path, holding a coin sack by its top, its bottom resting in her palm.
“This is your payment for the guild’s quest.”
My payment!
“Thank you.”
He took the coin sack and opened it.
“Wait a minute, there is way more gold and silver than coppe—”
WHOOSH!
He looked up, an empty carpet and hallway where she once stood.
“Haaah,” he sighed, head drooping.“Great, so I got my reward after all. At least I can buy new equipment and not a chipped weapon. Silver linings, Oswald, silver linings.”
He took his newly acquired money and headed for the blacksmith.
* * *
“The locals weren’t kidding. ‘You really can’t miss it.’ ‘It is clear as the sky and the sun.’ I mean…”
He pointed with both hands at a comically large sledgehammer resting atop a shop.
“Heheh. They ain’t wrong.”
His hands dropped by his side.
“Let us commence the purchasing of equipment, but… what kind?”
He pinched his chin, eyes closed.
“Hmm, I think… I think I should go with mobility—it should help me with my next captain, and I’d be comfortable with my movements.”
He nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll definitely do that. In I go.”
DING!
The door chime rang as he entered the blacksmith. The smell of ash and metal hit the back of his throat.
“It feels like I smoked. Cough cough. Three packs altogether.”
The metallic clanks of hammering stopped, and a woman replied.
“Don’t worry now, honey. Once you get used to working with it, that metal starts feelin’ just like the air.”
His gaze fell on the source of the voice. A blacksmith lady walked to the counter—dark-skinned, wearing a black tank top with a gray-and-black-splotched cloth around her neck, her hair fiery red.
“Wait a second, are you—”
“That burly instructor’s husband? Mhm, yes I am.”
He nodded.
“I see—cough, cough—your husband is that great instructor. My first impression? Inches from my face.”
The blacksmith lady laughed, cleaning her face with the white cloth.
“He be doin’ that. I call it ‘Warrior Love’.”
His neck jolted back.
“Warrior… Love? Well, I guess it makes sense, y’know. Fire to heat up the iron and a blacksmith to… straighten… it…”
What a yin-yang-ass relationship.
He shook his head.
“Anyways, I’d like you to make an armor with mobility in mind and a double-edged sword.”
She rested her shoulder on the counter.
“That ain’t comin’ cheap, honey.”
THUD! JINGLE!
“Name it—Wait! I should name it. Um… Twenty gold—whatever materials come within that, do it.”
The blacksmith wagged her finger.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That’s thirty to you, sugar.”
“Cap! Twenty five.”
The blacksmith lady squinted.
“Twenty-seven, or you best get up out my forge.”
Damn it! I haven’t learned bargaining from dad.
“You win, lady, twenty-seven it is.”
He paid the twenty-seven gold, and she accepted them graciously.
“Pleasure doin’ business with you.”
The business was dealt and his armor was made. A fitted leather sleeveless jacket and ankle-length trousers, overlaid with articulated steel plates at the chest, shoulders, and thighs.
“This… This is amazing!”
He performed jumping jacks and squats, then sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Worth the twenty-seven gold I was swindl— I mean I spent… on a deal.”
“That’s right. Don’t forget that when you walk outta here.”
He jumped to his feet and saluted.
“Yes, ma’am!”
He walked toward the door, waving.
“Thank you, blacksmith lady!”
DING!
The door chime sounded, followed by the door’s click.
“Haaah, that kid,” she sighed, shaking her head.
She looked at the counter, counting thirty-five gold.
* * *
Aelindor paced outside the arena, by the student’s corner door.
“I cannot believe him!”
“Hey, what happened, mate?”
His gaze shifted to him, frowning.
“I did once more repair unto the inn, there to reckon the matter anew. And as I drew near, a clamour from within did assail mine ears. Forthwith I opened the door, whereupon mine eyes were met with the sight of a great sack of golden coins set boldly upon the counter. The innkeeper stood as one amazed and thunderstruck, avouching with trembling voice that it was a boon bestowed by the Queen’s own most gracious hand.”
“How many? Did ya count?”
Aelindor dipped his head.
“Five hundred coins of gold.”
Korrin and Zharrak’s jaw dropped.
“Our sundry trades, reckoned all together, do scarce amount unto fifty pieces of gold; yet here upon the counter do I behold five hundred coins of gold, even as…”
He felt a hand placed upon his shoulder.
“Oh, don’t you worry your little head.”
He looked behind him to the source of the hand—Oswald, clad in his new gear with sword at his side.
“Why? Why hast thou done this?”
“Why not? I was freeloading—using a room a customer should be. So, I just paid for the room… with interest.”
I guess the interest was too much. Have I accidentally given him a million dollars? Oh, boy.
“T-This is impossible. I cannot render thee recompense. N-Neither can my kin, not with all the trades I—”
“Look, I didn’t know five hundred gold was too much and…”
He inhaled deeply.
“I swear on everything—my mother, my father, the gods and goddesses—everything! I did that by my own will. And you don’t—hear it again—you don’t have to pay that back.”
He shrugged.
“And y’know, keep the change.”
His gaze shifted to Korrin and Zharrak.
“I would do the same for you guys as wel—”
CREE-EAK!
His corner’s door opened, the creaking so loud that he and his friends winced.
They really should oil those hinges.
“Welp, see you guys later. Gotta hype myself before the fight.”
Korrin waved.
“Righto then, best of luck.”
Zharrak gestured at Korrin.
“What he said, kid. Hope to see ya walkin’ out this time.”
“You will!”
Zharrak and Korrin left for the audience stairs, with Aelindor silently trailing behind.
Haaah. Did I make the correct decision…? Being too generous? After this fight, I have to reflect on this. For now, time to see the second captain.
He walked into the newbie’s corner armory, stretching his limbs and taking deep breaths before the duel.
* * *
“Welcome back folks to another day of student against the CAPTAIIIN!”
The crowd exploded behind the door.
“Let me say this! A thrilling duel yesterday. The student went all out—fighting until the last of his strength. Ladies and gentlemen of all islands, welcome, OSWALD JAAAACK!”
The door to the fighting ground creaked open—the muffled cheering now blasting at full volume.
Oswald jogged out, smiling and waving.
“Well, he came prepared for his next opponent, I see. From the captain’s corner, known for ancient style of Muerte Bailando. Carrying a legacy that stretches back millennia, with an heir already chosen. His opponent, Seraphina WINDWHISPERRR!”
Muerte Bailando? What does that mean?
The door to the captain’s corner creaked open.
Okay, I’m fighting a lady captain?
He squinted at his approaching opponent. She wore a black tehuana dress with red skull imagery at the neckline, holding two black, obsidian-bladed clubs of Ancient Mayan—each also adorned with red skulls. Her hair was tied with red braids, and black eyeliner with a red streak.
The red skull imagery is kinda sick, but… what is she? The Mexican Dancing Death or something? Hold on, that’s a great title.
They met in the center of the arena, stopping a few steps apart.
“I have to say, lady, amazing dress and…”
Gulp.
“E-Equally amazing… weapons.”
Her reply was a slight bow and smile.
Oh boy, silent ones are always the deadliest.
Both hands on the hilt, he readied his double-edged sword.
DING!
Seraphina didn’t move an inch after the bell rung.
She’s just standing there… MENACINGLY!
She finally spoke, her voice calm, cold, with a hint of a Latina accent.
“Hit it.”
TAP!
She tapped both her knife dusters.
What—
As soon as she tapped, Mexican music enveloped the arena—a toe-tapping, finger-snapping song culminating in the high, sharp note of a trumpet.
What the—Where is the music coming from?
She moved toward him, her steps flowing with the music. At the trumpet, she swung her knife dusters.
WHOOSH!
He bent backward, barely scraping past his nose.
Whoa! Too close.
He straightened.
My turn.
Loosely following the music, he swiped his sword at the trumpet’s peak. She side-stepped with dancer's grace and swung one of the knife dusters upward, his sword got caught between the blades of her knife duster. With a flick upward, the sword was freed from his hands, spinning through the air before clattering to the sand a few feet behind her.
FUCK!
She moved closer for round two. The music began to build, and with each high beat she sliced at him. At the trumpet, she swung both knife dusters in an ‘X’. Between the seams—protecting his forearms—the exposed leather caught in her swing.
“Ah!”
He held his forearm, and saw his hand.
“Yep…” He let out a silent whistle. “Definitely blood.”
Looking at his blood and the music around him, his mind flashed to him watching a movie—Puss in Boots—with his father, a movie fanatic—unlike him, an anime fan. The dance fight scene from the movie played in bits.
Heh, I see. Time to switch up!
He straightened.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
He double-clapped followed the flow of the music, walking sideways toward her. With every double clap, he’d rotate his body and take a few steps forward. A smile crossed her face. Nearing her, he swung his fist following the music. She stepped back, weaving away from his punches.
Nice, I’m getting closer to the sword. But.
He winced.
I feel… numbness. Ignore it, Oswald!
For next attack, she spun like a ballerina, knife dusters outstretched, coming at him.
Damn, even spinning, she has grace.
The spinning Seraphina got closer, few steps away and the music building up again. He took a step back.
Lord, please let this work.
He took off then slid on his knees, bending full backward as his back allowed him. His nose a hair’s length away from the blades, a few hairs, caught in her tempest like leaves, drifted down behind him.
Clearing her attack, he picked up his sword and spun around—kicking up a circle of dust.
“Now, we’re even.”
They moved closer, their steps flowing like a river, their movements cat-like. Both attacked, blocked, and parried, all within the music. During those, he disarmed her knife dusters while she disarmed him. Instead of retrieving their weapons, hands were thrown instead. Each jab, punch, kick, and sweep followed the trumpets’ call. During the music building up to the trumpet, Seraphina punched him. He side-stepped then grabbed her arm, he spun her around, her dress flared out.
At the ending trumpet, both ended in a pose as if he caught her in a fall, both stretching a single arm out for dramatic flair.
The music stopped, and the crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.
He helped her straighten up, then doubled over himself, breathing raspily.
“Who knew… dancing is… damn tiring.”
He fell on his butt staring at the sky.
“WHAT AN AMAZING PERFORMANCE! I didn’t know the student could dance…”
Neither… did I—
“Ah!”
He held his head, the commentator’s voice muffling, his vision blurring.
What’s happening… Oh… the cut… was poison—
THUD!
Consumed by darkness, he lay flat on the sand, red veins visible on his face and neck.
She bowed with her hand on her chest.
“It was nice dancing with you—ni?o.”
* * *
The skill menu opened before the ni?o.
SKILLS SP: 67
STRENGTH 152
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 48
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 100 (MAX)
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 233
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
Damn it! I was doing good, AGAIN! But… it’s my fault. Got myself stuck in an opening so wide, might as well be another fighting ground. Speaking of. Oh. My. Goodness… FUCK! Nobody recorded me! FUUUUUUUUUCK! Ugh! My goodness! I was dancing dancing, man. The double claps! The ending pose! RUINED! Ruined by the confines of mind—forever trapped in its meaty walls. Haaah… just, just get me outta here.
Current Skills
SKILLS SP: 0
STRENGTH 152
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 48
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 100 (MAX)
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 300
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
* * *
He woke up to the familiar comfort of the white ceiling and her scent of lavender.
“Haaah. Man, why’d she find it mandatory to add poison?”
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling painting. “I mean, we could’ve bowed after the performance. Heh. I didn’t know I could do all that.”
The ponytailed maid dipped her head, a full person’s width between them. “I concur, it was quite a spectacle.”
Is this some recurring joke? Like main characters having unrelated females on the same bed. (it is, and why oddly specific?)
“You could say that.”
He removed the covers and got out of bed, stretching. “Welp, I’m heading out.”
She sat up in bed, her head tilted. “Without breakfast? You haven’t eaten except breakfast since yesterday.”
“Yep, that’s the plan. To eat with friends before fighting the third captain. Haven’t spent a day with them since this competition began.”
“I see…”
I guess that’s it.
He looked around the room, finding everything this opulent room had to offer—except his armor.
“Hey uh, can you tell me where my equipment is?”
He donned his armor, sheathed his sword, bowed in thanks, and left for the arena—guessing his friends would be there.
* * *
“Okay, pass this building with a chicken leg sign…”
Like the previous day, he followed familiar landmarks, heading toward the arena. His eyes fell on the fruit-stand run by a llama beastman—with traditional Southeast Russian clothing.
“Hello there, good sir,” he said, giving a nod.
The llama placed its hoof on its heart. “And to you as well.”
He turned left past the fruit-stand onto a side street, then left again for a straight path toward the arena.
Huh?
His gaze fell on two demi-human children—a fox-eared boy and a bear-eared boy—sitting on the ground beside an alleyway, their tunics tattered, exposing their dust-covered skins. They sat huddled together with an upside-down hat in front.
Seven copper coins…
He smiled. Let’s get those numbers up, two gold should be enough.
From his coin sack, he produced two gold coins, both glistening in the sunlight. He walked toward their hat, placed the two gold coins and continued forward.
The two boys looked at the two shiny coins in disbelief with widened eyes.
After a few steps, a weak, strained voice called out.
“Sir, I-I think you made a mistake.”
The words punched him in the gut.
Oswald inhaled through his nose. “No, I… I don’t believe I have.”
Another voice, with similar weakness, replied. “But… two gold, i-it’s too much.”
“No, I… don’t believe it isn’t.”
Behind him, the bear demi-human clasped Oswald’s hand. “I agree with him. It’s too much. W-What do we do with this much money?”
My heart… they can’t believe the generosity bestowed on them.
“I… can think of many things two gold can do. Buy a house, go to school, get new clothes, eat better food… and much more. But one thing you must not forget…”
He turned around and knelt, placing his head on the bear demi-human’s shoulder.
“To share. Share among yourselves—your relatives and friends’ families and most of all, your people.”
His gaze shifted to the ground, to the boy’s toes caked with dust.
“That… should help you in the long run.”
He stood up and turned away. “I have to leave.”
He continued his walk down the street. Behind him, the bear-eared boy bowed, joined by his fox-eared friend.
“T-Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you so much.”
As the distance between them grew, the last thing he heard was their quiet squealing.
I’m not staying here long and will eventually return. I hope… the two grow into a community, a village, then… a town in the kingdom.
* * *
“Hey!” He waved to his friends, waiting outside his corner’s door.
Korrin tilted his head. “You’ve… rocked up a bit early, mate—comp doesn’t kick off for another hour.”
“Yeah, it’s intentional. I was thinking, since I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s breakfast, why don’t we eat somewhere together again.”
“But thou wert within the castle walls; wherefore didst thou not command a servant to supply thy need?”
“Me? Eating royal food? No way!” He shook his head. “If I did that, the food out here won’t be the same. To prove that, the breakfast I ate yesterday reminded me of my mother. How does that work?”
“Ha!” Zharrak nudged him. “Ya’re humble as pie, aren’t ya?”
“Verily.”
“Right! And since we already went to Korrin’s spot—steak sandwiches, meat pies, and others—all tasted amazing, why don’t we try Aelindor’s next?” He formed a fist, raising it in the air. “Show us the power of the elven cuisine!”
“Hahaha.” Aelindor placed his hand on his heart. “With glad spirit—this way, good sirs.”
And so he was led by Aelindor to eat elven food.
I just hope their connection with nature doesn’t mean the food’s vegetarian.
###
