Chapter 4: Here Comes the Hero
People in the market were banging all sorts of things – pots, pans, bamboo posts, wooden tables and chairs, everything that made sound – while praying for the noise to reach the skies and scare the flying serpent. They just couldn't afford losing another moon. The serpent heard the irritating sound from the marketplace, so it slithered amongst the clouds, failing to swallow the moon whole. It left a half moon instead. Thinking that everything was fine, the human beings gave a collective sigh, and they went on with their normal lives – walking, sitting, eating, playing chess, selling, and buying as though everything was planned for them.
But the skies had other plans tonight. Streaks of white light appeared in the skies over the marketplace. They looked like shooting stars but brighter. The lights flickered as they fell, as though they were pillars in the dark clouds. As the light pillars got closer to the ground, they formed a pixelated silhouette of a man.
The figure transformed into James before he hit the stone bridge connecting the marketplace and the village. He would have preferred to fall on the river, but fate decided to hurt him instead, so James writhed in pain.
It was pain. Pain saved him tonight. He was thankful of that pain.
He couldn't believe that he's still alive – that he could still open his eyes and breathe after the electrocution and the dematerialization. He touched his arms, his face, his neck, his chest. He could still feel. And he felt cold.
He realized that he was wearing only his underwear.
Luckily, there was not a single person on the bridge, so James forced himself to stand up, and dragged his feet to an alley, where he thought he could hide safely. He saw that someone forgot his clothes hanging outside his window, so he took the chance and pulled some garments, which were tan and moss green, the color palette used in the early designs of commoners in "The Wrath of Heaven."
Everything looked so real. No, everything was real.
There's no mistaking it. James, for some incredulous reason, was sucked into the world of the hidden game. He sat on the cold earth and allowed his aching back to rest on a wall made of dried leaves. He was aching all over, so he didn't need to slap himself. This was definitely real. He looked at his scratches on his arms and legs. Some were too deep that blood had breached the skin. He hissed at the pounding pain from his injuries. He remembered the alert he received – to be wary of the trap. This was some sophisticated trap, he thought. He could not believe that a game could just bring human beings in its world. It dawned on him that the game's premise was a war between humans and the supernatural, and as a mortal, he would need some sort of protection. He rejected all logic, and decided that he had to play the game, as a character, as the hero of the story, so he could win the war and hopefully, go back to his world. He needed to be calm.
James thought hard about the timeline where he was trapped. Where was he? The village. Right there, a marketplace. Beyond that, the black market where they sold illegal goods and traded with NPC's who have distasteful backgrounds. What should he do? He remembered that he was talking to the merchant slash hermit before he got here. So, first things first. He had to find the hermit. That snarky old man should be able to help him. He grunted when he stood up, for all his wounds sent pain signals to his brain, all at the same time. But he had no choice. He wanted to get out of the game as quickly as possible. Allowing himself to heal or recuperate would be a waste of precious time.
It took James forever to arrive at the marketplace. Stalls were already closed, and people had gone home. At the end of the street, he saw the familiar figure of the hermit. The old man was looking at the moon, motionless. James started walking toward the old man, who finally spoke in a tired voice, still watching the skies.
"You've come."
"Hermit," said James as he approached the old man. "Give me the scroll so I can finish the mission."
"You don't have the right," the hermit answered, still not looking at James.
James was perplexed at the indifference of the NPC. This person, or animated character (but he looked so real), or whatever, was programmed to give the scroll that had the instructions for the first mission. Not that James did not know the first mission of the game by heart, but since he's actually living inside the hidden game, the best thing to do was ask for the scroll to make sure that the mission remained unchanged.
In "The Wrath of Heaven," and to be honest, in almost all RPG's that James had played before, the first level would always be the easiest. This game, in particular, had the simplest Level I mission for the hero: befriend a commoner, gain his trust, then request for a blood sacrifice. He would have done it, if not for the glaring difference of this situation from those games: he's a character now.
He's not the gamer. He is the game.
Now whether he could survive in this world for real was still uncertain. What was undeniable in his mind was that this was the perfect trap, made by a person who must have hated him to death.
The booming sound of thunder echoed everywhere, making James jump a bit. Then, he saw a tall young man approaching him and the old NPC.
"Another hero?" James murmured.
"The only one," said the hermit.
To James's horror, he felt a strong force pushing him aside, his feet sliding on the ground. Something was controlling him to give way to this new character. The moonlight shone on the man's head and James saw a familiar face:
It was TheKing. James's usual avatar was walking to him as though it were a real person.
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