[ ACCEPT ] or [ REJECT ]
[ ACCEPT ]
He passed out again. He woke up after an indeterminate amount of time. He opened his eyes again, and to his relief, there were no floating stones with glowing green letters in front of him this time...
With a smile on his face, he jumped up—a bit too high, I'd say—and ran to the stairs, exaggeratedly fast, so much so that he slipped and fell on his back, hitting his head directly on the floor.
But to his surprise, it didn't hurt. No... not at all, he only felt a slight tickle and nothing more. Somewhat dazed with confusion—and not from pain—he got up to speak with Alfred. However, the moment his feet touched the first step of the stairs, he hit his face, and then his knees, feet, and hands against some kind of glass.
"What?! What sorcery is this?!"
He started trying to push with his hands, and nothing happened; he kicked, and there was no response; he even thought about jumping over it, but then he was even more surprised... his feet, his body, didn't just take a small leap, but practically glided, to the point of hitting his head on the ceiling.
BANG!
"Huh!? And why didn't that hurt?"
He began to look at his hands, his body, and couldn't understand what the hell was going on. Then, he stopped, took a deep breath, thinking: "It's just a dream! HAHAHAH!" patting his head and remembering Trigger calling him a half-wit.
"Half-wit... that's a good one... I should wake up at any moment."
— WISH GRANTED — an unexpected female voice sounded in his head.
— HUH?! — Before he could process it, his eyes opened. And guess what? The runes from before were there.
Finally, Forly had realized it wasn't a dream—I mean, it was a dream, but a different one... a strange and bizarre one.
"What the hell is this? Wait!? How can you dream within a dream?"
In the upper right corner, one of the runes shone brighter than the others; on it was written something like Simulation of the Middle. He clicked on it eagerly, the sound of grinding stone echoed, the runes began to dismantle and rebuild themselves; then, a menu appeared on the screen—I mean, the large stone, in front of him:
[ ++SIMULATION OF THE MIDDLE++ ]
An environment, based on your current location, controlled by your mind, which transitions between dream and reality. Can also be called a Functional Lucid Dream. Normally used to prepare for fights, train your body, mind, and whatever else in a free and unrestricted manner. You also cannot die. You can feel limitless pain. The system speaks in the dream. Functions as a study object of the Middle.
RULES: [Sleep is your only entry portal / Zero freedom to alter the environment / 31m² limit / No other body can share the dimension]
[ BACK ] or [ BLOCKE*D ]
[ BACK ]
"Wow! This... this is... something, I-guess."
Forly, at first, wanted to understand how 'this' had come to him. It didn't take long for him to connect it to the letter—and the famous sponsorships.
"Well, green with green makes... green? I don't know... Depends on the shade... Who knows; I wonder what else I can do with this?"
Soon, he remembered the abnormal activities in the simulation.
He jumped out of bed at once and tested his point right away, even more clumsily than before. He jumped, and hit his head on the ceiling—and this time it hurt. The worst part... he fell on top of the bed.
Plop!
Along with his new strength came the first destruction—"Every great hero destroys public and private property, right? I mean, that great ancient writer and philologist, the one from the great ancient legends, a distant relative of Homer, I believe, if I didn't skip history class... Zachary Sneyder, was his name, I think"—which happened to be his greatest comfort. His poor bed.
"Damn it! Th-at Hurt... And boy, did it hurt!"
He got up, somewhat dazed, dusting himself off, when he turned around, Alfred was standing there, confused.
— My Lord?
— Ah! Alfred! Alfred, my dear fellow! It's... a long story. Sit down, for time is pressing! It is pressing, my friend, and it rushes more than it should! — he said, gesturing exasperatedly.
...
...
— So you are telling me, Lord Thatcher, as I myself am conjecturing—"When did I start conjecturing?"—that this 'system' has brought you a transcendental quality?
— Something like that. And something tells me, Alfred, that my parents' disappearance is somehow linked to this... Although the one who delivered me as a sacrifice was my beloved's father. Oh, my beloved, Alfred! Where is she?! I must find her!!
— But my lord, you have barely rested...
He put on a long-sleeved shirt, one of those old wool ones, while looking for a hood in the wardrobe. You might also wonder why Alfred wasn't as worried as he should have been. Well... He didn't know everything. In fact, he thought Forly had simply stayed hidden trying to save the blacksmith, and had returned injured from the long journey after being attacked by stray wolves from Ungesælig.
— There is no time to lose, Alfred, I don't know where she is, she could be in danger... Where could she be?
— Check the forest, or perhaps, old Cook... he helped prisoners of war, during the times of Muntcynygas's independence... And I've heard he helped you as well...
— It's true... — replied Forly, his cheeks blushing. — Then, I shall go now, without delay, and I must say I will be long in returning... why, of course, I will take advantage of these new extraordinary qualities that have been given to me... and perhaps, do some research to find out more about this.
— Be careful... lies are circulating about you, and the king... well, you know.
— Farewell... my dear fellow.
Forly left with Trigger Heart, riding off and kicking up a great deal of dust in the corner between the barn and the courtyard. All Alfred could think was: "When did he start speaking so well? I mean, either he was playing the fool, or this letter has given him more little grey cells than usual... or even further, I'd say, both."
Finally arriving at the entrance to the East Side, he could see, projecting above the entrance archway, the great castle in the Upper East Side—a grand structure of stone, brick, and marble. He flew past with Trigger.
On the way, in the city, already near Middle Street, he ran into a royal guard shouting his name exaggeratedly and saying loudly that he had come with a message. Normally he would refuse, but if he did so in front of people it would raise more suspicion and talk. He just accepted, saying no more, no less.
"Thank you, I will be there shortly."
The soldier left.
'Deceitful king...' And that, of course, was no lie; the bearer of the crown knew that if he did it like this, in public, one either accepts, or... accepts.
...
Forly stopped with Trigger at a small circular hedge; he told the horse to be ready at any moment.
Before he left, Trigger gave a final warning:
"Master."
"What?"
"If you need me, whistle."
Forwin nodded in confirmation.
...
Forly passed through the northern corridor of the hedge and came out into a courtyard three times the size of his manor's. A fountain in the middle, paths of trimmed grass, and gardens permeating the way.
Right in front, under the gigantic threshold of the palace, were four soldiers in front of the doors, one at each end, and one in the middle between the ones at the door and the ones at the ends. The ones at the door seemed distracted, talking, when they saw the boy; and they found him strange, he seemed... stronger?
Everyone knew him, and the guards just made way, staring at the young man.
In front of Forwin, King Deormund appeared. He was dressed in a beige robe without any color... 'Pfft. He even looks like one of those so-called Jedis from the legends... but without the greatness, beauty... or elegance...' Forwin couldn't help but laugh internally.
He was tall and had brown skin. His eyes were black and deep like an infinite well. The moment Forwin set foot inside, the doors behind him closed—taking away the grace and beauty that the cordial sunlight brought to the entrance.
All that illuminated them now was an immense corridor populated by pillars on both sides with torches. The king's face was... difficult. His expression was indecipherable... it seemed he was trying his best not to show his emotions, to the point that discreet and almost invisible drops of sweat slowly trickled down his temples, hidden by his long, platinum-blonde hair.
"Lord Forwin of Thatcher… My condolences." His voice was false. There wasn't a hint of sincerity in his speech. "I am sorry that you had to come and turn yourself in... I thought you wouldn't do it."
His speech was interrupted. Forly raised his hand, pointing his finger. And he approached the king. In the same instant, the guards inside raised their spears. However, Deormund IX did not back away and made a small gesture with his hand for them to do nothing—the soldiers moved back behind the king. "Tell me, oh most powerful king, why would I turn myself in? I came to ask for counsel, and you accuse me?"
The king was surprised. 'When did he start talking like that? As I recall, he was an idiot.'
"Counsel, my young man? I must simply uphold the law... and as it seems you will not turn yourself in, I will have to enforce it thus." He sighed deeply and raised his hands.
"What?!"
"Please, do not resist, Forwin..."
Forly turned and ran towards the door. As expected, two spears shot past, just inches from his face.
At that exact moment, a grinding of stone sounded in his brain. The runes appeared in front of him milliseconds later. And a voice spoke at the speed of sound:
[Would you like to activate the Emergency skill?]
[ ACCEPT ] or [ REJECT ]
And as if his brain had taken a preemptive measure, the 'yes' was made in the same millisecond. Everything occurred within the space of a second. In a whirlwind of energies churning and twisting in his body—as if a lightning bolt had struck him from the inside, messing up his entire body.
His senses were sharpened; his body was enhanced; his eyes emitted an incandescent green glow.
In response, in the next second, Forly crouched, and with his feet on the door, he pushed himself backwards. 'What? How did I do th—'
With no time, he decided to seize the opportunity. Forly pushed off and ran with his back arched low. His speed was impressive enough that he passed the guards with their spears forward. The two fell to the ground together and rolled out the door and down the steps.
Forly got up awkwardly, and somewhat confused. His eyes were wide open in an exaggerated way. Without even being able to defend himself, he had already been caught; the soldiers had formed barriers at the door and behind him, and nothing could save him this time.
And all Forly could think was: Forwin is just a name, Forlose is who I am.
Finally, the king returned from the shadows.
"Lock him in the abandoned chambers of the castle... you know where. Let him die of starvation and madness there..."
And the soldiers left, dragging Forly, who was writhing in their arms, to a door in the east wing of the castle. His last words were "DEATH! DEATH! DEAAAA—"
The door closed.
...
The king then called other soldiers and ordered a public assembly.
"We will announce a bounty on Forwin's head, and it will be for the murder of the blacksmith... prepare everything!"