When I came to, I was crossing the great river on the road back to the Village. I was still pretty tired, but decided to stay awake until I made it all the way back to the tavern. It was comforting to know that the horse could find its way home, since it might as well have taken me to the middle of nowhere.[1]
I sipped from the waterskin and ate the bread I’d looted from Mŕtvy. It wasn’t exactly a sturdy breakfast, but it would make do for now.
Not far from the Village I came across a discarded set of armour. In my weary state it took me a second to realise that I’d seen it before. It belonged to the Forlorn Knight that had attacked the Old Church. It seemed that killing the Forlorn Shadow had also gotten rid of the Forlorn under its control. Unfortunately, the armour was just part of the scenery and didn’t have a floating wisp above it. Which was a shame, since I was in need of a new cuirass now that mine was a complete mess.
As I emerged into the town, I noticed that the pain in my shoulder was entirely gone and, after carefully touching it, I knew that the wound was fully healed too, which was a relief.
Shortly after I passed the marketplace, a man came running, screaming, “Hey, you!”
I already knew why he was accosting me. I’d stolen his horse yesterday.[2] He had somehow not encountered the Forlorn, but I simply chalked that down to lazy design on the part of Iberius, this World’s Architect.
After an awkward exchange, I dismounted the mare, and gave him back the reigns. The horse itself seemed completely indifferent to who rode it.
I went the short distance back to the tavern on foot. My legs were tired and sore, but I persevered. Soon I’d get to sleep in a nice, comfy bed.
The chime cheerfully announced my arrival as I passed through the tavern door.
Like some kind of déjà vu, every single patron turned at once to stare at me. Several audible gasps followed. I knew how this was going to play out, so I quickly ploughed through, tossing five silvers to the red-headed waitress and hurrying up the steps before a mob had time to form and block my way.
Only one person followed me up the steps. The sounds of their light footsteps followed closely behind me. When I reached the landing on the second floor, I turned to see if it was someone I knew, but as I beheld the effeminate man with a gaunt face, strong jawline, curly brown hair, and greenish-blue eyes, I didn’t recognise them at all.
“Aiko,” he started, “How was it? The Forlorn Castle? Was it tough?”
I moved away from him a few steps, getting closer to the door of my usual room, just in case he tried anything.
“How do you know my name?” I asked. “And how do you know what Stage I came from?? Are you with her!? Are you with Mŕtvy!?”
The young man looked very taken aback by my words, but, as his confusion passed, I saw realisation roll over him. Then he sighed, looking to the floor with a sad smile.
“You forgot me… Ah, that’s cruel…” he muttered. “Two in one week…”
“You haven’t answered my questions. If you aren’t with that Player-Killer, then did you know me in my previous life or something? I’ve already had enough of people like that, so don’t waste my time.”
He put a hand on his chest. His fingers were very thin, almost skeletal. “I’m Jakob. We were friends. Are friends. You’ve just forgotten.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“Well, yeah, that’s how it works…”
“If there’s nothing else, then I’ll be going into my room. Don’t try to follow me!”
“Aiko, wait,” he pleaded. Despite myself, I stopped halfway through the doorway.
I looked at him expectantly.
“You said there was a player-killer? At the castle?”
“That’s right. She called herself Mŕtvy.”
“You probably don’t remember this part either,” he explained, “but I warned you that something was happening to the people that went to the castle.”
I wracked my mind, seeing if I could recall such a thing. “I vaguely remember something about that. But I don’t remember you, at all…”
“That’s okay. I’m quite familiar with how this works. Unfortunately…” he replied, the latter part with a deep-reaching sadness to it.
Another victim of this cruel world, I mused.
“You should be able to recall events I was part of, even if you don’t remember me. Like how I gave you the money to buy your armour, or how we fought Red Rian during the Raid on the Village, or how you, me, and Patrik went to the Stage in Silt together.”
“How do you know Patrik?” I replied. “I remember going to Silt with him, but I did the Raid on my own and bought this armour with my own money. How do you even know such things about me??”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
I saw him grit his teeth, looking as though he was about to snap at me, but then he seemed to swallow down his temperament and looked me in the eyes with a series stare. “Patrik is my friend. I introduced you to him! Seriously, Aiko, you can’t be so stubborn to believe I would know all these things about you without a reason. Clearly I know these things, because I know you!”
I returned his gaze. “You may be right or you may be trying to deceive me. I have certainly met plenty of horrible people already, and one of them tried that same trick on me. So forgive me if I’m being suspicious, but please just leave me alone. If I really did know you, then the memory will return to me, but until then just stop pestering me about things I can’t remember.”
With a slam, I shut the door to my room behind me. I felt very confused and the events of the last day were still weighing heavy on me. I did recall the feeling of losing a memory to the edge of Mŕtvy’s sword, but had I really forgotten a close friend of mine? Or maybe I’d just forgotten something stupid[3] and this ‘Jakob’ character was trying to do what Kerebor had attempted, right after I awoke in the fields outside the Village.
This place is hell and toying with memories can make anyone seem evil, even when they are not. How on earth am I supposed to make sense of all this??
Eventually I gave up trying to forcefully recover whatever I’d lost and ended up relaxing with a bath, using the opportunity to make sure my wounds were completely healed. To my dismay, the shoulder wound had left a thin dark scar. It made me worry that I’d end up covered in a spiderweb of scars by the time I caught up to the Frontier. There was of course the possibility that the scar was the result of the cursed sword and not because of the wound I’d sustained. Either way, I resolved myself to avoid intentionally receiving a blow from a cursed sword in the future.
Against my better judgement, I decided to once more postpone sleep, and after putting on my townwear and storing my armour and cloak in my inventory, I slipped out the window, hoping the young man wouldn’t try to follow me.
Hopefully Kerebor also learnt his lesson… I prayed. If Iberius was to believed, he might still be splashing about in Silt Lake on a piece of barely-buoyant driftwood.
I carefully scaled down the side of the tavern wall, and somehow managed to avoid being spotted by the few people in the street, as well as the now-crowded tavern.
I held my breath as I emerged into the busy marketplace, but once more discovered that without my black attire and cloak, no one knew who I was. Here, amongst the thousands of thronging adventurers, pretenders, and layabouts, I was just another forgetful face in the crowd.
Upon entering the Armourer’s shop, that overpowering smell of leather and oil hit me like a brick, and, just like the day when I’d bought my armour, the shop was completely empty.
“Welcome back,” the Armourer announced in a gruffy voice. “What can I do for ye today?”
I pulled the destroyed cuirass from my inventory and set it down on the wooden counter with a heavy clunk.
“I need something better than this,” I explained plainly.
The armourer looked offended for moment, but then disappeared into the back. After a few minutes he returned, holding a cuirass in each hand, his thick calloused fingers locked in a tight grip on the one in his right hand. He placed them both before me with a grunt of effort, and I spent a moment looking over the two options he’d brought out. The one on the left was far too heavy, but the one on the right was somehow lighter than my ruined cuirass, and it was black, which immediately made me want it. But I wasn’t stupid. He was going to ask three-or-four times the amount I’d paid for the first one, and if it wasn’t actually capable of stopping a heavy blade, then I’d just be wasting my money.
I tapped the lightweight black cuirass with a finger. It sounded pretty solid.
“Will this stop an attack from a two-handed weapon?”
“You bet.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“If it doesn’t, and you survive, I’ll pay you back twice its cost.”
Hmm, that wasn’t actually a bad deal. “I’ll take it.”
“That’ll be six gold and twenty-five silver, if you let me have your ruined one.”
I choked for a second, but quickly regained my composure. That was more money than I was comfortable spending right now, but all the money I had on me would disappear if I died anyway, so it was no use being stingy. I needed it.
“Okay, you have yourself a deal.”
The coins felt incredible heavy as I placed them on the counter. It was kind of difficult to trust the Armourer’s words, considering the broad grin on his face, but before I could change my mind, he’d pocketed the money.
I grabbed my new ‘Blacksteel Cuirass’ and stored it in my inventory. While it was lighter than the old one, it wasn’t light enough to change my available stamina nor my movement speed, as it put my total weight at 6.35 kgs.
With a sudden urge to make back the money I’d just spent, I went to the library-turned-barracks and sought out the Captain.
When I explained to him that I’d defeated the Forlorn King and the Shadow that controlled him, he looked surprised, as if he couldn’t believe what I was saying. But then some realisation dawned on him and he told me that a Forlorn had been spotted outside the Village suddenly collapsing and turning to dust, leaving nothing but its armour behind. The smile on his face was itself almost worth all the trouble I’d gone through. Almost… He looked seriously pleased.[4]
He went on to spread the good news to his men, and soon the former library was brimming with cheering guards. Apparently, they owed me ‘eternal gratitude’, but didn’t actually cough up any tangible reward for my heroic deeds.[5]
An hour later, when I left what had turned into an impromptu party, somewhat tipsy from drinking a bit too much beer, the Captain stopped me by the door and asked if I’d managed to find the Royal Family’s signet. He said he’d personally pay a handsome fee for its safe return, and for a minute I debated against giving him the ring or not. But, I ended up deciding to keep it, telling him that I’d unfortunately not seen such an item.
I returned to the tavern in my inebriated state, bustling my way through the crowded taproom, skimmed-over by the many eyes that were glued to anyone who entered, in anticipation of a glimpse of someone whose appearance they didn’t even know…[6]
When I got to my room, my face found the soft pillow, and I passed out on the spot.
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[1] Not much different than auto-pilot, I suppose.
[2] Although to be fair, I had paid him…
[3] Considering that the first memory I lost was that of my own name, it seemed quite possible. Maybe the memory I’d lost now was of my great-grandmother’s special onigiri recipe or something silly like that.
[4] I suppose it was kind of like if you were told you had a serious illness that would kill you a week from now, but then on the 7th day the doctors suddenly discovered that you’d been miraculously cured.
[5] Go figure...
[6] I.e. Moi.