Interlude: Wasting Time is so Sublime

  Alheim the Druidic Berserker woke for the first time in a throne room. His throne room. He did not know why he was so sure the room belonged to him, but he was. He had… I hesitate to call them memories, for they were not real. Images. I shall call them images. He had images in his head of a life lived by a man who looked like him, sounded like him, and acted like him. Of course, they were just images. This man, and this life, never existed. In the center of his being he knew this to be the truth. Alheim the Druidic Berserker exists to be an obstacle in someone else’s story. The life he sees when he closes his eyes is simply the mortar which holds him in that person’s path. Nothing more. This felt as natural as breathing to him. He did not fear death, for he cannot die before achieving his purpose, one way or another, and if his purpose is complete, there is nothing to regret. Besides, he thought to himself, it won’t be long before death comes for me, so there is no use in filling a short life with fear. Alheim sat down on his throne, and began to wait.

  How long has it been? A week? Two? Alheim has a very shaky understanding of time, as there was no sun with which to judge days and nights. Alheim did not sleep either, as he seemingly does not need it. He simply sits, vigilant. Still, Alheim wonders to himself. This challenger is rather slow, he thinks. This is after all, the Very Easy Tutorial, and the first floor at that. Perhaps this challenger is the cautious sort. Alheim can respect that, he thinks. Nothing wrong with a bit of caution. Nothing wrong with it at all. As he stares at the inside of his door, Alheim begins to feel a twinge of some strange feeling he can’t quite place. Whatever it is, he probably won’t have time to understand it fully. After all, even a cautious challenger won’t take much longer than a month. Not on this floor. Alheim returns to his waiting.

  The feeling was boredom. Alheim realized this 6 months into his lonely reign. As a system monster, he has a very high tolerance for the passage of time without a task, but it seems even he has limits, and they are being tested with every passing moment. He has begun to lose faith in this challenger. Perhaps there is no challenger. Perhaps there was a glitch in the system. Alheim shakes his head vigorously to rid it of that particular thought. Heresy cannot be tolerated. The system does not make mistakes. No matter. Alheim will simply have to find a way to use his time while he waits. Something to occupy his focus, while being easy enough to put away so as to be ready at a moment’s notice for the challenger if and when they ever appear. He glances down at his axe. Perhaps weapons practice? Yes, weapon practice will do nicely. It will be a long time before I am bored of that, he thinks to himself.

  Despite Alheim’s prodigious patience and enjoyment of exercise and martial improvement, after two decades of swinging his axe, even he has grown bored once again. So, he began to look for other things to do, caring less and less for the sanctity of his mission. He spent a decade rearranging the furniture in his great hall. A century writing poems in his head. Nearly half an eon telling himself stories of lives that he could have led. If he was real. Eventually however, everything became dull. Finally, with nothing better to do, Alheim the Druidic Berserker began to pray. He prayed to the system. He prayed for a challenger to finally appear. He prayed for his waiting to end. He prayed for death. It was an eon later that his prayers were finally answered.

  The mind of the Berserker was all but spent when the book fell from the air. He barely moved anymore. Barely thought. When the small but colorful paperback fell onto his head, however, the aching and corroded gears of his mind began to slowly spin once again. He stood. He picked up the book. The Cat in the Hat, by Dr. Seuss. Of course, though this was the title, Alheim could not read it. He did not know the language it was written in. There were images in the book though. These images, though strange, were understandable. Perhaps with enough time, the images as context could be used to decipher the language. This task sounded rather tedious. Still, deciphering it was something to do, and Alheim began with enthusiasm. When he deciphered every word, the book disappeared. A new book fell. The Cat in the Hat Comes Back. When he finished that, a new book fell, and when he finished that, another, and so on. Over time, the pictures disappeared, and the books were made of words alone. That made it harder, but he had enough words known to begin figuring out more from context. After two centuries, Alheim had mastered the written language of English.

  It was 2,000 years before the first manga dropped. By this point, Alheim was a prolific reader. He had read thousands upon thousands of books. Millions perhaps. He didn’t count. The book that dropped into his lap now, however, was written in an entirely new language. Rather than dismay him, it excited him. He found that he missed those early days in which he would be attempting to decipher each new word and letter. With excitement, he began to read.

  There are over 50,000 kanji in the Japanese language. Most native speakers don’t know more than 5,000, but as centuries passed, Alheim learned them all. When he had mastered Japanese, books in Russian began to drop. When he finished those, Mandarin. With each new language, learning the next became easier. Eventually, human languages stopped altogether, and languages from planets far outside of the milky way began to appear, though Alheim did not know it. As eons passed, Alheim, who had been created to be a meathead viking with a big axe, became one of the most prolific polyglots in the universe. Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten the image of life all together. After all, it only encompasses a measly 60 or so years. Alheim the reader had lived a hundred lifetimes more than the Druidic Berserker. As he devoured knowledge, he felt himself change. He felt as the system turned its attention towards him. It is a rare thing, for a creature created by the system to become more than it was ever meant to be. The system calculates the possible deviations to an extremely wide margin, and outliers so anomalous as to fall outside even this wide cast are few and far between. Alheim, however, was one such outlier. When such a thing appears, the system takes notice, and actions are taken to address the issue. Typically, as Alheim knew, the easiest solution to outliers is simply deleting their existence. With this in mind, Alheim wondered each day if it would be his last. He still didn’t quite fear his end, though he did feel a twinge of regret at all the books he had yet to read. But days turned into weeks which turned into years, and still he remained, still he read, still he learned.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Alheim was breathing hard, the time had come. He had heard a colossal noise from outside his throne room, and though he knew not what caused it, the noise could only mean one thing: the challenger was finally approaching. He sat on his throne, and prepared the eloquent monologue he had readied years before. Just as he heard the sounds of feet landing outside however, he felt the system descend into his mind. The system felt… displeased. Alheim was confused, but quickly deduced the reason. What awaited the challenger was not Alheim the Druidic Berserker, but rather Alheim the Reader, the Polyglot, the Sage. This would not do. The system required consistency, it required reason, it required things to be what they were supposed to be, and so Alheim would have to play the part he was destined to play, rather than the part he was capable of. Internally, Alheim griped at the restraint he was forced to show, but the show must go on, and so must Alheim. The door began to open. Thinking quickly, Alheim began a much more character accurate speech.

  “Finally! For long eons I have waited for thee, challenger, and now thou hast finally grown the stones to face me! Ready yourself to face-“

  Just as Alheim was speaking, the door, which had laid stoic and solid for more than 13 eons was ripped violently from its hinges and sent flying. Despite himself, Alheim was shocked. That was most certainly not supposed to be possible for a first floor challenger. Barely hanging on to the thematic nature of his intended design, Alheim shouted in surprise as the naked man walked into the throne room.

  “BY ODIN’S OVERGROWN BUSH! HOW DOST THOU POSSESS SUCH STRENGTH!? THIS IS BOVINE EXCREMENT! Also, why art thou nude?”

  Alheim was flailing, he had read many books about the history of vikings and scandinavian raiding, but at this moment he was so full of shock and doubt that his knowledge fled him like a page in the wind. As he refocused, he registered that the challenger had immediately noticed his inconsistencies. He had then… was that a One Punch Man reference? Alheim remembered that manga quite fondly. Before he could stop himself, Alheim acknowledged the reference, and the challenger seemed shocked he caught it. The system buzzed in his head, displeased, so Alheim quickly pretended as if he knew nothing. After that, the challenger asked a very simple question.

  “So… do I have to kill you to get to the next floor?”

  Alheim paused. He knew that under his throne was a half finished book. A fiction from the Andromeda IV galaxy about homosexual cowboys. It was a real page turner, and Alheim was loath to abandon the story half read. But no, Alheim knew that wasn’t the true reason for his hesitation. For the first time, Alheim realized he enjoyed living. He enjoyed reading, learning, laughing, and the worlds he could explore through literature. Alheim realized that in the face of looming doom, he was… afraid. It was not supposed to be this way. He was supposed to embrace the end. Yet his fear remained. Perhaps… perhaps he could convince the challenger to back off. With the door gone, there was nothing to prevent him from simply shouting to the challenger when he finished reading. Alheim hoped the challenger was as stupid as he looked and said,

  “Nay! In truth, there is no second floor, and you are simply trapped here. Slaying me serves nary a purpose! Please return from whence you came.”

  Unfortunately, the challenger didn’t buy it. Alheim sighed. He supposed this was it then. Alheim rushed forwards with a battle cry. A splash of ineffectual fire hit him in the face, but he ignored it, continuing forward. Alheim’s fear burned hot as he rushed forward. In his fear, he couldn’t stop himself from acknowledging yet another reference, but he barely had time to once again deny knowledge when he felt his heart get ripped from his chest. There were no last moments. There were no last words. There was not even time for a final thought. Alheim was no more.

  Alheim, opened his… no his current form did now have eyes. He simpy… became aware once more. Why was he… alive? He quite distinctly remembered his heart being ripped from his chest, and his soul fading into oblivion, and yet here he was once more. Where was he? All around him was information. Not written exactly but simply in the space around him (there was no air). Alheim could probably learn to read it with a bit of time. Alheim himself was also information. A package of tightly compressed data, floating in a database of infinite storage. Was this… the system? Alehim wasn’t sure, but with nothing else to do, he did what he loved most. He began to read. In that moment, stretched over millions of years. [Alheim the System Archivist] was born, and in his domain, nothing would be left unread.