The assault on baron Sharlamange’s resident did leaved a huge scar. The death of Dong Moo was the topic. Whispers confounded the lamented streets and so was the dorky cries of the red-light districts. Till it reached the holy fountain where the mayor of Lasting Autumn was to present himself forth and pacify the citizens. The morning went well and concluded but that was not all that worried the poor old man in his overwhelming oval office.
Spaking as it was the devil, Euirlin pop in before his leave into his country. Of what this young man of flirtatious academics spilled, hardly a substance of worth importance. Other than talks of nations and his father. Which, Nobi was in need in speak of. Letting the carpenter prince, Euirlin, to notify his father’s men, letting young Greg a leave of passage in case the note our Greg has was lost; believing he would stop in a couple of towns, would be suffice to catch up before arrival. So has it lead to a discussion of a deal Nobi made with the underwater dragon king concerning his father.
Sure, that was about what Euirlin needed to know, but knowing young man of high pedigree would continue his mouth, it didn’t stop there. After all, he is ROLAND. The ROLAND of the high Walls of Thyein. The fantasy equivalent of the Japanese club host ROLAND. If you didn’t see the light, it was because my brilliance was shinning. There are two kinds of women; women that loves me, women that will love me. My lady is so beautiful because I only see myself. Yep, that is Euirlin.
Clive was in the oval office. Ignored much of the star phasing moments, those humor that the carpenter prince provided. Mayor Nobi inform slightly of Arktorgio’s mission to them twos. The important details were dismiss.
As it was heard, an undercover agent of the cult inform Luden. It was not well to proceed with two of three genius ploys. Heading into the decrypted congregation where dim light stray, a debauchery of objects desecrated, there were no viable sign of Calsufur.
“Where is Lord Calsufur?” asked the agent and Luden reply, “The cold water is stir. To the chamber.”
Present time, first person.
It was in the evening since we had travel south-east. My guild and I neither carried a compass to be sure. An adventure unprepared is worrisome. But knowing that good seamen with long standing fortitude of the sky sea are present, it was a sure bet we wouldn’t be lost. Yea, a fool’s thought is greatly achieved with minimum resistant.
A talk with a random traveler who boarded the ship with us was quite hard. For a man like me who isn’t much of a “people person,” had the traveler did convey a lot of mysticism. An interesting conversation that lead to gossiping about the Tower Mage, Lorthor. Did I relay him of my mind. A legendary hobo hated gossiping though would find himself in one in the heat of conversation.
Heed him no warning and continue because I was a strange fellow. “Oh son, what I talk is of good things. Shall ye not wither from the soft wind that cometh before thee? Even a man needs a cast of good wind to breathe upon him who laid in the desert. Otherwise, he shall lose his sense and perish.”
“Fair.” Well, there are smarter people in this world. I am most glad. A stump face before the camera.
The days went smoothly and the evening have come. The guild’s morale was strong. A light rain storm have we left appear heading to Lasting Autumn. It was a good sign.
There was an irritating pain within my bones. The marrow felt weaken. The rashes on the skin. Must I be short on calcium and vitamin C? What estimation a hobo could think of is no more than 300mg worth depleted. Yea, so I wonder where one could find such nutrition. There was a woman breast feeding her newborn. Believing I was Oliver Twist myself I said, “May you spare some ‘ore?” A chipped olden bowl I hanged out.
Well, it didn’t go according to plan but I wasn’t desperate. A fruit from this world perhaps. From the traveler’s kitchen to the dock, there where non available. The barge of ginseng apples, located in the workers’ holding was surprisingly delicious to look at. The traveler describe what it tasted like. Very juicy and not too sweet. Like a young soft chewable ginseng half-boiled and fermented two days in light sugar cane water. A bit of the essence of fresh apples and to top with a dash of citric acid. That’s pretty much it. An acquired taste. The golden barge was for the workers and clearly I wasn’t one of them. Yes, was I deny. So I attend to acquire the nutrition in the latter night. You readers can rest assure. The woman will be left alone.
“The ancient, he is the head; and the prophet that teacheth lies, he is the tail. So the snake, the head that bites the tail, is not a loop.” wonderingly singing out of boredom was me.
Has the night fall and the guild went into their shared little cabin. The fellow traveler was the last to see me but I play it cool that a bit of the fresh night air is what I need for the moment. He left. To be sure, me wait about three minutes gazing upon the night skies. The ship had became totally quiet other than the mischievous objects and the helms’ porter. Graciously was I overlook. The gold chest of ginseng apples awaits. A poor hungry hobo who would dare to take only one fruit.
My arrival at the barge of fruits under the ship’s lumen lights was a surprise. Thorg and Baima were there eating. Eating like pigs. Gobbling down what they can hold in their mouths.
“I-it’s not what you think S-senth. W-we can explain.” said Baima.
“Explain to my behind.” So went ahead and took one fruit that was untouched and left the scene. I guess, I won’t be taking the blame.
“Wait, Seneth.” Thorg gulp the last apple in hand. They follow yet made a bit of a ruckus. I did not want these dead-weights following me around or I would look like the master culprit. We argue lightly about the stupidest things, in unsettling comical kabuki reenactment and unaware of our surrounding on the ship. It turns out, we appear in something we shouldn’t have.
It was an abandon mansion of some lowly lord. Neglected to the point ghosts had inhabited. It leads up to the rugged mountain hills and steeps. The overgrown grasses and their awns and seeds scatter and hides a majority of this feudal lord’s estate. Us three were most confuse. Turn back to see nothing but a defiled river with overgrown plants flowing downstream into some distant Edo Japan city, where lights of many are lit within the boundaries. The sunset is strong of orange and blood red until the darkness hits.
“Don’t tell me. I was isekai inside isekai in being summoned?”
“You’re an isekai man? No way. You don’t act like them. The snobbish all-knowing and a trope of profanity.” said Thorg.
“Oh brother. . . .” Baima didn’t want to deal with a bunch of adult kids.
Our situation did remind me of an old Japan tale not known to the public. It was vivid for me. Hopefully, I could weave myself out of this puzzle. We decided to enter the lord’s estate. The apparition door was open and has it invited us in. And in the shallow home, the residential area, the tatami mat was damage. In the center of it was a fire active and a pot lay before it. Someone must’ve been cooking just recently. The smell did draw Thorg closer and on inspecting the aroma soup, what it appears to be not gingers but fingers floated up from the boiling.
I was not interested in the soup but the ideal candle which sat beside the tatami mat before the fire pit. It flick and an old lady appear in front of it closely around the age of ninety-eight. Thorg and Baima didn’t notice the woman at first until her screeches. The ghost of the grandmother who once lived in this mansion. Did she convey a riddle and glide back and disappear. That tittering replay. A creepiness to retreat behind the wall leading into a walkway. No doors was before the concealment. It was not good to be in the home. Thorg and Baima agree with much so we headed back. Jeepers.
Upon opening the door that had led us in, closed from the daunting wisp of light winds, we appear in another cubicle. This time, it was a bit more spacious and clean. There were more lights that lit the room in lovely red and natural setting colors. More cleaner than the first dusty encounter.
“What is going on?” Thorg scratched his head. There was man dressed like the lord of the estate and beside him was two futons. There was the same looking candle beside the ghost. He bow, “Would you care for a ceremonial tea?”
“Weirdo.” In a quick response, me close the entrance. Now, I did not hate men who are into ceremonial teas. Just the vibe of this thing we three had encounter in the whispering vacant home. So my guild try to open the paper door, a shoji located from the side with the view of the front garden. We couldn’t believe it. Another cleaner room, even more spacious and lavish than before. This time, a large pruned tree branch protruded from the right side of this guesthouse. A multitude of ceremonial bells hanged. Fusumas from the back close in increments of six compartments. The same candle was in the center of the tatami mats. We turn around quickly but the wide door was gone.
Instead, the three of us were knock in the face by a profoundly new wooden wall with strange architecture that set the room apart. Thorg and me was hit by a 5x5 pressured hard wood in a category of mechanism, karakuri presumably, lay as the house foundation. Clonk! A damage to the forehead, the nose, and the mouth. Respectfully had we drop our heights.
“The candle must hold something important.” spoke Thorg covering his beak. I wonder while massaging my red forehead. So I came before it and kneel down to observe. Red nose Baima, the critically acclaimed two-hand masseuse, believe it was not a good idea just to sit and idle. Who knows what is watching us. Have the minutes pass and something enters from above the branch. The ceremonial bells were disturbed.
It was a gorgeous woman in a custom kimono. The winter air blew. All the loose clear linen flew in majesty. She came before me and to the flame fawning over the light. Not one word she spake.
“Are you the mistress of this mansion? Were you wrongfully murdered?” Again, not one word spoken to me. The daunting giggle and hum follows her. The tongue stick out as black as it can be. The seductive saliva drips. Yet, was the eyes of this perverted ghost settle on the light. The battle teens were worried that they shouldn’t have enter a stranger’s home without permission.
Hearing Thorg, “. . . . It is as she was about to swallow a-” My eyes widen!
Quickly I drawn the lunaward with all of the three sprites in one swing! Slash the perverted, somewhat cross-eye woman with the tip of the blade between her breasts, right from under before she fully indulge in our souls!!
A small tip of the lunaward broke off and was a new edge was form. A strange blood substance splat mildly to the ceiling. The horrendous scream scatted and the perverted woman flew back and disappear. What on earth? The candle light was extinguish naturally.
“A ghost can’t bleed can it?!” Baima stare at the blood on the broken blade. It was of silver and glue white.
“No. I can’t believe it’s not butter.” Must I seriously joke at a time like this? Steadfastly have I glance if the lunaward was okay from steaming.
The three of us did not waste anytime and work together. We tackle the illusionary doorway and fell out into the front garden. A waft of horror blew across the trees and into the mountains. It figures. Us trio decided to chase it up the steep man-made steps, locate nearly eight meters to the left from our dominant fall. It was the only way getting out of this strange sub-world.
The battle teens and I arrived. Presented was a monastery of paper walls on top of the steep hill, weeded into the mountain side. Out of this front opening wedge along the wooden structure were hieroglyphs. Particularly visible on one door way, three times tall and two times wide. Something resembling a nakshatra, which mark the twenty-seven lunar stations. Twenty-seven stars of importance. Was I not aware that Baima knew these sorts of things. Had she explain a bit of lost history lessons from India, surprisingly.
“How could they! How could they wound me! They’ll pay in blood!” said the creature in the monastery. We were pretty much hiding at the end of the steps before the level plain field within the greenery.
“Ladies first.” I have to suggest it.
“W-wah! H-huh?!” Baima was shock. Did her best to keep her voice down. “Why me? Thorg, you go first. You’re a man aren’t you?!”
“But we don’t know what’s in there. I-I think we should wait till morning.”
“Now is your chance to proof to Namie. I don’t have my gadgets with me, honestly.”
“W-w-wa-wait a minute guys.” Me and Baima push him out of the covering but suddenly an arrow came out of the monastery. The weapon nudge into Thorg’s neck.
“Thorg!!” yelled both me and Baima comically. And did we both try to keep it a low profile. Thorg fell back rustling the thick plants.
“Be quiet demons! I must find where those three are!!” The creature was frustrated. I took another look on the level plain field. A family crest was reveal when the main door retreated from where it was covered. A uniquely design than the crests of some Japan family. The lost ones perhaps. With its lettering and artistic values, I imagine it was K-F-C? Huh?! All meshed and connected as one art piece with other fancy decorations.
“It missed my head.” Thorg expressed choking. Baima carefully pulled out the strange arrow.
“Will go together then. Alright guys? Lets go to fakkin!” What! Nuj, why do you say such?! You dirty persona. Fakkin is the Japanese chosen name of Kentucky Fried Chicken in their country.
So us trio agree to that idea I’ve submitted. We barrage quietly into the creature’s home and surprise it. It was no other than a demonic Colonel Sanders look alike in onibaba clothing with the furs of ligers. With much strength in us, drag the oni out into the level plain field. Colonel Sanders rage but we carried hard sticks to beat him up with.
“Submit and repent!” I saith. “Lest thou soul be fried twice!”
“Never!” The bandit cried out, “You hold no authority over me! No human has!!”
“Then the only way to destroy you is to humiliate you. Tiger Bite!!” I karate chop his forehead. Tiger Bite is an insult as well as a curse word in some country where tigers roam.
“You stupid prick!” The oni screaming effortlessly.
“Shaming won’t do nothing to monsters, Seneth!” said Baima. And the battle teens continue assaulting Colonel Sanders with hard sticks.
“Tiger Bite!!” I reluctantly chop once more. The oni scream chaotically. As the moon appears behind the clouds, Colonel Sanders started to morph. Changing into his truest form. Insect legs tear out his body cavities. His butt enlarge. It turns out he was a white hair tsuchigumo demon. A different kind of spider beast unlike the kyutomoleks in the forest of Lasting Autumn.
“I will sludge you in poisons! A poisonous deluge ye prick!” Colonel Sanders have snapped.
“Good! Even better.”
“You’re crazy, Seneth!” Thorg did not know what to believe.
Every proactive strikes happening is just so farfetch. Colonel Sanders resisting and rampaging while we are in hold of him. A magnify tantrum thrown in a straight jacket. To see the kimono apparition of the woman dripping saliva onto the floor, had it remind me of another tale, Tawara Tōda Monogatari. I explain how human saliva contains anti-poison to the overgrown battle teens. Would it work? Who knows. It was such an asinine gimmick to Baima. In the end, the duo spit multiple times into their hand while delivering punishments. We trio execute at the same time.
“Tiger Bite!!!”
“This is ridiculous!”
“Is this a joke?!” Thorg did not know what to think of it. Yea, it was a joke. It was not long when the transformation was completed. The white hair tsuchigumo was verily troublesome that made us three fight to the blink of death. Forgive me for calling them dead-weights.
"Akumu" by ShogunF
And in the fight for survival of this isekai sub-world, the demon battle led across the viable opening and back into the monastery. To sludge us in poisons was it’s commitment. By matters of predatory attacks, dangle webbing of organic materials, spray, rain mimicry and a surprisingly use of a strangely looking bow. Arrows dipped and made of an odd substance that look like harden infectious liquid from cellulitis and poison oak.
“I’ll be back!” Baima ran inside the structure.
We were in the demons’s playfield. It was luck for Colonel Sanders not knowing us entering his home the first time. Not anymore. We crash into the paper walls by the wild bull. Me and Thorg rolled over to the great pillars while Baima went ahead of her time inside to get an item. With the broken door removed, the moon reveals the monastery, cover in loose post-seal garments and merchant silks, hanged from the void and star gaze ceiling. Garments were connected to other objects. A variety of length and width but a majority are the standard issue size, about ninety-two inches of length, thirteen inches of width. A vast collection of works of every cooling light colors and art blown by the wind, fickling every bit of ghastly in-tones of choruses.
“Crockie.” Thorg was coughing and manage to pull me out of it’s webbing articles.
I flew to the dirty ground. My fall was break by the ceremonial altar before the great statue. The demon enters the monastery with a jumping mechanic for unleashing a retreating arrow fired. A movement that run it along the nearest pile of pillars and went hiding into the void ceiling after assaulting Thorg. The molten iron rod Baima took from the flaming pit where we founded Colonel Sanders mind controlling some strange lively carcasses did the trick. Had she stab the demon against it.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Earlier, was I in some form of mind control. I had resisted but heavy was the headache acquired, that would make anyone want to scream to the sky with the hands holding the pressure building in the noggin. Not to mention the onslaught of microwaves “heat-stinging” the back side of the neck to the point skin shown signatures of light half boils. To have the prickle of static. Yes, it raised the temperature by five degrees. A tell tall sign.
The fight for survival exhausted us. Did the creature did strange manual labor and strikes with all its predatorial tricks and inhumane slaughtering of the monastery. Including the use of the bow from the shadows, pulled at maximum strength, constant changing positions, technical jump shots and epic postures. The mind controlling effects did not yield results on Thorg. I did wonder a bit but as usual, Baima’s mouth relay the reasons. A decent conclusion.
To control the mind of victims, the demon must aim it’s eyes directly at our brain. The controlled frequency radiates to a specific gland; not like an out burst of mind controlling static, or out burst of body-powered current of surveillance both seen in Trojan Wi-Fi, 5G and up, as a source with other contributing elements taken into the body, modifying the natural structures. For Thorg, his chicken head is not his real head. Could I nicely said he was uneducated?
The gargling sickness Colonel Sanders producing, regurgitating a defile egg as large as an ostrich’s egg, slither in poisonous veins. I wasn’t sure if it was trying a new tactic. The battle led Baima almost to be kill not once but twice when baited. Things weren’t going decent and as soon as I slash the creature with the chipped blunted sword, to decapitate it’s leg, had Colonel Sanders pin down Baima. It deliver the poisonous stab onto her thigh before trying its best to return into the void ceiling.
The thigh pierced. I did not expected. It was a prosthetic leg to my surprise. Highly was it advance with neuron implementations to some degree that Baima could exert a painful sensory. Nonetheless, she was injure. It may had been a good sign. For Baima to drop the molten rod, who was scared shirtless without releasing the yankee mode, that had it caught some webs, silk articles and garments on fire, recede to the ceiling revealing the demon.
We battle on with the sprites help. Kung-foey fantasy, my take, against the tsuchigumo. Thorg accepted the medal of honor.
It took nearly thirty-seven minutes later. The spider demon was defeated. Surprisingly it worked. Our spit diluted the poison under the arachnid's plated armor. We poisoned the white hair tsuchigumo demon to death with spits. As the dying demon gave way to it’s belly, the mirage was lifted little by little. We left from the sacrificial altar of the monastery where the creature laid dormant. Us men lift Baima and escape.
“Out of the fire.” Thorg spoke too soon.
“And into the pit.” I conjured.
There was a welcoming party for us indeed. A mirage surprise. Us misfits were surrounded by pirates on top of the helms stage. Their weapons pointed at us round about and on the main deck, Korimi and Odessa were capture, a knife under the neck touch with the flesh.
“Seneth!!” The children yelled when resisting. And was the pirates holding them cover their mouths.
“They’ve killed the tsuchigumo. I don’t believe it.” Another baddy question, “With what?” The first answer, “Spit and sticks.”
“Huh, Impossible!” The rest of the pirate didn’t know what to convey. Seeing the body cavity of the spider demon wrinkling. Many were uncertain and the master of the ship enters the speculation. Took a look at the shrivel demon and naively scoff. He look at me with those menacing multi-layered google glasses with a crotch. It was the very seaman that I accidentally knocked off the port in Lasting Autumn. Well, it isn’t Long John Silver.
“Argh, take the children and younglings underground!” The pirates separated the old and the young. The baby was taken from the mother whom had fed milk, crying out for her son as she departs into another distant room. “Kill any officers on board! Jailed the rest. But bring him! Especially him to me.” said the google seaman who pointed at me. I gulp.
Officer(s) is a term for battle servants who works for financial institutions. Had our guild got intertwine with a criminal group who sells slaves. Sand Space-Pirates, Dwarfvens and humans that are ninja space pirates. If one was to read many light novels pertaining to dwarfs, not one bit of them shine as a character. Either dwarfs are use as props for the field and feels of fantasy. Some catered to soft dialogues or none at all. Never to act or be nor play a role in a story. Just a tag along ally and enemies. Quite pity until now I hope. In this underground was where the slave children were kept. A newly arrival of the travelers’ children and younglings are added with the mix.
“What does the lowly CIAs and FBIs want with me?” Should I include lowly DOJs? . . . Nah.
With the likeness of Hawaiian, dress and polo shirts; the baldness, buzz cut, and comb hairs; their expensive wearable, Rollo perhaps; the intolerable of ages in one sect; to surround one for superiority in groups from the lowest of lows (grunts) when interrogated away from general and work ethics; the demeanor to look natural like the public, which clearly isn’t; it was justify. Other styles were also present. But these named were the one that stood out the most in the fantasy world. How odd.
“The names Grinch. My lawyer send his regards.” A whap to my forehead. Again? His lackey roughly put me into a chair and a wooden table was before me. An unwell table, similar to white pine grooved top table with dark walnut stain and shadowed edges, covered in grade-A scrumptious defilement. The light swings. The master of the ship sit across, put his good feet atop the table and rock back. The sword taken. The mask taken. The letter of introduction taken. What else do I have?
“I advise you not to use those spirits you carried. It would be very bad to damage goods other than by me hands.”
“What spirits?”
“Playing dumb is not nearly a good forte to boast.” The slave trader is a curious pirate. “What else ye hiding? Come closer.” Grinch whisper to me though have I kept my distant. He was willing to came a bit forward from his seat. “I can see in the rays they dwell. Lest ye fancy deaths of children, by all means, commit to your fortitude.” The googles Grinch wore must’ve some form of scientific powers.
“. . . Sprites are not spirits nor alien balls of light.”
“Good. Skip yar greetings.”
Korimi and Odessa was brought out from a room. Odessa struggle with some bruises. Korimi was badly hurt with another black eye. I saw both of them who enters the current long one-piece cell line. The kids couldn’t walk properly. Feet were chained, pull and drag around by two skinny pirate twin who screamed at the top of their lungs to keep up pace. Had they resisted until sawing me all tied up and called out my name. I look back at Grinch, “. . . What game are you playing?”
“What else does a pirate do? You’re asking the obvious question, mister Seneth. Doing a count of my revenues. Not only thou willing to murder our concealer bought for a ridiculous price, even that ledgering, that old fisher gave me men some hard troubles tonight. Oh, the expenses. May my rum fill with delights.”
Korimi muster enough strength to parley me of current events. While in their little cute cabin, there was a knock late in the night. Saying, it was a routine to serve travelers a late night meal. But what was brought was no more than cheap soup with crackers and a half-eaten pound cake. This cruise ship's services were awful. Though the children were happy to get free food right after complimenting the night air from the window. It was Fox who ate first noticing it was laced with sleeping potions. Fox fought them out from the cabin and the kids escaped through the ship’s rectangular window. A ledge given on the outside leading to the main decks.
“We’re not mooncalfs. You are.”
“Did you hear that blubber heads? The poor beastian called us a mooncalf.” The pirates mocked and laughed. “Thou’st the first to label us in the den of thieves. Despite all your efforts, it’s meaningless. Now, what to do with you, Seneth. ‘Tis only natural. Does one need to repay the courtesy. A strange moniker to go by lurking in Lasting Autumn. Assuming from Torah. I know. A game from their land. Lets play craps, shall we? Offer up the hand that pleases thee. We play at stake!” Grinch chortled.
A pirate holding me release my bindings, draw a like-pistol, aim at the right hand force to be laid on the defile table. The second and third aim at the feet. And lastly, is another pointing at the side of my head in touch.
“Oh, I’m fair alright. Need your left hand to roll for twenty-one turns.”
For your sake children. Craps is not what a normie would think. Indeed not. Men playing a game that would challenge an opponent to piled, to make the most poop. Oh no. Get the mind out of the gutter. Craps is, and still is, a simple challenger’s game, a gambling game played with two dices. The rules are simple. The player’s turn, dices are thrown; the first throw to land a seven or eleven, that player wins and if the first throw landed a two, three or twelve, they loses. If none of the selected number appear from adds, so shall the player end his turn and the next gambler throws, preferable with a cup.
Grinch have explain the pirates’ version of the rules. I had no choice but to bargain with the master of the ship. With the dank dagger that man carried aside to drip its sweat, other than the strap film camera he wears by the neck, labeled with the number two in white at a corner, it was a risk.
“What would it be? Prayest thou commiteth to save worthless pecks? The chips last not for even a scrooge. Ye cannot hide behind them spirits. Lets up the price. I wanna see you suffer greatly.” Thorg and Baima were brought into the warehouse, handcuffed.
Among them, a dirty little boy under the age of twelve was brought, a Phoeni who wasn’t bound. Slender with the facial of a pretty girl, slightly darker in skin complex, hair to shoulders length. Had Grinch advise the boy to come to him. He slide his hand upon his face to the softness of touch, patted on the pretty boy’s cheek and then hold and squeeze both cheeks from under the chin. Forced the boy, indistinguishably from a girl to look at me. There was fear.
“You would trade these beautiful souls? A young beauty. A slim arcana. Them rare jewels of the eyes worth a fortune in the aristocracy black markets. Fat ill nobles will pay outrages gems for them.”
Suddenly was I not prepare and Thorg attacks Grinch mildly with words before I could speak aloud. Wasn’t sure if what I will say be any effective.
“He’s an isekai and will kick your buttocks!” Not only did it did no harm to the pirate, alerted the master of the ship of the very word.
“Isekai?! Isekai?! Isekai?!” A shock to happiness, with the whack of the palm to his forhead from the side. “Even better! What me luck. My forty-seventh victim. What are you gonna do HERO? This IS isekais’ favorite game.” The sounds of ill laughter filled the stale room belittling me in all possible manners. Thorg felt a bit shame for the speech.
“Manure. Not good at all.” I can’t say it out loud. Big Bird has a big mouth. Sometime, one needs to know when to shut their lips or will they swallow the fly. Have he made it more troublesome.
“. . . Just a bumblebee. A hobo works in a mysterious wa-” Shokeling my bod’s worth. The back felt strain and stiff.
“Well the cat’s out of the bag, mister Seneth! Settle it with the dices!” The rambling of dulcet dies was addicting to this master of the ship. “The dices don’t lie.”
“The dices do cheat.” quoth me, biting a bit of the inner lip on the left side. Have I sweat slightly.
“Please. A fellow citizen of the fairest of trades disgruntle thou? I am no man of hotspur to ploy such feeble tactic like them lesser boys, to weigh them dies. It’s for keep.” The shifting actions to click, quick as click bait. And did the master of the ship surprisingly shot the pretty slave child in the head, scared many slave children. Some had began to cry from the loud bang. The pirate went silent.
“You murderer!” scream Baima.
“A commodity will always be a commodity. No prey, no pay til sun day.” The threatening opaque chuckle and those menacing irises behind them google glasses. Sunday? A lunacy would bail out. “Forever serve up yol peace. Argh-men.”
Here in this realm, I thought Silver and I could be pals and everything would’ve gone smoothly.
“Antagonizing me isn’t the methods for my response. Fear doesn’t discriminate.”
“Bwa ha ha, sink me oh me hearty! Why ye kid me crew ye unworthy peck. Well, ain’t he right yol blubbers? Fear doesn’t discriminate he said. Indeed.” The crew in the room laughed. Loud and was the mocking continue, “An isekai whom lacks a proper vessel weeding aboard me ship. Where is your grog?”
What have I gotten myself in now? If the mayor of Autumn was the standard of smartness, would I even dare to label Grinch decent on the lower side? My lurid face, a gulp to clear the throat was a non luscious bomb to face an evil before hand. But I was troubled. No matter is the texture from a bank of froth is disguise, no one enjoys the aftertaste swallowing it whole. I could not rest assure my thoughts. Not even the master of the ship would bluntly aim a like-pistol at gunpoint onto himself. It is surety that the seaman rigged the game for his enjoyment.
“. . . Fair is I, take Thorg and Baima then. I wager for thy hand. For the least, five runs.” Had Baima and partially a will from Thorg to take upon my yoke, reading the atmosphere hinted. Things just got complicated within complication. To the point I will not explain to the readers but suggest a portion. Too intertwined. To mixed, to grow thorns and ivies with the wanted wheat along tares.
If I was to win every second round, Thorg or Baima will be the first to get shot in the head for the sake of the children. Roll one, get one free. Boy, do I hate super market savings now. To up the price and to say get one abundantly free. Lest it was about to be expire. If the master wins, a slow suffer awaits me in their place. The best would be not to roll, to play this life-and-death game. Or hope no dies matches the number declared. Surely, Thorg and Baima knew the stakes they’re in.
The ability stored. This blessing. It was the only choice I had on reserved. Did I contemplated on invoking it. It was a bit selfish to want to survive and screw the rest for that stale moment. I must change my views. That should work. No second guesses from this predicament.
Up first was Grinch: Roll he no scoring numbers.
“Good. Maybe it’s working.” me thinking. It was my turn and so has I roll none as well. This prediction pattern is seen in a lot of cartoon shows. I might have jinx myself. O the suspense.
It was Grinch’s turn: The master of the ship wins, roll an eleven.
I was immediately shot in the right hand laid on the defile table. The short-stop noise scared the kids. The pain was unbearable. The first impact was not felted from the burning sensation. The aftermath right after was build up in agony. My heart rushes and pump quicker, activated from the wound. My mind was calm, as if a man who’s spirit was detached from his body when suffering a mortal injury, trying my best to slow down the loss of blood by controlling one’s breathing. The body went into verbal shock and ignore my consultation. The heat raise in the ears and was I developing a clue of nausea not from blood loss. Afterward, a sting from where this strange bullet exited from within the palm. The damage wood prick into the wound and skin. I couldn’t control the muscles on the hand reacting on its own accordance. The pinky twitching. The only thing to comfort my castrated hand was covering the wrist with the left to stop it from shaking. I look at Grinch and had he asked me rudely to roll the dices.
I roll a match. It was twelve?! Immediately was shot in the right foot. Baima was urging Thorg to do something. It was very subtle but I couldn’t hear the details. My mind was occupied. Why has this blessing forsaken me?
Congratulation! You’ve have unlocked Hidden Talents.
The jingle ended. Not at a time like this! From Classes, to Abilities, to Gifts, to Traits, to Regular Traits, and now Hidden Talents? Another anima? How many are there in this lively personal video game? The lucrative game system that doesn’t even abide by its own rules awarded me for suffering. Seem like it was hacked by Chinese gaming dalaos and “bribed” hackers around the world.
With much that I had endured, Grinch was well ready to roll his hands. When the cup viciously landed, that was when Odessa spoke up. Of all the others, the least I would expect.
“I’ll take the damage.” A brave commitment from a little girl that even shock the master of the ship. Had it made his day. She was breathing heavily but was controlling the best she could. Korimi must’ve taught her. The roots of her hairs looked lighter from stress mayhaps.
So the pirate who was in hold of me on the left side aim his weapon at Odessa. “No no no, blubber. We must aim it at the child’s hand first. Only Grinch has the rights.” So the pirate did what another instructed. The cup was reveal. It was seven. Odessa close her eyes.
Bull dung. With my head laying on the table, seeing Odessa’s reaction, I knew I was about to be shot. Bang! I was shot in the left foot.
“Sorry kiddo. Without permission, Grinch would have my head.” said the pirate who executed.
“Four of Five. Either you or them.” Grinch return the statement. A menacing suggestion at Thorg and Baima. “After all, hobo. You’re a trash to society. You might as well go first. Such a lifestyle to waste away when the world shun you and their stupidity reign supreme. I will be doing some good cleaning you up from the streets. No game . . . no life. Oh, did I got you mad?” The strange wheezing laugh he produced, pulled up the film camera where he wore as a necklace.
“A commemorative photo.”
Grinch carelessly throw down the photos of all forty-six isekai men before their impending doom on the defile table. One by one their faces met mine including the owner of the cameras, a photographer who was transported into a fantasy realm. Where it was safe to say that the man carried the two film instruments. The first was an instant print camera. From warriors to mages, from priests to rangers, from rouges to specials, none were spare of this defaming.
“Why don’t you smile?” Has Grinch’s laughs change gradually from the moment I met him is audibly repulsive.
The dwarfven starts to take commemorative photos. One after another of different intervals, changing clicks, slowly draining those who endure the flash. From behind he, slightly came to focus, a silhouette of trendies and society holding a variety of cell phones taking pictures in whole. It was I whom sees. So smile me. A smirk out of agony and pain and quoth, looking before the instrument which obnoxiously stare at me of this gaudy man-made abyss, “Well, aren’t you the devils?”