Capítulo 4: Time Flies By
[ Capitano POV ]
I stared at the walls of the room I woke up in. It looked medieval, like something from a noble's quarters, with paintings hung on the walls—of me, no less. The portraits captured me in poses that matched how Touch Me once described me. They were magnificently detailed, flawless even, but with no way to move freely, I could only observe my surroundings from a distance.
It was shortly after my fight with those players. Reinforcements had arrived—Shalltear, in particular—and with her help, they didn't stand a chance. They folded like damp paper in the wind, and while I respected their bravery, it didn't count for much. They didn't feel the pain of being slashed or stabbed, nor did they face any lasting consequences when they died.
The abilities granted to players were truly limitless—though the same could be said of the grinding required to build even a semi-decent character in a game as vast as Yggdrasil. With countless playstyles, there was something for everyone. Still, I scoffed at how weak those players were. They must have been high-level to have even attempted invading this place, but after seeing how easily they fell, I could only rate them around level 70—not the level 90s or 100s I'd initially guessed.
A creak sounded from the door, and to my surprise, it wasn't just anyone who entered—it was Peroronchīno. He looked back over his shoulder, gesturing for someone to follow him, and in walked Shalltear, dressed in a wedding gown. I froze, stunned. If I had a face that could show emotion, it would've been a look of pure shock. Shalltear looked… well, she looked damn good in that dress, even if she was flat. Flat women deserve love, too. If anyone disagrees, well, bite me—actually, please don't. I have a feeling Shalltear will be doing plenty of that already.
I watched them, my gaze following every step as Peroronchīno wandered around the room, inspecting every nook and cranny before nodding to himself, as if satisfied. What was he up to? His behaviour was beginning to scare me.
Finally, he stopped in front of me, took Shalltear's hand, and placed it in mine. Her skin was cold, like a winter chill on Christmas morning, and I couldn't help but appreciate it—though Peroronchīno seemed to disagree, as he adjusted our pose. He positioned me on one knee, pressing a kiss to Shalltear's hand.
Smiling to himself, he stepped back and, with a flourish, pulled up his system interface. A loud click echoed through the room. Had he just taken a screenshot? Was he really trying to push this narrative of Shalltear and me as a "cute" couple? If so, please, spare me—I'd rather fall in love with someone who warms my heart, not someone who'd freeze my hand off!
I chuckled at the thought, though it was true. I didn't want a love forced by settings; I wanted someone who'd love me for who I actually was. But it seemed Peroronchīno was dead set on this pairing. I sighed. Maybe there was no way out—I was destined to be ensnared in the vampire's arms.
The more I thought about it, though, the less terrible it seemed. I remembered Shalltear's scenes. She didn't seem that bad… until another thought hit me: she was a necrophiliac. She loved undead bodies, but she hated the ones that were decayed or rotting. Maybe I could use this as an excuse to escape?
My thoughts were cut off as Peroronchīno stood before us, arms outstretched in a grandiose gesture. "You are husband and wife! You may now kiss," he declared in an exaggerated tone.
Before I knew it, he was pushing our heads together, my helmet clanging against Shalltear's face. With a dramatic sigh, he facepalmed, then reached out and removed my helmet entirely. Great. Where's Touch Me when I need him? I silently screamed in my mind, knowing that as long as Peroronchīno was entertained, no one would be coming to save me.
With my helmet gone, I felt an odd sense of freedom. My head felt lighter, and my hair fell loosely over my shoulders. I'd never even seen my own face, which I decided would be my top priority in the new world. But there was no time for that now. With nothing left to block Peroronchīno's plans, he gave us one final push, and our lips met for a brief, awkward moment. Her lips were cold, tasting faintly of iron—no doubt from all the blood she drank.
Satisfied, Peroronchīno left the room with Shalltear, leaving me alone. I glanced at the helmet resting on a nearby chair—an ornate, royal-looking piece, patterned with branches and leaves, like something from a palace. And, for a moment, I felt like I might actually miss it. The feeling of those cold palms that is.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had not been reborn at all, all I could truly do was complain. Complain about this, complain about that, all the negativity that had been leaving my mind was most likely happening due to the events that had been occurring in rapid succession. For Crying Outloud, I killed another man and yet I still didn't feel a single ounce of sympathy as if he wasn't human to begin with.
Or was it due to something else entirely? A look of horror would have crossed my face if it could show expression. Was I becoming a monster? A true and proper monster, the kind that isn't bothered by the death of a mere human? I wrestled with the thought, refusing to believe it could happen so soon. No, it had to be the game—the lack of empathy was just a result of this digital world. It had to be that. I refused to lose control over my emotions, especially since I had already lost control over my body.
My eyes began to close, signalling that I was no longer needed for the time being. Peroronchīno had done what he wanted with me, and with Touch Me most likely logged off, I was left defenceless to Pero's whims. I welcomed the darkness as it embraced me once more, like a comforting, maternal hug—a stillness as deep and vast as the ocean.
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"Seriously? You're making him cook for you already?" Momonga's voice broke the silence, his tone laced with amusement as he spoke to Touch Me.
I continued slicing the vegetables with practised precision, the cool steel of the knife gliding through each piece as I prepared the meal. I'd already placed the rice onto dishes I had set out, ready to serve.
"Of course! It'd be a waste not to use his cooking skills," Touch Me replied smugly, a grin evident in his tone. "Plus, I just wanted to see him in that apron."
The apron they'd chosen was an all-white affair with "Kiss the Captain" embroidered across the front in bright red thread. I could have tolerated it—if they hadn't also made me wear my full suit of armour while cooking. The absurdity of it didn't escape me, yet here I was, clad head to toe in metal, stirring pots and chopping vegetables like a dutiful chef.
"By the way, I heard his Executioner Job Class came in recently," Momonga mused, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I can't believe an NPC ended up hitting that 20% crit chance—and even more so that he managed to one-shot that tank."
I nodded along, feeling a sense of pride at their praise, even if it was through my forced servitude. My luck had to have changed; I wouldn't have hit that critical strike otherwise. It felt as if the very code of this world had shifted in my favour, and I couldn't help but smile inwardly at the thought.
"Yeah, I'm surprised it worked out as well as it did," Touch Me admitted, chuckling as he scratched the back of his helmet. "Honestly, it was a random build I was experimenting with."
My body moved toward the stove automatically, deftly cracking an egg with one hand over a hot pan. The yolk settled perfectly into the middle, sizzling and turning golden around the edges as the smell filled the kitchen. The meal was simple—rice with eggs and a side of sautéed vegetables—but there was an artistry to preparing it.
I felt the warmth of the stove, the scent of cooked rice blending with the earthy aroma of freshly chopped vegetables. My hand reached for the seasoning, sprinkling just the right amount of salt and pepper onto the egg as it cooked, while my other hand stirred the vegetables over a second burner. The vibrant colours of bell peppers, carrots, and snap peas came to life as they sizzled, their edges just beginning to caramelize.
Despite my mechanical movements, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Each ingredient was placed with care, each action precise. I plated the rice, adding the egg on top, allowing the yolk to sit like a golden crown over the fluffy white grains. The vegetables were arranged alongside it, a colourful contrast to the simplicity of the dish. It was a humble meal, but in its simplicity lay a kind of perfection.
"Look at him go," Momonga noted with a chuckle, clearly amused by the sight of me in an apron over full armour, executing each task with meticulous detail.
"See? I told you it'd be worth it," Touch Me added, sounding pleased with himself.
I placed the finished plates on the table, stepping back with a silent sense of pride. As much as I'd been coerced into this, the satisfaction of a job well done lingered. I only hoped they'd appreciate the effort I'd put into their meal—armour and all.
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During my time here, I began to feel an unexpected fondness for this place and the people in it. Watching the players interact, joking around and causing minor mischief, was oddly heartwarming. I couldn't say the same for the monsters, though—seeing creatures that could bite my head off in an instant was something no sane person would ever get used to. Not that I was exactly "sane" by human standards anymore.
I stared into the distance, the trees swaying softly as I stood with my sword planted in the ground beside me. Like a sentinel, my body remained alert, ready to lash out at any intruder who dared to step foot inside the Tomb of Nazarick. Or rather, my body was ready—I still had no control over it. It followed the commands of the Supreme Beings or attacked anything deemed a threat, especially dungeon raiders. I'd fought enough of them in my time here to feel that I could probably hold my own against a skilled knight, at least if we relied only on pure strength and basic combat skills. Not that I'd bet my life on it, but I liked to think I was improving, however slowly.
Hopefully, I'd improve quickly—anyone would notice if a supposed "General of Nazarick" suddenly started fumbling with a sword.
With a bit of effort, I tried to lift my arms. To my surprise, they finally responded, and I stumbled slightly, unsteady from the unexpected freedom. The time had finally come: I was in control of myself again. Yet, even with this newfound autonomy, I reminded myself of my loyalty. I was a servant of Nazarick, bound to the will of the Supreme Beings. Betrayal wasn't an option—not after everything they'd given me, including the power to take down high-level players with relative ease. It was a gift I owed to Touch Me, who had carefully crafted my build for strength and resilience.
I moved my limbs around experimentally, a strange sense of relief and excitement filling me. Soon, we would all be gathering on the Sixth Floor, and I needed to be prepared. Without full knowledge of my character settings, I would have to focus on what I did know—especially my connection to Shalltear. Just the thought made me shiver as I looked down at my hand, raising it instinctively to where my lips would be, only to have the movement blocked by my helmet.
Right. I wasn't human anymore, but rather an entity called:
Capitano, the God-Slaying Mortal.
A ghoul and a vampire, a being of the undead. "Mortal" was only a part of my title, a distant reminder of what I once was. Now, my body was cold, as if dead, with no heartbeat or blood flowing through my veins. The only warmth left was the faint, lingering echo of my past self.
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A/N: We are finally beginning to get into the New World, I wonder what our MC will do. Will he wander the world in search of a cure to his curse? Obviously not, he'll be forced to face battles in the name of Nazarick of course.
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