"I am overencumbered."
Prince Valerius stopped in the middle of the path. He didn't look tired. He didn't look out of breath. He simply stopped moving, his legs locking into a standing animation frame, as if an invisible hand had unplugged his controller.
Elian, who was currently dragging a sack of wolf pelts that weighed more than he did, stopped beside him. "My Lord?"
"My inventory," Valerius stated, staring at the empty air. "It is full. The Wolf Mother dropped seventeen 'Grey Wolf Pelts' in addition to the accessory. I am at 101/100 weight capacity. I cannot take another step north until I vend."
Elian looked at the path ahead. The "Shattered Sun Temple" was miles away. He looked back toward Oakhaven.
"So... we have to go back?" Elian asked, hope fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird.
"It is the burden of the wealthy," Valerius sighed, performing a dramatic emote of resignation. "We must return to the hub. I need to repair my armor, sell this trash, and claim the Legendary Reward you promised me."
Elian's hope died instantly.
The Reward.
In the chaos of the boss fight, Elian had almost forgotten the lie that started this mess. He had promised Valerius a reward for killing the "Mutant Dragon-Rats." Valerius believed the Wolf Mother was part of that quest chain. Now, he expected the payout.
"Of course," Elian said, his voice cracking slightly. "The... reward."
"It had better be a weapon," Valerius warned, turning around with the stiff, jerky movement of a character rotating on a pivot. "My current blade is losing durability. If you hand me a shield, I will be very displeased. I do not block; I parry."
The walk back to Oakhaven was a silent march of dread.
To Valerius, it was a "backtracking" segment. To Elian, it was a funeral procession.
They arrived at the village gates just as the sun began to set. The sky was a bruised purple—a result of the lowering [Suspension of Disbelief] meter messing with the atmospheric rendering. The villagers were going about their evening scripts, but they seemed glitchy. The Baker was walking into a wall, sliding sideways, then popping back onto his path.
They reached the Rusty Tankard.
The inn was still standing, but it carried the scars. The front window was black with soot. A smell of wet ash and stale beer hung heavy in the air.
Sarah was on her hands and knees by the entrance, scrubbing the scorched floorboards. She looked up as the door opened. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Valerius.
"You," she spat. "You have the nerve to come back?"
Valerius stepped over her bucket without looking down. "Silence, NPC. I am here for business."
He marched to the center of the room—avoiding the frictionless patch Elian had created earlier—and struck a pose.
"Innkeeper!" Valerius bellowed. "The beast is slain! The Void is pushed back! I have returned for my tribute!"
He held out a gauntleted hand. Expectant. Demanding.
Elian stood behind the bar. His hands were shaking. He looked around the room. There was nothing. Just empty mugs, a cracked wine rack, and the lingering smoke damage.
"Well?" Valerius tapped his foot. [Patience: 40%]. "Do not tell me the quest was bugged. If I don't get a reward popup in ten seconds, I'm going to assume this village is corrupted and purge it."
"It's... it's here," Elian stammered. "I just... have to retrieve it."
"Five seconds."
Elian frantically scanned the room. He needed a weapon. Any weapon. A steak knife? A ladle?
His eyes darted to the fireplace mantle.
There, hanging on two crooked iron nails, was a sword.
It was a piece of set dressing. It had been there for ten years. It was rusted solid, the leather grip had rotted away, and the pommel was missing. It was a [Decorative_Item_03]. It didn't even have a hitbox.
But Elian remembered something. In the very first draft of the world—back before the developers gave up on lore—there was a flavor text description for the inn. 'The Rusty Tankard, home to old ales and older blades.'
It was a tenuous connection. A thread of narrative logic so thin it was practically invisible.
Can I use it? Elian wondered. Can I call back to a description?
He focused his mind. He didn't look at the sword as an object; he looked at it as a plot point.
[Skill Activation: Chekhov's Recall]
Description: Bring a previously established background element into the foreground.
[Cost: 5 Ink + 2 HP]
Elian felt the drain immediately. A sharp migraine spiked through his skull. His nose began to bleed, a warm trickle running down his philtrum.
"The blade!" Elian shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the mantle. "It has been waiting for you!"
Valerius turned. He looked at the rusty piece of junk hanging above the cold hearth.
"That?" Valerius scoffed. "That is scrap metal. It has no glow. It has no particle effects."
"It is... sleeping," Elian lied, his brain working furiously to weave the edit. "It is the Blade of the Eclipsed Sun. It only awakens for a true Hero."
He grabbed the hilt. He pulled.
The sword was rusted to the mount. It didn't move.
Move, dammit! Elian screamed internally. He poured more Ink into the action.
[Ink: 4 -> 3]
CRACK.
The iron nails snapped. Elian stumbled back, the heavy, corroded weapon falling into his arms. It was heavier than it looked. Dust billowed off it, making him cough.
He slammed it onto the counter. Rust flakes rained down like orange snow.
"Behold," Elian wheezed, wiping blood from his nose.
Valerius approached the counter. He looked at the sword with intense skepticism. He hovered his hand over it, waiting for an appraisal window.
[Item: Old Rusted Sword]
[Quality: Poor]
[Damage: 1-2]
"You take me for a fool," Valerius said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This is trash loot. It does 1 damage. My fist does 4."
He reached for [Solaris]. "You lied to me, Quest Giver. And you know the penalty for deception."
"Read the description!" Elian shrieked. "Look closer! It's... it's a Growth Weapon!"
"A what?" Valerius paused.
"A Growth Weapon!" Elian improvised wildly. "It scales! It starts weak because it tests the wielder! The rust isn't rust... it's... Sealing Runes! You have to break the seals by slaying enemies!"
Elian focused his remaining will on the text box hovering over the sword. He couldn't change the stats—the System locked those down too tight. But he could edit the flavor text.
He squeezed his eyes shut. The migraine flared into a supernova of pain.
Edit Description. Insert Lore.
[HP: 6 -> 4]
The blue window flickered. The text [A decorative sword, widely mass-produced] dissolved and re-formed.
[Item: Blade of the Eclipsed Sun (Sealed)]
[Description: An ancient weapon bound by the Oxide Curse. Only by bathing it in the blood of enemies will the true gold be revealed. Scales with User Ego.]
Valerius blinked. He read the text. He read it again.
"Scales with... Ego?" Valerius whispered.
"It means confidence!" Elian blurted out. "The more you believe in your own legend, the stronger it gets!"
Valerius dropped his own sword. It clattered to the floor, forgotten. He picked up the rusty bar of iron with reverence.
"I have heard of these," Valerius murmured, his eyes wide. "End-game content. Hidden in plain sight. A weapon that feeds on my own greatness..."
He swung the sword. It made a dull whoosh sound, shedding more rust.
"It feels... heavy," Valerius said. "Like it carries the weight of destiny."
"Exactly," Elian said, leaning against the back bar to keep from fainting. "But you can't use it yet. You have to... uh... bond with it. Keep it in your inventory. Use it for the finishing blow on the Boss of this Arc."
"The Boss of this Arc," Valerius repeated. He sheathed the rusty sword on his hip, displacing his legendary blade. "Yes. I understand. The System is challenging me to a handicap run. I must prove I don't need stats to win."
He looked at Elian. The threat was gone, replaced by a terrifying gratitude.
"You have served me well, NPC," Valerius said. "I shall not forget this. When I ascend to godhood, I will name a star after this tavern."
[Quest Complete: The Cellar of Doom]
[Relationship Updated: Valerius -> Elian (Favored Minion)]
Valerius turned and walked toward the door. "I must meditate on this new power. I will retire to my room. Do not disturb me unless the world is ending."
He walked up the stairs, the rusty sword banging against his leg, leaving a trail of orange dust on the clean floor Sarah had just scrubbed.
Elian slid down the wall until he hit the floor. He sat there, his head in his hands, blood dripping onto his tunic.
"You're bleeding," Sarah said.
She was standing over him, holding the mop. She didn't look angry anymore. She looked scared.
"I'm fine," Elian lied.
"You gave him the decoration," Sarah said softly. "The one Old Man Miller found in a ditch ten years ago."
"It's a legendary sword now," Elian croaked. "As long as he believes it is."
"He's going to get himself killed with that thing," Sarah said. "It'll snap the first time he hits a shield."
"I know," Elian closed his eyes. "That's why I have to go with him."
"Go with him?" Sarah dropped the mop. "Elian, you can't leave. You're... we're..."
"We're assets," Elian finished. "And assets stay in their zone. But I'm not an asset anymore, Sarah. I'm a bug."
He looked up at her.
"And if I stay here," he whispered, "I'm going to crash the server."
Before Sarah could answer, the front door opened again.
It wasn't Valerius. It was a hooded figure in tattered grey robes. A blindfold covered his eyes. He tapped a long, gnarled staff against the floorboards.
[Event Trigger: The Prophecy]
The Seer had arrived.
Elian let out a groan that was half-laugh, half-sob. Of course. The Narrative wouldn't let him rest. The Village had to burn, and every tragedy needed a foreshadowing event.
"Doom," the Seer croaked, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. "Doom comes to Oakhaven."
"We know," Elian said from the floor. "He's upstairs taking a nap."