Hajime, more than delighted to know what could be out there than fighting the horde, asked the king an “important” question about the exotic designs of bathroom stalls in different worlds. He didn’t care if Farkas and Paulie gave him a wide-eyed glance. There had to be endless designs.
“Yes, actually,” said Harald, snapping his fingers again. “Now that I’ve shown you the vastness of our reality, how about all you three follow me back to the Chamber? I’ve prepared for this moment just for you, young master.”
He chuckled like a con artist slipping past the authorities. If he had to explain why, it would be that exotic bathrooms were just the tip of the expectation iceberg. There could be creatures the size of Africa swimming across endless oceans. There could be sword masters with enough strength to cleave mountains. Anything was possible.
But if he were brutally honest with himself, Hajime needed to ask one more thing: the existence of distinct rule systems for every world. It seemed too far-fetched and specific, but curiosity washed over his face when he waited for the king to nod in confirmation. They could be the same turn-based mechanic over and over for all he cared.
Harald gave him a subtle smirk on the side of his lip, hands behind his back with a tilt in his stature. “Surprises don’t need explaining, young master. Come with me and see for yourself.”
Hajime cracked his knuckles, longing for an adventure worth every fight he faced, even back in his first chance in life. “All right, let’s go full Beatles on this bitch… across the universe and beyond!”
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It was a fascinating surprise, even for his friends. Hajime had walked at his leisurely pace around the lobby, killing time by the decorative Newton’s cradle as large as a cottage. He admitted to himself that the weight of each metal ball could crush a diamond in between, and if it weren’t for his unnatural might, the momentum alone would’ve sent him flying into the sky.
image [https://i.imgur.com/SAZnbON.jpeg]
“Man, it’s like I’m holding a baseball,” said Hajime, tossing one of them high in the air in a spin. “Hey, Farkas! Do you remember what you were gonna tell me? Right before that Hildebrand bastard showed up?”
Farkas closed his book about cat anatomy and stood from the red velvet couch in the corner. It must’ve been softer than any cloud, but he obliged to respond, “Oh, yes, about your dormant lightning below level 1. You see, dude, it’s a sign that a player is becoming more with the game.”
“Becoming what now?” he raised an eyebrow, ignoring the room-shaking clang he created upon dropping the ball. On a humorous note, he realized a different side of Paulie, who shrieked like a shower victim in a slasher film.
Farkas laughed at the scene before clearing his throat for another exposition that Hajime absolutely wouldn’t mind by now. “There’s an old saying around these parts: ‘Our life is the horde. The horde is our life.’ It’s a bit cliché, but that’s what players are. The more we fight, our innate skills manifest in small amounts.”
Hajime raised both brows this time, recollections of their eating contest playing in his mind like a vivid motion capture of every decision he had made. Born to fight, his grandfather once praised him during karate class, but his parents thought otherwise—being born to love. If only that were possible in both worlds. Perhaps the best middle ground was to be born to fight for fun and to love fun.
He hummed to collect his thoughts, scratching his head with minimum effort. “Okay, so we really are superheroes, huh?”
“Well, yes and no. I mean, no, not really. We could be—”
“Oh, come on!” said Hajime with a long chuckle. “What do you prefer? Wizards? Sorcerers? Leprechauns? If I have no staff, I may as well wear spandex tomorrow.”
“Actually, I was about to say mages. It seems more fitting other than the word player.”
“Nah, we’re deadass superheroes, amirite, Paul?”
There wasn’t much productivity made when Paulie joined in the argument. If anything, it devolved into the idea that players were more like witches and paladins. The air filled with a mix of banter and discord, mostly on Hajime’s side, as he couldn’t tolerate the slander of his favorite flaming skull anti-hero.
However, beyond anything they could’ve foreseen, a voice demanded, “Settle down, gentlemen.” Without a doubt, it was Harald’s infamous Voice of Unreason, reaching hundreds of decibels straight to their ears yet always with the divisive softness of his words. “Your voyage is ready,” he said, walking closer. “I hope it’s not too shabby.”
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The thrill within Hajime could no longer settle, not that his friends didn’t feel the same. According to the Coffee Digest, only a member of the Seven Miracles and their parties could partake in what they called reality trips, a term he once thought meant going around each district with cameras rolling everywhere.
He thought of several surprises the king had in store for them. Their voyage could be an intergalactic cruiser with access to infinite hyperjumps. It could be a ship mounted with plasma cannons that could melt asteroids. It could have a design fit for a space opera franchise that anyone could return to on a Sunday evening.
“Feast your eyes on this baby,” said Harald, his hand reaching for his pocket until the moment of truth. “Gentlemen, I give you… the Spruce Goose! It can carry two hundred passengers from the [Ambrosia Cluster] to the [Dotted Rings] in seventeen minutes!”
When one held their expectations too high, it entailed a spirit-breaker that would last a century. What the king presented them shouldn’t even have the luxury as a joke—a wooden plane model no different from Earth’s 1940s period. It didn’t even have the slightest paint or varnish.
Hajime gave him the look of an unimpressed judge in a court ruling, more amazed at how he yelled it out loud in joy. “Are you serious?” he asked, raising his hand at the one object of mediocrity he had witnessed all day.
“Why, yes, I am, now hop in. This mission was for my good friend Andreas, but I’m afraid old age has caught up with him.”
Even for someone like Harald, possessing abilities beyond human imagination, there were limits on what he could expect from him. But as his father once said, you should trust the words of respected leaders when in doubt. Thankfully, his mind thought of a different scenario that seemed much more reasonable than he realized.
With the model on a table, he raised his foot to “enter” the stairs, easily dwarfed by his pinky toenail. But before he could doubt the king any further, a stream of “pixie dust” washed all over him in a flash, and to say it was like getting whisked into a wonderland would be an understatement. He hoped his friends would follow suit shortly after because his predictions were correct.
Hajime stood before a place he could only describe as a glorified recreational room. To think that plane models could house so much space with the power of imagination. It might not have been the wonderland he hoped, filled with pantries of wagyu filet mignon in every corner, but it did have a pool table. The smoke room and mini fridge were also a welcome addition.
He gasped at the spectacle he fell in love with in seconds, dragging his touch on the lacquered walls of tan and brown. “Jesus. The guy’s got some style, for real.”
“I agree,” said Farkas, caressing his chin, “though I’m not keen on the ‘60s aesthetic’ you earthlings may know about. All the portraits are just pictures of fruit and celebrities with weird colors.”
“Nah, I’d say it’s perfect, but I bet Paul here would rather want rugs made of… you know…” Hajime laughed at his own joke if it meant doing it louder, turning toward Paulie if he would agree. Luckily, he got his answer with more laughs from the two of them, with Farkas going as far as to claim coyote skin would be better.
The cockpit was also unique. It had no windows to speak of or even a control panel, merely noticing a lone CRT television about the size of three Paulies if that made sense to them. It didn’t take long for the screen to turn on in a static frenzy for a few moments until they saw the king’s face on a pitch-dark background, the graininess of it all being the perfect touch.
“How are you feeling, my subjects?” asked Harald with a smile of sunny days to come. “I wanted to emulate the Lupinian spirit at first, but there was only so much wood and fur I could work with.”
Hajime chuckled, picking his ear like an ungroomed primate once more. “Top notch, honestly, and I can assure you he doesn’t care much about his home anymore.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about your mission along the way, but I must explain why you’re here in the first place. It’s only fair since I seldom choose any player for this outside the Seven Miracles.”
“Fire away, Your Not-So-Majesty. I’ll show those bastards what it means to own your pride with every punch!”
“All right, where to begin…” Harald paused for a moment until his gaze lit up in recollection. “As it stands today and as it always had been, the horde never rests, even on other planets.”
“Other planets?”
“Yes. The game we find ourselves in is like a virus, spreading across the [Ambrosia Cluster] and many other realities, so I want you to picture this: billions, even trillions of bloodthirsty creatures invading every ‘petri dish’ of life to the next. Tell me, young master, have you ever wondered why you have such inhuman strength even in what the game calls your [Unpowered Form]?”
“Um, because we’re just that awesome even at level 0?” said Hajime with a tilted shrug.
“It’s because barely any other world can prepare for even a thousand slimes that would be trivial to our fists, and believe me, I’ve seen different rule systems come and go. I remember when Aaron and I went on a mission in the…”
Hajime had a tight squint in his eyes as the king continued, fixated on the idea that so-called “rule systems” could be different on each planet within the galaxies looming over their heads. Perhaps many of them had turn-based systems against an enemy always on the move, a relentless force until there was nothing but red-stained brutality across the land.
“But as your people say, not all hope is lost,” Harald pointed. “Some can still fight the initial stages of the ‘infection,’ and your help is more than needed. Since we locked Feuer in a cell until further notice, I shall assign this mission to you and your friends. You’re about to plunge into a world dominated by experience points, skill trees, and dual wielding: Swordland.”