"We're choosing option three!" Sam proudly announced.
"I hope we meet on the other side," the puppet said with a lazy smile. As the words left its mouth, everything around Sam and William vanished. Slowly, they too disintegrated into dust, leaving only the puppet in the void.
The puppet gazed into the vast emptiness, captivated by its haunting beauty. Suddenly, a feminine voice called out to him. "Puppet 0351, can you hear me? Answer me it's important!"
The puppet turned its attention toward the voice. "Yes, what is it?" it replied, assuming it was being summoned to mediate yet another fight between puppets.
"The story has started removing puppets! Unless we give it a narrative centered around our plot points, those who aren't good enough will disappear," the voice explained. Though slightly robotic, it was still pleasant to listen to.
"Let me check," the puppet said. With a swipe of its hand, a screen materialized in the air. Scrolling through, it opened a file labeled *STORY*. The screen automatically highlighted the number 0351, and the display turned pink as its plot point was revealed.
". . ." The puppet stared in disbelief. It rubbed its eyes for what felt like the thirtieth time, unable to comprehend what it was seeing. The screen was entirely pink, with bold letters spelling out one word: *Romance*.
"Hello, Puppet 0351, are you there? What plot point did you get? I want to know!" The female voice returned, brimming with curiosity. She waited for ten minutes, but there was no reply.
"0351? Are you ignoring me again? Fine!" The call ended abruptly. The mere thought of romance made the puppet feel like it might vomit.
*What if I just let the story kill me?* it wondered. *It wouldn't be so bad—at least there'd be no romance nonsense.* But it couldn't bring itself to give up. With a long, resigned sigh, the puppet left the void.
---
Sam tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to cooperate. No matter how hard he struggled, his body wouldn't respond. It was like being trapped in a void—aware but powerless. Then, a voice echoed in his mind, cutting through the haze like a sharp blade.
"Stop messing with the controller!" the voice grumbled, tinged with frustration. After a pause, it softened. "Huh? Looks like it's finally connected. Sam, this is Puppet. You're currently in an unconscious body. I'm going to transfer information about how this life ended."
Before Sam could process the words, a sudden burst of light pierced the darkness. The harsh rays of the sun blinded him, forcing him to squint and instinctively raise his hand to shield his eyes. As his vision adjusted, he took in his surroundings.
He found himself inside a small, dimly lit house. The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the cries of a woman in labor. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she clutched the sheets, her face contorted in pain. A doctor, dressed in rough, worn clothes, worked quickly but carefully, using techniques that felt ancient and unfamiliar to Sam.
Moments later, the piercing cry of a newborn filled the room. As the baby was lifted into the dim light, Sam instinctively knew this child was the original Sam of this world. The realization hit him hard. The rough, handmade garments, the crude tools, and the absence of any modern technology made it clear 'this was a time long before the modern age.'
Events unfolded quickly, the weather shifting rapidly. On the alternate Sam's fifteenth birthday, everything changed when his sister was chosen as the hero.
The king of the empire was delighted by this news and personally invited the family to the royal palace. Once inside, the king threw a grand banquet to celebrate the emergence of a new hero.
At the grand banquet, the king led the young heroine into his throne room. "Young heroine," he began, his voice commanding yet tinged with urgency, "before you embark on your journey to slay the great demon, I must ask you to consider marrying one of my sons. This union would ensure that our bloodline has the potential to bear another hero in the future."
The heroine bowed her head respectfully but firmly replied, "I apologize, Your Majesty, but I cannot agree to such a request. I am not yet of an age to give myself to anyone, and I hope you will understand my position." The princes, though noble, did not captivate her heart, and she felt no inclination to accept the king's proposal.
The king rose from his throne, his expression darkening as he stepped closer to her. She instinctively took a step back, but he closed the distance, placing his hands heavily on her shoulders. His towering presence loomed over her, and she felt a shiver of electricity course through her body, a mix of fear and unease as his imposing figure seemed to dominate the space around her.
"Oh, dear heroine," the king said, his voice dripping with false concern. "Don't you care about your family?" A sinister grin slowly spread across his face, twisting his features into something almost inhuman.
Her eyes welled with tears as she trembled under his gaze. "W-what do you mean...?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. The king's grin widened, making him look more like a devil than a man.
"Think about it," he continued, his tone smooth. "If you marry one of my sons, your family could live in wealth and comfort. I will personally grant them the title of baron. No more struggling, no more worries." His words struck a chord deep within her.
Her heart clenched. She pictured her parents' weathered hands, calloused from years of tending their small farm, struggling to pay the crushing taxes. She saw her younger brothers, face gaunt from hunger, forced to wear the same tattered clothes season after season. The offer dangled before her like a poisoned fruit, like an salvation.
Meanwhile, in the grand banquet hall, her father scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from face to face, but there was no sign of his daughter. A growing sense of unease gnawed at his chest. The laughter and music around him felt distant, muffled under the weight of his worry. Unable to shake the feeling, he slipped away from the festivities, stepping out into the cool night air to clear his head.
But the unease only grew heavier.
As he wandered the palace corridors, his footsteps echoed against the marble walls, leading him, almost instinctively, toward the throne room. The door was slightly afar, and from within, he heard muffled voices, one of them unmistakably his daughter's, trembling with fear.
A sudden fog clouded his mind, but one thing was clear: something was terribly wrong.
The sound of gritted teeth escaped him as anger flared in his chest. Without thinking, he burst into the throne room. The sight before him made his blood run cold, the king towering over his daughter, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly while her tear streaked face stared at the floor, paralyzed with fear.
Rage overtook him. He charged forward, shoving the king back with all his strength. The monarch stumbled, falling a few steps away in stunned silence.
Her father dropped to his knees, wrapping his trembling arms around his daughter. His voice was low, fierce, and protective, as if his words could shield her from the horror she'd just faced.
"Don't worry, I'm here," he whispered into her ear, his voice shaking with both fury and relief. "Don't listen to anything the king said."
The low gentle voice could only be heard by his daughter as even the king didn't hear anything while being few steps away. But the storm was far from over.
The king didn't say a word. Instead, he turned and left the room, a massive grin spreading across his face as he disappeared through the grand doors.
"Don't worry, he's gone. It's just us now. You're safe," her father said, holding her tightly in his arms.
"Sob... sob... t-the... k-king..." she stammered, her voice trembling as she struggled to speak through her tears. Her words were fragmented, her emotions overwhelming her.
"Shh, don't listen to anything he said. You still have your family with you. We're here for you," he reassured her, gently patting her head. His calm and steady presence slowly began to soothe her.
Thanks to her father's comforting words, she managed to calm herself down, her sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles.
"The heroine shouldn't cry like this," he said softly, wiping the tears from her face with a gentle hand. "Come on, let's go back."
She looked up at her father, her eyes still glistening but now filled with gratitude. A small, fragile smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah," she whispered, nodding. "Let's go back."
Following this event, life in the town remained relatively peaceful until one day, a royal messenger arrived with alarming news.
He stood in the center of the town square, his voice booming as he addressed the gathered crowd.
"Citizens of Chambord Town! The king has decreed a new law! Listen carefully:
1. All children aged of 15 and older will be recruited into the army.
2. Taxes will be increased to 20 silver coins.
3. Crop and wheat production quotas will be quadrupled."
The crowd erupted in murmurs of disbelief and anger. Dissatisfaction was written on every face, and some dared to voice their outrage.
"What do you mean, 20 silver coins? Our crop yields barely earn us 2 silver!" one man shouted, his voice trembling with frustration.
Another joined in, "Yeah!, And what will happen to our family when we die in battle?, This is unjust!"
The messenger's lips curled into a sly grin. Without a word, he signaled to a soldier standing nearby. The soldier stepped forward, seizing the two men who had spoken out against the law, and dragged them to the front of the crowd.
The square fell silent as the townspeople watched in horror. The messenger's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "Are these two men your family? If no one claims them, we will send them to the Shē'ol!"
A woman raised her hand, desperation etched across her face. "The man on the right is my husband! Please, spare him! I beg you!" Her voice trembled, tears threatening to rain at any moment. "I'll do anything, please!"
The messenger's smile widened, but the crowd knew she was already doomed.
"If you want to save your husband, it's quite simple," he said smoothly.
For a brief moment, hope flickered in her eyes. But his next words shattered it.
"You have to perform a roundtable dance in front of all our soldiers."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few elderly women nearly fainted, while others quickly covered their children's ears.
The people wanted to shout, to curse the messenger for his cruelty. Roundtable dance was an unsightly dance only done by the vilest prostitutes for pleasing men.
But no one dared to speak. They could only watch in silent horror, pitying the woman and her doomed husband.
The husband gritted his teeth in anger if he wasn't getting pinned down by the guard he would have killed this messenger with his bare hands.
But it would only happen in his fantasy. He tried to scream at his wife not to do it but before his voice could come out.
The messenger kicked his face. "What do you think you're doing? You already spoke enough don't you think?" After giving him another kick, spit on his face.
"I don't have a lot of time! What will you choose?" The messenger didn't even try to hide his grin now. He was embracing it fully.
The husband trembled, his eyes brimming with tears he refused to shed in front of his wife. Beside him, another man, one with no one to help him out silently watched the couple, a bitter thought crossing his mind.
'They would have made a happy couple... Sadly, I don't think I'll ever find someone like her.'
Then, conflicting voices echoed in his head:
Voice of Heroism: Come on, man! You know what you have to do!
Voice of Realism: B-but… I… don't… w-want to d-die!
Voice of Heroism: Look at yourself! You've wasted your life being useless! This is your one chance to be a hero! You're going to die anyway so why not make it count?
A deep breath. A moment of resolve.
'Yeah… You're right. I'm going to die anyway. At least let me die a hero rather than a coward!'
The messenger barely spared him a glance, dismissing the trembling man as unimportant. His focus was on the husband and his wife. But the next instant, his decision proved to be a mistake.
"DON'T DO IT! LIVE AND FIND SOMEONE ELSE! WE'RE BOTH AS GOOD AS DEAD! IF YOU DO THIS, YOU WON'T EVEN BE CONSIDERED HUMAN ANYMORE!"
His desperate shout cut through the tense air. The messenger scowled, furious that he had not silenced him sooner. With a snap of his fingers, he ordered the guards to execute the man immediately.
A sword flashed downward. A sharp gasp. Then silence. Blood spilled onto the ground as the man coughed up his last breath, even his eyes spilling blood.
The crowd stood in sadness and appreciation of his noble sacrifice.
Meanwhile, the husband, his face pale, his body shaking, vomited onto the ground, his dignity discarded.
"Honey! Don't listen to what that bastard said. PLEASE, SAVE ME! I don't want to die! I'll still love you, even if you do the roundtable dance! Just just please, save your husband!"
A wave of disgust rippled through the crowd. The messenger, however, grinned in satisfaction.
"See?" He gestured toward the pitiful man. "If you don't save him, he'll be following the other one soon enough."
The husband sat there, waiting, pleading. But his wife didn't move. She simply stood there, trembling.
The crowd, watching in silence, hoped she would cut ties with his husband and one day, she would find someone more deserving. Someone more like the man who had chosen honor over fear.
When his wife remained motionless, the husband's panic curdled into rage. He bit his lip until blood dripped down his chin. "You useless horse shit!" he screamed, spit flying. "STAND THERE AND WATCH ME DIE? HELP ME, YOU WORTHLESS SLUT! IT'S JUST A DANCE WHO CARES?!"
He didn't notice her crumpled on her knees, tears carving tracks through the dust on her face.
The messenger's patience snapped. In one fluid motion, he snatched the soldier's sword and swung.
*Thud thud* *splash*
The husband's head toppled from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a wet thud before rolling toward the crowd. Gasps erupted as it came to rest at the wife's feet, his dead eyes staring up at her.
She scrambled backward, a raw scream tearing from her throat. The crowd recoiled, scattering like leaves in a storm as she fled, her sobs echoing long after she vanished from sight.
The messenger and the soldiers were still at the center of the town.
After people left, the messenger pinched his nose. Kicking the bodies once more before giving the order "these two stink too much! Feed them to the dogs."
One of the soldiers came close to the messenger "we found her house we are ready when you are!"
The soldiers were packing up as the civilians saw them leave the town. Everyone sight in relief.
Soon night fell on the town. The children were sleeping peacefully while the adults were thinking how to pay off the new tax.