"When I found myself in this strange world, I figured it was obvious—I must be the protagonist."

"And when I realised I still had access to the system of Empire Maker, the private server version of the strategy game I knew inside and out, that only reinforced it."

"My plan seemed foolproof: hold on to any glimmer of hope, fight my way back to the top, and rise against all odds. A comeback, a victory, my grand moment. Just like in the stories."

"But now... now I see those stories were wrong. Because here I am, staring death in the face."

"What kind of protagonist botches a simple raid and nearly has his soul ripped to shreds? That'd be me."

Adrian jerked awake, finally free from the incessant voices plaguing him in his sleep. He'd been sick all afternoon, and the town's shaman insisted that evil spirits were to blame, recommending a simple dispel and a long nap to set things right.

Thankfully, the shaman had been right. After just a couple of hours lying on his cot, Adrian felt like himself again.

"Thank you for your patronage. The treatment costs 370 gold coins," said the Elf shaman with a chilling grin, revealing a greedy smile that didn't match the beautiful face of elves, most people have in their mind. His face was still rather beautiful but had some visible signs of ageing, and sunken eyes, surrounded by a patchwork of bone trinkets whose origin and purpose Adrian preferred not to ponder.

Adrian's jaw tightened as he sat up on the rough bed, his muscular, scarred torso tense with irritation. "Three hundred seventy? Damn it, Rheas, you may as well go rob someone yourself!"

The old shaman, Rheas, shrugged. "I'm not a pro like you folks in the Shadowborn Mercenary Group. Besides, dispel spells don't come cheap, and the ingredients don't pay for themselves."

Grumbling, Adrian pulled a pouch from his gear beside the bed and counted out the gold. As much as it stung, there was no way around it—Revernus Town had just one shaman, and this one had saved his life too many times to offend.

Adrian Eternus was a mercenary and, more precisely, a mercenary leader. The Shadowborn Mercenary Corps held a reputation in Revernus Town that wasn't easily overlooked. As second-in-command of the group, he'd earned his own moniker—"Shadow blade"—thanks to his reputation in Kruger, a rough land home to half-orc settlements, human warlords, and everything in between. Here, Adrian thrived, his bold and ruthless tactics earning him both respect and enemies.

Kruger was a perpetual battleground, a mix of orcs, humans, merchants, pirates, and mercenaries, all vying for power and profit. The Shadowborn Mercenaries, boasting a force of over two hundred, never had to worry about business. Even Revernus Town's mayor, a corpulent human named Lewis, kept his greed in check around Adrian and his crew.

Still, fortune had been a fickle friend lately, and Adrian's luck felt stretched thin.

As a battle mage, Adrian had carved his name through sheer grit and strength. With each scar and each head claimed by his blade, he secured his role as the second-in-command. But in this world, one thing was certain: a commander with too much glory could quickly become a liability.

The leader of the Shadowborn Mercenaries, Shadowborn Caius, was a longtime friend—or at least had been. Age had taken its toll on Caius, who was now fifty. Given the lifespan of a half-orc, he might have ten good years left. He planned to hand the group over to his son, but there was a problem: Adrian was too popular, too capable, and the son wasn't half the warrior Adrian was.

Resentment simmered between them. Caius couldn't openly move against Adrian without risking a mutiny, but he made his disapproval clear. Adrian knew his "old friend" would, without hesitation, eliminate him if he dared become a greater threat.

Adrian, however, wasn't the type to wait around and let fate catch him off guard. Suppression led only to rebellion.

Two days earlier, he'd spotted a caravan that would make a ripe target. Acting on his own, without consulting Caius, he led a small team to ambush it.

Adrian had a knack for battle. Armed with a unique longsword and the terrifying self buff magic of a battle mage, he commanded thirty men to victory against a caravan defended by over a hundred guards, taking everything they had to offer.

Adrian had managed to secure a small fortune with that caravan raid, enough to turn the tables in his favour back in Revernus Town. He could finally rally his trusted men, proving to Shadowborn Caius that he was more than ready to lead the Shadowborn Mercenaries. Maybe, just maybe, he could even push Caius out altogether.

But fate had other plans.

Just as he returned to town with his spoils, a wave of sickness washed over him. The moment he crossed Revernus' gates, a biting chill ran through his bones. A fever took hold, and for the next two days, he was left helpless and bedridden, his strength drained. To make matters worse, his mind was invaded by memories that weren't his—images of towering buildings, strange games, and something called Empire Maker. None of it made sense.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Desperate, Adrian went to the only person who could help: the shaman Rheas. The old elf diagnosed him with a case of evil spirits and demanded a hefty fee for a dispel spell, leading to the scene he had just endured.

Everyone knew Rheas’ prices were outrageous. A simple second-tier dispel spell, even if bought as a scroll, wouldn't cost more than 150 gold coins. But Rheas? He charged 370, more than double. His prices were robbery, plain and simple, yet Adrian had no choice. In Revernus Town, Rheas was the only one who could perform such magic.

Not only was Rheas’ work overpriced, but it was also barely effective. Sure, the fever and sickness were gone, but Adrian's head still swam with fragmented memories that didn't belong to him, nagging at his mind like ghosts that refused to leave. It was enough to make any man irritable.

If anyone else had tried to fleece him like this, Adrian wouldn't have hesitated to teach them a lesson. But with Rheas? Adrian gritted his teeth. This wasn't the first time he'd been swindled by the old shaman, and there was little he could do about it. In this wasteland, Rheas held a monopoly on magic, and that meant he set the terms.

Counting out the gold with a scowl, Adrian muttered under his breath, "One of these days, you old bastard, someone's gonna put an end to you."

Rheas didn't even glance up, too busy with his potions and trinkets. With a resigned huff, Adrian stepped outside, leaving the dank little hut behind.

Adrian stood for a moment, taking in the barren wasteland around him. The wind swept across the desolate town, bringing with it the acrid smell of dust and sweat. Kruger, especially here in the eastern stretches, was a hard place—a place where only the ruthless survived. 

And Revernus Town, with its haphazard buildings and crowded streets, was as ruthless as they came. It was autumn, the height of trade season, and the town was packed with merchants, mercenaries, and every stripe of drifter. By Adrian's own reckoning, there could be tens of thousands in Revernus right now, far outnumbering the local residents.

His brow furrowed as he considered his next move. He'd lost two days to fever and another afternoon to rest. He had no idea what might have happened while he was out. This was supposed to be his moment to challenge Caius, to take control of the Shadowborn Mercenaries. But his plan was already unravelling, thanks to the "evil spirits" Rheas had claimed to dispel.

Adrian needed to act fast. He couldn't afford any more setbacks, not with the tension brewing back at the mercenary camp. If Caius had sensed weakness, things might already be moving out of his control.

Determined, Adrian decided to find some of his closest men and reassert his grip over the group. But as the thought crossed his mind, he noticed a figure approaching from the edge of town, moving with urgency.

"Boss! Boss! It's not good!" the man called, waving an arm.

Adrian recognized the familiar hunch and nervous gait. It was Leo Messiah, known in their ranks as the "Nerdy Shadow". Leo was one of Adrian's trusted lieutenants, reliable and sharp-witted, though he lacked a spine of steel. Adrian often found Leo's jittery demeanour grating, but there was no denying his loyalty.

As Leo closed the distance, Adrian braced himself, certain that whatever news the "Nerdy Shadow" brought couldn't be good.

Adrian scolded Leo sharply, "You idiot, how many times have I told you—keep calm! Don't panic when there's trouble. You never listen! Now, slowly—what happened?"

Leo staggered to a stop, hunched over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Boss," he gasped, "Kuro—they locked him up! Tyro and his men confiscated all the loot from the raid two days ago."

At this, Adrian's face darkened, his anger flaring hot. Kuro was one of his most trusted fighters, a fierce half-orc and a loyal ally in their ambush of the caravan.

But Tyro—one of the three chiefs of the Shadowborn Mercenaries and an ardent supporter of their ageing leader, Caius—had seized this chance to undermine him. The message was clear: in Adrian's absence, Caius had already started making his move.

"What are you waiting for?" Adrian growled. "I'm going to get Kuro out of there. Leo, gather our men. Caius is playing his hand, so we can't just sit around!" He grabbed his sword, his face set in grim determination, ready to march to the heart of Revernus Town and storm the Shadowborn stronghold.

But before he could take more than a few steps, a wave of dizziness washed over him. His heart pounded, and a creeping sense of dread spread through him—this wasn't right. Not again, not now!

Before he could react, his vision went dark, and he felt himself collapsing backward.

When he opened his eyes, he blinked, stunned. The familiar dust and grime of Revernus Town were gone. Instead, he was staring up at a clear blue sky, surrounded by green grass and towering trees. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Adrian scrambled to his feet, still reeling. He'd grown up in the harsh lands of Kruger, a place where the sun baked the earth to dust and the skies were often veiled in murky clouds. He had seen brutality and hardship in all forms, from his mother's early death to his own rough-and-tumble life. But in all that time, he had never once seen a sky this pure, nor fields this vibrant.

He took a deep breath, the fresh scent of grass and flowers unsettling in its unfamiliarity. Anxious, he looked around, scanning for any landmark that might bring him back to his original goal: saving Kuro and his mercenary group from Caius's takeover. Yet, nothing here looked remotely like the rugged terrain of Revernus or even the broader land of Kruger.

"Where... am I?" he muttered to himself, struggling to stay calm.

Then his eyes caught something in the distance: a stone tower rising against the horizon, impossibly tall. Its structure seemed out of place, and yet there was something strangely familiar about it, like a distant echo tugging at his memory.

Suddenly, a fractured memory surfaced. "Isn't this... The Merlin's Tower?".

The thought startled him. The Merlin's Tower didn't come from his own memories; instead, it came from the disjointed fragments of a foreign past that had been haunting him ever since the fever had hit. In these unfamiliar memories, a strange game called Empire Maker had stood out, clear in its details.

This "game", as he understood it from those memories, wasn't like anything he could grasp. It sounded like a kind of magic that brought people into another world entirely. In that other realm, the memory's original owner had been a powerful lord, controlling vast lands and commanding troops in ways Adrian couldn't begin to understand.

To those "players", wars and battles were more like a form of entertainment, a challenge between contestants, and life itself seemed to bend to their rules.

And right now, he was standing in the scene that opened Empire Maker. He knew this, though he couldn't explain how.

Adrian looked back up at the tower in the distance, his mind swirling. Was this some trick of the fever? A lingering curse left behind by Rheas’ half-hearted spell? All he knew was that he couldn't afford to be here—not now, not when everything he'd worked for was at risk.

As he took in his surroundings, a creeping sense of wonder and unease settled over him, and he realised he had no idea how to get back.