Chapter 9: Bluerose Castle

~ Part 7: Sleeping Beardy ~

“Ha…Ha…Ha…”

Am I laughing or am I panting? Even I can’t tell.

I’m resting against a boulder—vestige of a column thrown at me by the “dying” dragon.

Dying, my ass!

I also think throwing pieces of the architecture isn’t quite the definition I’d give of moribund.

Around me, the throne room is filled with mindless devastation—I mean. More devastation than before. And maybe not so mindless, on second thought. This here devastation was indeed very systematic and purposeful. Solidified lava, stone dust, and still burning banners scattering their ashes can be seen everywhere. I have no idea how the ceiling still holds with so many of its supports demolished.

But I’m tired, so I’ll just blame magic on that one and forget it.

My whole body hurts. My mana pool is drier than a desert in summer. My HPs don’t fare much better. My inventory is empty of all its potions—except for three [Three Heaven Pills] I didn’t dare using. They’re stamina, mana and health enhancement drugs. Tremendously efficient, but with equally painful side-effects. And you don’t want to know the ingredients. Trust me. You don’t. I know, and I wish I didn’t. So if I tell you that you don’t want to know, then you don’t want to know.

Also, my runic armour has shattered. That, I kind of expected. It was a prototype after all. Contrary to the runic equipment found in dungeons, I made this one myself—as practice for my runic magic. I’m even surprised it lasted this long, given how irresponsibly I’ve been using that it. Oh. So you’re aware of it. I’m very aware. I just don’t care to do anything about it. …I give up.

All I have left is my unbreakable holy sword…

It’s broken.

What a rip-off.

I just hope that my knight master won’t be too angry. I’m not entirely sure the photosynthetic auto-repair function will suffice to regrow the whole blade…But, hey, who told that dragon to have flames hotter than the sun? Uh? Uh?! Certainly not me. Yep. Nothing to do with it. And what kind of indestructible sword breaks? Uh? Yep. My hands are clean. Totally not my fault. I’m innocent! Completely guiltless! I’m—I’m so dead if he finds out, right?

Yep.

Ugh. I am so never going to Start City ever again.

Who told you to steal his holy sword too?

Didn’t steal it. I “borrowed” it.

Sure.

…

……

………sigh.

Well, anyway…The point is: I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Trice. A very aggressive truck…which breathed fire. It’s so painful…“Hehehehe…ehhhh…That was so fun.” Ah. But I lost some time, didn’t I? Not good. I should probably get up. “Hehehe-ow. My holy bottom. I won’t be able to sit comfortably for at least a decade. Hehehe…” Uncontrollably chuckling, I rise from the trashed floor and start limping towards the throne—and the not-so-secret passage behind it.

In passing, I cast a sidelong glance at the magical circle. It has once again fallen asleep after I defeated Kalameet.

That Soul Dragon…He didn’t drop much of anything as loot—only a ring. It’s in my inventory. I’ll examine it later. But I suppose that’s because the reward is in the tower. Typically, guardian types never give out much loot—a fortiori ghost and the likes. Those don’t even have a body to skin or even bones to use as material. I guess the managem powering the summoning runes could be counted as a secret reward…But I’m not going to bother looking for it. I know it’s in one of the columns, but I have completely lost track of which one during the fight.

At least, what happened earlier supports my theory that there’s always one or more alternative routes to dealing with a boss besides direct confrontation. It’s astounding how many players forget the distinction between Virtual Reality and normal games. VR isn’t limited to life-like AIs and special critical hitboxes! It’s a whole new way of strategizing, but people stick to tank, DPS, healer and all that textbook nonsense.

You aren’t in a position to lecture anyone on nonsense.

Whatever. It’s not that it concerns me how others play.

I climb over the broken throne and finally enter the tunnel. The usual ghastly torches feebly light up the darkness, providing just enough illumination for me to see the glyphs carved into the walls. Linked to the summoning circle, they’re the ones responsible for magically blocking the passage until someone defeats Kalameet—which basically comes down to depleting the managem which feeds the circle. The dragon himself is a spirit, so he doesn’t really have HPs. Instead, each of his attacks and the damage he takes slowly consumes mana. Well, that’s the general theory.

Again, here, a powerful enough mana-disruption spell should have dealt with this boss much faster and easier than good ol’ violence. Like I said, alternative strategies. But I don’t know how to do that.

What? Even I don’t know every spell.

Yeah. Your repertoire mostly focuses on miscellaneous and bizarre incantations. 

I’m not even a mage, you know? Well…it’s useless to discuss it now anyway. I won. That’s all that really matters.

After a short walk down the narrow not-so-secret hallway, I reach the bottom of a spiral staircase. I start the climb with a wince. I think both my legs are at least partially fractured. But will that stop me? Hah! No way—ayowowowow…

“…it hurts.” Mummy.

Pussy.

You’re not the one with the leg pain!

The perk of being imaginary~

You’re mean.

Thank you.

Gritting my teeth, I push onwards without bothering to check for traps. Like I said, I’m too tired. And if any dungeon dared have traps after that boss. Then I don’t care anymore. Although, I’m still on the lookout. I don’t want to let Dorothy down by dying too stupidly—like by falling down the stairs. Many adventurers neglect the danger of simply tripping in stairs. Thousands of people die each year from falling down stairs.

Stairs are evil. Rule 36.

These stairs I’m climbing are evil too. “Why?” you may ask. Because they go on for far too long! It feels like I’ve already been climbing for hours. It’s been two minutes. DAYS!!

I sigh. “In the highest room of the tallest tower…Ugh.” Between goblins, undead, spooky light shows, and a freaking dragon, this Bluerose Castel is quite old-school for a dungeon. Not that it’s all bad once in a while…

On my way up, I crawl walk by several doors. I check a few, but they are all locked. I’m curious what might be behind them. I could probably break in…but smashing doors inside the home of a supposed immortal necromancer right before asking her for a favour…does not strike me as especially bright.

It isn’t.

No. Not bright at all.

* * *

At long, long, long last, sweating and a little nauseous, I eventually made it to the top. “Gods…This has been the longest month in my life.” It’s been five minutes. A YEAR!!

Before me is an archway obstructed by a surprisingly well-conserved blood-red veil, embroidered with the emblematic dark sapphire rose of Bluerose Castel. Well, at least it’s hard to mistake that coat of arms. “Bluerose’ blue rose…” I don’t know whether it’s genius or pure laziness. Maybe bad naming sense? Perhaps.

Stopping in front of the thin curtain, I rectify my appearance the best I can. After all, undead, lich or whatever she may be, that woman I’m about to meet is still a princess. A little decorum rarely hurts. With what little mana I’ve recovered, I clean myself and the formal-but-slightly-wild clothes I’ve donned in replacement of my ruined armour.

On a side-note, it has taken me quite some time to decide on which outfit to wear. The whole climb, in fact. It’s to say I have quite a few suits and costumes sitting in my inventory. Not because I’ve had many opportunities to dress up, but because tailoring is a hobby of mine—along with sewing and cooking. Yasmin often jokes that I’ll make a good wife one day. Well, at least I think she’s joking. I can never truly tell. Although, what worries me is that I feel happy about the compliment…

Don’t worry too much about it.

I guess I shouldn’t.

Yep. Trust me.

Pushing through the light red curtain, I step into a round, well-furnished, and well-kept bedroom—a room suited for a young lady of noble birth and thus strikingly out-of-place in this cursed, ruined, and monster-filled keep. Although, the sheer amount of red and blue in the décor somewhat makes my eyes hurt. This place is a vintage IKEA catalogue for all shades of both colours.

After recovering from the dichromatic visual assault, my gaze is immediately attracted to the elegant four poster bed…and the girl laying asleep on it.

I’ll admit that, at first, it was the bed itself that attracted me—I’m very tired, and those pillows look criminally fluffy—but, hey, I’m not going to compete with the immortal witch for her couch. I stride to her bedside and stare in silence at the seemingly defenceless slumbering girl. I’m relieved to see she isn’t a fleshless monster. Also, it doesn’t look like she has any idea I’m here, watching her, in her bedroom…

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…

Are you trying to be creepy on purpose?

I AM NOT!!

Though…this reminds me of that terrible movie I saw once.

The one with sparkling vampires?

That one.

Hey. I kind of liked that movie.

You did?

Yeah. Best. Comedy. Ever.

I think it was intended as a serious young adult romance.

…

……IT WAS WHAT??

Yep.

No way.

I assure you.

But he was all “I like watching you sleep.” And they pretended it was all super sweet when really it was just creepy! That can’t have been serious?!

It was.

…My life is a cake.

What?

Because the cake is a lie.

Aw. Don’t be depressed…Hey. Want to hear something funny?

…sure?

It’s a good thing the guy doing the creepy staring was the immortal vampire. Imagine if the roles were reversed and she was the vampire. I’d be worried for the guy. I know I wouldn’t want an immortal overpowered girl to catch me checking her out during her sleep.

Hahahaha. Right. That’d be bad.

Yeah. Very bad.

Deadly.

Lethal even. Hahaha.

Hahahahahaha.

Hahahaha.

Haha…ha…

Haha.

Ha.

…

…

…WHAT DO I DO???

How should I know?!

We’re going to die!

Noooooo! I’m too young, smart, and beautiful to die!!

…and let’s not forget modest.

What can I say? It’s a gift.

…

Sigh.

Jokes aside, though, the girl isn’t waking up. So I probably ain’t in any imminent danger—for now. And I am not going down those stairs. So we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Rid of my immediate fear of my own demise, I take a better look at the so-called [Immortal Exiled Princess]. At first glance, I thought she was a young girl, but now from up close, I can see a woman in her early twenties. At least, she looks like she’s in her early twenties. I know she must be waaaaay older than that. The whole “Immortal” thing.

What misled me is her small frame. It’s difficult to judge while she’s lying down, but she can’t be taller than five foot four. Her pale, doll-like delicate face and smooth baby skin also made the confusion easier.

Her tits, though…

Ugh. Does it need to always be about the breasts? And please don’t use that word.

What? Tits?

Yeah.

What wrong with saying tits?

It’s vulgar!

Aw, bitch please. I swear…We need to find you a foul-mouthed girlfriend, or you’re going to turn into one freaking goodie-two-shoes.

I roll my eyes. I’m fine with being a goodie-too-shoes. Well, leaving aside my personal inner foul-mouthed annoyance, the girl’s…appendages in question are indeed not that of a little girl. Not huge, but not small either, well-shaped in fact, and suitable for her. Respectfully so.

Urrrrrgh…Give me a bucket. I need to puke flowers, poetry and bowties.

Fuck you.

HA! Now we’re getting somewhere!

…an Advil. My fortune for an Advil.

Back to the sleeping beauty. Her last notable feature is her long, thick, and immaculate white hair folded around her like a shroud. Along with her pale skin and the sheer white nightgown she wore, compared to the vibrant colours of the room around us, she seems like a character from a black and white movie lost in a Technicolour world.

She is so beautiful, I’m afraid to wake her up and disturb this dazzling picture.

My bucket! Where’s my bucket?! I’m gonna be siiiick!

Urrrrgh!! I claw at my face. Why me? Why do I have to suffer through this?

Can’t help you on that, bro.

But one thing is true, though. I can’t continue staring at her all day…night…whatever. She might be immortal, but I’m not…kind of…In any case, I’m on tight schedule…which I already screwed up…so…

Well, this is beside the point.

Taking a couple step back, I clear my throat. “Errr…Ahem. Princess?”

No response.

This is starting well!

…sigh. Okay. Let’s try again. “Princess? Sorry to intrude,” I raise my voice a little, “I was recommended your assistance by the Elder of Kansas and…” She still showed no sign of having heard anything I said. “Ugh. This isn’t working…and I feel stupid.”

As usu—

No. Comment.

Walking back to the sleeping beauty’s side, I try and poke her arm.

“Princess?”

Still no response.

…

She’s not dead, is she? I lean down and bring an ear next to her mouth. No, she’s breathing…I think. It’s very feeble but it’s there. “Now what?” I think out loud.

In doubt, I poke her face, pinched nose, and tickle her ears—which happen to be slightly pointed by the way—but nothing works.

Try fondling her ti—

Shhhh!! I said no comment!

But—

Silence.

But I—

Not listening.

You—

Nahnahnahnahnahnahnanana.

…

Better.

In desperation, I attempt to shake the girl awake. I grab her slender shoulders—doing my utmost not to let myself be distracted by the enticing feeling of the thin fabric of her dress and the soft skin underneath—and gently agitate her sleeping body.

…

When that doesn’t work, I get rougher and start shouting. “OH! PRINCESS! WAKE UP! I MADE A LONG WAY TO SEE YOU, AND YOUR. WELCOMING. COMMITTEE. SUCKS!!”

However, no matter what I do, she remains limp and unresponsive in my grasp. Idly, I noticed how light she is. I could probably lift her with one hand and not strain myself.

A little irritated by this point, I unceremoniously let her drop back on the sheets. I sit on the side of the bed, and stroke my short beard in a ponderous manner.

“Well…I guess…Without any potions, ingredients or information…The last thing left is ‘that’…Right…It’s for the quest…And I promised Dorothy…Obviously…And this castle follows all the basics so far, so it makes senses that…Okay. Let’s then…” Getting up, I blow in my hand and try to smell my breath. “Smells like cookie…and blood…Meh. Could be worse.”

After a pointless glance around to ensure nobody was watching—no one is—I lean over the princess’ unconscious body. As my face nears hers, I close my eyes. Not because I think it’s more romantic that way—kissing an unconscious girl I don’t know is creepy, no matter anyone puts it—but seeing someone’s face so up close is just…weird.

I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of this. It just seemed like the last, vaguely “logical” step to do.

You know the whole: “Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort which could only be broken by love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon…” and all that.

True love indeed.

It’s the sparkling vampires’ type of “true love”, okay?

Oh. You mean rape? Then, sure, go ahead.

Thank you—Wait! No?!

Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t even notice when my mouth makes contact with her much softer lips.

What happens next, however, very quickly gets my attention back where it should have been.

As soon as our lips touch, electricity sparks between the two of us—and not the pleasant kind. I suddenly feel dizzy. I try to jerk my head back, to move away, but I can’t move. I’m paralysed! I still manage to open my eyes, and I find myself staring straight into the princess’ eyes—her slightly slanting, bewitching eyes, with their blood-red irises encircled by inverted crowns of dark blue—like thorny rings piercing towards her pupils and through my mind.

Her pupils are rapidly twitching, changing shape and alternating between human-like discs and vertical oblong feline slits. Incongruously, this reminds me of McLeon. But at the same time, and while inwardly screaming in agony—I’m good at multitasking—I feel irresistibly drawn to those living gemstones, like a sailor lost in a storm is drawn to a lighthouse, or maybe towards the song of a mermaid, drawn and, frankly, a little scared.

She raises a little from the mattress and our kiss deepens. I still can’t move and now she grips my head, maintaining our lips forcefully sealed. It’s the rapist raped. HELP ME INSTEAD OF TALKING NONSENSE!! And what do you propose I do? I’m a voice.

“Mmmmmrrrr!!!” Bot in frustration and pain, I let out a scream muffled by the forced embrace I’m trapped in.

My skin feels on fire, my muscles are shrivelling, sharp needles pierce every inch, every cell of my body while my organs melt and reform and my bones break and mend repeatedly. I can say with certainty this is the one single most painful experience I ever suffered in this game. And that’s saying a lot!

My brain soon loses its ability to form coherent thoughts as it is overcome by wave after wave of pain biting at my sanity—or lack thereof—over and over again in an agonising cycle of suffering. My whole being is violated, subjected to an unspeakable, indescribable mental and physical butchering.

All the while, a vaporous fluid continuously pours from the princess’ mouth into mine and down my throat. Despite the mind-distorting torments assaulting me, I still retain the ability to feel disgusted by this viscous yet intangible substance as it burns its way through my oesophagus and to my heart, invaded my arteries and infusing my blood.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally can spasm away from the insane witch. I fall off the bed and collapse backwards on the carpeted ground. I stay down, convulsing, as a disembodied female voice—one I am not used to—starts reciting inside my head a grisly incoherent litany in a hoarse voice, mixed sometimes with my own thoughts.

…blood…all…all of them…eat…devour…all…revenge…kill…Sangbleu…Ambrose…rip their hearts…just wanted a fucking subclass…rip their souls…lock them away…like they…me…I… kill…blood…death to…I’ll show…them…what the fuck?...blood…failure…monster…love…hate…blood…so much blood…not on the sofa!...why… why…WHY…didn’t do any…mum…dad…scared…slit their throats…drink their blood…help… dark…where…Ambrose…mummy…Elder, you asshole, just you wait, I will…kill…curse…curse you…bastard…all die…bath in their blood…soil their corpses…eat their hearts…Dorothy, wait for Big…eat their souls…hunger…pain…pleasure…more…tea…

Struggling to separate my own thoughts from the bloodthirsty ranting, I see through my tears the blurry silhouette of the princess slowly rising from her bed. She sits on the side of the mattress, staring at her hands in puzzled wonderment. Then, a large grin blossoms on her face and she starts to…change.

Her tiny frame bulges, her shoulders broaden, large muscles rip through her light white dress like a demented butterfly wrecking his cocoon. Her pure immaculate mane falls from her scalp by slabs, replaced by messy brown shoulder-length hair. At the same time, her doll face contorts, loses its smoothness, and turns edgy and coarse. Her chin is soon covered by a bushy unkempt beard, of the same mud-brow colour as her hair...his hair?

From the floor, I stare flabbergasted at the tall, burly, and hairy-chested man—wearing but a loincloth that used to be a delicate nightgown—who in a few blinks has replaced the beautiful maiden.

…It suddenly dawns on me I just kissed that.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Palpating his whole body with an ecstatic expression, the unknown man takes a deep, long breath before raucously bursting out into laughter.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! FREE!! FREE AT LAST!! GONE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I DON’T HEAR HER ANYMORE!!! FREEEEEEEEE!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! NO MORE TOWER!!! NO MORE NIGHTMARES!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I CAN FINALLY RETURN TO MY HOME!! MY TOWN!! HAHAHAHA!! SUCH A FOOL I WAS!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! WHAT PRINCESS?! WHAT UNDYING BEAUTY?! WHAT ETERNAL YOUTH?!?! HAHAHAHAHA!!!…”

His voice rises crescendo until gradually losing power. “Hahahaha…Once I get home, I’ll ask Adelle to marry me. Hahaha…I hope I’m not too late…I don’t know how long I—Ha! But before, I will go back to that village. Gut that old man. Kill the icy bitch. Kill…SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!! I WILL BATH IN THEIR BLOOD!!! EAT THEIR HEARTS!! EAT THEIR SOULS!!! KILL!! I WILL KILL!! KILL!! Kill…kill…ki—*cough* Uaaaargh *cough* *cough* *COUGH* *wheeze*”

Twitching on the floor, I can only stare as the man grasps his throat, visibly struggling to breathe. Then, like a fruit drying and rotting in fast forwards, his impressive muscles starts to melt, his hair once more falls to the ground, his teeth clatter out of his mouth, his eyes cave inside their sockets, his whole body shrivels until he looks barely more than the mummy I once feared to encounter a the top of this cursed tower.

“Noooo… *wheeze* Please… *cough* *wheeze* please… Ad—*wheeze*—el *cough* s…ry…lov…ou…”

Now with the appearance of a skeleton, he stumbles towards the unique window of the room, his bony arms raised as if reaching out for someone, before abruptly crumbling to dust, along with his hair and teeth, leaving behind only the tattered remains of a white dress.

The fuck just happ—blood…night…darkness…death…red…rose…blood…Ambrose…love…mum…help...please…will you shut the fuc—feast on their corpses…rip their heads off…mum…scared…I don’t want to…please…you crazy bitch…enough is enou—NO!! Where am…why…WHY??…monster…curse…demon…shame…shame to the blood…shame to the line…hate…blood…line…blood…blood…BLOOD…I said stay away from that sofa!!...drink their blood…bath in their  blood…this isn’t a way to deal with your issues…mum…dad…mum…mum…why…what wrong…listen, you should just have a family reunion and…kill…kill them all…break their bones…eat their hearts…chain their souls…torture their souls…okay, if you killed them that will be more complicated…didn’t do anything…why…monster…not monster…not me…mum…father…queen…king…Ambrose…this guy comes back quite often doesn’t he…husband…wife…yes, I do…bastard…curse…curse you…waiting alone….years…demon…night…blood…kill…KILL—Okay, I’ve had enough— DEATH…death to all…Sangbleu…traitor…suck his marrow…bite his throat…drink his bloo—NOW YOU SHUT UP YOU PSYCHO BITCH!!! THERE ISN’T ENOUGH ROOM FOR TWO INSANE PERSONS IN HERE!!!—THREE INSANE PERSONS!! YOUR NOT HELPING!!...slaughter…thirst…bloo—YOU WILL SHUT UP! THIS! IS! MY!!! FUCKING!! BRAIN!!!!!”

Punctuating my mental declaration, I stand up and ram my head into the nearby bed footboard.

Head trauma [–140HP]

.

.

.

*tutu*

You have died.

.

.

.

Uh? Wait. What? ...Uh? UH? UUUUUHHHH???

* * * * *

End of Book Zero