Oswald—the protagonist—let out an exasperated sigh, plopping on one of the many purple pillows before a low table, putting his dark blue bag on it.
“Y’know, I need to have a one-on-one with Ms. Cassidy. Can’t absorb Physics when I’m about to run out of batteries.”
He rested his head on his forearms.
“Вам следовало бы поспать в течение обязательного времени дневного сна.”
(You should’ve slept during your mandatory nap time.)
He turned to his left, seeing Vladimir stand by the Naruto poster beside the Anime Club’s entrance.
“Я не мог.”
(I couldn’t.)
Oswald replied in Russian, his fluency stemming from Vladimir and his mother.
“I literally couldn’t sleep because The Reckoning did not let me go to dreamland.”
He then switched to Chinese—a normal occurrence between them, both foreigners born and raised in China.
“Then you coulda’ drunk coffee.”
Vladimir looked behind him, seeing the third of the friend group, Li, peeking his head through the door.
“I couldn’t do that either because I don’t have the money.”
Vladimir sighed, shaking his head, joining Oswald on the pillow to his right.
“More like you didn’t ask for pocket money because you feel ashamed. You are in high school—you’re supposed to ask for it.”
Li nodded, sitting on the pillow opposite Oswald.
“I woulda’ given you the money but you never ask. Besides, it was only ten yuan; that’s pennies, man!”
Oswald gazed upward.
“Yeah… but— Haaah. I-I’m just not thinking straight today…”
Li tilted his head.
“You never think straight when it’s time for ‘The Reckoning’. You ruin your own day just thinkin’ about it. Tell him, Vlad.”
“Look, this Reckoning you talk about—you’ve given a simple task of talking to your parents an evil name.”
He placed his hand on Oswald’s shoulder.
“Отсюда его возросший статус и влияние на ваш разум.”
(Hence, its amplified power on your mind.)
I know, man. Giving it a non-terrifying name doesn’t lessen its effects.
“Look, can we…” Oswald’s gaze shifted between Vladimir and Li. “Can we just drop it for today? The truth isn’t gonna help me talk with them. Also,” he turned to Vladimir, “did you buy the DVD with all the episodes of Naruto? Just making sure because the Lord has blessed us with school renovation tomorrow.”
On Thursday, baby.
“It’s sitting pretty by the big sixty-two-inch.”
Bought last week. Thanks, Aunty Masha.
Li leaned forward, looking at Vladimir.
“You got Lev’s poo stain out your blanket?”
Lev the Ginger Cat.
“‘Cause I got a spare blanket on standby.”
“Please do. The washing machine refused to clean it, so Mama had me sent it to the laundry.”
Lev—Lion in Russian. Why though? It doesn’t even have a mane.
RING! RING! RING!
Their free period—and the school day—came to an end.
The boys grabbed their bags and left the Anime Club, their conversation trailing out the door and down the hall.
* * *
He and his friends stood at a T-intersection—himself bound for the left path and the two friends for the right, train tracks lying between them and their neighborhood.
“I’ll see you two tonight,” Oswald said, rubbing his eye with his free hand. “I’m just gonna go home and, uh, eat then sleep.”
Vladimir dipped his head. “Goodbye. Look, j-just—” He pointed at Oswald.
“Идите сразу спать, брат.”
(Go straight to sleep, brother.)
He shook his head. “?Расплата? ударит по вам сильно, потому что у вас не хватит энергии, чтобы справиться с потерей. Again, just go straight to bed.”
(‘The Reckoning’ will hit hard because you won’t have the energy to deal with the loss. Again, just go straight to bed.)
Li gestured toward Vladimir, only understanding the last part. “What he said. Go straight to the sack, my man.”
“Haaah. Yeah, yeah. I’ll do just that. See you.”
He gave a wave and began walking in the opposite direction, not looking back.
“Он не последует моему совету.” (He will not follow my advice.) Vladimir’s gaze lowered, his fist clenching.
“Yeah… what you said.”
* * *
Two students on bicycles passed Oswald as he walked under the shade of the cherry blossom trees—pink leaves raining from their gently swaying branches. To his right, the river flowed freely, its therapeutic sound entrancing the passersby.
He slowed to a stop, gazing at the river. Before it stood a metal guardrail and a line of government-installed benches, all overlooking the water. He walked toward the river, past the benches to the guardrail, putting his weight onto the flat, cold metal.
He took a deep breath, falling into a zen state as the rushing water filled his ears—muting all other sounds.
I can do this. I…
His rested forearms switched to gripping the rails.
I will do this today. Today, I will finally talk to my parents. It’s going to be simple. Ask how their day was, and talk about my new hobby of writing… Please.
His knuckles whitened.
Please, let this decade of suffering end today.
He let out a silent whistle.
Alright.
He gave the guardrail a final brush with his fingers and turned around.
Let’s do this. Time to face them, again.
He slipped his other hand through the strap, holding both and heading homeward.
* * *
He left the whispering river and vibrant cherry blossoms behind and entered his suburban neighborhood—a masterclass in uniform dullness. Every house was a clone—the same placement of the gate, the same two-car garage, the same two-story box—distinguishable only by the paint on their facades. His own house sat in the middle of the street, a beige box with a navy blue gate.
I pray I don’t get colorblind in my years of living here. That would be extremely inconvenient.
Also, it's quiet today—no cars passing, no kids playing, no dogs barking. Just me, myself, and I.
He sighed as he arrived at his house and knocked on the door despite knowing mom left it unlocked. “I’m home!”
CLICK!
He closed the door behind him, placing his shoe in the rack, his dad’s black office-shoes on the top shelf.
“Welcome back! Dad’s in the bathroom!” his mom yelled from the kitchen.
“Understood!” Oswald yelled back, ascending the stairs—rhythmic, quiet thuds sounding with each step of his socked feet.
Entering his room, he walked past the table at the foot of his bed—his gray laptop and black wireless mouse to one side, a dark blue mug holding his pens and pencils. He tossed his bag on the bed by the window, walking to the white wardrobe beside the bed. He looked at the Shield Hero’s poster above the headboard of the bed.
The only poster I’ll ever get cause DAMN! These are expensive.
He changed to a plain blue shirt and gray shorts—his lounge-wear. Heading to the kitchen, he paused before the door, hand hovering over the handle.
I can’t stop. If I don’t change now, I’ll never be able to talk to my parents again—I’ll regret it if they die before it.
With a few deep breaths, he opened the door and left his room.
* * *
I’m ready, I’m so ready. Mom’s special spaghetti is before me. Both are sitting on either side. It’s simple, talk about their day, and my new hobby of writing. Here we go.
Oswald took a silent, deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. What? He spoke—yes—but his vocal cords hadn’t produced words. W-Wait, why is… What’s happening?! M-My mind is blank. Why is it blank, again?
His breathing quickened, sweat drenching his face. No, no, NO! NOT AGAIN! EVERY TIME!
He clenched his fist under the table. Inside, his mind was a screaming void. DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!!!
On the outside, he was the picture of placid indifference, methodically chewing a mouthful of spaghetti as he normally did everyday. Finished, he stood up and placed his empty yet stained plate in the sink, quietly heading to his room.
He closed the door, his hands still pressed against it, staring at his feet. WHY! One of the hands clenched into a fist.
I tried what the books, t-the articles, and the FUCKING videos said. WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?!
WHOOSH!
He wound and threw a punch against the wall—only to stop a hair’s breadth before collision. He let out a shuddering breath, his arms fell loosely beside him.
Damn it…
He turned on his heel, taking drunken footsteps to his bed. He lay facing the ceiling, his forearm shielding his eyes from the sunlight. Tears fell behind his forearm.
“W-What’s the point of talking, i-if I can’t even talk with my own mom and dad.”
He closed his tear-filled eyes, a heavy weight settled upon him for failing such a trivial task. Before sleep overtook him, he saw himself or rather the person he wants to be—bantering with friends and family, muscular but not burly built, and the hairstyle he liked but wouldn’t look good on his current form.
Damn… you look so good.
With that image held tight in his mind, he went off to dreamland.
* * *
He woke up to cold air caressing his cheeks, his body shivering. His vision blurred like usual when he awoke. Why is it so cold? Did I forget to close the window?
He rubbed his eyes, and his vision cleared.
“What the fuck?!”
He looked around, finding himself in an unknown alleyway, in an unknown neighborhood and sitting rather than lying down.
“Where am I? What is this place? Why do the walls look…”
He squinted at the wall in front of him—made of rough and gray stone bricks. “Why does this look medieval?”
The flapping of a piece of huge gray cloth drew his attention, crumpled a few feet away from him. Okay… From the cloth, the alleyway extended and turned right. That doesn’t tell me where I am.
He looked to his right.
“WHAT THE F—”
His eyes widened. “Lizards? Lizards walking on two legs?! And a horse too— What the fuck! Wait a minute, pointy hats…? Did a wizard and a witch pass by? W-Were those… cat-ears on a family?”
He narrowed his gaze, frowning. “Wait… No…”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me I’ve been isekaid (ee-sa-kite). The words felt absurd in his own thought. Was I teleported here by some external force? Did I die in my bed, only to reincarnate here?”
His hand met his forehead. “I don’t believe it, I thought they only exist in animes.”
Standing up, he dusted the grime from his short and shirt. “Have I been truly isekaid or am I in a vivid dream?”
He looked up to the fluffy clouds drifting across the blue sky, his head tilting slowly.
“They’re… not morphing when I blink.”
He blinked some more—his theory already confirmed a few blinks ago.
“So um… what now? Go to a hero’s quest of saving the world? Find love in this world while I can’t in my own? Become this world’s renowned hero—famous in every state, continent, and kingdom? Or…”
He looked at his spot where he once sat.
“Just sit here and do nothing. Heh. Nah. Also, have I been really desensitized? I should be panicking but… I’m not.”
He turned to the crumpled up cloth.
“Welp, nothing to do but to cloak up and leave the confines of the alleyway. Where will I go though…?”
He scratched his chin.
“I mean, when I thought of being in another world while watching the isekai genre, I always thought of going to the guild first to make money and start my life from there… Huh, the guild it is then.”
He picked up the cloth. “Wow, conveniently big enough for a cloak.”
Cloaking himself, he finally stepped into the strange, new world.
* * *
The wind kicked up dust, temporarily blinding him as he exited the alleyway.
Great! The world wants to reveal itself to its newcomer, blinding me to build anticipation.
He began rubbing his eyes. Okay world, I’m anticipated. Show me what you got.
His vision cleared and his eyes widened with awe. He found himself in a bustling street. Idle chatter filled the air—people, animal-eared people, and beastmen (full animals walking on two legs): families, couples, friends. The only thing common was their attire—medieval-style commoner’s clothing.
Wow, this… this is amazing!
He looked at the passersby in awe. The locals here were all things of fiction, yet here he was, seeing them walk about. He heard the clatter of a cartwheel over cobblestone, a child with fox ears chasing a runaway apple. Heh, cute.
Inhaling, he caught the scent of baked bread and a perfume’s fragrance.
Wait a second, perfumes! There are perfumes in this world? Bro… if I stay here in wonder, I’ll weird the people out.
His head swiveled, his gaze falling on a fruit stand to the right of the alleyway he exited from.
There is the person of interest—no, fruit stand of interest.
Before him, an assortment of fruits formed mountains in large crates—apples, green apples, oranges, and tangerines.
No bananas? Did she run out?
The fruit vendor was refilling an already-full sack—about the size of a grocery bag—with apples and green apples. Finishing, she tied it with a small rope, handing it to a customer—a woman holding a baby.
“There you go, Valentina. Please, do return.”
“Will do Ms. Applegate. See you later.”
Applegate? The only Applegate I know is from Kindergarten, the videogame… with big boo— I’m gonna stop!
Finished with the customer, the fruit-stand lady’s gaze shifted to him.
“How may I assist you, young man?”
Time to ask for directions. In addition, change my vocabulary to not look out of place.
“This is my first time being here in this kingdom, and I have to say...” He looked around him. “Pretty bustling this time of day. Any special occasion?”
“It is the weekend, hence the increase in folk wandering about. It’s also the day we merchants reduce our prices to drive sales.”
He scratched his chin. “Interesting… Where I come from they’d increase the price to increase profits but… that’s off-topic. To the matter at hand, can you tell me where this kingdom’s guild is?”
“Of course, you start by following this road…”
The directions were given—extensively so. So much he’d forgotten what came after the first two turns.
He waved at the fruit-stand lady. “Thank you for helping me!”
“Be sure to come back for fruits!”
“Haha. I will!”
The lady's directions were already a jumble in his head. Left at the blacksmith? Or was it right after the fountain?
Haaah. Where’s the GPS when you need it.
* * *
With many locals’ help, he followed their directions until the only direction he had to go was forward, the last leg of the journey.
Damn, look at all these medieval buildings.
His head swiveled, his gaze shifting from one building to the next, each left him awestruck.
Finally seeing these buildings and how they were used is just… breathtaking, man.
His captivation was interrupted by a man’s bellow in the distance.
“OI! I AIN’T SELLIN’ TO YA’!”
What the heck?
Walking farther, he spotted people casting disregarding glances toward the source before going about their business. He spotted an extremely thin raccoon-eared man, the sleeves of his shirt and pants torn, extending a small pouch toward a burly, bearded fruit vendor.
“But m-mister, my kids. They haven’t eaten in—”
The burly fruit vendor slapped the hand holding the coin sack. It hit the ground with a crescendo of metallic clanks. “I AIN’T SAYIN’ IT TWICE, SCRAM BEFORE I MAKE YA!”
The raccoon-eared man nodded excessively. “Y-Y-Yes sir.” He bent down, picking up the fourteen copper coins for the apples—one by one, putting them back in the sack. After picking up the coins, the raccoon demi-human walked in his direction—hunched-over, raccoon ears touching his hair.
And a tear streak shining his poor face, man. Fuck! Even this world isn’t safe from racism.
His hand—hidden in his cloak—balled into a fist. I want to teach that vendor a lesson but… I don’t know if I should give vigilante justice when I just arrived. Argh! So frustrating.
Passing Oswald by, his arm shot from within his cloak, grabbing the raccoon demi-human’s shoulder. His body jolted from the suddenness of the cloaked-stranger’s grab. Oswald matched his bafflement, his body had reacted before his mind.
“I uh…” Whoa! I feel his bones.
The raccoon demi-human looked at Oswald, wide-eyed with his mouth agape.
“Ahem. T-There’s a uh, fruit vendor down the road I came from. She was nice to me and I uh… hope she extends that same nicety with you. Ugh! Why am I talking in complicated vocabulary. Look, I hope the fruit vendor, who was nice to me, will sell the fruits to you.”
He scratched his chin, gazing upwards. “I overheard her name is Ms. Applegate and I believe she wore maroon with… green head coveri—Wait a minute, she was dressed like an apple.”
He began chuckling—his chuckle lifted an invisible weight from the raccoon-eared man, straightening his posture a bit. “Ms. Applegate is dressed like an apple. How am I noticing it now? Heh. Anyways, maroon with green head-covering, the name’s Ms. Applegate. The fruit stand is by an alleyway. You can’t miss it… Unless I am bad at giving directions.”
He freed him from his grasp. The raccoon demi-human stared at him with astonishment for a few seconds. His grip tightened around his coin sack, gaze shifting to his bare feet.
“Huh… there was hope in this kingdom after all. I must tell my littles to send their prayers.”
The raccoon demi-human bowed. “Thank you, I will head there right away.”
Oswald raised a thumbs-up. “Exchellent! See you later!”
They parted ways, walking in opposite directions.
Why did I say ‘Excellent’ like Lee from Tekken?
* * *
“Huh.” He tilted his head, scratching his chin. “So this is what a guildhouse looks like.”
He stood before a two-story timber-framed building that looked like it had weathered a few centuries. The air around it smelled of sawdust, sweat, and something metallic. Two faded green banners, each bearing a knight's yellow helmet, hung limply from either side of the heavy oak door.
If I recall correctly, the lowest I can take are F- or E-rank missions—mundane tasks like cleaning the feces of a farmer’s animal, hauling crates, etc. But hey! Money is money. Also… will they let me do anything without combat experience? I mean, mundane tasks won’t need me swinging a weapon. Do they need some sort of certification to verify my capability, even for the low-ranked quests?
Haaah. Well, deliberating won’t get me anywhere. I’m gonna go in and ask them mysel—
“Ya lookin’ to join the guild?”
A raspy voice, accompanied by a faint, musky scent, came from his left. He turned to find a green lizard beastman looking him up and down. Its slitted pupils narrowed in appraisal.
“Never seen someone starin’ with such intent. Ya face screams ‘I wanna join but don’t know if they let a nobody like m’self in’.”
So reptilians do exist on Earth.
“Yep, you got me. So, can you point me to where they train swordsmanship… and swords’animal’ship, if you will?”
“Ha! Already chosen ya path, eh? I will be there m’self later. From here, ya head straight behind me then…”
The lizard gave him directions to the kingdom’s swordsman school, and with a wave, they went their separate ways.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
* * *
He arrived at the Swordsman School of Training. A giant metal gate stood before him, and beyond it sat a wooden building bearing a signboard: two crossed swords before a shield.
His fists rested on his hip, his face beaming. “So this is the school where I learn to swing my sword.” He rubbed his hand, grinning. “Time to finally be a swordsman for real. Ooo, I can’t wait.”
While he was beside himself with excitement—like a child before an amusement park—an archaic voice called out from his right.
“Never have mine eyes beheld one so brimful of childlike mirth before the schoolhouse walls.”
Oswald turned to see a male elf wearing a blue bowler hat sitting above his pointy ears, a blue waistcoat over a white buttoned shirt, and matching blue trousers and shoes.
Holy Shakespearean!
“Yeah, well, I’ve always wanted to learn to swing a real sword, rather than playing with sticks.”
The elf wrapped one hand around his stomach while pinching his chin with the other. “I perceive it clearly; ’tis but one cause among many that draweth thee hither, yet it is a childish impulse, lacking all governance and direction.”
“Hey man, look. In this here land of opportunities—which I just arrived today, this morning—I chose one of many paths. As for me lacking direction, this isn’t me starting a business which has to have a plan. It’s me choosing a path, seeing where it leads. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a vantage point along the way—a view that shows me where I’m heading next… in life.”
The elf relaxed his pinch on his chin, his head tilting slightly as he listened. The condescending smirk faded into a look of genuine curiosity.
“So thou art not childish after all, despite mine own presumptions; and thy rebuttal—aye, I would deem it fully worthy of friendship.” He extended his hand. “Aelindor Thalorian is mine name.”
Wow. Yes! Friends would be nice in this unfamiliar world.
Oswald accepted the hand. “Oswald Jack, and thanks. I think we should head inside—I don’t know when it starts, so, an early bird catches the worm and all that.”
With Aelindor’s nod, the two of them walked onto the school grounds alongside other, diversely raced students.
* * *
The two entered the reception area, joining a line of other students waiting to be assigned their classrooms.
“I wonder if we’ll be in the same class? Would you want that?”
“Verily.”
Oswald smiled. “Thanks—Oh, our turn’s coming up.”
He walked up to the receptionist—a Siamese Cat-eared lady wearing a nun’s attire (but isn’t a nun, no Christianity here). In front of her was a thick book—the school’s registry—her white-feathered quill hovered above.
“Name and age, please.”
“Ahem. I’m Oswald Jack. Age, 22, and behind me, Aelindor Thalorian. His age? Probably a thousand-plus years old.”
“Hahaha. ’Tis only five hundred threescore and seven be the sum of mine years.”
Way off.
“What he said. And also, we’d like to be in the same class, if that’s okay.”
The receptionist registered their name and age among the others. Finished, she looked at them. “Your classroom is Room 1-3. From this point, turn right; the room numbers on the signboard will guide you the rest of the way.”
“Thanks.”
They followed her directions. Just as she'd said, wooden planks hung by chains by the doors, each with a number painted in black—but the numbers were neither Roman nor Arabic. Oswald slowed down a bit, letting Aelindor take the lead. From the six classrooms—three on either side—Aelindor entered the third room to the right.
The classroom’s atmosphere was just like any school’s classroom, small groups scattered here and there, the discussions blending with each other like a chorus.
“I’d like us to sit at the front. I like being face-to-face with the tutor.”
“Aye, was my first intent.”
They took their seats at the front. Oswald opened his mouth to engage in conversation but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Ha! Didn’t think m’self to be in the same room as ya.”
The same lizard that had given him directions, walked up to their table. The lizard looked at Aelindor, its head tilted. “Who is the elf fella sittin’ beside ya?”
“He’s a recently made friend. How recent, you ask? Five minutes ago, outside the school.”
The lizard extended its clawed-hand. “Pleased to meet ya, Zharrak Scaleshadow’s the name.”
“Aelindor Thalorian, ’tis a pleasure to make thine acquaintance.”
“Heheh. Man, just look at us. Three friends of different races. I think our group warrants a name… How about… the Mary Band of Idiots.”
Aelindor’s hand met his forehead while Zharrak’s hand clenched into a fist.
“Idiot? Who ya callin’ an idiot? Idiot.”
“I’m not calling you an idiot. I’m calling us idiots, idiot.”
“I would fain tender mine own formal withdrawal.”
“Denied. Once in, no getting out.”
An unknown voice with an Australian accent chimed in the banter. “A Mary Band of Idiots, eh? Reckon I could tag along?”
Oswald looked to his left. The source of the Australian voice was a Koala-eared young man, wearing a shirt with a weird, blue-patterned design and black shorts. Holy shit, he sounds… and looks like an Australian.
“Join? Bro, you were already in before you uttered your request!”
“Bloody beaut! Name’s Korrin Eucalyptus.”
Oswald held a thumbs-up. “Exchellent! Welcome to the Mary Band of Idiots.” I have to stop saying excellent like Lee, but I can’t stop.
He let out a silent whistle, the yesterday’s failure with his parents disappearing, making a genuine smile cross his face.
“Wow, this group is colorful like the rainbow. I hope we have an A+ school yea—”
His optimism and the chorus of conversation around him were cut short by a man—long, brown hair stopping just above his shoulders—in knight’s armor with a fluttering blue cloak. His left hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed sword.
In a commanding British accent, he announced. “I am Garrick Ironveil, and I shall be the one to instruct this class.”
* * *
The class covered the fundamental theories of swordsmanship—measure, timing, leverage, angles, and centerline—alongside teamwork and compatibility.
If I’m not compatible with an enemy, switch with an ally… Huh.
Oswald scratched his chin under the sky turning dark, standing outside the school’s gate.
I didn’t know there was theory in sword-fighting. I thought I’d only be swinging training swords. Well, the more you know. Tomorrow, though, I’ll be hitting dummies.
“So, where ya stayin’ at, my cloaked friend?”
Zharrak looked at Oswald, his head tilted, eyes blinking sideways.
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have a place to stay nor the money to be in an inn. To be frank, I’ll be freeloading until my first guild job, and…” His gaze shifted between them. “I want to do it alone before completing one with you guys. It’s a selfish desire, I know, but I need to learn how to acquire a quest, complete it, and get paid—all on my own.”
“Yeah, I get ya. Gotta suss out the process before you dive in.”
“Verily, the lesser quests bear no peril, and thus giveth no cause for disquiet.”
Oswald pointed at Aelindor. “Right, hence the decision for going solo. Get paid and pay for an inn… speaking of an inn. I uh…” He scratched the back of his head, his gaze lowering. “I don’t live here in the kingdom and none of my relatives as well. Nor do I have the money for an inn, so, um… Care to lend me a bed?”
He asked with a wince, his gaze shifting between his friends.
“Sorry, kid. The whole house is taken by the hatchlings. No room for ya.”
Korrin’s koala ears touched his hair, head slightly lowered. “Sorry, mate. Can’t give ya a spot—the siblings’ve already nabbed the space you’d need.”
“No, it’s alright.” He turned to Aelindor with anticipation.
Aelindor pinched his chin, his eyes closed. After a pause, they opened. “I shall grant thy petition.”
YES! LET’S GO!
“I shall conduct thee unto an inn kept by mine own kin. There mayst thou take thy rest, until thou findest for thyself a proper lodging.”
Wait, kin? Family? Is he a businessman—er, a business elf?
“Thanks, man. Well, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care!”
With their farewells, Zharrak and Korrin went their separate ways, while Oswald trailed Aelindor to his family-owned inn.
* * *
An hour into their journey, the sky had covered itself with a blanket of stars. The bustling activity of the day was replaced by the soft glow of lanterns, working men and women of all races headed back home or to their night shifts.
I don’t know if I should ask this. I mean we just met and became friends this morning but… I really want to get this off my chest.
Oswald took a deep breath, then turned to Aelindor. “I… have an odd question—its oddity comes from personal experience. Do you ever sit with family, desiring to have a conversation, but nothing comes out your mouth? Your mind goes blank, and your vocal cords seize.”
“Naught of the kind.”
Man.
Oswald rubbed his temple.“Haaah. I swear, I have this mental block each time when I want to talk. I just don’t understand, and it doesn’t happen when I talk to you guys. I mean… you saw my rebuttal, right? But when it’s time for family, my mind takes a break from working.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, the frustration propelling his foot to send a rock clattering against a nearby wall. After a pause, Aelindor answered.
“In mine own conceit…” He met his gaze. “Thou shouldst begin with gentle pace. First, seek knowledge of their daily cares; then let discourse take its course. Ere long, thou shalt find thy words flowing as merry converse ‘twixt companions.”
“Huh… I see…”
Start small, then go big. I’ve been trying to do that… but maybe the addition of hobby was a ‘big’ ask. So I begin by asking about their day. Yeah. I’ll do just that when I return.
Silence fell between them for the rest of the walk to the inn.
* * *
“We are come hither!”
They stood before an old, vine-drooping building, double doors as the entrance and a wooden sign above them bearing the inn’s name in Elven glyphs.
Boy, how old is this building? It’s gotta be a millennium old or even more!
“Well then,” Aelindor turned to Oswald. “shall we?” he gestured his hand toward the door in a you-go-in-first.
“Sure.”
He pushed the doors open, finding himself amidst the soft murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rich aroma of spiced wine and roasted meat. Most patrons were elves, their elegant attire and melodic speech added to the atmosphere.
The two walked toward the receptionist—a male elf in a brown long coat and trousers—writing in the inn’s register, a thick book with pages faded to orange.
The receptionist gazed upward to look at the patrons who entered—his face beamed when he spotted Aelindor. He stood up and gave Aelindor a hug over the counter.
Huh, he wasn’t lying about this being owned by his family. I mean, the hug says it all.
The two conversed in their tongue, occasional laughter bubbling between them—a shared secret from which he was excluded.
Maybe I should start learning the Elvish. His reaction would be a blast.
“Thou shalt abide in the second chamber from the stairs.”
Oswald walked backward while looking above at the second floor. Through the wooden balcony railings, he spotting his room.
“I guess, I’m staying over there.”
He turned to Aelindor and bowed. “Thank you, man. I will repay you back, I swear.”
“Tut, there is no cause for such ado, for the inn’s trade doth already prosper mightily.”
You say that, but I’m gonna do it anyway.
“Again, thank you. I’m gonna head to sleep now. See you tomorrow.”
Oswald waved as Aelindor said his farewell. From the top of the stairs, he saw his elven friend leaving the inn.
I guess he has his own place to live. Speaking of which…
He entered his room.
“Well, it’s… simple. A bed, a study, a bookshelf full of unreadable books, and two bedside tables with no lamps. As far as humble abodes go, this is humble. Alright. Time to hit the hay.”
He plopped onto the bed, and sleep took him instantly.
* * *
A translucent screen materialized in front of his eyes, glowing faintly with blue light. It looked like something out of a video game, with text and numbers neatly arranged in columns. Then, a popup opened in front of the skill menu.
SP (Skill Points) are gained by performing physical activities, including walking, observing, receiving attacks, and executing attacks. Engaging the body in such actions contributes to SP accumulation. There are two types:
. Acquired SP (SP: XX) — Points that can be spent on any skill
. Action-based SP — points automatically invested in the skill-related action, the SP gained increments the Acquired SP.
SKILLS SP: 10
STRENGTH 1
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 1
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 5
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 5
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
What the— A skill tree? For myself? What? Really?! If that’s how it works, then… I can get stronger using this. Hmm… What to do? I could go all out on my strength and become like Kratos, or become invincible by spending all the eggs on defense. Hmm… I want to be different. I will do perception and speed instead. Sharp eyes and running at the speed of light will be great! So, perception was… Ah. “Good with the eyes” … Whoa, a point was added. Nice! Time to split five and five.
Current Skills
SKILLS SP: 0
STRENGTH 1
“strengthen the arms” to increase the strength, both physical and magical.
DEFENSE 1
“Toughen up the body” to increase the physical and magical defense.
PERCEPTION 10
“Good with the eyes” to increase the observation, perception, and intuition.
SPEED 10
“Quick on the feet” to increase the speed and stamina.
* * *
Oswald awoke to the sound of bustling activity—distant cartwheels, children playing, and laughter sounded from the window. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and stretched.
I never thought I'd be woken up by the outside noise.
He looked around the room, now filled with sunlight.
Thank you, modern soundproofing… or I just live in a quiet neighborhood.
He stood from his bed, wearing his home sandals—the ones he arrived in. While slipping his feet into his sandals, his gaze fell on the cobwebs under the study—attached to the leg and underside of the table.
No, not one cobweb. Many! Wait—many? Bro! Every turn of the neck revealed a spider’s web. I was sleeping with spiders!
He also spotted holes in the walls, mainly in the corners of the room.
“Yo…! I’m spotting things I didn’t see yesterday. It’s not even the sunlight helping me, I just see them.”
He pinched his chin. “Is it because I upgraded my Perception skill? Have I become more… perceptive?Hmm… If that’s the case, I guess the skill menu will be the ace up my sleeve for being here.”
He walked to the window and opened it—temporarily blinding himself for a few seconds.
“I can’t believe this…”
He rested his hands on the wooden windowsill, looking at people and creatures of fantasy.
“I’m actually here. I should’ve woken up in my room, but… here I am. It’s so… surreal.”
He let out a silent whistle. “Welp, I should get ready to leave for school. I’ll be hitting dummies until I unlock a skill according to my nature—or so the British tutor said. Was it my nature or the elements of nature—like wind, water, and such? Argh!”
His hand slapped his forehead. “Stupid me forgetting the important part of today’s class. No use crying over it. Time to head out.”
He left his room and the inn. Behind him, a spider crept from its cobweb to a hole in the corner.
* * *
The inn’s entrance doors closed behind him. Hearing footsteps, Oswald looked to his left and saw Aelindor, just arriving outside the inn.
“Good morrow, friend. I was on my way to rouse thee, yet it seemeth thou hast forestalled me.”
Forstalled you say? You saying I beat you to it?
“Heh, you can thank the outside noise. One could say they’re a really good alarm.”
Aelindor and Oswald started their walk to school.
“Marry, so they are; ’tis by design.”
“Really? Now that I think about it… It does make sense. Interesting…”
Aelindor smiled. “I am right glad thou art in accord.”
His gaze shifted straight ahead—a demi-human cat and dog, their clothes torn, rushed past the two in a game of chase. “And I shall likewise bear thy counsel unto my father.”
His father?
“Your family’s in the kingdom?”
“Nay, they be far hence, in the Sylvian Enclave.”
Sylvian Enclave? Another country?
“Huh. Nonetheless, very interesting…”
* * *
An hour later, both arrived at the school’s gates, heading straight to class.
“Mornin’, mate. Sleep well?” Korrin waved from the table.
“Like a tired koala. All that walking and sword-fighting theory made the trip to dreamland an instant journey.”
Zharrak—sitting beside Korrin—smirked. “Good thin’ ya got the snooze. Remember to thank ’em, would ya.”
“Thank him?” He gestured at Aelindor with his thumb. “I’m in his debt—I owe him.”
Aelindor tipped his hat. “Speak naught of it. Yet if thine heart still urgeth thee to make requital, bestow that same kindness upon another in my stead.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t speak.”
But I will, I will repay the kindness… with interest. AHAHAHA!
Oswald and Aelindor sat in their respective seats. Their instructor, Garrick Ironveil, entered the classroom, the metallic thud of his footsteps silenced the idle chatter of the students.
“Good morning. We shall proceed to the training grounds by the entrance, where you will join students from other classes undertaking the same exercise. Form up in a line and follow me—we depart shortly.”
As instructed, they formed a line and were led to the school’s training ground. A large field of sand with wooden dummies as far as the eye could see. Many students’ grunts followed by a smack of the wood sounded, like a drum.
He lined up with his classmates before multiple large crates of wooden swords.
Chipped and damaged, huh. They’ve been put through the ringer.
Garrick turned to his pupils. “You are to strike the dummy until your skill awakens. How many? One? Ten? Fifty? Does not matter. What matters is the stirring of that innate talent, and the ring of your blade upon the dummy. Now… begin!”
He and the others took their swords and chose a dummy to strike. He struck his sword against his wooden enemy. He struck and struck and struck.
Countless strikes later, his hand started to hurt, and his shirt—hidden in the cloak—stuck to his skin.
SMACK!
After another strike, he collapsed on the sandy floor. Raspy breaths escaped him and sweat droplets fell on the sand below, evaporating instantly.
“Damn it… I need a break…”
He looked at his hand that held his weapon, blisters formed between his middle and ring finger.
Great! The next swings will hurt like hell.
Looking around, his gaze fell on a Black Cat-eared girl.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
She struck, struck and struck. On the fourth strike, water shot from the wooden sword’s hilt, drenching the dummy.
Water?!
His gaze shifted to a young man in medieval peasant attire. On his second strike, lightning curled around the blade and shot toward the dummy, setting it on fire. Shocked, he dropped his sword, and looked at his class’ instructor.
That was AWESOME! Water! Lightning! What will mine be? I have to see mine.
With newfound energy, he stood up—initially a bit shaky but balance was regained.
SMACK!
“Ah—” Pain shot from the blister. He jerked his hand to reduce the pain. “Fuck this blister!” He muttered under his breath.
He gripped his sword again and gritting his teeth.
SMACK!
“You won’t.”
SMACK!
“Stop.”
SMACK!
“Me.”
SMACK!
“From.”
SMACK!
“Awakening.”
SMACK!
“My.”
SMACK!
“ABILITY!”
SMACK! FWOOSH!
On the next strike, flame roared to life around the blade, not just engulfing it but exploding along its length. The dummy’s torso ignited with a WHOMP of heat and light.
“Whoa!”
Instinctively, he dropped the blazing sword, which crackled and blackened as it lay in the sand. He turned to his instructor, flabbergasted.
His instructor—standing afar alongside the receptionist—beckoned him over.
“Well done. Fire is your affinity. Come to the receptionist tomorrow—you’ll be with the other fire-gifted students under a new instructor. In addition, your standing.” He held out the wooden card. “This brown card marks you as a greenhorn. You are dismissed.”
* * *
Oswald and the Mary Band of Idiots gathered under the evening sky, outside the school gate. Oswald winced as he balled his blistered hand into a fist.
“My hand feels like I’ve carried something heavy for a long time.” He turned to his friends. “I got the fire skill, but I lost count after… I don’t know, thirty swings? What about you?”
“In but two-and-twenty strokes did I acquire Lightning; marveled was I at the swiftness with which the skill took hold.”
Oswald and Zharrak’s eyes widened. “That quick, eh? Got m’self water in seventy-six.”
“Haaah. Took me longer than a hatchlin’ to find its feed. Guess I’m number three on the list.”
“Got me Earth in twenty-one whacks. Ha! Nailed it, mate!” he said, thrusting his fist in the air.
“Since when was this a competition?”
“Ya bum hurt cuz ya dead last?”
Korrin chuckled and Aelindor offered a faint, knowing smile.
“Nooo… Maybe, a little bit.” Oswald brought his thumb and index finger close. “Anyways, I’ll be heading to the guildhouse and do my first job. Time to experience mundanity and copper coins for the first time.” He rubbed his hands, grinning. “Also...” He turned to Aelindor. “Can you ask your innkeeper to clean the room, I saw cobwebs and… I dislike spiders. Extremely so.”
“Thy entreaty shall be conveyed.”
Oswald smiled. “Thanks! I’ll be seeing you three tomorrow! Bye everyone!”
With a final wave, he turned and set off down the cobbled street toward the guildhouse.
* * *
He reached the guildhouse with the assistance of many locals.
GODDAMN IT! I missed a single turn and a whole hour—WASTED!
He let out a silent whistle, then a few more.
But… Here I am. Let’s go in.
He pushed the heavy doors open. The warm, smoky air of the guildhouse—carrying scents of spiced ale, roasted meat, and old parchment—washed over him, a stark contrast to the crisp night outside.
He was greeted by a mix of races and classes—knights, mages, clerks, archers, and more—sitting around circular tables scattered throughout. Their conversation paused for a moment—a single, curious glance fell on him—then the chatter resumed.
There—receptionist.
He walked toward it.
A knight, an archer, and… is that a healer? And they’re all different races, too. Huh. Very inclusive.
He stood before the reception desk. The receptionist—a woman in a green dress with yellow sleeves and collar—gave him a friendly smile.
“Welcome, what can I do for you?”
He produced a brown card from his cloak. “I’d like to do a quest of my current level.”
“Certainly! A moment, please.”
The receptionist bent down and produced a stack of white papers. She shuffled through the papers with practiced efficiency, her eyes darting across lines of indecipherable script. Finally, she stopped.
“Ah, here.” She held the request up and read it. “You are tasked with cleaning a dam that supplies water to a nearby village through the forest. To reach the location, depart from the kingdom’s western exit and follow the pathway until you observe a red bush. At that point, proceed to cut through the forest; the dam should be situated in that vicinity.”
After her explanation, she extended the paper forward and he took it, his eyes going uselessly over the alien glyphs. I… do not understand a thing. He buried the request in his cloak and gave a competent nod.
“Understood, it will be done.”
He left the guildhouse, the heavy door thudding shut behind him—the directions looping in his mind.
West gate. Path. Red bush. Cut through. Dam. West gate. Path. Red bush...
He set off, the directions repeating for the twentieth time.
* * *
“Oh, sweet forest!”
He placed his hand on the kingdom gate’s arch, his head hanging low. The two guards posted at the gate looked at him with tilted heads.
“Oh! Hey guards. Don’t mind me, just… losing another hour and a half because of a missed turn—AGAIN!” He shook his fist in the air, then ran his hand across his face. “I’m gonna go ahead now.”
He left the guards behind, shaking his head in disappointment.
“He’s definitely from the Southmarch; crazy as they all are down there. Only they'd wear a cloak in the breezeless night.”
“Y’kidding?! He’s gotta be northern, even his getup says so.”
Oswald continued his trek along the pathway at the forest's edge.
“Red bush… red bush… RED BUSH!”
He ran toward it. “She wasn’t kidding when she said that—the leaves and branches are literally red.”
He looked toward the forest's edge, where light from lanterns hung along the castle wall barely pierced the treeline.
“Now to go straight through, toward the dam—it better damn be there.”
He trudged through the forest—the distant hoot of an owl, leaves spiraling down before him, and every crack of a twig beneath his sandals sounding ten times louder in the deepening quiet.
An hour into his trek, he ducked under a branch. “Hold on…”
He heard the sound of rushing water in the distance. “There! Holy— The water’s leaking out!”
A line of troughs snaked through the forest, water overflowing from a build-up of mud.
“Shoot! Gotta start!”
He jumped in the trough and began digging out the mud with his hand.
“Times like these...” He let out a raspy exhale. “A shovel would be so useful… or a broadsword. Where is Cloud when you need him.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, settling into the mud-filled rhythm. After what felt like a hundred gritty scoops, he felt his ankles dip into the flowing water.
“Nice! We’re making progress.”
He climbed out of the trough and scooped out the last bit of mud just before the water rushed the rest away. He used both wrists to wipe the sweat off.
“Phew! A job well done!”
He bent down and washed himself with cool water.
“Alrighty, time to get my easy money.” He turned around. “Now, where did I come from agai—”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Men’s screams interrupted him, his head shooting in the direction of the shriek.
“W-What’s going on?! I-I gotta check.”
He sprinted in the general direction of the scream, the dam drowning his distancing footsteps.
* * *
“GET BACK!!!”
“ENCIRCLE HIM!!!”
From the treeline, he spotted a group of guards encircling a boy in the forest clearing.
ROAR!
His head shot to the source of the booming roar.
Is that an orc?!
It was massive—twice the height of the guards. Its green skin was slicked with sweat and blood, its eyes a glowing magenta, and a stone club caked with blood rested on its shoulders. Blood dripped down onto its hand as the orc raised it high.
Using this opening, the guards began slashing their swords, magenta blood flew with each swipe—but all in vain.
NO! THEY’RE GONNA GET HI—
SQUELCH! CRACK!
The sounds echoed as the goblin’s single swing wiped out the boy’s protection. The boy, hidden in darkness, trembled, eyes moving rapidly before the end.
Oswald cupped his hands around his mouth. “HEY! RUN! GET OUTTA THERE!”
He barked, but the boy remained in place. Saliva dripped from the huge goblin’s mouth as it raised the club high.
FUCKMEFUCKMEFUCKME!
He began sprinting, his footfalls somehow shorter than they’d been during his arrival.
BOOM!
The club crashed against the empty ground—leaves fell from the surrounding trees, the ground cratered and indented from the collision.
He hadn’t thought—he dove. His shoulder slammed into the boy's midsection and scrambled up, hauling the shell-shocked kid into his arms.
“GOTTA BLAST! GOTTA BLAST! OHHHH I GOTTA BLAAAST!!!”
His breath came in ragged gasps, the boy's weight jolting against his chest with every pounding step.
ROOOAR! THUD THUD THUD!
“OHHHHH HE’S COMING!!!”
He swiped branches with his free hand, some colliding against his face and leaving marks.
“DON’T LOOK BACK DON’T LOOK BACK!!!”
He looked back.
“AHHHHHHHHH!!! IT’S BEHIND MEEEEE!!!”
The orc closed the distance with each step. He could hear its rapid, guttural breathing.
“AAAAAHHH!!! TOO CLOOOOOS—”
SNAP!
The world paused. The only things his mind registered were snapping, flight, a roar, and yelling before darkness took over.
###
