Chapter 4

Death is Alright

“No way,” Sylas shook his head, swiftly dismissing the idea. It seemed awfully far-fetched, even for a newcomer to this world. There was a greater chance that it was some outside force, perhaps a neighboring enemy Kingdom or such, that had planted the ‘bombs’ in advance of the ghoulish invasion. As for what stoked the Ghouls’ numbers, it was either a coincidence or another deliberate action of some outside force.

Nonetheless, he had at least identified the source of the 'bomb' but it had only just now dawned on him that it was… magic. Though he had already ascertained to a certain degree that the magic likely existed in this world, it still made his first time seeing it and experiencing it and affirming it quite… spectacular. What was worthy of a grumble, though, was the 'system', or whatever it was, that put those screens in front of him.

He'd tried countless means of summoning it, but it never appeared outside its own 'will', as though Sylas was merely a passerby in its own little world. As such, he had no clue what the thing did, how it behaved, and how he can utilize it, and, more importantly, either scam it or exploit it. As it stood, he was at its mercy whereas it should always, always be the other way around.

At the very least, he mused, it helped him identify what the hell the big blight was. Despite that, however, it meant little to him as he couldn’t even begin to venture a guess on how to even recognize a ‘magic circle’, let alone disarm it. The best he could do was try and holler at people within the castle that there was a magic bomb underneath the walls in the vain attempt that someone might take his crazy shouts seriously. There was a far greater chance that he’d simply be tossed into the dungeon. It was worth a shot, however, at least a couple of times. In the end, he can just die and everything would be fine again.

He jolted, realizing just how ridiculous his thoughts were. All else aside, coming from the perspective of having lived a life where death was very, very much a permanent thing all the way down to the ‘eh, I can afford to die a couple of times’ is weird.

“It’s beyond weird,” he mumbled. “It’s the weirdest fucking thing.”

Sighing, rather than waiting for the Ghouls to climb to the watchtower and eat him, he jumped onto the railing under the beginning of the agonizing symphony that the castle would compose during the night, glanced back once, and leaped. It was kind of scary how resolutely he leaped, how little his mind held him back, as though it was already rewired to see death as just a minor inconvenience.

He aimed for his head to splatter against the ground so he dies immediately rather than spending hours in agony, and his wish was fulfilled. Almost as quickly as he hit the ground, the same, boorish, already frustrating voice and words woke him up.

“On your feet, maggot!”

He hurriedly got ready and left for the watchtower with Tebek. Deciding to just shoot blindly, he decided to share his ‘findings’ with the Captain, on the off-off-off-off chance the old man might take his crazy rhetoric seriously.

“By the way,” Sylas said. “I dreamt something strange.”

“Huh?” Tebek shot him an odd glance.

“I dreamt that there’s a magic circle under the castle’s walls that blows up in the middle of the night and then this crazy number of Ghouls come streaming through that hole and massacre the entire castle. It’s… it’s just first-day jitters, right?”

“… you dreamt this?” Tebek suddenly stopped and Sylas followed suit. The two stood partway between the guards’ quarters, or at least what Sylas thought were guards’ quarters, and the watchtower, perched on top of a wall, not another soul in sight, muddied evening narrowing their sights.

“Yeah,” Sylas affirmed, getting somewhat excited since it seemed the Captain was one of those quick-to-believe, superstitious types.

“What do you think I am? Stupid?”

“H-huh?”

“I don’t know how you figured it out,” Eh? Something’s wrong… Sylas looked down at his stomach where, just a minute ago, everything was normal. Now? Now there was a foot-long blade sticking through his guts and blood was pouring out like rain. “But you are too green if you think you can blackmail me. Tsk, now I gotta get rid of you too… dammit…” Oh, mighty fuck you, you fake-ass, ugly-ass, shit-ass cunt…

“On your feet, maggot!” Sylas opened his eyes, a million emotions surging within him. He didn’t exactly know why he got impromptu stabbed the moment he brought up a magic circle, but it was likely because the Captain was in on whatever the hell was going on. Unfortunately, Sylas didn’t have a weapon of his own to retaliate and his abilities in the good, old-fashioned fisticuffs weren’t exactly top-notch. After all, the last time he threw gauntlets with someone, it was in sixth grade and he yelled at Scott, a nine-grader who proceeded to beat the love of fighting out of him… permanently.

It mattered little in this scenario, however; he had infinite tries. It, quite literally, was like a game—and he was going to go down the true and tested method of failing until you get everything down-pat and clear the damn thing. He didn’t want to kill Tebek, at least not immediately. There were countless questions he had for the old turd and, unlike him, the Captain would likely stay very much dead if killed.

"What's wrong, Recruit?" the old man asked him, pulling Sylas out of the daze.

“Was just wondering something,” since he could live and die at will, he may as well begin leeching answers, one by one. “What did it take for your old, wrinkly ass to betray the castle and all the people in it, huh? Were you promised a pot of elven gold? A big-tittied princess? Or were you promised a tiny increase in your tiny dick, yo dick?”

“…” this time, he went for a straight chop through his neck. Sylas remained alive for a moment as his head flew off his body; it was eerily painless, which wasn’t terribly strange since all of his nerve endings were severed. He had a second longer to conjure the final thought. Okay, that was a wee bit too far. I guess I should be gentler?

“On your feet, maggot!”

“So, big-black-birdie in the sky tells me you’re planning on exploding the castle. What’s that about?”

Chop.

“On your feet, maggot!”

“Any way you could, say, extend your plans for exploding the walls? I’d like an in.”

Chop.

“On your feet, maggot!”

“For the love of God, why do you always keep just choppin’ and choppin’ like you’re a fucking butcher?! Can’t you just say something?! Literally anything?! When I ask you why you’re gonna betray everyone, can’t you at least say ‘none of your business’ like some proper villain or something?!”

Chop.

“On your feet, maggot!”

“This is ridiculous,” Sylas sighed, sitting up, but not standing.

“Didn’t you hear me, recruit?! I said, on your feet!”

“Oh, shut it,” Sylas grumbled. “Your voice is more annoying than the noise fingernails make when dragged against the blackboard.”

“Ha ha ha, it looks like our new Recruit has some balls,” Tebek said, but didn’t take out a sword this time around—but rather a wooden pole of sorts. No, it wasn’t much of a pole really, more like a baton. “Let’s see if you’re still going to be hollering nonsense once I beat your ass, eh?” Oh? Maybe I can somehow steal his sword while he’s getting an erection while whooping my ass? I’ve got a million attempts, anyway. May as well give it a shot…

Tebek swung the wooden baton without hesitation, aiming directly at Sylas' skull, center-mass. Rather than beating discipline into him, it truly seemed like the old man wanted to absolutely nail his soul to the devil and write it off as an 'accidental disciplinary death' or something. Sylas' combat reflexes were shit in his last life and, as it turned out, they were shit still in this one. He wanted to wait until the last second to dodge and nimbly thieve away the sword, but what actually ended up happening is that he waited a tad bit too long to move and instead of his head, the baton lay waste on his right shoulder and collarbone.

He screamed in pain as his nerves gave out, sending him to the ground. Forget stealing the sword, he was praying to all the gods that Tebek just loses his shit and kills him in one blow. To ensure that happens, however, he swallowed the insane bout of pain and started yapping.

“Ha ha ha, what a bitch-ass swing! My ninety-year-old grandma swung harder than that, you fatass! There was a kid in my neighborhood who could swing twice as hard… with his left hand. Bahaha, I could swing harder with my Johnson wrapped around that thing, you—” there was darkness right after, and just before his consciousness faded, he thanked his lucky stars that Tebek had a hardon for killing people as short as his fuse.

“On your feet, maggot! W-what are you doing?! Die!”

“On your feet, maggot! Ha! Tiny chick wants to fight me? Die!”

“On your feet, maggot!”

“On your feet, maggot!”

“On your feet, maggot!”

Sylas was defeated—well, at least temporarily. No matter what he did, it was pointless. Either his reach was too short or his reaction time was shit or Tebek just managed to get an upper hand… the old turd kept besting him. That wasn’t the strange part, though—for all intents and purposes, Sylas was a newborn pup and Tebek was a mighty lion, comparatively speaking. The thing was, however, over a thousand attempts, the pup was bound to at least once win the damn fight. Still, the pup needed a break.

He's been killed in so many different ways and so many times that he genuinely wasn't certain of the exact number. There were several beheadings, quite a few gut stabbings, even some entirely dishonorable nard splices, some flat-out beatings with that damn baton, and once during the fisticuffs. That was also Sylas’ best attempt as he did manage to wrangle the Captain’s sword out of its sheath… but then dropped it onto the ground and proceeded to get his ass royally kicked.

He wasn't afraid to admit it—he'd cried. In fact, he cried plenty of times. One time, he went through the motions and spent the entire early night before the Ghouls on the watchtower just weeping. Oh, and also shamelessly rubbing one out as he hadn't done it since coming to this world. He did it partly to just erase the urge and partly because he decided to believe in the post-nut clarity to show him the way. It did not, in fact, show him the way, evidenced by the fact that he was still stuck in the same loop.

Well, technically, it wasn’t a loop; he could end it whenever he wanted to by saving (that is if he knew how to actually save), but it wouldn’t change much, at least for better. He figured that the only way to move past this ‘checkpoint’ was to wring the information out of Tebek and figure out a way to stop the walls from going boom-boom so that the castle has a fighting chance. He’d even forgo all his rewards and cheers and just silently admire his work if he could just, well, do it.

“On your feet, maggot!”

“Ah, sorry,” Sylas accidentally slipped as soon as he stood up from the bed, his body lamely falling to the side since his reaction was, well, shit. However, by some sheer, stupid luck, he managed to push Tebek a bit on his way down and cause the old guard to slip up as well and fall, with the caveat being that the latter hit his head bluntly against the stone while Sylas only hurt his knee a bit. "Really?" he mused aloud as he stood back up, rubbing his wounded knee, looking at the passed-out guard lying there in front of him, a dazed expression on his face. "What the actual fuck?" he mused yet again, sighing and bending over, drawing out the sword—barely so, actually, since the damn thing weighed good twenty pounds—and preparing questions inside his head for when the Captain wakes. "This is just unreal…”