I was an orphan, but after some hard work. I managed to land a decent job. After work, I’d play always my favorite game—the one I loved and hated at the same time. The difficulty was pure hell, and it was driving me insane. But every time I passed a trial, the sense of accomplishment was unreal. It was a kind of joy I’d never felt in my life.

The biggest challenge was the lack of fixed patterns. Monsters and characters seemed to have minds of their own. Sure, there were usual patterns to predict—until there weren’t. A horizontal slash you’d prepared to dodge might suddenly turn into a stab because the AI noticed an opening. Whether or not these moments happened often came down to luck, and when they did, there was nothing you could do to stop it unless you managed to notice the change.

Interactions with characters were completely freeform—you could speak to them naturally, and they would respond using the game’s highly intelligent AI. But that freedom came with consequences, A single misplaced word to a noble could get you publicly executed. Forgot to bow? That was enough to cost you your life. The game’s versatility was both its charm and its downfall, causing the numbers of players to dwindle.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

At first, it seemed endless, in an unforgiving world with no escape. But there was a goal: to ascend the throne. The catch? You started at rock bottom—a beggar with nothing but a frail body and an empty stomach. You play as a character of Royal blood, the legitimate heir to the kingdom, who had barely survived his uncle’s rebellion.

Countless knights gave their lives so you could escape, their blades holding back the tide of the rebels. The others? They chose to stand down, their loyalty overshadowed by the need to protect their own families.

I was so close to finishing the game. I'd rallied allies, stormed the castle, and cut down every last supporter of the tyrant- my 'uncle'. After four years of suffering countless runs in-game and five grueling months of this final run, I was sure that I'll finally clear this cursed game. I was ready to claim the throne, ready for it all to finally pay off. 

'....'

As I approached the throne, Duke Bart, my most trusted ally- plunged his blade between my ribs. The smug grin on his face blurred in my failing vision as I dropped to my knees, blood pooling around me, staining the very throne I'd sacrificed so much to reach. 

"...Why?"

How? How could an Al scheme for months? How could the AI that never showed hostility towards any player or in any of my runs, and showed unwavering loyalty to the protagonist all the time, betray me then? Thousands of hours wasted, all for a meaningless death at the hands of my most trusted ally.

"Why you say?" 

He chuckled

"Why not!"

Then I got that familiar message that gave me nightmares

[Game Over]

"...."

I was fuming, so naturally... I slammed my head into the wall with all my might.

Now here I am... dead, electrocuted by the headset I slammed- and reborn as an all too familiar beggar of Royal blood.