042 Immersion

I excused myself as soon as I could, leaving behind the Elders and Ren Jin before they could question me further. Their curiosity would have to wait—I had something far more urgent to deal with. Something I shouldn't be delaying.

The moment I was clear of the city, I ran. Not casually. Not cautiously. Full sprint.

Physics aside, I managed to escape them without a commotion and it helped that they left me alone, probably to convene between themselves.

I dashed into the nearest forest, weaving through trees and undergrowth, finally coming to a stop in a secluded clearing. Taking no chances, I pulled out every defensive scroll I could stack upon each other and activated them in quick succession—Magic Reflection, Fortified Sanctuary, Arcane Warding, Divine Aegis, even some obscure ones like Barrier of the Unseen and Heaven’s Embrace.

I then cycled through every defensive skill and spell in my arsenal—Armor of the Indomitable, Sacred Bulwark, Shield of the Eternal. By the end of it, I was glowing like an overbuffed raid boss.

Only then did I allow myself to exhale.

“…Alright,” I muttered, adjusting my stance. “Come out.”

Summon: Holy Spirit~!

The air shimmered, and a figure emerged—a paladin was kneeling before me. Except, he had a face this time. Holy Spirits didn’t normally have… a face… not to mention an identity.

“My Lord,” he greeted, voice calm and reverent.

I stared at him for a moment before sighing. “Can I call you Dave?”

He lifted his head slightly. “If it pleases you, My Lord.”

“…Okay, Dave.” I crossed my arms. “Let’s talk.”

Dave remained kneeling, awaiting my words as if they were divine scripture.

I wasted no time. “What do you know of Lost Legends Online?”

Dave blinked. “I am not familiar with that term, My Lord.”

I frowned. “Do you know what a video game is?”

“I do not.”

A chill crawled down my spine. I shifted gears. “Are you aware that you’re a game character?”

Dave looked at me with mild confusion. “I am your servant.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He hesitated. “…I do not understand what you mean, My Lord.”

I narrowed my eyes. This wasn’t making sense. “Then why do you serve me?”

Dave lowered his head again. “Because I worship you.”

I stared at him. “What.”

“You are my Lord,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That is enough.”

My thoughts came to a screeching halt.

Back in LLO, the Gods were our enemies. Instead of worshipping them, Paladins and Priests devoted themselves to the Lost Gods—heroic NPCs or personified concepts that had ascended to godhood through sheer mortal will. That was how it worked.

And yet, Dave was here. Worshipping me.

That didn’t fit.

And it really didn’t fit because, as a Paladin, I hadn’t chosen the Divine Descent skill. That meant 'David_69' technically didn’t have a God to worship. The whole point was freedom of faith, where players could pledge themselves to a cause rather than a deity.

So why was Dave acting like this?

I inhaled, forcing myself to focus. “…What do you know about this memory synchronization thing?” There was a time when my memories synchronized with David_69 and I was immersed in the life experiences of a game character.

Dave tilted his head. “Nothing, My Lord.”

That was an even bigger mystery.

Because if he didn’t know, then that meant—

I shut my eyes, thinking.

This wasn’t just a weird mechanic. This wasn’t just some lore discrepancy.

Something was wrong.

I had a bad feeling about this memory synchronization.

And the more I thought about it, the worse it got.

I stared at Dave, still kneeling before me. His unwavering devotion didn’t sit right with me—not because I was against having a follower, but because of what it meant.

Memory synchronization.

I exhaled, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Should I go for it? Should I synchronize my memories with him?

What would even happen? Would I lose myself?

Last time, it had happened naturally—I had been performing a sword dance, reminiscing about the game and my past life. The memories had aligned, and suddenly, something inside me had clicked.

Did that mean synchronization could also be completed if I slept? My gut told me yes.

I didn’t like that.

I folded my arms. “Dave.”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“…What do you think I should do?”

Dave lifted his head slightly, his hood shadowing most of his face. “I am uncertain of your dilemma, My Lord. If you seek clarity, then I will pray for your guidance.”

“That’s not helpful.” I sighed. “I’m asking if you think it’s a good idea for me to synchronize with you.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Dave was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he spoke.

“I do not know what it would entail, but if it brings you closer to understanding yourself… then I believe it would be wise.”

I frowned. “And if it changes me?”

Dave tilted his head. “Would that be a bad thing?”

I hesitated.

Would it?

Would I still be me?

A creeping unease settled in my chest. I didn’t have an answer to that.

Divine Sense had always been a miraculous skill. It wasn’t just an extension of my perception—it was something deeper. A connection to the unseen. A way to feel the truth of things beyond just sight or sound. I've been researching and grinding it since I realized the flavor text could be manifested into reality in a manner impossible to translate in a game mechanic.

And right now? Divine Sense was warning me.

I didn’t know how exactly, but the moment I even considered synchronizing my memories with Dave, my instincts screamed at me. The feeling wasn’t one of outright danger, but more like I was about to step past a threshold I couldn’t return from.

Still, hesitation wouldn’t get me anywhere.

I clenched my fists. “Fine, let’s do this.”

Dave remained kneeling, watching me with unwavering devotion.

Should I try replicating the sword dance from last time? It had worked before.

Or maybe I should just fall asleep? That seemed like the more natural method, but—

I had a better idea.

It should be possible since a Holy Spirit had its own spell slots, allowing the summon to use a weaker version of my Ultimate Skills.

I extended my hand toward Dave.

"Dave, use Divine Possession on me."

A rush of golden light erupted between us. Unlike my usual skills, this one didn’t feel external—it felt like I was shifting. Falling.

And then—

I wasn’t me.

I was him.

And I was inside LLO.

But not as a player.

Not from my comfortable chair, not through a monitor or a headset.

I was inside the storyline.

The world around me wasn’t rendered in crisp game graphics or bound by game mechanics. There were no UI elements, no glowing quest markers, no safe respawns.

It felt real.

So guttural.

So raw.

I—I was in a war.

Flames raged around me. The battlefield was soaked in blood. Screams tore through the air. The scent of burning flesh filled my nose. My hands gripped a weapon—a greatsword, chipped and worn from endless combat.

I felt pain.

Pain like I had never felt before.

Not the controlled, calculated damage from a game battle. Not the dulled pain of a status effect.

Real pain.

Something hot ripped through my side, and I gasped, staggering back. A spear had pierced me. My vision blurred, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward.

Enemies surrounded me—demons. Twisted beings with eyes like burning coals, their claws dripping with corruption.

I cut them down.

Again.

And again.

And again.

My body ached. My breath was ragged. My legs trembled.

But I kept fighting.

Because that was what I had always done.

Because I had no other choice.

I was a knight.

A Paladin of the Lost.

And I would not fall.

It was strange.

What had Dave thought when he was fighting these wars?

What had been going through his mind while he cut down demon after demon, while he bled, while he suffered?

Because from where I stood—inside his memories—this wasn’t anything like what I’d experienced playing Lost Legends Online.

It didn’t look fun.

Not at all.

Yet… what was this feeling?

Through Dave’s perspective, I could feel it.

His devotion.

His sincerity.

His unwavering belief in—

A voice.

A presence that tugged at his consciousness, whispering commands in the heat of battle. It told him what skills to use, how to position himself, how to destroy his enemies, and how to protect his allies.

The guidance wasn’t intrusive. It wasn’t controlling.

It was trusted.

He believed in it.

He relied on it.

And he followed its will with absolute conviction.

Dave enjoyed the battlefield. The chaos, the struggle, the weight of every decision. And while war was a necessity, it wasn’t the only thing he lived for.

The World Arena.

That was where his passion truly lay.

The endless clashes with his peers, the thrill of battle, the challenge of adapting to different opponents.

Here, in these memories, I could hear him laughing.

Grinning as he exchanged blows with rival warriors.

Calling out to them as if they were old friends.

And then—

Familiar voices.

Familiar words.

—"So you’ve finally caught up, huh?” A rival’s smirk, a greatsword resting on his shoulder.

—"Don’t think you can beat me just because I lost last time!” The fierce declaration of a young warrior, fists raised, flames dancing around him.

—"A duel between heroes is a conversation of blades.” An old knight, his stance perfect, his eyes filled with knowing respect.

—"The world will know my name!" A brash challenger, reckless but determined.

—I even heard my own past words. "Tch, you’re getting predictable." A taunt, thrown carelessly before a sudden counterattack.

The memories weren’t just static images or hollow echoes.

They were alive.

They were real.

And they made me realize something.

What the hell had I been doing all this time, just playing LLO as a game?

Because to Dave…

It had never been a game.

I was starting to develop a certain level of understanding.

Lost Legends Online wasn’t just a game.

I didn’t know what it was exactly—not yet. But this? This was something else.

It felt too real.

Not in the way people usually said it, like “Oh, the graphics are so realistic!” or “Wow, the AI is amazing!”

No.

This was meta.

LLO wasn’t just a game. It was either a representation of something, or worse, a medium that facilitated the lives of the so-called “NPCs” in it.

Was it their reality?

Were they just as real as I was?

Or was it that LLO connected to something outside of itself?

I didn’t know.

And the more I thought about it, the worse my headache got.

So what was next? The game devs were actually the Lost Gods?

No, that was stupid. Right?

Right?

I groaned, rubbing my temples.

This was too much. If I thought too hard about it, I’d go insane.

But I couldn’t help it. The questions kept coming.

And then—

I remembered.

Not the usual nostalgic memories of playing LLO.

But that moment.

The one time I had actually felt something was wrong.

A hidden boss fight. A bugged-out nightmare of an enemy.

—

It was late at night. I was supposed to log out. But there I was, deep in an abandoned dungeon, following vague clues from old forum posts about a secret encounter.

The name?

[??????????]

Yeah. That’s what it looked like. The nameplate was just glitched text.

And the boss?

It wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t meant to be in the game.

Its attacks didn’t follow any logical pattern. It didn’t move like an enemy was supposed to move.

It phased in and out of existence. It rewrote reality around itself.

The damage numbers didn’t make sense. The status effects weren’t listed.

And worst of all—

It spoke.

Not in proper dialogue. Not like an NPC.

It typed.

In the in-game chat.

Random, fragmented messages.

"Who—"

"You do not—"

"This is not—"

I should have logged out.

But I didn’t.

Because I was me. Because I was greedy for the loot. Because someone on the forums said there was a legendary drop.

So I did the only thing I could.

I kited mobs to it like crazy.

If I couldn’t beat it normally, I’d use the environment against it. I had entire waves of elite enemies chasing me, and I kept weaving them into the eldritch boss’s attack range.

It worked. Sort of.

The thing reacted. It hated being interrupted.

And for a while, it looked like I could cheese my way through.

Then—

It adapted.

The glitches changed.

The boss began absorbing the mobs.

It rewrote its own abilities.

It was learning.

That’s when I panicked and started calling in favors.

Every friend I had online at the time, every high-level player I could think of, I sent out emergency messages.

Most ignored me.

A few laughed.

But a handful took the bait.

They came.

They saw.

They regretted everything.

Even in a full raid group, we were barely managing. The bugged-out abomination was wrecking everyone with unbalanced, nonsense mechanics. It was erasing people from the fight in ways that didn’t even make sense.

No death animation. No grave marker. Just—gone.

And then—

I got the last hit.

A stroke of luck. A final critical strike.

I barely even processed what happened before the screen froze.

Then the game crashed.

Then my PC crashed.

Then—

Then—

My entire room flickered with light.

My PC sparked.

And the last thing I saw before my consciousness faded—

Was that boss’s glitched-out, broken text name appearing one final time.

And then I woke up.

Not in my room.

Not in front of my PC.

But here.

In this world.

In my character’s body.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the blood drain from my face.

Shit.

Had that thing done something to me?