The sound of the wind was the first thing Harley heard after going through the mysterious smiling door.
He opened his eyes to see himself sleeping on a desk.
'Is this the trial?' Harley frowned.
The place he was now was... A classroom. And he sat at one of the desks in the middle.
The entire classroom was empty and the silence was loud.
Harley couldn't help but think that the so called Oracle was playing tricks on him. Using an environment from his previous world for him.
Harley sighed, looking at the table.
He was surprised to see that there was a piece of paper on it with words written in English.
[This is a space created by your imagination. Your trial would soon begin, you would be endowed with abilities to complete your trial.
If you succeed, you would become the carrier of a story.]
Putting the paper down, Harley blinked. His mind was blank at this point, no thoughts, no fear.
Should he be scared? After all, there was an extremely low rate of survival if one gets chosen by the Oracle.
'Stories huh? A sort of channel granting humans the powers of dead beings. Humans, demons, even animals. It would be nice to have power.' He looked at his bruised palms.
The stories were rhe source of the Wardens power. Every warden in the world wields one, having abilities tied to legends of the "old world."
So it is called at least.
Stories have ranks, and the ranks determine the level of power the warden gets.
The most powerful people in the world now were founders of entire races. Even the king of the human empire would match up to such people.
Before Harley could feel bad for himself the more, a mechanical voice resounded in his ears.
{Challenger, your trial has been decided!}
{The name of the story would be revealed when you pass the trial. Your survival rate is...}
Hearing the voice of the Oracle halting, he frowned.
"What?! What's the rate?!" Harley asked.
He didn't know that people were told their rates before entering a trial but now he really wanted to know, what his chances were.
{Challenger, your survival rate is Zero, leaning towards negative. Previous challengers of this trial - 8. Survivors - 0.}
{To complete this trial,a great luck would be required.}
{While in the trial, check your surroundings you would be able to summon a record. Your mission objective would be on it. Good luck!}
Harley couldn't even complain as the environment changed again. This time, he was in a small village with tall wooden walls.
"Hahahaha!" Children ran passed him snapping him back to reality.
He seemed to be standing in a dressing space as there was a hanger with colourful clothes hanging around.
He tuned around, seeing a tall mirror in front of him. He was wearing a short trouser, shirtless and still skinny.
"Ha. Hahahahaa..."
He shook his head.
"0% survival rate? It's not like I haven't died before." He spoke with a smile, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice.
In both lives, he had seen the worst. He worked his way up to a being a circus clown. It was not the most valiant of jobs but it fed him, gave him shelter, and he even had someone he could call a friend.
But once again, life had decided his fate.
"Hm?" Harley looked to a small wooden box on a table to the side, seeing a piece of paper on it. The same unnatural brown shade of paper he saw in the so called mind space.
—–— World Record –——
Name: Harleyquin
World of origin: World 09 - Earth (Collapsed)
Current world: World 02
Race:
Essence Rank: 1st echelon, scheme 1
Artifacts: 0
Fate flags: 0
——– Story Profile –——
-Information Hidden
——– Attributes –——
-None
——– Abilities –——
- Unwritten Presence
Description:
Erases the user from active perception by forcing nearby observers to "skip" their presence in the world's narrative.
Limits (Can be nullified when you're stronger)
-Sound, scent, and physical interaction still exist
-Attacking or using abilities breaks invisibility
- Borrowed Tongue
Type: Active
Description:
Perfectly reproduces any voice the user has clearly heard, including tone, emotion, and speech patterns.
Limits:
Cannot mimic people with myth rank stories.
- Omniscient Perspective
Type: Conditional / Active
Condition: Once every 7 days
Description:
Grants a brief, detached viewpoint beyond the present moment, allowing the user to glimpse a single future outcome tied to a chosen decision.
Limits:
Future shown is one probable narrative path, not absolute fate
You cannot perceive myth rank story bearers
Cannot observe futures involving the Oracle directly
——– Recorded Kills –——
Creatures killed - 0
Resolved stories - 0
Unfinished stories - 0
Sealed stories - 0
——– ~~~~~ –——
Seeing the first bit of information on the paper made Harley really confused.
'World of Origin collapsed. Earth is destroyed?' He couldn't help but wonder.
'I've had so many questions. How did I reincarnate? Was it magic? Is magic real? Who was the being I met in that dark space? Are there many worlds like earth? Or was earth a pre-dream to this world?'
At least he had the answer to one of those questions now. Earth was gone, or rather; collapsed, and he was glad he wasn't there when it happened.
Focusing on his abilities, he couldn't help but flinch. His face contorted into a frown.
"You got to be kidding me. On top of a 0% chance of survival, I get what? The ability to mimic voices and the power to become invisible?" He paused, hearing a few voices behind him.
Turning around, he could see people wearing Jester hats with bells at the top. Now that he looks very well, almost everyone was wearing one.
An elderly woman holding a cane walked towards him with a smile on her face.
"What language are you speaking dear boy?" The woman spoke, somehow, he understood what she was saying.
But she wasn't using English at all.
It was now that Harley even noticed that he had been speaking English all this while.
"We have campfire tonight. I know you're angry at the other jesters but as you all are guardians of this village, you'll all have to work together." The elderly woman said wish a warm smile.
"Alright... ma'am." Harley smiled at the woman, making her leave.
A slight frown appeared on her face before she turned, but that wasn't what was bothering Harley right now.
"Guardian? Right..." He looked down at the paper, reading the final lines presented on it, the section for this trial's mission.
[Trial Objective
Find and Kill the Godsworn.
Hint 1:
Three roar with borrowed thrones.
One cries beneath a broken crown.
The first burns to remember.
The second drowns to endure.
The third stands to rule.
The last has not yet chosen.
Kill not the gods who were.
End the god who would be.
Hint 2:
Three are endings that refuse to die.
One is a beginning that must not live.
Power matures.
Meaning curdles.
The cleanest story is the one never told.
Time limit: Two weeks]
Harley closed his eyes. Counting what he has now, information and useless abilities, it's safe to say that he could just find clues himself.
"Might as well put effort to survive." He sighed as he activated his conditional skill.
He closed his eyes.
The skill is called the "Omniscient Perspective" and he's supposedly supposed to be able to glimpse the future with it. Like some kind of prophet?
Harley closed his eyes, feeling a strange power within him.
The world tilted all of a sudden.
For a moment, there was warmth.
He was sitting on a small wooden stool, hands stretched toward a campfire. Flames crackled softly, orange light dancing across familiar faces—jesters, villagers, children laughing as strange instruments cried and chimed. Bells rang in a specific rhythm like music. Drums thumped. It felt… peaceful.
Harley looked around, seeing unfamiliar faces everywhere.
Then—
CRACK!
The wooden walls surrounding the village split apart like dry bark under an axe.
Harley's breath caught as he looked at the broken walls.
From beyond the broken palisade, something vast forced its way through. Scales the color of ash and embers scraped against splintering wood. A tall creature the size of a house—its body low and serpentine, from its head stood two horns that curved upwards. Each breath it exhaled carried sparks, the air itself screaming as fire followed.
People ran.
The scene changed in a heartbeat.
The fire vanished.
Now he saw the drake standing still, smoke curling from its jaws. Around it walked figures dressed in black, their faces hidden, their steps unhurried as they passed the creature as though it were nothing more than a guard dog.
The world skipped again.
The survivors of the drake, all members of this small village, stood in a line.
Harley was among them.
Their hands were bound. Their heads were bowed. There were No screams. No resistance. Just acceptance as the flames of the creature washed over them all, blending into a single, blinding light—
—
Harley gasped.
He experienced the most intense headache as he came out of the vision. The surroundings immediately became blurry and he went quiet the next second, losing consciousness.
---
A soft scent pulled him back.
'Roses.' Harley stirred.
His eyelids felt heavy, so did his body on the extremely soft surface. When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was white.
White hair, smooth and clean, cascading over slender shoulders.
A red blindfold covered the woman's eyes. Despite the blindfold, he could tell that she was extremely beautiful. Her nose was small and cute and her skin was flawless.
She sat beside him calmly, her presence oddly soothing. For some reason, he felt close to the woman.
"You exhausted your essence," she said gently.
Her voice was warm.
Harley swallowed, ignoring the dryness of his throat, and shook his head.
"What is that? Essence?"
She smiled faintly.
"Essence is the root of will," she explained. "The fuel that allows stories, abilities, and miracles to exist. Most humans never awaken it. The ones that do, are capable of becoming sorcerers, like most of us."
Her fingers brushed his wrist—light, professional.
"I might be the head of this village, as well as it's healer, but I'm also your aunt," she continued, withdrawing her hand. "You're looking at me weird."
It was then that Harley realized that he had been frowning at her all this while. This feeling of closeness was too strange.
"Granny bells told me that you were acting crazy earlier at the dresser." The blind lady said with a smile.
"Granny bells hahahaha..." He chuckled.
"Haha, she wasn't happy when you began calling her that name, rather than her real name." The lady laughed.
'I called her that? It does sound like something I would say.'
She rose smoothly to her feet.
"Come," she said. "You should sit with us at the campfire."
The word campfire struck him like a blade.
Images surged before him—flames, walls breaking, the creature.
'It's going to happen today.' he frowned.
Then another thought followed, colder and sharper.
'I didn't see her.' he squinted his eyes, looking at the woman in front of him.
In the vision, she wasn't there.
Harley followed her anyway.
"Can you see through that thing on your face?"
---
The campfire burned brightly at the center of the village.
Jesters gathered around it, bells chiming on their heads as they played strange instruments—warped flutes, stretched drums, clattering wooden contraptions that made sounds better suited for a circus than a village square.
Music was music.
Harley sat on a low stool, hands clasped tightly in his lap, eyes scanning every face, every shadow beyond the firelight.
On the other side opposite from him, he could see young men holding a mask with a red smile on it. They all looked at him, talking and laughing, but his mind was preoccupied.
'Today… or another day?'
His gaze drifted, stopping briefly on the woman with the red blindfold beside him.
'I can't see futures involving people with myth-rank stories.'
Either she carried one—
—or it wasn't today.
...
Stuck in deep thought, Harley didn't keep track of the time that passed him. He was desperately racking his brain for clues.
'Strange, I have been ready to die, since the moment I got abandoned in this new world. But I feel a little scared of it now. Weird.' he sighed, ruffling his hair.
"Hey, why don't Harley demonstrate what spells he learned?" One of the jesters with a smiling mask said, having an ugly smile on his face.
"Punchline, he's can't! Ahhhhahahahaha..."
People followed the dude to laugh and the lady beside him was part of the few not finding the joke funny.
'Wait, I got an idea.' Harley smiled, turning to look at the blindfolded lady.
Feeling his gaze, she smiled, tugging her hair behind her ear.
"You know, it's not polite to stare at a lady so close."
Harley's lips twitched, hearing her words and his whole face contorted.
Shrugging off his discomfort, he cleared his throat and asked;
"Can you teach me magic?" He asked with a frown.
In the real world, he has heard of schools teaching magic, sorcerers in the royal court, and even the soldiers use it, but he had no idea how true it was.
"Ah. You know how it is now. You can only learn one spell on the solstice, until then, the spell book is to be left with me." She smiled, standing up and walking away.
"What was that about, loser?"
Harley looked up hearing a slightly irritating voice behind him, seeing a young man in his early twenties with a small beard, holding onto his shoulder.
It was the fool who made a joke of him before.
"Aren't you too old to be picking on others? How jobless are you? Instead of you to be training, learning skills... You know what? How about I beat you—"
Bang!!
An explosion shook the ground from the west part of the village. Screams immediately reached his ears and the entire village went into chaos.
"Oh no..."
While he was busy racking his brain for clues on what to do, he hadn't warned anyone of anything.
Looking in the direction of the explosion, Harley's heart skipped a beat, as flames poured like water through the walls.