The wooden door to the hotel room was pushed inward with a slow, deliberate groan. A man stepped across the threshold, his presence heavy and imposing.
He was clad in worn leather armor, but it was the iron coating on his heavy boots and the jagged plates on his shoulder pauldrons that caught the dim light.
He scanned the room with practiced eyes: a simple wooden wardrobe stood to the left, and heavy green curtains draped over a single window, filtering the daylight into a sickly emerald hue.
On the bed sat Blop. He was hunched over a plate, methodically consuming a meal of roasted meat and tubers.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly rotated his head, his large, unblinking eyes meeting the man's gaze as the intruder approached.
"Miss Lady," the man said, his voice a low rasp. He held his hands open in a beckoning gesture, his palms upturned. "Our Village Chief requests an audience with you. It would be... pleasurable if you would accompany me to his estate."
("Huh? They want to meet me?") Blop's internal voice boomed with the arrogance of a displaced deity. ("Why? Oh, how could I forget. I am a God. I am certain they have gathered to gift me something divine, to worship my presence for all eternity. But... I am currently eating. A God should not be interrupted during his feast.")
He looked at the half-chewed piece of meat on his plate. ("Still, I suppose I cannot deny my followers' desperate wish to bask in my glory.")
Blop placed the half-eaten food down with a wet thud. He stood up, his tall, slender frame making the small room feel suddenly claustrophobic. He drew a breath, trying to force the vocal cords of this delicate vessel to cooperate.
"Le... t..... go...." he managed, the words sounding like grinding stones.
("Huh? I messed it up again?")Blop felt a surge of celestial irritation. ("This is so humiliating. My followers gather to worship me, and I speak like a broken alien. This body is a magnificent trap.")
The man in leather armor watched him, his brow furrowing as the deep, unnatural sound vibrated in the air. ("Her voice... it sounds like a man's throat after a week of screaming.")He thought.
("But the physician did say her vocal cords were temporarily shredded in the accident. Poor thing.")He turned back toward the door. "Let us go then, Miss."
Blop followed him. They walked through the hotel hallway, their feet sinking into a cheap, crimson carpet that smelled of mothballs and wet rot. When they reached the reception area, the desk clerk looked up from her ledgers.
"Hello sir," she chirped. "Where are you taking the Princess?"
"Chief's orders," the man replied without a hint of expression.
The receptionist nodded and signaled their leave, but before they stepped out into the village streets, the man paused. He crouched down, unstrapping a pair of rugged boots from his pack.
"Lady," he said, handing them to Blop. "You should wear these. Even though they are of poor quality and cheap make, they are enough to protect your feet from the dirty mud and filth out there."
Blop stared at the boots.(" This man... he gifts me his own footwear to ensure my comfort? He is a remarkably kind follower.") Blop remembered the "yellow coins" he had tucked away. ("If I had more, I would reward him. Oh, wait. I have some left.")
Blop reached into a fold of his gown and produced three gold coins, thrusting them toward the man. The man froze, his eyes bulging. "No, Princess... I cannot take this from you!" He tried to pull back, but Blop's hand was firm.
The man eventually relented, his fingers trembling as he accepted the gold.
They stepped out into the village.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. As they walked deeper into the heart of the settlement, Blop felt the weight of hundreds of eyes.
Villagers peered through the gaps in their wooden shutters, their gazes lingering on his veiled form. Blop felt a prickle of discomfort.
("Why are they watching me so intently? I know I am their God, but do they truly need to glance at me like that? It is... unsettling.")He quickened his pace, his long strides forcing the man in armor to hustle to keep up.
They eventually came across a house that looked like a mansion compared to the surrounding hovels.
The wood was polished, the stone foundations thick. "Chief! The Princess is here!" the man shouted.
From the front doors, a man with a massive, sagging belly emerged. He was dressed in vibrant, expensive fabrics that looked out of place in the poor village. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess! Please, come in," the Chief said, his smile oily as he rubbed his arms together.
Blop nodded. The man in armor remained outside as Blop entered the house. It was sprawling, featuring a deep blue carpet and a set of grand stairs leading to the upper floor. The Chief gestured toward a plush couch.
"Princess, please sit. I know it is not expensive by your standards, but if you sit, I will be happy."
Blop sat. On a nearby table sat a photo album. He glanced at the images—a family of six. One youth looked particularly arrogant, dressed in fine silks.
The Chief's heavy footsteps began to climb the stairs, a metallic clink following him as if he were carrying something heavy. When he returned, he was heaving two large, bulging sacks. He sat opposite Blop and pushed the sacks across the table.
"Princess, it would be a pleasure if you would take this tribute," the Chief said, his eyes gleaming with greed masquerading as generosity.
Blop shook his head. ("Useless yellow rocks. I cannot eat these. Why do they keep giving me stones?")
"Please, Princess, I insist!" the Chief pleaded.
Blop refused again.
He looked at the Chief's fat face and the luxury of the house, then remembered the starving people in the mud outside. ("Why does this man try to bribe me? Can he not give this to the villagers? Even if I take it, it serves me no purpose. It is not food.")
But then, a thought struck him.(" Wait. If I take these, I can give them to my followers later. As a God, I shall perform a miracle of distribution.")
He reached out and gripped the sacks.
The Chief's tone immediately shifted.
The smile vanished, replaced by a dark seriousness. "But... I have something to ask of you."
("What does he want now? ")Blop thought. ("Was this not a gift?")
"I want you to give my son a seat in the Royal Academy," the Chief said, leaning forward.
Blop froze.(" Royal Academy? Academy... sounds like... a rare, succulent fruit? Or perhaps a grand, roasted beast? Is it something to eat?")
"You have accepted my money," the Chief hissed. "So you must give my son a seat in the Royal Academy."
Blop's internal blood began to boil. ("Wait. Is he saying this 'Royal Academy' is so rare that only his son gets to eat it? He wants to hoard the grandest feast for his own bloodline while the others starve? You disgraceful, gluttonous worm! You want your son to gorged on the 'Academy' and deny everyone else a taste?")
The insult was too much.
The idea that this man would hide the "Royal Academy" from the masses filled Blop with a divine rage.(" I shall kill this man and give this 'Royal Academy' to everyone to eat!")
Blop's muscles began to ripple. His slender frame suddenly expanded, the silk of the dress groaning under the pressure of his growing mass. He stood up, towering over the desk. The Chief looked up, his face turning pale. He saw the "Princess" growing taller, her shoulders broadening into those of a titan.
"What... WHAT ARE YOU!" the Chief screamed, backing against the wall.
He never finished the sentence. With a single, perfectly executed chop of his hand, Blop severed the man's head. It hit the floor with a dull thud. Blop turned and walked out, grabbing the sacks.
Once outside the house, he realized the weight. (*Huh? These are far too heavy to carry to the Robelt Kingdom. They will slow me down.")
He paused, reached in, and took out exactly twenty coins for himself. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he threw the rest of the sacks into the muddy village route.
"Eat..." he muttered, before turning toward the edge of town.
At the crossroads, two paths awaited. One was lush and green, filled with tall grass and life. The other was a desolate expanse of dead trees and gray earth—a graveyard of nature with no sign of life.
The green one is too noisy, Blop thought.(" This dead path... it is perfect. I can walk in peace.") He stepped into the gray woods and vanished.
Meanwhile, at the Village Hotel...
A heavy fog had settled over the village. The Merchant sat up in his bed, stretching his arms and yawning. "Ah, a perfect sleep. Time to head to the Robelt Kingdom. I must wake the Princess."
He gathered his supplies, walked to her room, and pushed the door. It was empty. The Merchant's heart skipped a beat. ("Where is she? Princess?!")
He sprinted to the lobby, nearly tripping. "Did you see her? Where is she?!"
The receptionist looked up calmly. "Oh, she went to the Chief's house yesterday."
The words hit the Merchant like a physical blow. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head.( "Why?! Why me? She's gone... the Chief has bribed her away! My reward... my golden future... it's all gone!" )He sobbed, his forehead resting on the cold floor.
But outside, the air was filled with a different sound.
"The bastard is dead! The Chief is dead!" a villager roared. Dozens of people were dancing in the mud, their voices rising in a frantic chorus of joy as they scrambled to pick up the gold coins Blop had scattered.
They sang, they fought, and they laughed, celebrating the fall of their tyrant while the Merchant cried in the dark.
Capital of Arorien Kingdom – The Alchemist's Chamber
The sound of clashing steel and heavy boots rang through the narrow alleys. Lijom breathed heavily as he chased a thief into a dead end. With a flick of his wrist, he threw his sword. It pierced the thief's chest, pinning him to the wall.
"Hahaha... another kill," Lijom whispered. He pulled his hood back, revealing a face hardened by the hunt. He retrieved his blade and wiped the blood on the dead man's rags.
He moved through the fog until he reached a shack that smelled of chemical fire and old copper. He pushed the door open. Inside, jars of glowing liquids and projectiles lined the shelves.
An old man sat at a workbench, his one good eye scanning a scroll while a leather patch covered the other.
"Hey, old man," Lijom said, his tone low and dangerous. "Look here. I bring something special."
The Alchemist turned slowly. "It had better be worth my time."
Lijom placed a 50ML container on the table. Inside, a thick, pulsating blue liquid swirled with an eerie light. The Alchemist froze.
"Blue Elixir..." the old man whispered. "A 3rd-grade specimen. Where did you get this?"
"Not your concern," Lijom snapped. "I want a device to track the owner of this blood. And I want you to use 27ML on my sword—enchant it."
The Alchemist chuckled, a dry, wheezing sound. "I can give you the device, and I can fit the elixir into your blade, but I cannot enchant it directly. I am no smith. But if I fit the elixir, any enchanter you find later will be able to bind it ten times faster and make it a weapon of godhood." He leaned in, his eye-patch shadowing half his face. "But what do I get? I don't take money. I need something valuable."
"I know what you want," Lijom said. "11ML for the device. 27ML for the sword. The remaining 12ML... is yours to keep."
The Alchemist fell silent, calculating. Finally, he spoke. "I want an extra ML. I will use only 10ML in the device—it will still work perfectly, but the range will be limited. If you accept, I start now."
Lijom's jaw tightened. ("This vulture... without that extra ML, the device can only track within 2,000 kilometers. I can feel it. ) "Deal."
For three hours, the shop was filled with the sound of booming liquids and high-pitched whistles. Finally, the Alchemist emerged, handing Lijom a brass device and his sword.
Lijom stepped out into the night. He activated the device. A blue needle spun once and then locked toward the North-West.
("Hahah... I'm coming for you.") Lijom hissed into the dark. ("And this time, I'm going to squeeze every drop from your body. Enjoy your rest... it's the last one you'll ever have.")