I walked through the door to my first non-gray, non-square room. I was making progress. It was an octagon. If the previous room was spartan, this was opulent. My bare feet, because fuck me, I forgot to make myself shoes, sank into the bright crimson carpet. I could see warm fireplaces to my right and left, a small podium in the center, three doors in the back, and a small man standing at the previously empty lectern.

I slowly returned my gaze to the man who had appeared from nowhere. He was dressed in scholarly robes of a crimson similar to the carpet and trimmed in gold. His gray-white hair was cut close to his head, except where it was bald on top. He had half-rim glasses perched on the tip of his slightly bent nose. His lightly wrinkled face was kind and inviting. When he spoke, it was with the same voice you would expect.

“Congratulations, adventurer, on completing the Dungeon of Mord. I hope the room of recovery was to your liking.” He pointed out the way I had come before going on and gestured behind me.

“I am your helpful companion….Mord.” He seemed shocked by that last part.

“For completing the dungeon and slaying the……… you shall receive a custom reward from Mord.” He froze and appeared to glitch when mentioning the slaying of something.”

“In addition to any Obols you have recovered, I shall reward you for your feats in the dungeon.”

“You slayed zErO monsters; I award you …… Obols”

“You completed zErO optional rooms, I award….Obols”

The list went on for a good minute, with him twitching and screeching on the number zero and completely blanking on the awards. This saddened me a little as I would have liked to know what the price of violence was in this place.

“In total, an additional….Obols. Please take them from the bowl,” he motioned to the empty bowl on a pedestal to his right. It wasn’t there before, and seeing how it was empty, it disappeared promptly.

“The three rooms behind me contain your custom reward. You will choose in Obol order. To the left is the ‘Reliquary of Knowledge,’” he said as an engraving of a book appeared on the door.

“In the center is the ‘Armory of Eternity’….and to the right the ‘Vault of Avarice.’” A sword and a stack of coins appeared on the doors, respectively.

“Whence all of your party have chosen and entered your rooms, you will be allowed to exit into ‘Mord’s Shop’ to spend your hard-earned Obols on wondrous items.”

“You…….” Mord pointed at me

“With…..Obols, you have the most; please choose a room.”

And cue my first dilemma. I knew nothing of this game, or world, or sim, or whatever. So what did I pick? I needed answers to everything. The Reliquary probably had tons of answers. However, judging by how long Mord droned on about Obol's achievements, this was probably a high-level dungeon. It wouldn't have the answers that I needed right away, to an adventurer or whatever; it would be common knowledge. That didn't make it any less appealing; in games, choices like this always had great rewards, and some obscure knowledge or maybe….magic lay behind that door.

I was wearing shorts, no shoes, and a T-shirt. Weapons and armor were a must. Some overpowered weapon would be awesome starting out. Could I use it, though? What if it had a level or stat requirement? Were there even stats or levels here? It sucked not having anyone to ask.

I tried praying to Vex. She was a goddess, right? I did hold off envisioning her in my mind, though. This was neither the time nor the place to pass out or even the slightly more masculine reaction. I received no reply. Maybe gods didn't work that way in this place, or she was tapped like I was.

I ruled the Vault out right away. Money would be nice, but it would make me a target, even if I figured out how to put it in my dimensional space. I didn't feel like getting robbed.

In the end, it was simple. I wasn’t a scholar or a merchant. I was a fighter.

As I placed my hand on the door handle, it didn’t move, and my heart sank. I hadn’t defeated the dungeon. No kill kill, no reward. Bummer.

I let go of the handle in defeat. Or at least I tried to. My hand was stuck. I pulled as hard as I could, and nothing. With a ‘Grrrr,’ I closed my eyes to brace even harder and felt the oddest sensation. It was like walking through a thin sheet of cool water yet staying perfectly dry. I completed my ‘grrrr’ before opening my eyes, but that was a mistake. I threw my ass to the floor as whatever was holding my hand let go.

I opened my eyes to an empty room. Well, almost empty. In the center of the lightly cream-colored room was a chest. A one hundred percent, as you would fucking expect it, treasure chest. Wood, Iron bands, brass hardware, the works. I was instantly suspicious.

“You’re a fucking Mimic.”

I wasn't about to mince words with the thing that wanted me for lunch, so I did the natural thing: I threw my shirt at it. It was ineffective.

So I put my hands on my hips, blew out a big breath, and went and did the dumb thing. I touched it.

And cue menu.

I yanked my hand away like it was on fire. I may have screamed.

“Mimic,” I said as I scooted all the way back to the door and jiggled the handle to no avail. I even slammed my eyes closed, figuring that was what had triggered the water teleport before. Nope! Nothing! Nada….

I went back to the chest—not immediately, mind you, but after a good hour or so, most of which was spent trying to get the mimic to attack.

After trying the door a few more times, I gave up and placed my hand back on the Mimic.

Okay, that was a pretty straightforward message for a Mimic. I read through it three times to get the idea. The last part was disappointing, but there is no such thing as a free lunch.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I placed my hands on either side of the lid and lifted it. A gold and white light briefly blinded me. When my vision returned, I was greeted by a pair of odd weapons on a blue velvet cushion.

The weapons were neither sword nor spear but a combination of both. They looked about 3 feet long with double-sided blades just short of half that length. The blades were an off-pink-colored metal like a mix of platinum and rose gold. The handles had a dull luster between titanium and silver and a respective gray color. The blades were about 4 inches wide, where they joined the handle and tapered gently to a point at the end.

The chest said they were mine. I reached in and picked one up. I was just marveling at how light it was when I felt a sharp stab and shock. It felt like I grabbed the business end of a tazer; the sensation went straight to my core. It wasn't overly painful, just shocking.

I instantly felt a connection to both blades. I could feel the perfect balance of the one in my hand, and even though I could see the one in front of me, I could feel it there as well. I picked the other one up, as fair as possible. And gave them both a twirl and a few swishes. I probably looked pretty stupid. I didn’t care. The chest was right; these, whatever they were, were made for me. I probably played around for another ten minutes before I noticed something else in the chest.

The blue velvet had disappeared, revealing a pile of leather straps. I could feel them in the box; they were not as strong as the blades but similar. I reached down to grab them, expecting a similar sting. The tingle I felt was different. It was like an itch at the back of my brain.

I started playing with the straps and buckles. It had buckles. After a second or two, it was like I knew where every part went. Within a minute, I had the straps on and adjusted. It was a belt and thigh straps holding a pair of ’ U'-shaped sheaths in an excellent position for the blades.

I twirled the blades in my hands and jammed them home. To say, “like a hot knife through butter,” would not do justice to how well the blades went in. I felt a slight click at the end, and I swear I could feel the leather tighten.

The hafts, pommels, or whatever, the back side of the handles stuck forward oddly far—too far for my taste at the moment. I looked for adjustment holes for the cant or snaps but found nothing. I gripped the hafts and pulled back; they moved effortlessly. When I let go or tried to pull them without wanting them to move, they were solid.

I can imagine my smile. If the sheathes were so good as to adapt at will, how badass could the blades be?

I played around for a good while, slashing, drawing, sheathing, moving on to draw-slash and slash-sheath. After a robust routine, I caught sight of the green bar at the top of my vision and saw it had dropped slightly.

“Stamina…right”

It was time to go. I walked calmly over to the door, grabbed the handle, closed my eyes…and…nothing. I was still stuck.

I tried for what must have been two hours with no avail. It was after the first hour that I tried stabbing, slashing, and beating on the door with the blades. Not even a scratch.

I got my face really close to the door, drawing the tip of one of the blades right in front of my eye and pressing. I could barely see it, but it was like an impenetrable barrier over the door. Keeping my head in place, I sheathed the blade. I then slumped against the door and slid to the floor.

It was in mid-slide, right before ass contact, that I looked across the room and saw the chest. The still very open chest.

I felt dumb. I cursed myself and walked over to shut the chest. When the lid slammed down, I felt two things. The chest went; the only way I can explain it is that it was lifeless. At the same time, the energy I felt, only in noticing its absence, transferred to the door. I placed my hand on the chest and concentrated for a second.

I guess I could sense the magic. I walked across to the door. Its energy was much less, but at least there. I gripped the handle lightly, closed my eyes, and waited for the falling of water.

I internally confirmed that the cool water feeling is a teleport. I hoped all teleportation was like that. There are too many stories of teleportation-induced vomiting in my pop culture library.

The room I found myself in was the opposite of every room so far. It was a long, narrow room of machines. I was so confused. My jaw was hanging as I looked forward. I will admit the machines had an old-timey feel to them like they were mechanical and not electrical, but unmistakably, they were vending machines, a solid dozen of them. As I padded into the room, I could see that most were, in fact, a type of vending machine. They ran along both walls, ending with another ornate door.

I sauntered up to the first one and perused its wares. Behind what looked like glass was a series of four shelves with four very nice stands on each. On each was an amulet. They all looked lovely and powerful. It might have been in my head, but I thought I felt my amulet heat up.

It didn't like competition.

I quickly moved on.

The next machine had a series of rings in a similar manner—just more. Below each were what looked like numbers. After staring at them for a minute, I looked lower on the machine and found a series of pull handles with their own numbers. It looked like they were in some sort of order.

My first lesson in this new language was reading the numbers on a magical vending machine. Each item also had a different number that I couldn’t discern apart too. I felt bad once it hit me. It was a vending machine. They were prices.

After some extrapolation, I reasoned that the rings ran from 2 to 16 Obols, I assume. After marveling at the prices and figuring out my glaring oversight regarding prices, I also found the coin slot. It looked like it would take a coin roughly the size of a half-dollar but at least twice as thick. Having no Obols, I moved on.

About halfway down, I found a different machine, one I recognized. The wheels of a Slot Machine are hard to miss. I inspected the machine for clues. I was looking for a ‘free play’ but only found the Obol slot.

On the opposite wall was a machine I couldn't fathom. It looked like a blackjack table having an affair with a coin dispenser. It had a tiny half-moon top of red velvet and a honking coin tray at the bottom.

There were twelve machines in total selling everything from jewelry to what I assume were potions. The last one looked like it was selling rocks. Yep, even in this world, I was broke, and it sucked even more here.

With a sigh, I grabbed the other door.