Chapter 59
Written by Bayzo Albion
> Interface: New status – "Chief of Arcadia Village"
> Duties: Protection from ancient monsters.
Temple bells tolled in the distance, their deep resonance rolling over rooftops like a royal salute. I clenched the reclaimed sword's hilt, its ancient magic pulsing in sync with my heartbeat, acknowledging me as its true master.
"Well then..." I whispered, eyeing the horizon where shadows gathered like storm clouds. "Looks like the game's just getting started... and this time, it's for real."
But I cut my own dramatics short. "Enough chatter," I snapped, tightening my hold on the sword. "Let's inspect my new domain. Starting with that pitiful shack you call a palace."
My double, still dazed, ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I don't want a tainted win like this. It feels like charity. Let's rewind time? Start fresh, without Lady Luck meddling?"
I whirled on him, my cloak billowing like predatory wings. My voice rang with steel: "You still don't get it? No matter how we dress it up, loss is always bitter for the defeated. There's no consolation prize. Only victory... or rot beneath the victor's boot."
The crowd stirred, gazing at us with reverent fear. To them, I was no longer mortal—a symbol, a force.
"Where's your conscience?" My double grabbed my sleeve, fingers trembling. "You're turning into the very monsters you fought! I'm not pushing you into the abyss—you're marching there yourself, blind to the change."
"So, you think hardship defines humanity? Suffering and deprivation?" I narrowed my eyes, the air between us crackling with tension.
"Yes, damn it!" He yelled, slamming his fist into a wooden post. The crack echoed, but the pain in his eyes cut deeper. "They executed him because of us! We didn't just steal a sword—we stole his life!"
I took a long drag, watching the thick, enchanted smoke coil upward like a spider's web, ensnaring us both. The words formed unbidden: "Fine... let's resurrect him. But ask yourself: Would the dead want to return? Would you want to come back right now?"
He recoiled as if stabbed, eyes widening with something ancient and aching—loneliness that spanned realms. For a heartbeat, he wasn't my mirror; he was a wandering ghost, adrift between worlds.
"Alright," his voice hoarse, he looked away. "Do what you want. I'm done arguing with my own shadow."
I inhaled deeply, letting the cigarette's crystalline chill flood my lungs. In that frosty clarity, my thoughts sharpened to a razor edge, piercing the chaos.
He was right, in a way—his words held a kernel of truth that gnawed at me. But tampering with time? I despised it. Each twist left scars on reality's weave, fissures that widened into chasms over eons.
"Listen," I said softly, surprising even myself with the gentleness, "maybe this is how it's meant to be. This path shapes us. No excuses... just becoming who we're destined to be."
He stared at the village—now ours—with its secrets, sins, and unforeseen opportunities that reeked not of power, but of a subtle curse.
"I didn't bring executions to this world," I said slowly, tracing the smoke's ascent to the darkening sky. "By nature, I'm not cruel. I'm peaceful. Merciful. But this 'paradise' is morphing into hell, unnoticed. You were right: Keep a cool head, resist the base urges." I paused, struck by the oddity of my own words. "I didn't even question the anomaly. 'Execution' felt normal. But in paradise, there shouldn't be killings. Is losing a holy sword— even an illusion—worth a life?"
My double turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Then why refuse to play with time? We could fix it all."
"Perfectionism," I smirked bitterly. "Each rewind, I'd think: 'Better. Even better. Perfect.' It'd turn me into my own executioner—an endless hell of self-flagellation." I stubbed out the cigarette with a sharp flick. "You don't toy with time. Or fire."
> Interface: Existential anomaly detected.
> Status: Moral compass crisis.
> Recommendation: Reassess value system.
My double nodded silently, his eyes gleaming with reluctant understanding—or perhaps a veiled warning. Wind howled afar, its mournful cry foretelling impending doom. I realized then: I teetered on the edge. Between who I was and who I was becoming. One step either way would reshape not just this village's fate, but my very essence.
"So, it's decided," I whispered. "We accept this world as it is. Flaws and all... including our own."
Silence assented. But deep within it, I caught a faint chuckle—as if reality itself mocked my resolve.
"I think that settles our debate."
I spotted her—a fleeting beauty passing by like a stray breeze laced with the scent of forbidden desires. Something about her pierced right through me, elusive yet searing, like a needle driven straight into my soul.
In my previous life, I'd encountered countless women I'd longed to share a bed with, but they were always like distant stars: cold, unreachable, untouchable. But this one... she was right here. Alive. Tangible. The warmth of her body radiated through the air between us, drawing me in with a pull stronger than any siren's call.
I took a step forward and, with a casual, almost lazy flick of my hand, halted her in her tracks.
"Shh," I whispered, pressing a finger to her velvety crimson lips. "Don't speak. Just be a mystery. Silence is golden. And you... you look like a treasure worth uncovering."
Her eyes flared—a intoxicating mix of surprise, playfulness, and something darker, more dangerous. She didn't pull away. Instead, she lingered, as if anticipating what came next.
"Guards!" I called out without turning. "Escort us to the palace."
"As you command!" came the cheerful reply from my doppelganger.
The girl arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a sly smile.
"You seriously think this tiny village has a palace?" my double quipped.
"Dreaming never hurt anyone," I replied with a faint smirk.
We made our way toward the village center. The crowd parted before us, their eyes wide with curiosity and whispered superstitions. Beyond the main market, where the air hung heavy with smoke and exotic spices, the path veered off. There, tucked away from the bustle, stood a mansion—modest by grander standards, but its architecture hinted at greater aspirations. Stone columns flanked the entrance, ornate shutters framed the windows, and a crest loomed above the door. Not just a house. A miniature palace... or perhaps the seed of a future empire.
I crossed the threshold and issued my first command without so much as a backward glance:
"I don't want to see a single man in here. Replace them all with maidservants. I need no rough clamor—only the whisper of skirts and the fragrance of feminine perfumes."
The men hurried out, and soon the mansion fell silent, leaving us in a hush broken only by my breathing and the fading echo of footsteps in the high-vaulted halls.
"And one more thing," I added, not breaking stride. "That goes for the guards too. Bring me two female sentinels from the red-light district. Let them protect me from within—they can be trusted with... the body."
To the others, I tossed over my shoulder, "Guard from outside. Keep the tenderness safe from the roughness."
"As you wish, my lord!" they chorused, retreating obediently.
My companion crossed her arms over her chest, watching the scene unfold with a narrowed gaze.
"You're just the head of this little village... yet you act like you're already a king. Or an emperor," my double chuckled.
I smiled and eased myself onto the plush throne in the center of the hall—one that still carried the scent of fresh leather and someone else's ambitions for power.
"You know, sometimes you have to act like a king... for the crown to find its way to your head."
I led the silent stranger into the palace. She stood beside me compliantly, honoring my request for quiet. Her eyes mirrored a strange blend of fear and intrigue, as if she saw in me not a man, but a new decree reshaping this world.
"Well, I'll take my leave," my double said with a mocking bow. "Seems my king isn't in the mood." And with that, he dissolved into thin air, leaving behind a faint haze of sarcasm, like the aftertaste of a bad dream.
"Damn... that stupid feeling again," I muttered to myself, slapping my face hard enough to make my cheek burn like fire. The skin under my palm felt alien, as if I were touching a mask fused to my flesh.
All I wanted was to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep—a void free of meanings or obligations. The world around me had drained of color, morphing into a thick, gray sludge of uncertainty.
I snatched the nearest bottle of dark amber liquid and downed it in one go.
> Interface: Detected state—"Existential Crisis."
> Recommendation: Elevated Discipline Mode activated.
"One slip is the first step toward the point of no return," echoed in my mind, a voice like my own but harsher, as if another version of me loomed behind, knife at my throat.
"I know damn well what path I'm on," I grumbled into the emptiness, tasting metal on my tongue. "So spare me the sticky guilt trip."
> Interface: Decision accepted—strict compartmentalization.
> Day: Hell of self-discipline.
> Night: Paradise of forgetfulness.
> All systems shifted to corresponding modes. Every minute scheduled. Every weakness contained.
Schedule:
06:00–22:00 – "Iron Will" Mode
22:00–06:00 – "Oblivion" Mode
"Well then," I finally turned to the girl, allowing myself to truly take her in for the first time, "let's get to the main course of our evening."