Blake stirred on the cot, his eyes half-shadowed by flickering candlelight. His gaze, though uncertain, carried a cold, intimidating edge. The heavy silence pressed down on him as he grappled with the question haunting his mind: What do I even say? If I speak, they'll see through me.
Around him, the soldiers exchanged anxious glances. An older warrior with a jagged scar knelt swiftly before him, thrusting the hilt of his sword forward in a desperate gesture. "Young master, forgive us! We hastened you to this filthy tent. Please, take my head and calm yourself!" The others bowed their heads low, shame clouding their faces.
Horror and confusion washed over Blake's face as sweat beaded his brow. What!? I didn't say a word—why offer your head? Am I really that terrifying?
Nervously, he averted his gaze and covered his mouth, recalling the cold expressions from the movies he'd watched. Okay, act cold—yes, cold. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he muttered, "Grhhm... grhmm."
His weak voice barely carried as he croaked, "…shoo, go away." The soldiers stared at him in disbelief, whispering amongst themselves.
Suddenly, summoning every ounce of arrogant young lord energy he could muster, Blake roared, "GET. OUUUUUT!" His eyes blazed fiercely, and his mouth opened wide in a commanding shout. The soldiers flinched back, fear flickering across their faces.
In a comedic scramble, they fled like terrified rabbits, one dropping his helmet in the chaos. Blake slumped back on the cot, sighing in relief. "Well, that worked."
Lying down, he pressed a hand to his forehead as blue symbols swirled before his eyes. Right... system message... survival, he reminded himself softly. "System," he whispered.
A holographic interface flickered into view.
[WELCOME, USER]
Name: Blake Dunzel
Age: 18
Strength: 80
Mana: 21
Agility: 34
Constitution: 44
Skills: Basic Etiquette (Lv. 2), Basic Sword Technique (Lv. 1)…
A golden [SYNC] button pulsed invitingly, and Blake's mouth parted in awe and dread.
Reluctantly, he tapped [SYNC], and suddenly his mind was flooded with rushing images and memories: dueling on the field, courtly intrigues, biting insults thrown at knights. The visions distorted as stabbing beams of light seared through them. An internal scream tore from his throat: "AGHH—!!"
Violently convulsing, Blake collapsed face-first onto the cot with a heavy THUMP. Sweat poured down his face, his mouth hanging open in unconsciousness.
Morning found him groggy and massaging his aching head as the scarred soldier—Pabel—entered quietly and bowed deeply. Weakly, Blake ordered, "I am unwell. Prepare to return to the estate." Pabel inclined his head in understanding.
A huge red system alert suddenly slammed into Blake's vision:
[URGENT QUEST - SAFE HOUSE]
Location: Dunzel Estate
Objective: Evade assassination
Reward: Mana Technique , Gold +1
Fail: Death
The crimson glow reflected terror in Blake's eyes.
…Assassination!?
…That idiot's 'Luxuries' line… Death flags everywhere!
Outside, the dawn-painted camp bustled with soldiers stowing fires and preparing to move. Blake peered from the tent flap, his expression grim. The glowing system overlay lingered ominously.
A new world. A new name. And death waiting at every turn.