I wake up feeling even worse than before. This body is absurdly weak. Every step sends pain through my bones, and by now all the others are gone. I don't know when they left, or how I failed to notice it. Standing there in the empty street, I grit my teeth and try not to think about how pathetic this is. "Of course," I mutter. "A beggar. Weak, starving, and sleeping on the ground. Couldn't even get a bed. Of course. Just my shitty luck."
"Hey, look! That kid's gone insane!"
I turn my head and see a group of men stumbling toward me. There are five of them, all drunk enough that I can smell the alcohol before they get close. One lurches forward, squinting at me like he's trying to decide whether I'm worth the effort. "Hey, kid, get off your high horse. Wake up to reality—" He burps in the middle of it, then grins like he's said something clever.
I stare at him for a second, then wrinkle my nose. "Take a step back. Your breath reeks."
The others laugh. His grin disappears. "Huh? What did you say to me, you little shit?"
"I said your breath reeks," I repeat. I should stop there. In this body, with five drunk men in front of me, provoking them is idiotic. I know that. Unfortunately, knowing it doesn't seem to help. "Actually," I add, glancing at the others, "all of you smell like shit."
That wipes the amusement off their faces. One of them clicks his tongue and steps closer. "Listen here, little beggar. You don't talk to us like that."
I can already tell where this is going. I'm weak, exhausted, and in no condition to fight anyone, let alone five drunken idiots. Still, the idea of backing down leaves a worse taste in my mouth than their stench. "So what?" I say.
The nearest one raises his fist, and I brace myself for the hit. Before it lands, something slams into the back of my head hard enough to send pain flashing white behind my eyes. The ground tilts under me, my balance vanishes, and then everything goes black.
The drunks are gone, and I'm alone once again. I groan, trying to sit up, but the pain forces me back down. This body feels like it was built to suffer. For a while I just lie there, staring up at the sky and trying not to think about how badly everything hurts, how wrong this place feels, how little any of this makes sense.
And then I see it.
My breath catches. For a second, I can only stare.
"Dammit..." I mutter, my hand rising to my face. I know what that is. No, more than that, I know exactly what that is, and the realization sends something cold through me. Painfully stretching one arm out, I keep my eyes fixed on the creature overhead. It's a griffin, but not the kind people talk about in old stories. The body is wrong. Too sleek, too cat-like beneath the wings, with a line of larger feathers running from the top of its head down along its back. Golden-brown fur covers most of it, while the feathers around its head are pale, fading deeper in color as they trail down into the rest of its body. It isn't ordinary. It's specific.
Too specific.
I know this Griffin because I wrote this Griffin... I wrote the feathers like that. The way the fur and plumage shift against each other. My fingers tighten against my face as I stare up at it, my pulse starting to pound harder with every passing second. "No..." I whisper. "No, no, no..." The words leave me under my breath before I can stop them. My chest feels tight. My thoughts trip over each other. This isn't possible. It shouldn't be possible.
And yet it's there, cutting across the sky like something dragged straight out of memory.
Then it drops.
I go still, watching it fall. My throat tightens. "Tsk..." I mutter, my voice sounding thinner than I want it to. "Poor thing..." If I'm right, then that means more than just a dead griffin. It means this place isn't just strange. It's familiar in the worst possible way.
As I lie on the ground, still irritated by the fact that I'm stuck in my novel, I suddenly notice something in front of me. It's a dark blue screen that seems to project out of thin air, displaying white text. The screen hovers in the air, unnoticed by anyone else. It feels like my own private interface.
Curiosity gets the better of me, so I reach out to touch the screen. To my surprise, the text changes as soon as I touch it. It now reads [status window] in bold letters. As I focus on the words, the screen shifts to show a plethora of stats and information about my body. The 'physique' stat immediately catches my eye. Instead of the expected 'human physique', it reads [Cursed physique]. No wonder I feel so weak and helpless.
As I continue to peruse the status window, I realize that I can hear a voice in my head. It's not really a voice, more a projection of text, but it's clear and concise.
[The system greets you], the text reads.
[Connecting to the host, please wait]
I can't believe it. This feels like something out of a game. But as I look around and see the harsh reality of the world I'm in, I realize that I'll need all the help I can get. This world is full of crazy shit. Though I didn't add a system to my novel, I'll gladly take it.
[Connection Established]
The system doesn't speak to me directly, but projects text that only I can see. It's quite vague, which is frustrating.
I wonder how I can use this system to my advantage. The text on the screen seems more like an interactive guide, and I can't interact with it as I would with a game controller.
That's when I notice the [tasks and missions] window. This is something I'm more familiar with, and it gives me a sense of purpose.
The system will give me tasks and missions to complete, and I can earn points based on the difficulty of the task. These points can be exchanged for things such as affinities to magic weapons, swordsmanship techniques, as well as a vast selection of skills.
But the tasks and missions aren't just handed out; I'll need to progress the main story of the novel to unlock more of them. It seems like it wants me to engage directly in the main story.
As I continue to explore the system, I can't help but feel annoyed by the text projections. The system has a personality, and it teases me at every turn.
[You're seriously still a beggar, Lmao ꉂ (´∀｀)ʱªʱªʱª], the text reads, making my blood boil.
"What the hell is this?" I shout at the system, and it responds with more teasing.
[You're pretty feisty, huh? I like that. Maybe I'll give you a mission. Hmmm... How about you go slap a knight in the face for 100 points ಥﭛಥ]
I can't deny that it's a helpful tool, and it might just be the key to getting stronger in this chaotic world. Seriously though, why does it respond back like this?
The system has many interesting features I wouldn't have expected. After playing around with it a bit, I find out why I'm so weak. The [cursed physique] is all to blame.
[Cursed physique]-[Curse-★★★★★☆]-[Limits skill slot capacity to 4]-[Weakens all bones by 35%]-[Increases energy waste by 80%]-[Increases damage taken by mental attacks by 75%]
Why the hell did I get a cursed physique? No, how did Brey get a cursed physique? You cannot be born with a curse, because curses are not natural; they are a byproduct of experiments with OAS magic, meaning you can't naturally be born with a curse. This implies that Brey isn't just some random kid. Who the hell is he connected to?
Forget it, I'm going to get a headache if I think about it anymore. The biggest problem with this curse is the [energy waste]. Damn it, everything uses energy. Energy can be viewed as the source of power within my novel.
Everything is created with energy; there are multiple forms of energy, but they are created from the same source and aren't limited by any sort of physics. In terms of magic, each person has a different amount of energy waste; when someone casts a spell or incantation, some mana escapes, the more mana that escapes, the less talented you're considered, and that applies to aura as well.
Since it's a five-star curse, I can't get it removed at any temple unless the saintess herself has a look, but dealing with a five-star curse is expensive and might take years before the removal process is complete.
Another problem is that I'm limited to four skills, which doesn't pose much of a threat. However, if I need to replace a skill, all of my pain receptors will react, just thinking about it gives me chills.