Inside a dark basement, a young man sat with his back against the metallic bars of a cage. His once vibrant purple eyes, now looked dull and he stared at the ground as if he could see through it.
His short black hair had streaks of white in parts, making him seem like a partly old man.
He looked forward, seeing a piece of paper floating in front of him.
[Story trial:
Story theme: -Unknown-
Story rank: -Unknown-
Objective: Hunt and kill the Godsworn
Trial completion chances: -1%
Your current chances of survival: 0%
Time remaining: 12 days, 19 hours
Previous challengers: 8
Survivors: 0]
A voice snapped the young man away from the brownish paper that floated in front of him. It folded instantly into a scroll and vanished.
"So you're telling me that your entire village was burned down and the people were massacred by the pirates?" A deep voice came from the cage beside him.
"Yup," he responded with a slight chuckle.
Despite how dark the room was, Harley was able to see in some kind of white-and-black vision. This was all due to him consuming liquid shadow.
The man in the next cage had long hair, covering most of his face. It could be another color but he couldn't exactly tell.
Harley could tell that the man was handsome, seeing his stupidly perfect features through the deep shadows nestling in the basement.
"I would have called you an idiot for trying to disguise as them, but well, you survived." The man chuckled, shifting his body to sit up.
The bones in his body cracked as they readjusted to the new position the man took.
"Stop talking to the Jester worshipper, Captain Eman." A feminine voice came from beside them on the parallel side of the basement.
That was the first time Harley saw the person move. She had long wavy hair, and he could feel a sense of rage coming from her.
"He's a nice guy. And we're all going to die anyway." The knight spoke, and the lady nodded, going back to her silence.
Harley observed the silent respect that she gave the Captain of their squad, and he looked at the cages above him and Eman.
One of them was a bulky man, while the other had a tall but slim build. Both were men...
He couldn't really discern their full features because he was seeing in black and white right now.
Now how exactly did he come to this point, from being a worker at a modern mine to coming back to what seemed like the old times and getting imprisoned?
Harley let out a breath, looking to the side. He took a deep breath again...
"What's a Godsworn?" He asked, looking at the captain.
The captain grunted in frustration, turning to look at Harley with a deep frown.
"You've asked about it before, and I chose not to answer. Leave it." He shut the conversation down, relaxing on the bars behind him.
Harley wasn't willing to give up, though.
"I mean, we're all going to die. I might as well know about it."
A subtle shift above him made him turn. The guy in the cell above him was slim and wearing oversized clothing.
"They are horrible creatures."
The captain's voice made him bring his head down.
"The Godsworns. The prophets say that they are the children of the gods, carrying celestial divinity and born with unholy powers—"
Harley frowned as he saw Eman flinch, as if taken aback. Even as the man was uncomfortable with the topic, Harley still had to push for an answer.
"It sounds like a dangerous creature. Do you, by chance, know where a person can find it?" He sat up.
This time, the captain turned to look at him with a frown, as if glaring through the shadows and seeing him directly.
"You keep referring to them as 'it'. All three of them have been plagues and have been suppressed by the Lords for years."
Hearing Eman, Harley's expression fell. The basement suddenly became quiet.
"Eh?" His mind raced, piecing together all the information he had now.
'Three? There are three of them? And they are being held back by Lords. Lords?!' He swallowed, sitting back down.
"But Lords are powerful enough to fight off Demon-level creatures." He mumbled, reasoning everything.
Wardens back in the real world were ranked by the number of trials they completed in their story. From Gardeners, to Beacons, to Regents, and finally, to Lords.
He didn't know if there were any ranks higher than Lords, but he knew that Lords were transcendent beings that he could not even hope of getting close to.
'Something is not right. I can't kill a Demon.'
As he racked his head, coming up with theories and conclusions, the door leading up the basement opened, pouring light into the place.
There, two pirates came in, having their cutlasses on their waists. They smiled mockingly as they approached Harley.
"You're in for a treat today, Jester." They opened the cage, pulling him out of the basement.
Cold wind and ocean spray slapped Harley's face as he was dragged up the narrow steps and shoved onto the open deck. The sudden light stabbed his eyes, forcing him to squint as the dark basement vanished behind him. The sea stretched endlessly in every direction—black-blue water rolling wildly past the ship.
Harley raised his head and looked forward, seeing Captain Ragnar sitting beside the woman from before.
"Boy!"
The entire ship went quiet, and even more pirates came out. There were almost thirty of them on the ship.
"Jesters were known for their 'stunning performances' in the Kingdom of Gord. It's going to be a long ride back there, so entertain us." The captain smiled, sending a signal with a wave of his hand.
Right then, a pirate wearing a black scarf over his head came over, showing his gap teeth. He threw a hula hoop to Harley's feet, along with three knives.
"Now dance!" Ragnar shouted, and immediately drums and a flute clashed to form a chaotic tune.
A headache hit Harley; it was hard to focus in the moment right now when he was about to be made to... dance?
Out of instinct, he picked up the light ring along with the knives, then he started to rotate his hips while juggling knives at the same time.
'Focus, focus, focus.' His eyes moved around, analysing every single pirate that was around him.
Survive.
For a moment, the ship faded away. It was like all of his senses shut off as he tried to focus totally on multiple actions.
The knives cut into his fingers as he caught them time and time again. He gritted his teeth through each one.
The pirates watched, surprised despite themselves. Some of them wanted more, though.
"Too clean!" someone shouted.
"Boring!" another jeered.
Ragnar laughed, and the woman beside him bent, whispering some words into his ear.
He stood and walked forward, lifted a plate stacked with knives, and flung them into the air one by one.
Harley's breath caught as he noticed the whistling sounds.
The knives fell like rain.
He twisted, bent, leaned—metal whistling past his face, his ribs, his legs—not stopping the dance, never breaking the rhythm. The hoop spun faster, his feet sliding across the deck as the music howled.
Ragnar snapped his fingers.
Fire roared to life around Harley, a burning ring encircling his space. Heat crashed into his skin, sweat pouring instantly down his face. His eyes immediately started burning, but he kept them open, looking up and shifting to dodge the knives.
Another knife slid on his skin. Cold metal pressed hard against his side, biting through fabric. Harley gasped, arching instinctively as pain and the cold metal flared sharp and bright. Laughter erupted around him, but he didn't stop.
If he were to disappoint these men, then he's dead. It might be cruel but it was what his situation was.
By the time the last knife clattered to the deck, Harley was trembling, chest heaving, muscles screaming as the hoop finally dropped from his waist to the ground.
He stood there, soaked in sweat, breathing heavily. All his muscles screamed, and he was cut in multiple places already, especially his fingers.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then Ragnar clapped—slow, continuous, heavy claps.
"Well done," he said, smiling wider than before. He turned and gestured.
Two pirates dragged forward a large wooden box and dumped it onto the deck.
The lid burst open.
Inside—dozens of knives gleamed back at Harley, making him flinch.
Ragnar's eye gleamed just as sharply.
"Encore!"
...
The sky was already getting dark.
Two men dragged Harley's bloodied body back into the dark expanse of the basement, then threw him into his cage.
He was breathing, but apart from that, he was not moving at all. His clothes were torn along with his flesh underneath. Strangely enough, his blood was dark, almost black.
More than a dozen cuts all around his body.
"You know what they call people like you, chaff. Not worthy enough to be called human." The pirate sneered, revealing his signature gap teeth.
"Be ready for tomorrow, toy!" The second of the pirates spat into the cage, laughing as he left.
Harley finally moved, looking at the ground of the cell with a dark expression. His eyes were cold, and his mind was quiet; only the sounds of tiny droplets of water falling from the ceiling could reach him.
"Rest well, kid," The knight beside him said, looking relaxed.
Harley didn't blame him. He couldn't see in the dark like he was able to, so there was no way that Eman would be able to know the condition of his body right now.
"I'm fine." Harley's voice came out hoarse; his throat was parched.
Despite the fact that they were all around water, he was very thirsty.
Thirst had little on him though; at the moment, the level of rage sleeping inside his body was immense.
'Damn.' He bent his head, looking at his palms; cuts and poked holes bled, albeit slowly.
There was also an unsettling feeling in his stomach, like some kind of new source of energy that made him last longer outside.
His stamina was much more than when he was still on earth.
He laid back on the floor of the cage. The bars were cold, but he didn't mind; he just slept off instantly, pulled into a dream.
In that dream, everything was dark. There was only a circular spotlight around the area he was standing in, but apart from that, the place was filled with silence and a deep darkness.
'What is this?' He thought, looking at the darkness around him. His instincts were screaming at him to not go into the darkness.
He shifted his attention, staring at his palms.
He touched himself, feeling confused about the situation he was in. It was like he wasn't even in a dream.
'Is the Oracle toying with me again?' He glanced around one more time; this time, there was someone with him.
It was a young man with fickle features, sitting in a wheelchair with a smile on his face. The rounded glasses on his eyes seemed too big for his own face.
Of course, Harley's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the person in front of him. His eyes were sharp... Seeing this person in front of him, he closed his eyes.
"I have accepted my new life. Why in the world am I seeing you?" He spoke, taking a step forward.
The person he was looking at, was him in in his previous life. Crippled and unfortunate him from his former life—Julius.
Before Harley could say anything else, the young man spoke.
"What new life? Ever since you were born into this world, you never liked it. You never liked being at a disadvantage, and you have been ready to die for as long as I remember." Julius shook his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment, adding one final sentence;
"That's not you."
Harley closed his eyes, looking down at the ground.
"I have always accepted anything that comes my way, whether good or bad. I actually want to live a life, but a peaceful—"
"Peaceful?!" Julius cut in, frowning so hard his forehead creased.
"If you couldn't find it once, what makes you think that you would ever find it? Not once, not twice, has the world kicked you down, but you didn't complain, didn't fight back." Julius relaxed, leaning back in the wheelchair.
"Even as a cripple, you learned Eastern arts of the fist. But you gave up in this world once you saw that you were at the bottom of society."
Harley snapped, looking up.
"YOU THINK I HAVEN'T TRIED?! I WORKED MY WHOLE LIFE TO RISE FROM BEING A SLAVE IN THE MINES TO BEING PART OF A RECOGNIZED ENTERTAINMENT GROUP! BUT... That's where it ends." His voice lowered.
He wasn't joking about working his entire life. He was nineteen now, and he spent most of it running away from mediocrity.
"That's where it should have ended. But you have a chance now." Julius smiled, adjusting his glasses, then turned his wheelchair, looking into the dark.
Harley raised a brow, clearly confused. That is, until he saw a scene come under light from the darkness.
It was him trying his best not to be hit by one of the flying knives. It was him being toyed with by stupid pirates.
"Why didn't you just stand and get killed?" Julius asked, and Harley frowned, looking at Ragnar, who looked like he was having the time of his life while toying with him.
"Why didn't you just stand and get killed?" Julius asked again, looking back at Harley.
This time, though, Harley looked at him too, with a cold gaze that would send a shiver down any man's spine.
This made Julius smile.
"Deep down, you want to survive, to thrive. In a new world filled with opportunities, highs and lows, strength and weakness, supernatural and ordinary. But every time life hits you, you let it get to you—"
"Hahahaha..." Harley laughed, looking at the scene playing out in front of both of them.
He walked forward, taking each slow step, till he stood beside Julius.
"You know, before I entered this... strange dream, I was actually thinking about this. In this new world, there are kings, dukes, counts, nobles, sorcerers, wardens, and many more that I don't know. So I thought... why not me?" Harley looked at Julius. This time, though, his smile faded, replaced by an unnaturally calm expression.
"Just as a prince is born a prince, why not me? Just as people get to live and enjoy their lives, why not me? Hell, even pirates are enjoying themselves after robbing an almost defenceless village." He nodded slowly; his mind picked up all the pieces.
Julius smiled, showing all his thirty-two.
"You realize it now. No one is coming to save you. And if the world won't give you what you want?" He put a hand on Harley's shoulder.
Harley smirked.
"If it doesn't give me what I want, then I take it by force. I will thrive—damn the Oracle, damn the king. I will survive this trial, and I will mock the damn Oracle if I ever meet it." Harley's words were stern, even if his voice was a little cracked.
"Now go. Go and thrive. Fulfil both our lives." Julius gave Harley a nudge on the shoulder, making the space between them fold and twist.
...
Harley gasped, waking up in a dark basement where he could only see black and white all around him.
'Okay.' He sat up fully with that thought.
He never expected to encounter his past self in any form or way, because... he was his past self, and he was not on Earth.
He let out a breath, realizing that the strange dream was over. He looked at the captain, seeing him staring at a corner blankly.
"Eman. So, I want you to tell me about the Godsworns. All three of them—oh, and tell me what you know about artifacts too."
Eman turned, looking at him with a confused frown.
"Well, we dead men might as well talk about simple things before we die." The knight captain sat up, then he started talking.