The fourth wall cleared it's throat and emptied the contents of the new chamber of acquirement in it's mouth. Crumpled the chamber up and threw it in the recycling bin.

Twelve childhood friends and a mentor fell out and served as a quick afternoon snack.

“I swear these are more addictive than thin mint cookies. Just the right type of crunch and the blood gives an extra coppery aftertaste. Difficult to decide which aspect I like better.

Now for the last time, no more breaking the fourth wall or I'm gonna put my foot inside your ass. Capiche?”

The party nodded.

“Look, I really wish you told me these group actions beforehand, I can't just guess what everybody is supposed to do, you know.”

Both the fourth wall and the narrator eyed the hero with leaden eyes.

“He can't be that dumb?”

Nothing is impossible for our incumbent hero. Except having useful stats. Or being useful in general. Or the entire concept of being is also rather iffy and an issue that would take about twelve philosophy students with a master thesis concerning Descartes and a heavy week of drinking to solve.

The fourth wall rubbed it's sides and looked at the sky.

“All of this sounds like a you problem. You keep that dumbass in line from now on. And system interface? You've been warned.”

The system interface tried to salute but found it didn't have a physical body. So it just let out a terrified DING. The fourth wall in return gave a nod and trotted off into the distance. He then placed the cameras back in their original spot. Putting the focus back on the hero who was visibly sweating.

“Well how would you feel if you were constantly being watched?

Apathetic. Then again this narrator feels that way about most matters in life. The circumstances aren't really relevant after the narrator's fifth mug of scotch.

“That just sounds like clinical depression.”

Clinics are for rich people and winners in this day and age. So no, just regular depression with character and hair on it's teeth.

“And that sounds like how a quitter would talk.”

This narrator one day hopes that the hero can adhere to the same principals as said quitter and actually self quit this entire ordeal. But he hasn't invested all his points in luck, so no such pleasant future can ever unfold. On the other hand, this narrator will never be forced to lose his virginity with a little old lady. So swings and roundabouts.

“What are you on about I didn't lose it to her. It was to like, a girl and stuff. When I was euhm... 16.”

And where is this absolute saint of self-sacrifice that the hero speaks of?

“Right after she, ya know, did the deed, she burst into fire and cursed me for life.”

So a typical date was it?

“... yes. Yes it was. Still, not a virgin. Granny didn't take nothing from me.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Except decency and the lack of necessity for consuming large amounts of bleach to forget about the entire ordeal.

“Don't think bleach will help here. I'll just have to live with the vivid nightmares of an overly elated little old lady vibrating in front of my eyes.”

Shows that the hero can indeed please a member of the opposite sex with the use of a proper tool.

“Yeah, about that, it won't stop shining. It's like I'm holding a baton made out of light now.”

And the problem is?

“Transportation. Can't just keep this in my pocket now can I? It'll burn off mister Winky if I'm not careful.”

Is the hero afraid that the old grannies of the world might celebrate too loudly?

“That and your wife too. Heard she can get quite loud.”

If only the hero had the mental whereabouts to verbally joust beyond the comparative use of a toothpick against the block of kevlar that are 'your mom' jokes. And about the hero's newly acquired lightshaker, just hold it in your right hand. Which has just an inordinate amount of gripping power that only the loneliest of people can achieve.

The hero, enlightened by his narrator, gripped the lightshaker and parried it around when he received a sudden tap on his shoulder. Turning around with the weapon in hand, he cut through a supporting beam that brought down one of the castle's towers. Only the latrine that was connected to another wall remained with in it's seat a very confused man reading the business of the day while doing his business of the day.

The dragon who had tapped on the hero's shoulder and wore a full safety outfit looked up and scratched the side of his shoulder. As his arms couldn't reach the side of his head.

“Gary, you okay up there?”

The man gently folded up his newspaper and waved down at the dragon.

“'s all good. Think I might've shat out all me fear and confusion. Wouldn't stand below me for a lil while though. Might still be in shock. Maybe got one of them delayed shits and all. A burn-out.”

“No Gary, we talked about this. This world doesn't have social healthcare, so you can't take six months off for a burn-out. You'll just have to suck your shit back up inside and get back to work. Now where was I? Oh, right. I take it you're the lad who's here to slay the big bad, am I right?”

The dragon looked at the lightshaker and shook his head.

“They don't make em like they used to, do they?”

The narrator shook his head, but in such a way that everybody heard it when they read the subtitles that were meant for the blind readers.

“Wait, blind readers?”

This is an inclusive book, that means the author also wishes to target the blind and luck based hero demographic.

"You're asking blind people to use their non existing eyesight to read the letters they can't see?"

If this core demographic chooses to, then who is the author to deny them their request? The hero really needs to learn to be more open minded.