My cry met me no response, leaving me terrified, alone, and out of the loop.
After I finally got rid of my initial dejection, which still persists in the back of my mind; I decided to make more productive use of my time here. I go through corridors of books, some were locked in different glass cases on the shelves with varying levels of security, while others were freely placed anywhere.
Currently, I don’t have the capacity to fully understand, much less explain, but I have a few useful theories about this place. First, all of this bull shittery is probably connected to a skill of some sort. Second, I don’t have the full picture, but all of these books are compilations of my own memories. I know this because it shows every scenario from my perspective and my unusual amount of nostalgia. However, they only consist of the memories that have stayed with me, I can’t go into the locked books, nor do I get more information from what I remember.
Armed with this knowledge, I inspect the catacombs of texts to fully utilize whatever this is. I find some old classics, a bit of useful knowledge, and some old memories (some which I would happily burn if I could). I buried myself in these records of books until I inevitably wake up.
My eyes open to signal the end of my self-study, still left with as many memories one can remember from their own dreams. I quickly survey my room to check for any substantial changes. In my search, I spot a lone note. My face expresses its own sentiments being ‘Why is it always the nightstand? There is a table, a shelf, and plenty of other surfaces. Is there some sort of reasoning behind this?’ I reach for the note to read its contents.
{Dear Amil,
We have found you a teacher responsible for teaching you general combat for the future. His name is Marcus Freighter: A leading Knight of the First Regiment who is well versed in both magic and weapons. He is also in possession of a mentoring skill which will allow students to pick up taught concepts faster than average. I hope that with this we can be forgiven for our previous blunder.
Sincerely, United Minds}
Though I find it incredibly helpful that I was given such a good mentor, I can help to find the call for apologies to be a bit pre-recorded. It is a lot like saying thanks for a gift for something you hate. It really reeks of ‘forget this already’. I don’t have a reason to not take free gifts though.
I take the map that is supposed to take me to my new teacher. I look at it and try to piece it together to find myself training as quickly as possible. I am someone who will do everything he can to live if he can do something about it. Training will be painful, I may even have to ask for a more rigorous one. but the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle. I never really cared much for the armed forces, but I don’t deny the truth behind this quote. I finish analyzing the map and know how I’m going to get there. I grab my new knife, taking my steps from I would like to believe be Living 101.
After traversing the long-winded Palace I stop in a place I would soon call my new training ground. Before me, lay great meadows, with plenty of trees, animals, and other beings inhabiting the grounds. In the middle of this beautiful scene; there was a single man who stood in the center of the scene as if he held the focus of the portrait in front of me. I make the obvious guess that he is my new instructor: Marcus.
“Are you Marcus? The one I was informed about?”
Turning to view the voice, with a goofy grin, the man responds, “That I am. Are you the new Hero?”
“Haha. Yes, but I would prefer if you just called me Algernon.”
“Alright. Ahh. Sorry, but could you tell me the reason why you only have a first name?”
“I have no family here. What is the point of a family name when there is no such thing?”
“Well… you’re not necessarily wrong,” he states with a bitter smile; “I can’t help, but feel that wasn’t the point.”
We both seem to have stumbled into territory we were better off leaving. A suffocating silence puts a halt to our little dialogue. The silence is held between the both of us until he initiated the conversation again.
“Well… That matter hardly holds importance to me anyway.” Marcus then states, “What is important is teaching you combat skills that will serve you in your future.”
I nod my head in agreement with his statement. This is when training session number one began. First, he had me test an entire arsenal of weapons: claymore, daggers, scythes, different types of bows, crossbows (different, because it’s a crossbow), and several types of firearms. Unsurprisingly, in a twist that could never fool me, I showed no special talent for any of these weapons. I can’t remember much of my previous life, but I was in no way the athletic type. At least not enough to allow me to steadily hold the weight of the weapons.
Marcus told me to choose five weapons I would like to continue, to focus on desired weapons. I then made my pick: short bow, arming sword (obvious choice, I’m aware), daggers, brass knuckles, and a whip. I made it my goal to pick things that didn’t weigh me down too much; it may have also helped that these were some of the only options I could carry. Being in a different world doesn’t excuse my lack of real muscle.
After that display, the rest of the training consisted of physical training such as jogging, sprinting continuously, and letting out an enormous amount of healthy cursing to lighten the exhaustion. And boy… there was a lot of exhaustion. Every time I couldn’t move any further, he would use one drop of stamina potion for me to come back to functionality.
The droplets didn’t really have any specific taste, having a taste that would resemble the atrocious combination of a sports drink (I’m not talking about those energy drinks but the blended stuff in training montages, disgusting isn’t it) and medicine. Even if I only had droplets, I had to mourn the loss of a good portion of my taste buds. I improved so much, but at what cost?
After my eight hours were up, I kindly escorted myself to the library for some reading. I arrived at my sanctuary of books to find that the librarian was still as terrified of me as before (It was clear when I saw her trembling). I decided to give an apology for my behavior yesterday, but I think our relationship is already irreparable at this point. I decide to just accept things as they are, and focus on my own things. I really just want to read that bad huh.
I read more about my current world through books; I heard footsteps approach me. I pry my eyes away from the page to view Ryan: he is dressed in a white lab coat, and glasses on his eyes. He still sports that childish smile though.
“Hello, I didn’t expect you to be here at all.”
With a smirk, he states, ”Don’t worry about it. I am only doing my job.”
“By any chance is this job even authorized? I can’t imagine that would be with all of this wonderful treatment I’ve been receiving,” I respond in kind; I raise an eyebrow to emphasize my words.
“No. It isn’t at all. Purely personal curiosity,” stated Ryan, notably chuckling a bit; “Would you happen to be okay with that?”
I look back at my memories of our encounter from before. I state, “Go ahead, research me. It would help if you could consider it repayment for before. I don’t believe I was that heavy, but the gesture of sympathy was appreciated.”
Bowing out of either formality or genuine thanks. He quietly states, “Thank you for being a reasonable person.”
“Since you’re still here,” I mention, “any recommendations for the books?”
“If you go down there,” He states, pointing at the other corner, “you will find books pertaining to magic lore. I heard you were interested in it.”
I close and place my book in its original spot. “Thanks for the advice,” I say, as I begin to stand up from the floor. I begin to walk toward the other corner; I was getting tired of only reading fables.
Amil: 1st perspective → Marcus Freighter 3rd perspective.
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“Well, then Sir Freighter,” resounds a man covered in the darkness; “How is his training faring?”
“He is… average,” replied Marcus with a solemn face; “That doesn’t mean he is in terrible shape. He is just terribly underwhelming for what he is supposed to be.”
“I see… Any particular weapon choices.”
“He went for lighter weight weapons that held close to mid range. Though I fear that he only choose the close range ones out of necessity.”
“How so?”
“He chose the dagger, because of his enchanted Seax. Brass knuckles in case he is unarmed. The armed sword in case he needs longer range in a close up fight. I am also convinced he would have chosen the longbow if it weren’t too long and heavy for him. The choice of the whip befuddles me, however.”
“And his approach to your strict training?”
“He did have the power to continue that for an hour, but that seems to be more of a liability. He didn’t do it for the prospect of a safe Kingdom; It is more likely a showcase of his want to survive.”
“Well, a hero must live on for the people. His drive for life is normal and should be encouraged.”
“It would be wise if it weren’t for the fact he would stab us in the back to secure his own life.”
“Add magic use in your training session to find a possible talent, as he has already confirmed a massive mana pool. His tenacity doesn’t need to be fixed immediately, focus on exploiting his want to survive to initiate hars… *Cough, cough.* Ahem, more effective training”
“I shall do as you say, Sir.”
Marcus Freighter: 3rd perspective → Amil: 1st perspective.
----------------------------------------
I wake up after a hearty amount of peaceful sleep. I begin to walk to my training grounds once more. After twenty minutes of preparation, and walking; I arrive to have my combat teacher greet me.
“It seems you found your way here again. It’s good you aren’t directionally challenged. It was unexpectedly common among Heroes in the past.”
“Don’t worry. I will make sure to have a general idea of my location. That information is very valuable don’t you know” I respond with a fake grin; “So what must I learn about today?”
“Today we will discern your talent in magic. I will teach you a low-level flame spell of this world.”
I wonder if he didn’t get the memo. I have a high enough magic power to blow up magical items effortlessly! That must be a talent of some kind! I still play along with his training today giving a silent agreement, as I nod my head.
“Since it seems you are ready. I will demonstrate and explain. First, you cast the spell, such as, “I gnirb eht levram fo erif otni eht dlrow.”
After speaking what I believe to be gibberish, a flame the size of a flame produced by Bunsen burner ignites on his fingertips. The flame holds a fiery glow while dancing atop Marcus’s finger without even singeing his leather gauntlets in the slightest. I am completely mesmerized by this sight only breaking away when the flame disappears as if it never existed.
“Did you even listen to me at all,” says Marcus with clear (and understandable) annoyance in his voice.
“I was listening all the way until you finished the chant. I zoned out while marveling at the act of magic.”
“At least you show an interest,” he said sarcastically. “While chanting, you focus your mana at one of your fingertips. This is normally utility magic, sometimes certain people can turn the most mundane of magic into dangerous weapons. Wield with caution.”
I show immediate excitement to test out something as mythical as magic. I begin to recite the chant, as the energy known to be mana crawls up to my index finger. The feeling of mana moving within the body is akin to having move within you. When it concentrates in a certain area, the droplets begin to consolidate: giving the feeling of a finger drenched in some sort of water like force. I notice that Marcus has taken a few steps back; I guess he really did get the memo after all. I finish the chant to see the result.
*Plick.*
Unaware of what just happened, Marcus shouts from the back, “Can you finish the chant already!”
With immense self-disappointment, I stated, “That was it.”
Beginning to run towards me, he bellows, “Oiii! What do you mean that’s it!?”
The shame runs through my mind as fast race car runs multiple laps in its circuit. When Marcus arrived I showed off my capabilities with magic. I recite the chant, I pour the mana, and I get a single spark of fire that collapses upon itself. My face produced much more heat than the pathetic spark ever could.
I look away from my finger to see the reaction of my teacher; he is on the floor laughing up an entire storm. My knees fall to the ground to better present my devastation at my lack of ability to make an actual fire. My chest’s stability fails me as well; I luckily have my arm react fast enough to prevent my complete fall. I am left in an iconic position known to express my current feelings.
Still trying to muffle his own laughter, Marcus says, “Don’t worry about it too much. This only means that the basic magic system isn’t compatible with you. If you find a way to access personal magic, you can surely use your magic efficiently.”
I will not lie to myself, his words soothed my shattered heart to the point that some of the broken pieces have already stuck themselves back together.
“Thank you for the nice words.”
It doesn’t fix anything from my perspective, but it kindles a small hope.
“No problem. Well, we should get to the other part of training early then.”
“And what would that be?”
“We are going to start with improving your skill with the short bow. It would be best if you could pull out your weapon now.”
I began by summoning the short bow and quiver full of arrows out from my spatial storage ring. I can do this because he told me to store my five chosen weapons in the storage ring himself when he told me to choose them.
“Good. If you look to your left, targets can be seen in your nearby trees. I will you to shoot at them to correct your stance on the way.”
I turn my head to the left to see the classic red and white rings of a target. I look at them know what I must do, as I pray for inanimate objects in my mind. I look at the closest target from where I’m standing; I decided who will be my first attempt.
I slide an arrow from the quiver to attach it to the bowstring of the short bow. I put the arrowhead next to my left hand’s index finger in the hope that will have an effect on accuracy. I pull back to hear the sound of the taut bowstring as it plays its unique sound. I let the arrow fly, and it landed nowhere near the target.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Alright. Next time straighten your arm further for more of a reach. Attempt to memorize this movement because the short bow is all about speed. Again!”
I do as he commands, progressing at a rapid pace. There is a slightly fast pace to learn this skill, but I think this is coming more from his mentoring skill rather than an unfound talent. I fire the second shot to see it reached further than the arrow before it. I repeat this process constantly until I presented a result.
“Even though it took a solid five hours; You finally obtained a bull’s eye in the closest tree.”
It is as he said. I took five hours what other people would take days, possibly months to achieve. It seems to be the effect of his previously mentioned mentor skill.
“Do it again.”
I fire the arrow to see it land on the mid-ring of the target. Just, because I achieved it doesn’t mean it can be done continuously.
“That is the end of the bow training as you now have the basics. For the rest of the training session, we will focus on building up your muscle now.”
And with the end of that statement, what I would call torture has finally begun. The thing about this training is that it leaves your entire body sore, like exercise back on earth. The twist is that back in the earth, you alternate between muscles to prevent any muscle damage; This process forces one to take their time. Here, we have access to potions: drugs that can heal you without any harmful side effects (most of the time). I am constantly consuming instant revitalization pots for my stamina and mental vitality. With the phantom pain, I am in a state of an incredibly sore body without it being the case.
Marcus earnestly says, “That is the end of this training session. You may leave now.”
After being released from this torturous experience known as exercise, I make my way to the library to find out more about magic. I come to the conclusion that I need to learn about this original magic business quick. From how he described it, it holds potential for a good power up. I hasten my steps to the library.
I found a book that talked about how magic generally worked. Magic is actually a general power, a mixture caused by debatable sources. No one in this world really has an exact idea of what these sources even are, but the most popular theory says that mana was essentially handed down to us by some higher being. Though I could see this happening (you learn to be more accepting of unbelievable stuff when it destroys your previous life), I choose to follow the twelve aspect theory. It makes more sense in my opinion.
Either way, this allows there to exist many systems of magic and varying compatibilities for any person that tries to learn from said magic. This creates a giant subject matter for what magic should be considered, how it should be studied, and the types of personalities their caster will form.
After ending my study in the library, I take off to my room to sleep. I lay on the bed immediately, as I was in desperate need to rest. It also seemed that the phantom pains fully overcome me. I pass out on my bed without even changing clothes.
I woke up in the strange place again as if I just woke up from a hangover, really showing how strenuous that exercise was considering the pain of the exercise followed me here. I look to my surroundings as the pain quickly dissipates to decide that today is a good day to further test out what was possible here is capable of.
The thing about dreams is that they very rarely hold a consistent structure, things suddenly appear, and disappear at strange intervals. With this in mind, I walk down the aisle of books until I suddenly find myself in an archery range. I look at my hand to find a grasping a bow while a quiver is attached to my back. I take the recently learned form to take a shot. I fire my shot and it misses bull’s eye to match my actual skill. Seeing it clearly fail on realistic standards relieves me. This means that my desires won’t tamper with the actual result. I take this as a good sign and continue firing at the target for the next hours available.
Amil: 1st perspective → Ryan: 3rd perspective.
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A room lit by a single candle, one that slowly melts away as the moon moves forward at the dead of night, a time where very little souls should be awake. Two very close individuals partake in the security provided by such a room, conversing.
However, this time there are no conspirators in this room, only embracing lovers. Ryan ejaculates the last of his energy into a moaning figure, leaving him with the warm embrace of his partner in no crime.
“Are you done?” says Nina, with an uncharacteristically seductive smile, with the sweet hint of playful mockery, “I can’t believe I honestly thought you would last longer tonight.”
“I’m sorry sweety, I really exhausted myself with work today,” cooly states Ryan, experiencing the afterglow of his night of carnal fun.
“Really. I remember that being a reason to do it even harder. Has that changed?”
“Well then, how is the research progressing?”
“The research seems to be going well. We are further developing the technology from other worlds. At the moment, we have only created muskets, revolvers, and rifles here and there. I hope we can eventually make a breakthrough to things such as ak47s. We will have to stay content with the development of cars for now. The Copus Tower seems to be progressing as well.”
Tracing her petite hands on his face, she says, “I wish you wouldn’t be such a workaholic. I worry whether you would choose me, or the country.”
“Believe me, I will never come to such a choice, my dear.”
Nina holds a face of doubt as if she was conflicted between to decide one, or the other.
Picking up on the clear distress, Ryan says, “Dear, you know I am a terrible liar. I hate making promises after that incident. But you should know I really hold a deep love for you. Please don’t doubt that.”
“I know. We are people of science after all. And as a trained professional of observation, and inference. I know you can continue to have some fun.”
Ryan sarcastically states, “I can’t believe I was caught,” before delving back into pleasure.
It seems Amil isn’t the only person that makes use of the hours of the moon.
Ryan: 3rd perspective → Amil: 1st perspective.
----------------------------------------
“You missed, again.”
Even after having a dream that was all about me practicing the bow and arrow rigorously.
“Again.”
It seems to have meant nothing. I really shouldn’t have expected a sudden breakthrough or progression, especially from a dream.
“Good, you made a shot. Continue.”
I decide to improve where I can, here, and continue as he said. After some slightly sore arms, this little exercise goes on until the end of the first hour.
“Good. Put your equipment away, and equip your whip.”
I take out the whip from the storage. The whip logically lands on my hand, as the bow and arrow-filled quiver dissipate from my touch.
“We are going to begin some whip training. When I deem you’ve learned the basics, you will go back to muscle training.”
I nod my head to show my agreement with this appointment. He informs me on how to wield a whip; I let it rip.
*CRACK.*
“Not bad for a first try. Let us continue. Again.”
I continue to learn about how to wield a whip while a certain Adventurer who held fear of snakes plays in my brain. After a suitable amount of practice, I returned to muscle training.
The next day was much of yesterday, one hour for previous subjects leading me to swing a sword for a bit of time. The real difference lied in the light spar I was put through for sword training. It made me understand how skilled he was as I remained pretty unhurt if you didn’t count the bruises and nicks. Then came close to combat fist training.
“AHHHHHH… Fuck,” I screamed out to no one in particular.
That bruise hurt like a real bitch! There is a baseball-sized bruise on the left of my abdomen, right next to my sorta six pack as well! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
“C’ mon. Get up. You won’t learn anything besides a more efficient way to cry yourself to sleep.”
In front of me is a teacher that has proven to be more of a demon than a human. Wait, if there are actual demons in this world, would my statement be racist? I decide to correct myself in the case of future misunderstandings, as I get my ass handed to me.
“Do you even want to help this kingdom?” says the intimidating figure in front of me with a unique bloodlust.
I begin to stand up knowing that I called this hell upon myself for the prospects of a longer life in the future. There is still a part of me that curses the universe for putting such a situation, to begin with; I take another punch straight to the face while accepting the universe could care less about my problems.
Unless my resentment can somehow help foster lasting power, no need to really dwell on the emotion. I make a pot shot to his dick to relieve my resentment. I find my more sober ass laying on the grass aching all over. The dirt doesn’t taste especially good when you face dive into it, trust me on this.
On the fifth day (whip day, instead of five golden rings), after completing all of the rigorous training of the day, Marcus decided to approach me.
Holding a complex expression, Marcus states, “Alright then, we’ll continue with the original training schedule.” After saying those words, the attitude and tone of my surroundings changed to fit the solemn nature of his words. My body reacted to: there was a weird twitch in my legs; I stopped blinking my eyes, and my spine started to shiver.
Marcus begins to pace away from me by ten steps, then asking, “Do you intend to survive? No matter what it takes?” His words commanded a form of respect that demanded a moment of silence. I complied as my mouth was figuratively shut by wires.
I discern his seriousness from his tone. It held this cold indifference that denied anything less than what it demanded. Not allowed to disappoint, I respond, “Yes, no matter what;” with the truth.
After thoroughly dissecting my response to its very inflections; he determines it to be the full unadulterated truth. “Then take your dagger from your storage, toss it to me, and then turn back,” he says, contradicting his behavior from the previous day.
I notice that he implied that whatever happens now, my opinion will the nothing to shape its outcome. I was just denied my right to choose something for myself, and I wasn’t even the least bit infuriated; I was too busy cowering in fear
I do as he says in the hope to reduce whatever pain I may have to feel as a result of this change. He told me to turn around and remain stationary no matter what. I wait in anticipation of his next action as I hear the sound of his steps retreat from the range of my eardrums. I embrace total silence for the remaining seconds of the suspense
Silence breaks when I hear the *Shunk* of a knife piercing into soft flesh; my flesh.
I fall to the ground in reaction to being stabbed in the back, both metaphorically, and literally. My dripping blood stains the grass with its darkish red tint. I grit my teeth at the pain of the stab wound. I release a screech when it all begins to come back upon itself. As all of my bits continue to fit each other like a puzzle piece, I relive the pain of the stab in the back. I lie on the ground with a barely lucid mind.
“If you want to survive. You are going to have to do more than talk. You are going to walk it off too. Stand up.”
I feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes, reminding me of why exactly I never wanted to go to war. I hate being put through this kind of shit. I am more than aware of the inevitability and necessity of conflict, but I don’t feel any happier that it’s happening to me.
“Stand up.”
I stand up with the knowledge that I’m going to be stabbed again. Every part of what comprises me is shivering: from the muscles to my very soul.
*Shunk.*
I fall down trembling at the pain. My remains insert themselves into me once more. I lift myself up because it is much better to be stabbed standing than taking it lying down.
*Shunk.*
I see Marcus grinning. He grins because he is aware of the laws of the land. The strong will eat the weak. I stand up again.
*Shunk.*
I continue in resistance. It is my only real option. I also want to test out a theory of mine. I want to check the credibility of Niche’s words. If this knife doesn’t kill me, I will end up stronger. This does not even begin to lessen any of the current pain I am feeling at the moment, making this thought utterly useless.
This torture goes on for its intended four hours. I should have known this was going to last a while; he had prepared my clothes for the likely event. Normally, people would want to keep a five-mile radius out of his way after such an injurious event; I break norms by asking the mind-boggling question of why he put me through such torture.
That will traumatize me for the years to come as I continue to live my life here. The very idea of something piercing skin is something so wretched to me that I swear I just might have an anxiety attack the next time something shaped like a dagger so as much scratches me.
With the fanaticism of a crazed man, he preaches, “I wanted you to realize that your only purpose is to serve the kingdom. In the past, lots of Heroes didn’t follow this principle. I needed to make it clear that you won’t die without our permission.”
Every part of my body is screeching so loud, that my brain could no longer think straight. He stabbed me in any little crevice of my body he could stick a knife into, to not only muddle my mind but to satisfy his sadistic urges.
Stupidly, in outrage, I ask, “How the fuck can you possibly predict that this won’t backfire in any way? What’s to say that I can grow much stronger in the future to destroy you.”
He responds, “We have our countermeasures. Plus, do you really think you can take on an entire mob of people in your current state, much less a trained army.”
I attempt to pry open my mouth to respond, to rebel. Contradictorily to my desire; I said nothing as I had nothing to say. In this world the weak are voiceless.
“Besides, you are a coward. One that hasn’t given up on life. It can be easily spotted by the look in your eye. Cowards that desire to live will do anything, no matter how dirty, to live.”
I once again hold my best attempt to keep any sort of straight face. It will come up off as an attempt at best; I can feel my trembling face give away my thoughts.
“This time, you will work with us to achieve your goal as a hero. On the side, you boost the kingdom a bit.”
He opens my hand to place the sheathed Damage Debtor in my care once more. I take this moment to leave the training grounds with the very little control I still have over my life. Be it over my emotions, or for my future as a being of any kind. It only reaffirms my hatred for words such as Hero, politics, destiny, and humane.
I go back to the library to read my time, in the hope to soothe myself. I find a librarian who is scared more out of her mind the usual. I take this as a notice to calm down, my resentment will not help me now. I imagine people would find it strange if the Hero fell into a glum mood.
It is day eight today. My schedule has been set where I spend an hour on each weapon, the remaining three hours spent on muscle training. It is absolutely torturous, but I can’t deny its effectiveness considering I obtained the muscles I think I’ve never had in as little as eight days. I spend the rest of the day like usual: I hit the books to go to practice what I need to in sleep central. Whether it consisted of polishing some memories, some time to ask why this happened to me (despite knowing the answer very well) and to make more patented magic just for me.
Day ten was very similar to days eight, and nine with the exception of an added hour of being reintroduced to a knife, because of my previous trauma. It pretty much consists of me passing out repeatedly (due to my foretold anxiety attacks), non-stop. I can now say that I can “wield” a knife, but my skin will always clam up in an attempt for me to put away the knife as quickly as I could.
Day Fourteen: It is safe to say that nothing eventful happened during this day. The only noteworthy things would be my improved skill in combat thanks to me being forced to spar him. Me reading more about magic as I obtain nothing for my effort.
Day Seventeen: the day went on, as usual, but it seems something unusual happened in my dream. I just dreamt about some of my past memories which only served to make me sadder than I already was.
Day twenty-one: I had another training centered dream tonight. It doesn’t really augment my skills out here in any way, but I guess it is a bit comforting. The idea that a small part of my brain hasn’t quite given up hope is a fruitless but enjoyable cognition.
Day twenty-five: I had a combat centered dream where I ended up fighting a good bit of people. I felt very detached from my dream, so it won’t really affect my skills in combat, but it has given me something to think about in the morning. I have started hypothetical situations to at least be prepared on a superficial level.
Day twenty-seven: Ryan interviews me further, as usual. He asks me some questions about my previous world like ‘Who were some amazing scientists?’ or ‘What were some of the societal norms of that world?’ with that same sort of grin. I hide my uneasiness towards him. Though the grin on his face really looks genuine, he holds a high position in this Kingdom, the chance he is one of them is very probable.
Day twenty-nine: It seems that even in my dreams, I am not exempt from the stress of my situation. I am trying not to break down every moment I live as a puppet. I am no longer a person responsible for his own choices. I am a tool designed to move at their very gesture. If they tell me to be happy; I need to be happy. If they want me to use my skills to perform an award-winning show, so be their word. The only reason I haven’t told them about these dreams is that I’m sure they already know, and I refuse to tell them what they already know!
I am no longer in possession of a sound mind anymore; I lost my sanity when I had to accept all that has happened to me. It’s humorous really.
It is amazing how I don’t feel too different from before, being a raving insane madman now. It has come to me that maybe I was never sane, explaining tons of my past choices. Sanity could also be a fake construct made to somehow give us a nonexistent divider between sociopaths, and office workers. Either way, it doesn’t change that I am currently empty inside. What good is a mind if it can’t even do anything? Hell, can I even call what I have a mind
Hell, can I even call what I have a mind, to begin with? First, I no longer have an identity to base my choices off because I can even fully remember my past life. Second…
Amil: 1st perspective → Marcus Freighter 3rd perspective.
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“I will admit that your training is effective, but it seems to be giving him an unflattering view of our little syndicate.”
“I am more than aware of the impression I’m making.”
“Alright then, explain it to me.”
“Do you know a method commonly used in interrogation.”
“Physical torture, and threats towards one’s family if they still give a shit about them.”
“Those are correct answers, but I was looking for another little routine some interrogators use.”
“And what would this routine be called?”
“They have termed the phrase good cop, bad cop sir. It is when one is overly harsh while another is caring, slowly gaining whomever’s trust.”
“You mention this is a routine of two. How exactly will be playing the role of the ‘good cop’. I hope you haven’t chosen a government officer. They can get rowdy, and hardly anyone would trust an organization who would allow such a thing to him. Directly or indirectly.”
“The good cop will be the populace, sir. He is smart enough not to blame an entire country for its government’s crimes against him. We will do this at the same time where we give them the silver spoon of some actual rights. We will use his own thinking against him. Have him fall in love with the country, hate the government he can’t do anything towards.”
“And what will these liberties be exactly?”
“We allow him to become an adventurer to play around in his sandbox with four promising recruits I’ve already found. He will be eating right out of our palm.”
The shaded man, now grinning states, “Intriguing. And when will this plan be carried out? I imagine it would require my special set of skills.”
“You have guessed correctly. Would you please make sure that this plan is secured to happen in our history books by the end of the month.”
“Don’t worry. The parliament will surely make the debut of the subject. Even if the king himself is against it, it will be passed no matter what.”
The shadowy figure began to sneer at the formation of the closest thing to a solid plan.
Marcus Freighter: 3rd perspective → Amil: 1st perspective.
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Day thirty: I wake up from my slumber to my clear dismay. I then find a note to stay in my room until further notice. I decide to do some of the workouts engraved in my muscle memory to pass the remaining time. Effectively, acting like a good little robot as seconds go by, then minutes, maybe hours.
An interesting detail about this world is that all their months consist of thirty days. The rest is the same old system back on earth though. It also seems that I was born in this world’s version of December. The reason why there was no snow in the kingdom was that of some sort of magic enchantment. A waste I say. While I think of this small tidbit the door opens.
While I think of this small tidbit the door opens.
“Hello, Hero. The King and Parliament have told me to call upon and guide you to their room. They have made a decision regarding your future.”