November 2nd, 2035

Castle Bosporus

9:36 A.M.

The city far below Castle Bosporus had resolved into visibility more than an hour before. It was far more modern than I would have expected due to the architecture of the castle. Some parts of the city were furnished with concrete buildings and thick roads, while others were populated with squat wooden townhouses and the occasional fleck of green. Overall, the architecture told of a story of an advanced but almost pathologically utilitarian culture. They favored efficiency and durability over aesthetics. Many of the office buildings more closely resembled military barracks than a place for corporate office space. It reminded me of the soul-crushing brutalist architecture one would see in the large cities of the Soviet Union or People’s Republic of China. With a smirk, I briefly wondered if the People’s Republic of Cascadia would soon start erecting buildings like that.

I walked down the stairs and took a right into the lavish bedroom that had been prepared for me. I swiftly retrieved a graphic T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, a new pair of underwear, and my fur-lined flannel jacket from the dresser. I briefly wondered where the nearest washer and dryer were as I took the clothes into the bathroom.

Over the next thirty minutes, I took a long shower and changed into the clothes I had been wearing when I logged in. The bathroom was stocked with toiletries that were remarkably similar to the ones that, to this day, were probably sitting in a backpack in the back of my car in the Old World. I washed my hair with 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, and I lathered my body with a bar of soap.

Once I had left the shower and stood in front of the mirror with my jacket, shirt, and jeans on, I was struck by how similar my avatar looked to my old body. I looked the same as before, but I was larger, and my imperfections had been sanded off. My hair had previously been the color of straw, but the man in the mirror had hair the color of spun gold.

I posed with my index finger and thumb on my chin. With a smile, I said, “You’re a handsome devil, aren’t you?”

I pointed two finger-guns at the mirror before I left the room. I looked good; I couldn’t deny it. I stopped by my bedroom for a moment before I left my quarters in order to pick up my Baretta and holster. It was a bit difficult to get the shoulder holster back over my shoulders without damaging the leather, but I managed to do it with some effort.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As I walked through the living room, I wondered if it would be better to have a melee weapon. I didn’t feel like I was in danger, but it was a video game. I never knew when I would have to kill a slime or a direwolf. There were no knives or swords visible in the living room, so I went into the kitchen to look for a knife. The first cabinet I opened contained a long ritualistic knife inside of a sheath. Without a hint of surprise, I pulled the knife out of the drawer and drew it out of its container. It was made out of some kind of black metal, though the sharpened part of the blade and the inscribed letters on the blade’s center glinted a bright silver. The “letters” on the blade were in Iron Script, the written language used by the NPCs that lived on Rubigo. They were called “Imperials,” I remembered.

The dagger's blade was about nine inches long. It was far too short to be used as a short sword, but it was far too long to reasonably be concealed in any of my pockets. I clipped the knife’s sheath to my belt and returned it to its home.

I unsealed my quarters and re-sealed them behind me. The sound of me moving the massive stone slab could be heard all throughout the East Keep. As soon as the entrance was barred by the door marked with a XIII, I began to walk away with my hands in my jacket’s side pockets.

After a few steps, I had a thought. I looked at one of the hallway’s stone walls and drew my knife. There was something special about this knife made of black metal. If GM knew that I would find this knife, then it must have been made for my use. I drew my knife from its sheath and slashed at the wall. My arm was a blur as I slammed the knife into stone. I felt the slightest resistance push against my grip before my arm whipped to the side.

With a thunderous roar, a thick mark had been torn into the wall. I looked over to my knife and saw smoke slowly rising from the blade. The blade had also taken on a faint red glow. I brought the knife closer to my face to inspect it more closely. Not even the smallest notch marked the blade. I touched the blade and felt the powerful heat rising from it. I had struck the wall with enough force to heat the blade with the friction of the strike, and yet the blade had not been harmed at all.

I felt the deep cut I had just made in the wall. It must have been two or three inches deep. The blade must have been deflected slightly by the hardness of the stone. The cut would have been much deeper otherwise. While its durability was magically enhanced, it still didn’t operate like a lightsaber.

Still, I thought, a knife that wouldn’t break when I used it at full force was a great boon. I figured that I could use this weapon to easily cut through a Goblin… or a person.

I resheathed my still-cooling blade and continued walking.

If I had remembered correctly, I would have to turn right at the East Keep’s central annex in order to reach the South Keep and, later, the Central Keep. As I walked, I saw that the huge stone slab marked with an XI was missing.