The Voice That Shouldn't Exist
The door opened without resistance. That alone unsettled Ruko more than any trap would have. No alarms, no recoil, no sudden surge of mana—just a smooth, quiet parting, as if the fortress had decided he was allowed inside. The chamber beyond was vast but bare, circular in shape, its walls lined with softly glowing runes that pulsed at a calm, measured rhythm. It didn't feel like a battlefield. It felt like a room meant for explanation.
Ruko stepped inside, his footsteps echoing once before the sound was swallowed entirely. The door slid shut behind him, sealing the silence in place. He didn't turn around. Something told him the room wasn't interested in trapping him. Not yet. At the center stood a projection device—simple, almost crude compared to the scale of the fortress. The kind of thing someone would use if they didn't care about aesthetics, only results. Ruko stared at it for a moment, his chest tightening. "Wow... great," he muttered. "I found the tutorial."
The device activated on its own. Light gathered, then shaped itself into the image of a person. Not a dramatic illusion, not a godlike figure—just a man, standing casually, arms crossed, expression bored. Too bored. The kind of bored that came from confidence, from knowing nothing in the room could threaten him. "Ah," the projection said calmly. "So someone made it this far."
Ruko froze. The voice wasn't distorted. It wasn't grand. It was conversational, almost lazy. That made it worse.
"If you're seeing this," the man continued, "then congratulations. You're either competent, lucky, or the fortress decided you were interesting. Could be all three. Hard to tell." Ruko's face pop up in anger, fingers curled slightly. He said nothing. Instinct told him not to interrupt. "This thing?" The man gestured vaguely, as if the entire mobile fortress were a minor inconvenience. "It's not a weapon. Not really. Think of it more like a… stress test. A proof of concept. I wanted to see how people would react when something too big to ignore started walking toward them."
Ruko felt a chill crawl up his spine. The tone was wrong. There was no hatred in it. No malice. Just curiosity. "I mean, look at you," the projection went on. "Adventurers throwing themselves at reinforced walls, mages screaming spells until their voices break, leaders arguing over who's responsible. It's fascinating. Predictable, but fascinating." Ruko take it back about the hatred part. He swallowed. His reflection flickered faintly in the projection's light. "You might be wondering who I am," the man said, smiling slightly. "That's fine. You don't need to know. Names make things personal, and this was never personal. I just wanted to build something that worked."
The smile faded—not into anger, but into something colder. "Power without intent is chaos. Power with intent is control. And control?" He shrugged. "That's art." Ruko's chest felt tight now. Not fear—recognition. This wasn't a monster speaking. This was someone who understood systems. People. Outcomes. Someone who saw the world the way a player saw a board. "I won't pretend this recording explains everything," the man continued. "It's incomplete. Circumstances change. Interference happens. If you're here, then something went off-script."
The projection flickered. "That's interesting too." For the first time, the man leaned closer, his eyes sharp despite the distortion. "So go ahead. Look around. Learn what you can. Just remember—this fortress was never the goal." The image froze mid-motion. Then vanished. The room fell silent again, the runes dimming slightly as if the space itself had exhaled. Ruko stood there for several seconds, unmoving, his thoughts tangled and heavy. "That wasn't a warning," he said quietly. "That was a confession. And somehow... he didn't talk like that when i watch him on my phone years ago in my world. Hah, hehehe... what a pain."
His hands felt cold. Not from the temperature, but from the implications. Someone had built this without hatred. Without urgency. Just… interest. And that made everything worse. Ruko glanced around the chamber, suddenly aware of how unfinished it felt. Like this room was only part of something larger. Something hidden deeper. "Figures as much," he muttered. "The real problem's never in the obvious place for a reason." The silence pressed in again, thicker now. And beneath it, barely noticeable, Ruko felt it—something shifting. Not the fortress. Something else. Something that hadn't asked his permission to notice him.