The training room was eerily still as I sat cross-legged in the center, catching my breath. The faint scent of dust and aged wood lingered in the air. My daggers, Shadowfangs, rested beside me, their sleek, dark edges glinting faintly in the dim light. I wasn't sure if it was the training or the emotional outpour from earlier, but I was surprisingly... mellow.
Mellow wasn't my usual state, mind you. My life lately had been a mix of adrenaline and existential dread, so this weird, calm-after-the-storm vibe felt almost alien. Like when you realize your coffee is decaf halfway through drinking it—not bad, just... unsettling.
I stared at the daggers for a moment, twirling one between my fingers. "You know," I muttered to the silent room, "normal teenagers have phones to scroll through when they need to think. Me? I have these murder sticks." I spun the blade lazily, watching it catch the light. "Very therapeutic."
I was stalling, and I knew it. My body was tired, but my brain? Oh, it was wide awake, running circles around the same questions it had been asking all day.
What am I doing here? Why do these daggers feel familiar and foreign at the same time? And what was up with that blackout battle instinct?
Frustration simmered just beneath the surface. It wasn't enough to ruin the moment, but it was there, poking at me like an annoying kid on a road trip. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I focused on the system menu floating in front of me.
2247 SP. That was my total score after ranking first in the last wave and taking down the demonoid boss. Not bad for a guy who, weeks ago, thought "SP" stood for soda pop.
"Guess I'm rich now. In points, anyway." I scrolled through the system store, squinting at the endless list of items, upgrades, and gear. A better set of armor? Too expensive. Fancy boots? Still expensive. A potion to make me forget how bad I am at fighting? Nonexistent.
The options blurred together as I leaned back, letting out a sigh. The glow of the menu was oddly soothing, like a nightlight for someone pretending not to be scared of the dark. My eyelids grew heavier, and before I knew it, the system menu faded from view as sleep claimed me.
It started the way these visions always did: like I'd been dropped into someone else's life mid-scene, without so much as a "previously on" recap.
The room was something straight out of a royal drama. Gold-framed everything, sunlight pouring through fancy stained-glass windows, and a carpet so plush it probably doubled as a bed. Servants were everywhere—maids balancing trays, knights standing at attention, even kids darting around, laughing and chasing each other. It was the kind of place where everyone acted busy just to avoid looking useless.
In the middle of it all was the young knight. Yep, there he was again. Polished armor, stiff posture, the whole deal. He was kneeling in front of a guy who looked like he owned the world—or at least this particular part of it. His lord, obviously. The dude sat on a throne that screamed, I'm better than you, with one leg crossed over the other and a perfectly disinterested expression. His hair was silver, like someone dipped his head in moonlight, and his eyes had this cold, calculating gleam.
The knight bowed his head, and they started talking. Well, talking might be generous. Their words came through like muffled whispers underwater—totally incomprehensible, yet somehow I got the gist. The lord was giving orders, and the knight was accepting them with all the enthusiasm of someone being told to clean the stables.
Let me guess, I thought. You're sending him to do something questionable, aren't you, Mr. Fancy Throne?
The knight rose, his face calm but tight, like he was holding something back. As he walked through the halls, people greeted him left and right. A maid curtsied with a warm smile; a couple of knights slapped him on the shoulder like he was the team MVP. Even the kids waved at him, their little faces lighting up with admiration.
And he smiled back—sort of. It was one of those polite, "thanks-but-no-thanks" smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something there, though. Guilt? Doubt?
Eventually, he reached a quiet armory tucked away in one of the castle's less-trafficked wings. Unlike the grand halls above, this room was simple, functional. Racks of weapons lined the walls, from polished longswords to rugged battleaxes. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal.
The knight stood there for a long moment, staring at the array before him. His hand instinctively reached for the longsword—a knight's weapon, the traditional choice. It was beautifully crafted, its hilt adorned with intricate engravings of wings and vines. It felt... right, in a way, to wield something so noble.
But as his fingers brushed the blade, he hesitated.
His eyes flicked to another weapon on the rack: a pair of sleek daggers. They were unassuming at first glance, their blackened steel designed for practicality rather than flair. Yet there was something about them—a balance, a weight—that seemed to call to him.
He reached for the daggers, testing their grip. They felt natural, like an extension of his hands. Fast, precise, deadly. These weren't the weapons of a knight, though. They were the tools of someone who fought in the shadows, someone who relied on speed and cunning rather than honor and tradition.
The knight stared at the weapons in his hands, his jaw tightening. The sword symbolized duty, the role he was expected to play. The daggers? They were something else entirely—freedom, maybe. Or perhaps defiance.
With a heavy sigh, he sheathed the daggers at his sides.
What's eating you, buddy? I wondered, following him like a ghost.
The scene shifted, snapping me into a dense forest. The air was cool and damp, filled with the smell of moss and earth. Sunlight peeked through the canopy, scattering like shards of glass. The knight was here, fully armored and armed, standing in front of a glowing portal surrounded by an energy barrier. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
And then it appeared.
The bear stepped out of the shadows, and let me tell you, this wasn't your average woodland critter. It was huge, bigger than the one we fought before. Its fur shimmered with a rainbow-like sheen, its spikes glinting like obsidian knives. Its eyes—glowing with this eerie, intelligent light—looked straight at the knight.
And then at me.
I froze. Could it see me? No, impossible. Right?
The knight drew his daggers, and the two charged at each other. The clash was... beautiful. I mean, as beautiful as a life-and-death struggle can be. The knight's movements were sharp, precise, every strike calculated. The bear was no slouch either. It moved with the grace of something far too big to be that fast, each swipe of its claws deliberate, like it knew exactly how far to push without killing.
Hold up. This isn't a fight. It's... a test, I realized.
The knight hesitated after a particularly close exchange, his chest heaving. The bear stopped too, standing tall and regal, watching him with those glowing eyes.
And then they spoke.
Not in words I understood, but their voices carried meaning. The knight's tone was low, apologetic, his head bowed. The bear rumbled in response, its voice deep and resonant, like thunder rolling across a mountain.
I pieced it together as I watched. The knight had been sent to kill the guardian. His lord claimed it was a threat to the people. But the knight knew that was a lie. This bear wasn't a monster; it was a protector, guarding the forest and everything in it.
And here comes the moral dilemma, I thought, my stomach twisting.
The bear rumbled again, stepping closer. Then, to my shock, it reared up and snapped off one of the spikes on its back. The sound was awful—like breaking bone—and I flinched as the jagged piece fell to the ground, glowing faintly.
The knight stared at it, his hands trembling as he picked it up. His face crumpled, guilt pouring out of him like water from a broken dam.
No. Don't do it. Don't just take that and walk away like everything's fine, I wanted to shout.
But the knight didn't hear me. He bowed deeply to the bear, who responded with a slow nod before turning and disappearing into the shadows.
The vision yanked me into a castle courtyard, where the knight returned to cheers and applause. The scene was suffocating. Banners waved, children laughed, villagers clapped him on the back, and the crowd practically screamed his name.
And he smiled. He smiled, even though every step screamed this isn't right.
Inside, he knelt before the lord again, presenting the spike like a trophy. The lord's face lit up with a smile that didn't quite match his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, his mask slipped, and I saw... disappointment?
The knight left, but I stayed, watching as the lord held the spike. His voice came through loud and clear this time, cold and sharp as ice.
"Too bad he didn't die. Sooner or later, I'll have to kill him myself."
My blood boiled.
You smug, manipulative—!
The scene dissolved before I could finish the thought, yanking me back to reality.
I woke up gasping, my chest heaving as if I'd just fought that bear myself. My hands gripped the daggers at my sides, their cold edges digging into my palms. The faint glow of the system menu blared in my face, but it was just background noise compared to the storm raging inside me.
That lord. That manipulative, power-hungry bastard. He didn't just send the knight on a suicide mission—he orchestrated it, knowing full well the knight would obey. He preyed on that loyalty, twisted it into a leash.
And the bear. That colossal, majestic guardian. It had understood the knight's plight, saw his chains, and still chose to suffer. It gave up a piece of itself not out of fear, but out of compassion. A creature of honor, brought low by the selfish machinations of a man who didn't deserve it.
My fists tightened around the Shadowfangs. This wasn't just a dream—it was something more, something too vivid and raw to dismiss.
The sound of endless pings pulled me back, but my heart was already pounding for another reason.
[Ken Magnum: Avi, I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to protect everyone.]
Ken.
His words slammed into me like a blow, each one a spike of dread in my chest. Images of him, Emily, and the others flashed through my mind. My friends. The people who'd stood by me when I had nothing.
And now they were in danger.
The weight of the daggers grew heavier in my hands, almost pulling me forward. My legs moved on their own, every step driven by the desperate, gnawing need to reach them. To see them safe.
The world blurred as I tore through the halls, past players who turned to stare. Their whispers were like static in my ears, drowned out by the thundering of my heart.
Somewhere between the dream and now, the lines had blurred. The betrayal of the lord, the self-sacrifice of the bear, the knight's silent anguish—it all bled into the present, into my fear and fury.
My friends needed me.
And I wasn't about to let them down.
Even if it meant cutting down anyone who stood in my way.