“Thank you, glorious hero, for saving us in our time of need.”

Skip.

“We lost our protection, and the wilderness is full of danger.”

Skip!

“So if you can escort us...”

Skip! Skip! Skip! Skip!

“Aki! Our village is burning, we need...”

Sk-.

What was I even doing?

Hadn’t I trained for months to ignore those useless NPCs? Refused all the escort missions with horrible path-finding? Skipped through all those meaningless cutscenes? Wasn’t it always the same?

One would fight, struggle, and die, because some genius game designer thought it was a good idea to tie an NPC’s fragile health bar to the player’s life. Congratulation, your game sucked! And after too much wasted lifetime, one would behold the success notification and the meager reward wasn’t even enough to repair the equipment. But hey, enough pointless busywork and you might get a shiny achievement!

Nothing good would come out of it.

So what was I doing?

I ridiculed myself as I advanced through the leprechauns. A sea of flesh between me and the Púca. No need to aim my attacks as my swings would hit at least one of them, anyway. The remaining usages of Heavy Strike resembled a farmer’s scythe, cutting through lives as if they were frail wheat plants.

But while their count made attacking easy, it also rendered any attempt of defense useless. Countless strikes from all sides grazed my body. If I defended my left side, they would attack the right. And when I turned right, a fresh wound would appear on my back. The battle had turned into a pure show of defiance.

And the Púca stood in the distance and watched my struggle.

Unreachable.

I would fall before I reached it, but that was fine. I didn’t need to kill it.

A scare was enough. I would drive it away and prepare for another battle.

A visible snarl distorted its face.

I could see his face.

A low-level boss known for its mask stood before me, missing that mask. Why? Because this world differed from the game’s lore? Or because its mask was broken? Another gamble.

If it was the same Púca, if it remembered my face, I still had a chance. Now I had to show that these leprechauns were no threat to me. Display my superiority. My inviolability. It already knew I could hurt it, threaten it, kill it. Maybe that would be enough.

All I had to do was reach level five. Just one more step.

I had tried to estimate my progress, but to no avail. I didn’t know how much experience points I had collected. And I never cared to memorize all the level thresholds in the game anyway. Who would remember such things?

According to my experiments with the hares, my level was somewhere between level four and five. No handy experience bar, no colorful numbers in front of my eyes, nothing.

Hence the solution became simple: keep killing leprechauns. Although I would prefer a safe spot behind our wall.

But the battle was tilting. The farmer’s morale dropped with each casualty while our messy display enlivened the leprechauns. Even if I had the time to reach level five without danger, the tipping point would have already passed. And not even a mighty warrior would shake their hearts. Safe progression had become useless.

I wanted to sigh.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

But that stupid stone was in the way.

Who would even insert this stone into a necklace? What a fucking waste. Even a cheap glass marble would look better as a gem. And then the sales pitch. A warrior stone? Named as such because only the strongest, near invincible, warriors may wear it? As if! Completely backwards.

Those who were that strong wouldn't need this stone in the first place. They would laugh at it or belittle the owners. Instead, it was more fitting for someone weak, struggling through the mud. Someone like me, who was too weak to achieve his dreams.

Although most people would only see a cheap piece of jewelry, barely beautiful enough to impress some naive girl, my game knowledge provided the truth. No way I would give this stone away. Not to Thea and not to Rhoslyn. I would rather wear it myself, enduring Fabien’s laughter, until I reached level five.

But one problem remained. This stone was classified as an active item, wearing it as equipment would have no effect. So what kind of steps were needed to activate a stone in this world without inventory and mouse clicks?

One would throw bombs and magic grenades. One would eat food and drink potions. For wounds, one would tie a bandage around the affected skin. While passive equipment could be worn as a piece of jewelry or armor. But how the hell was I supposed to activate a stone? Throw it? Destroy it? Or press it against my skin?

Black shapes flickered in front of my eyes, dyeing my field of view in gray and white. Each breath became a chore as a mountain pressed down on my chest. My nerves ran riot, sending spasms through my body. Guess my health hit the bottom. End of the line.

Time for my last gamble. In the hope that the Púca recognized me. In the hope that I had slain enough leprechauns. And in the hope that my game knowledge proved correct once more.

I swallowed the stone.

And let gravity pull me to the ground.

The muddy ground was cold, cooling my heated body, quenching the blazing heat and all those searing cuts. A peaceful embrace, pulling me into the darkness. The mud filled my ears, drowning all the noise, inviting me to sleep. No more screams, but welcoming silence.

Gross faces looked down on me and smirked. Feet stepped over me, their pointy toenails dropping a mix of blood and feces on me. A horrible final view. It made the darkness even more appealing.

So I closed my eyes and embraced the nothingness.

White sparks flashed in front of my eyes. Like the sunlight reflected in her hair. That beautiful silver-blonde hair. I couldn’t stand beside her. I wasn’t strong enough. And she would die alone, betrayed by her allies.

Would she walk the same path again? Would she be happy with her choice? And would she smile in her last moments?

A second chance, a second life, and I still didn’t know the answer.

Would she ask the same question when she learned about my fate? And did I have the answers?

Would I walk the same path again? Was I happy with my choices? I thought about the villagers. About Elder Rolf, Torphin, Drew, and Fabien. About Thea. They were still fighting, displaying their defiance. Still following the plan of a stranger. A nobody. A boy who wanted to be a hero. Wouldn’t that be a beautiful song for the bards?

I smiled.

More flashes in front of my eyes, dancing through the darkness. Like those fireflies we saw. Now disturbing the peaceful darkness. Hey, you guys shouldn’t be here. The stench alone might kill you.

But speaking of the stench. Why could I still smell it? Shouldn’t death be... faster?

I opened my eyes. Feet and hairy buttocks greeted me. But the black shapes were gone.

So I cleaned my ears, and the screams returned. A desperate struggle for survival, the pained cries of the wounded, but my own pain remained gone.

I struggled to my feet, attracting the leprechauns’ attention. But their attacks ricocheted from my skin. No new wounds. Not even a scratch.

Frenetic laughter escaped my lips.

I had won my gamble.

In the middle of the enemies stood a lone warrior, his body covered in wounds, his clothes soiled with mud, and laughed. He didn’t block the attacks. He didn’t attack himself. A madman laughing in contempt.

Once more I didn’t become the glorious leader of a heroic party. But this time I didn’t care.

There were two ways to obtain a battle skill in the game. The first option was to find a teacher in one of the bigger cities, pay their tuition, and learn it. The second option was to use certain single-use items like that small polished stone gem that would automatically fill an empty skill slot like one would receive at level five.

A useless pick for an attacker? A waste of a slot? I wanted to scream fuck you at the players who had ridiculed me. Back on earth this skill had been my favorite, my chance at victory despite my disability. And now we were reunited.

The wet ground reflected my eyes, glowing in a deep red.

Passive defender class skill Fortress. Temporary damage nullification, increased stamina recovery, and complete debuff removal. Self-acting when the player’s health dropped below zero. A new lease of life for a slain warrior.

It didn’t matter whether I was a handicapped player or an inexperienced warrior, the skill allowed me to survive more battles. And it would allow me to save those who shouldn’t be salvable.

I picked up my weapons, activated Heavy Strike, and threw my sword towards the Púca. It didn’t reach, landing in front of its feet. But the sputtering mud still dirtied the Púca’s fur. An announcement. Look at me, it demanded. I can ignore your cannon fodder, it declared.

Our gazes met. And I activated Heavy Strike once more, decapitating the leprechaun in front of me, before I posed with outstretched arms, inviting their attacks. All of them ineffective.

A sword approached my abdomen, but I caught it with my bare hand, jerking it out of its owner’s hand, before turning it against the leprechauns. Another skill activation and two more leprechauns fell to the ground.

And I stood above their bodies, posing once more, and laughing at their faces.

Time to slaughter them.