If Ron had stayed for a while after returning, he would have heard about the incoming event. Forty-eight hours after returning he was scheduled to undergo an interdimensional harmonization and now he was feeling it right to the bone.

Ron's face contorted in agony as he gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his furrowed brow. His body was tense, every muscle screaming in protest as he clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. He could feel the burning sensation coursing through his veins, a searing heat that seemed to radiate from deep within his bones.

His breathing came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort to endure the torment. The pain was all-consuming, a relentless assault on his senses that left him reeling. It felt like knives were stabbing into his flesh, twisting and turning with a cruel, unforgiving grip.

He tried to speak, to utter a cry of anguish, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears. His eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners as he struggled to maintain his composure. Every second felt like an eternity, the agony dragging on with no end in sight.

In the midst of his suffering, his eyes caught a flicker of movement, and he blinked in confusion. His gaze fell upon the windows he was so accustomed to seeing in the game Elder Dragon Fantasy, the virtual world that Andrew built in order to heighten one’s potential. But something was off. The windows were glitching, vanishing, and re-emerging at irregular intervals, as if in the process of updating their software. And in Ron’s case, his mind was the software. But before he could make sense of what was happening, darkness closed in, and he blacked out.

Ron's eyes fluttered open, his head heavy and his vision blurred. He groggily tried to make sense of his surroundings, his mind foggy from what seemed like a long and restless sleep. The constant banging on the door assaulted his ears, a jarring and persistent noise that reverberated through his skull, making his head throb.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his blurry vision, and squinted toward the source of the banging. The door in front of him was being pounded on with relentless force. He could hear the moans and snarls of the undead.

Then he snapped out of it. He remembered what he saw seconds before fainting. The blue windows. The system. His mind went into overdrive and with the uttered of a word; “Status,” he said. The windows came to greet him.

[Status]

[Name: Sauron Williams]

[Level: 13]

[Class: 2-Star Knight, Mage In-Training]

[Title: 1. Descendant of Greylock 2. Curse of the Envious Serpent(Disable) 3. Blacksheep of Greylock 4. Might of the Dark Horse]

[Strength: 70]

[Agility: 73]

[Vitality: 75]

[Intelligence: 26]

[Spirit: 24]

[Charisma: 29]

[Mana: 21]

[Available points: 0]

Ron stood frozen, his mouth agape as he took in the surreal scene unfolding before him. His eyes widened, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He waved his hand in front of him, and it went through. The window still floated there before he then realized, the familiar strength coursing in his body. Then something else crossed his mind.

“Inventory,” he said.

Another set of windows emerged, revealing multiple slots filled with medieval weapons and armor. Ron was shaken. He swallowed a mouthful as this was hard to believe after he felt the agonizing disappointment the other day. But right as he was about to pull out one of those swords he stashed in the inventory, he heard a click that could only be from a rifle safety switch.

His eyes traced back to where it came from and he saw the barrel of his own rifle pointing at him. His heart skipped a beat as he froze in place. Ron couldn’t believe it as Imani stood before him.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Her hands were trembling as she held the rifle, her usually confident demeanor replaced by nervousness. Her eyes darted between him and the rifle, torn between determination and uncertainty. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her brows furrowed, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with each ragged breath.

It took Ron a while to realize why she was doing this.

"Imani, it's not what you think," Ron said softly, his voice carrying a soothing tone. "It's all a misunderstanding. The zombies did not bite me."

“You’re lying,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “I saw you jerking in pain for the last hour. If that’s not you turning into a zombie what else would it be?”

“We can talk this out, Imani,” Ron said as he slowly approached Imani. “I promise you, I'm not turning into a zombie. There's something else going on. You have to believe me. You just need to put the rifle down and—“

“Don’t move!” Imani roared. Her finger hovered over the trigger as she was right on the verge of taking the shot. Yet she struggled to keep her aim steady, her hands shaking like mad. "I can't take the risk. I can’t die here after escaping that hellhole."

Ron's heart raced, but he refused to give up. He had to find a way to defuse the situation before it escalated further. He held his hands up, palms open. His mind trying to figure out whether his shield popping from inventory would be faster than a spray of bullets towards him.

Then his gaze fell to the numbers on his status. His agility was above seventy and he doubted Imani had a fast reaction when compared to those goblins he fought. He could just go for it and run to the side while pulling out his shield and armor at the same time. It wouldn’t take a second for him as the armor would equip itself immediately like in a game and in a gamble against a rifle in his face, he had more confidence with this new plan than trying to talk it out with someone who was panicking in fear.

Or he could just strip himself naked and show there was no bite mark or injuries on his body. The most surefire way of telling someone he wasn’t going to turn into a zombie. But he was not confident with Imani’s current mental state. As she could accidentally shoot him while he was undressing. It was between those two options and he made his choice.

“Imani, I’m going to undress myself, and show you I’m not…”

Ron bolted with lightning speed, his body transforming before Imani's eyes. Metallic armor enveloped him, covering him from head to toe, and a sturdy steel shield materialized in front of him, acting as a formidable barrier. He charged towards Imani, his movements fluid and calculated.

Gunshots echoed through the room, the sound reverberating in Ron's ears. Bullets ricocheted off his shield, creating sparks that danced in the air. He felt the impact of a few shots against his shield, causing a dull thud and a mild discomfort around his torso, but he pressed on, fueled by determination.

Imani's eyes widened in surprise as Ron closed in on her. She tried to steady her trembling hand and aim, but before she could react, Ron reached her in a blink. He snatched the rifle out of her hands with a swift, decisive motion, and tossed it aside, the weapon clattering loudly on the floor.

With practiced efficiency, Ron subdued Imani in a hold, his armored grip firm but not overly aggressive. He could feel the tension in her body as she struggled against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Relax, Imani," Ron said gently, his voice soothing. “I won’t hurt you.”

Despite what he said, Imani pleaded for her life. Ron's heart clenched as he watched her, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was filled with desperation and sorrow, her words a mix of English and her native language. The raw emotion in her eyes was palpable, and it tore at Ron's heart.

“I’m letting you go, Imani,” Ron said. “So don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

His grip on her shoulder eased slightly. He took a step back, putting some distance between them, but keeping his eyes on her, wary of any sudden movements.

Imani sat on the cold, hard floor, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her eyes were downcast, refusing to meet Ron's gaze.

Ron let out a heavy sigh. He didn’t expect to go through such a situation. But it made sense considering the circumstances around them. He felt bad about it, but it had to be done.

There should be silence between them, but the zombies were endlessly knocking on the door from the outside. Ron then parted his lips.

“So have you eaten?” he asked, slinging his bag to the front, reaching inside, and pulling out something. His question was met with silence, but it didn’t matter.

“Look what I found?” Ron smiled under his medieval helmet. He showed Imani the MRE that he got from O’Shea. The kind sniper-lover shared with him some of his stocked MRE from France and he raved that the French had the most delicious MRE among all the military forces in the world.

He cooked it up and after a while dinner was served. Ron got closer to Imani and the poor woman didn’t even move at all as Ron sat across him. He placed hers close to her as he chowed down the highly-rated MRE.

“Mmm, this is good,” Ron said with a mouth full of food. He had basque chicken and the taste was incredible. “You have to try this, Imani.”

It took a couple of minutes and a hungry growl of a certain person’s stomach. In time, she took her first bite, and the flavors exploded on her tongue, a symphony of deliciousness. The warmth of the food comforted her, and she found herself savoring each bite, relishing the taste and the feeling of sustenance after the harrowing events. As she ate, Imani couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Her emotions were a tangled mess, and tears welled up in her eyes once again.

Ron noticed her distress and quickly looked around, spotting a box of tissues nearby. He picked it up and handed it to her with a gentle expression on his face. Imani nodded her thanks, her mouth still full of food as she took the tissues and dabbed at her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the food in her mouth. She took another bite, chewing slowly, as she tried to regain her composure. The food was a welcome distraction, a moment of solace amidst the chaos around them.