As Dorian glided into the room, the morning light filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow on the breakfast he carried. The table was set with an array of delights: freshly baked bread, creamy butter, fragrant tea, and an assortment of cakes and pastries, each more tempting than the last. Yet Cedric, in a departure from his usual indulgent self, merely cradled a cup of tea in his hands, foregoing the customary spoonfuls of sugar.

With each sip, Cedric's gaze drifted towards Dorian, who lingered unusually by the doorway. A cloak of nervous anticipation seemed to drape over Dorian, his hands fidgeting, betraying a desire to speak, yet held back by a torrent of uncertainty. Was it fear that silenced him, or the dread of confirmation?

Breaking the tense silence, Cedric acknowledged Dorian's recent actions, "You did well in aiding my friends... the very ones who once held me captive, to escape across the border."

Dorian, unable to contain his questions any longer, unleashed them with a fervor, "But of course, my lord... But why? What has brought upon this change in you? At first, I believed you sought a change in lifestyle, perhaps a quest for health. But then, you began improving the town's welfare. My joy knew no bounds." His voice carried a mix of confusion and admiration.

Cedric remained silent, his eyes locked on Dorian, marveling at the butler's keen perception. Had Dorian been by Cedric's side since childhood to know him this well?

"To antagonize the new king, to go to such lengths... Forgive me, my lord, but who are you truly?" Dorian, visibly distressed, dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, his question hanging heavily in the air.

In the weeks that followed, Cedric had grown to respect Dorian deeply. The thought of deceiving someone he held in such regard weighed heavily on him. Yet, he pondered over the fate of this body and its potential beyond Arion's own departure.

"After our encounter with the dungeon monsters, as you know, both your lord and I met our end," Cedric began, his voice steady, yet laced with a hint of sadness. "Yet, by some unfathomable power, I awoke in this body. Rest assured, my original form exists elsewhere, and I am determined to reclaim it. Then, this body shall be returned." He declared.

Cedric's words were measured, sparing Dorian the full truth, yet hoping to spare him from feeling deceived.

Dorian's reaction was a mix of shock and a glimmer of hope. Before he could respond, Cedric offered a sliver of hope, "There might be a way to restore your lord. This body, it... it has the potential to heal, to regenerate. If you hold faith in the divine, in the spirit, perhaps there's a chance. Pray"

The room was thick with emotion as Cedric continued, "I can't make promises, only share possibilities. But with your help, we might achieve something remarkable."

Dorian, overwhelmed, questioned the certainty of such a claim, his voice quivering with a mix of hope and fear.

Cedric, placing a comforting hand on Dorian's shoulder, replied, "It's merely a theory, but your loyalty, your service, it's invaluable to me. Continue to see me as your lord, keep the poison at bay, and... continue to teach me the arts of magic."

This was no tale of a hero; Arion saw himself as the architect of his destiny, willing to navigate the murky waters between right and wrong to sculpt a favorable outcome, from his perspective at least.

"W-what can I do for you?" Dorian asked, still struggling to suppress his emotions.

Cedric's request was simple, "Continue to treat me as your lord, ensure my well-being, and share your knowledge of magic with me." he repeated stressing on the magic part.

"Very well" He declared. "Meet me at the entrance before midnight" Dorian added with a slight change in his demeaner.

At midnight...

In the dead of night, Dorian and I hopped into an old caravan, kind of like a scene out of a spooky adventure. He whipped the horses into action, and off we zoomed, heading straight for what felt like the middle of absolutely nowhere.

"Come on," Dorian said as we came to a mysterious stop. It was so dark, I half-expected a ghost to pop out and say boo.

Nodding, because really, what else was I going to do in the middle of the night in nowhere-land, I followed him.

"We stand before the clandestine sanctum of my lineage," Dorian declared, his tone imbued with a mix of pride and gravity.

"Your family?" I asked, wondering if they were superheroes or something.

"Indeed. We have served the Belforts through generations, bound by chains of duty and blood. My great-grandfather, in particular, served as an assassin in the Vanguard of the Hero's party," he revealed, his voice a bridge to the past.

If my brain had a sound effect, it would be doing a dramatic dun-dun-dun right now. "And you're telling me this why?" I wondered out loud.

Before the question fully settled in the air, Dorian's fingers danced through the night, tracing symbols that remained invisible until, with a sudden flare, a magic circle ignited beneath our feet. Its design was intricate, a tapestry of ancient runes glowing with a vibrant green, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding moss-covered walls. The den, a cavern carved by time, whispered of secrets and solitude. It was dark, save for the luminescent fungi that dotted the interior, their soft glow painting the damp stone walls in hues of ghostly green.

As the circle's glow intensified, vines, thick and alive with a malevolent intent, shot forth from the ground. They wrapped around me with an unyielding grip like grandma's hugs, the magic that summoned them pulsating through their emerald veins.

Dorian, what is this treachery?" I managed, despite the constricting embrace of the vines.

"If you harbor thoughts of manipulating my emotions, you are sorely mistaken. You will come to lament usurping the Lord's vessel," he declared, his voice a blend of betrayal and resolve.

I sighed, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Well, this is awkward. Thought we were friends, but okay." 'Maybe there's a way to spin this into a win-win?' I thought to myself, considering how bizarre yet oddly comedic this situation was.

The den was dark, creepy, and looked like it hadn't seen a good cleaning in centuries. The walls were dressed in the finest moss, and the only light came from glow-in-the-dark mushrooms. Fancy, right? There we were, in a scene straight out of a fantasy movie, except the script probably got mixed up with a comedy.

I couldn't help it; laughter bubbled up from within me, growing louder and more uncontrollable by the second. It was my own, unique way of saying, "Oh, buddy, you've really stepped in it now. But hey, I'm a good sport. Let's just call this a massive blunder on your part and move on, shall we?" My cackles echoed off the ancient, mossy walls of the den, a maniacal symphony that signaled my mix of amusement and a thinly veiled warning. It was as if I was saying, "Come on, let's just slap a big, fat 'Prank' on this whole vine-tastic extravaganza and have a good laugh about it, yeah?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Through my laughter, I managed to convey a sort of mad generosity—a chance for Dorian to take a step back, chuckle awkwardly, and maybe say, "Ha, gotcha! Just a little dark, viney humor for you. April Fools' came early (or late) this year, eh?"

After another heavy sigh, I decided to up the stakes. "Fine, if you're going to be this stubborn, I might as well end Cedric's life and be done with this charade."

Dorian wasn't fazed. "I just told you we come from a line of assassins. Death threats don't work on us," he retorted, his voice steady.

"Really now?" There was a pause, a silent standoff where our gazes locked, each challenging the other. Then, after a tense few moments, it was Dorian who sighed this time.

"If you're so keen, then try absorbing the mana swirling within these vines. Focus the energy towards your heart. Your body already possesses a mana core; we're simply going to kickstart it."

A grin spread across my face, my spirits lifted by this unexpected turn. "Now that's more like it," I thought, eager to get started.

I began the process, trying to draw in the mana from the vines. But even after a few minutes, I wasn't making any headway. "How long is this supposed to take?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice.

"As long as necessary. You'll have to free yourself by absorbing all the mana from these vines. I won't be helping you out," Dorian said, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit me, and a cold sweat trickled down my spine. This was no simple task; it was a trial by fire—or more accurately, by mana. And Dorian, with that wicked smirk, had just raised the stakes even higher.

"D-Dorian... where are you going... Dorian DORIAN!....shit" I cursed.

As I stared down the mana-infused vines with the determination of a cat facing a high-powered laser pointer, I knew it was game time. But not just any game—this was the kind of game that had you questioning the rules, the objectives, and why you were even playing in the first place.

First, I tried the obvious approach: sheer willpower. I squinted at the vines, concentrating so hard I was half-convinced my eyebrows were trying to merge into one. "Come on, mana, move!" I mentally shouted, envisioning the mana as a bunch of tiny, stubborn sheep that needed herding. The vines, however, seemed more interested in tightening their grip than obeying my silent commands. "Great, disobedient and clingy. Fantastic combo," I muttered, rolling my eyes so hard I feared they might get stuck.

Next, I opted for a more... direct approach. I started sweet-talking the vines, cooing at them like they were precious puppies rather than the botanical bane of my existence. "Who's a good vine? Yes, you are! Just let some of that yummy mana flow into Uncle Cedric, and we'll all have a good day, won't we?" I crooned, adopting the most ridiculous baby voice I could muster. The vines' response? A tightening embrace that had me gasping. "Okay, so not a fan of pet names. Noted," I wheezed, my face contorting into an expression that was part surprise, part indignation, and all comedy.

Feeling slightly desperate (and more than a little ridiculous), I then attempted what I can only describe as interpretative dance. I wriggled, I squirmed, I even tried shimmying—all in an effort to align my chakras, mana, aura, or whatever cosmic energy the vines wanted from me. "Maybe if I just... do a little of this?" I pondered aloud, throwing in a move that was half samba, half desperate octopus. The vines seemed unimpressed, though I could've sworn one of them tightened around me in what felt suspiciously like a pity hug.

Running out of ideas, I resorted to good old-fashioned pleading. "Look, I don't know what kind of mana-infused soap opera drama you're into, but can we please just skip to the part where you let me go?" I begged, my face a masterpiece of exaggerated sorrow, complete with puppy-dog eyes and a quivering lip. "I'll even throw in a nice plot of soil, sunlight, water—heck, I'll read you bedtime stories if that's what it takes!"

As the minutes ticked by, with no progress and my dignity hanging by a thread, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a grown man (well, spirit in a man's body), arguing with plants about mana transfer. If someone had told me this was how I'd be spending my night, I'd have asked them what they were drinking—and if they had enough to share.

Through curses muttered under my breath, comedic facial contortions that would make a mime proud, and the occasional plea to any deity listening, I realized something important.

Sometimes, you've got to laugh at the chaos. And maybe, just maybe, that laughter was the key to unlocking the mana within. Or at least, it was a good way to keep from screaming in frustration. Either way, it was clear this was going to be a long night—with or without cooperative vines.

In the midst of my vine-induced ordeal, a lightbulb went off in my head—well, more of a desperate spark, really. "System! Are you there? I know you're lurking around somewhere. Come on, where's your top-notch analysis when someone's actually in a bind?" I practically bellowed into the ether, hoping for some divine AI intervention.

But what did I get in response? Absolutely nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was as if the System decided to take a vacation at the most inconvenient moment possible.

In the midst of my vine-induced ordeal, a lightbulb went off in my head—well, more of a desperate spark, really. "System! Are you there? I know you're lurking around somewhere. Come on, where's your top-notch analysis when someone's actually in a bind?" I practically bellowed into the ether, hoping for some divine AI intervention.

But what did I get in response? Absolutely nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was as if the System decided to take a coffee break at the most inconvenient moment possible.

Left with no choice, I dug deep into the recesses of my memory, scrambling to recall everything Dorian had ever mentioned about this mad, mad world. And then, like a slapstick punchline waiting for its cue, I remembered a conversation with Dorian. He had said, chuckling as if it were the joke of the century, "Unless you died and someone else hijacked your body, it's downright impossible for Goddess Hera to forsake her own."

That sneaky old fox. He was still playing his games, toying with me amidst my viney predicament.

A mix of irritation and grudging admiration washed over me. "Okay, Dorian, you've got style, I'll give you that," I muttered under my breath, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite the situation. It was clear that this was no ordinary predicament; it was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, seasoned with a healthy dose of Dorian's peculiar sense of humor.

Armed with this newfound insight, I faced the mana-stealing vines with a renewed sense of purpose. "Alright, you leafy booby traps, let's dance," I declared, half-expecting the vines to suddenly sprout tap shoes and join me in a choreographed number.

The realization that I was, in a very real sense, battling wits with both Dorian and the absent System added a layer of absurdity to the challenge.

With a mixture of defiance and sheer, stubborn resolve, I prepared to tackle the challenge head-on, all the while wondering if this would be the moment I finally outfoxed the fox. Or at the very least, managed to convince a bunch of enchanted vines to play nice. The adventure, it seemed, was just beginning.

Or so I thought.

Goddess Hera has acknowledged your determination.

Enrollment process initiating,

Outlander heed my words, part ways with other worldly system and accept this gift instead.

Accept

Decline

I liked new powers, but tradeoffs were always fishy. I simply declined.

----------------------------------------

Somewhere, high above the clouds, in a realm untouched by mortal woes, two enigmatic figures engaged in a conversation that seemed to echo through the very fabric of the sky.

"He dismissed it without a second thought," the first woman remarked, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. Her form was ethereal, shifting like the patterns of light through a prism, her presence commanding yet subtly intertwined with the air around her.

"Told you it was futile," the second woman retorted, her tone carrying the weight of ancient wisdom and a hint of smugness. She appeared as a silhouette against the backdrop of the celestial expanse, her essence radiating a calm, omnipotent aura.

"This complicates things," the first woman conceded, her gaze lost in the vastness of the world below, contemplating the implications of the refusal.

"Of course, that's precisely why I dispatched the prophecy," the second one replied, her words imbued with an underlying confidence that suggested she had foreseen this turn of events. A flicker of anticipation danced in her eyes, a spark that hinted at the unfolding of plans far beyond mortal comprehension.

Their conversation, though cryptic, hinted at a grand design, a narrative set in motion by the whims of deities and the decisions of mere mortals. In their divine dialogue, the fate of the world below seemed to hang in the balance, a testament to the unseen forces that guide the destiny of all.