I ducked into an alley next to the shopping area and slipped into my new gear. The robe was a simple white cloth with red trim, leaving my shoulders bare and highlighting, well, a lot of skin—cleavage and thighs, mostly. Great. The tiara was plain, a simple band of wreaths without any embellishments, which was fine by me.
Finally dressed like someone who didn’t just roll out of the gutter, I strolled through Village Number Four, feeling a touch more confident, and asked an elven guard for directions to the Priest mentor.
“Mentor?” she echoed, her high-pitched voice ringing down the entire street. “I know! Go straight, then left by the big general store, and left again.”
Cringing under the sudden interest of passersby, I tried to make my escape from her, but not before noticing her armor. Somehow, it was even more impractical than mine. Her chest practically bursting out. How would that even block an attack in, well, reality… or whatever this simulation was? With a silent curse at the developers—and the questionable taste of the game’s AI—I hurried away, finding the building at last.
The old elf greeted me warmly, “Welcome, young Priestess.” His white, full-body robe seemed ordinary, but his gaze wasn’t. When he looked at me, I felt stripped bare, as if his eyes saw straight through me. Ah, the scanning spell—one of the few advantages NPC trainers had over players. I wondered if the real-world simulation had something similar.
The room smelled thickly of cinnamon, like a bakery rather than an ancient training hall. “Hello. I’m here to learn advanced skills, if possible,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. My hesitant steps betrayed my nerves, though. Stupid body—why could I talk to him easily but get tongue-tied around Lisa?
“Let’s get on with it then—three basic skills—”
“I can’t learn that many right now. I already have five, and I don’t want to give any up,” I interrupted, apologetic. He looked at me with newfound interest, his old, discolored teeth showing as he smiled. His tongue flicked out, coated in saliva, and I had to suppress a shudder as his intense gaze roamed from my head to my feet. I instinctively took a step back, wondering if even Boris would find him creepy.
“Show me your skills, then. I’ll judge if you’re worthy!” he said, licking his lips in a way that made me cringe.
“Old man, I decide my destiny! These skills are mine, and you can’t take them from me!” I retorted, agitated at the thought of losing my heroic abilities. He just snorted back. Right. I attempted to show him Ice Dance, visualizing the runes, but of course, I fumbled the spell. Not my finest moment.
Without a word, he waved a hand, conjuring a blue haze that enveloped us. “Judging by the build-up of energy, these aren’t common skills. Focus and do it properly,” he instructed, his tone insistent.
I tried again, concentrating on each movement with precision, but the Ice Dance still wasn’t coming together. Before I could try once more, he creeped closer, reached out and gripped my hands firmly, guiding them. I froze, tempted to yank my hands away and smack him, but his grip was surprisingly strong.
“Young Priestess, you’re too reckless in your runecraft. Magic is about precision, not speed. A failed spell is useless. Even if it takes time, don’t rush.” Ugh. I knew that, but finesse was never my strong suit.
The reality was frustrating—my casting speed was lagging behind others. I wanted to scream at him my favorite profane words, but my experience taught me otherwise. Mentors were usually wise, and their experience was boundless. Yes, I could beat a warrior mentor, but this old pervert? He knew more about magic than me.
Ugh! Fine!
Begrudgingly, I let him circle behind me, his damp robe sticking to my skin as he guided my hands, feeling the unfamiliar, calm tug of mana as he directed my movements. For the first time, the runes filled with energy smoothly, without the usual resistance. Whatever he did, it surprised me. I hadn’t achieved that, ever.
As I finished the last rune, he sniffed my hair—seriously?—and I shouted, “Ice Dance!” A frosty blue light spread across the room, leaving a shimmering layer of ice.
“An exceptional spell, worthy of a hero! Have you met a God?” he asked casually, as if divine encounters were everyday occurrences. Of course, I was picking some yogurt at the grocery store and chatted with god in the queue for bananas. I opened my mouth to answer, but noticed that he was still gripping my hands, enjoying the touch.
“Yes, the God of Ice Blood,” I replied, trying not to think about it as I attempted to free myself.
“Splendid! I was waiting for a Hero to come to our village. I haven’t expected a young, booming hero with beautiful bosoms. Destiny has brought you to me with such… vigor,” he whispered in my ear, far too close for comfort.
Trying to escape his clutches failed again, so I nodded at his remark. Obviously, it was the destiny. It wasn’t like I had to visit him at level five for the advancement. He caressed my butt. Hey! The sensation of his clammy hands was the last straw. I gathered all my strength and nimbly jumped away from him, twisting around his hand using imperial steps taught to… young princesses to escape from situations just like this one.
He composed himself and gestured for me to sit. “I have a task for you, should you be brave enough to accept.” I shrugged. There was nothing on the floor—no mats, no tea, not even a cushion. I waited for him to settle first before reluctantly sitting, careful to keep a distance between us. Imperial steps won’t work on the floor.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[You received your first quest. Do you want to disable the quest system?][The organic quests have greater rewards, but you won’t get help from the system; recommended only for experienced players]</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
“Disable the help!” I muttered to myself. What kind of tester would I be with quest arrows and logs cluttering my screen?Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
The old elf’s voice rang out again. “I’ve recently received reports of strange activity on the Island of the Dead. Please investigate these incidents and explore the Tomb of Queen Irwen.”
Wait, hold up—is this the Imperial quest? The fall of the Empire, already? Regret immediately crept in. Disabling the quest log suddenly felt like a rookie move, but no way was I backing down now. My pride was at stake—no crutches from the system.
“I accept. I’ll gather my friends and—”
“No, dear Hero. You must do this alone.” He stopped me before I could finish and leaned in close. Too close. Was he going to caress me again? What’s his deal?
“Do you realize I’m a priest? I can’t handle this solo! I’ll fail!” I protested, scooting backward as the rough ground scraped against me.
“You are right; I apologize, young heroine. For the duration of your mission, Donovan will accompany you.” He turned and called out, “Donovan! Come here!”
“Hey! Wait, old man—I never agreed to this Donovan guy tagging along!” I pouted, but he was already ignoring me, grinning with those dreadful, rotten teeth of his.
The metallic clank of armor echoed through the room, and a warrior in gleaming silver approached, kneeling before the mentor. He looked barely twenty, with short black hair and a soft, untested face. He hadn’t seen much, if any, battle. Just perfect.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Donovan Lv.10]
Class: Squire</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Squire Donovan, at your service, Master Teorn!” he shouted with way too much enthusiasm. Wait, Master Teorn? This old guy? Teorn was the retired priest I’d encountered when testing the main quest! I remembered his dramatic backstory, something about him saving a Duke’s life after his exile.
Apparently, he’d been banished for… well, sleeping with the Duke’s daughter and her maid simultaneously. Classy. Every starting village had its notable NPC to kick off the big story arcs, so running into him again wasn’t too shocking. But his stats? Insane. His heals practically carried me through tough fights back then. I eyed him, and he shot me a grin back. Womanizer. Yeah, he was unforgettable.
“Donovan,” Teorn continued with the same serious tone, “you’re to travel with this young heroine and protect her with your life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir! I’d sooner die than let the enemy harm her!” he boomed, practically vibrating with zeal. My poor ears. It was annoying, so I stood up, walked over to him, and extended my hand.
“My name’s Princess. I hope we—”
“Princess?! I’m a Prince too! Are you an actual princess?” Donovan blurted out, practically bowing to the floor in excitement. I wanted to protest, to shut this whole thing down, but as I glanced at Teorn, I caught him openly ogling my ridiculously low-cut robe. Great.
“Donovan, stop with the ‘Prince’ nonsense. You’ll never restore your nobility without hard work!” Teorn chided, although his eyes didn’t move from the neckline of my robe as he crept closer. Nope, this was not happening.
“I refuse the quest,” I declared, stomping toward the exit. Main quest with these two? Hard pass. Teorn, quick as ever, sprinted over and grabbed my hand.
“Please wait, Hero Princess,” he said, his voice all soft and pleading as he ran his fingers over my palm. I shivered, irritation boiling inside me. Can’t even decline a quest in peace? Fine, let’s play hardball with this pervy priest.
“If you want my help, here are my conditions. First, a thousand gold pieces for supplies, for me and Donovan. Second, if we’re traveling to that island, I want us on one of the Duke’s raid ships. The ones heading past the scorched land. Deal?”
I turned to leave, but Teorn tightened his grip, a sly grin spreading over his face.
Then, to top off his noble charm, he pulled me closer and kissed my palm with all the flourish of a knight. “Agreed. Both conditions are perfectly reasonable.” Wait… what? He actually agreed? I thought those demands were outrageous—at least slightly out of reach.Alright then.
“Very well,” I said, feigning nonchalance. “But I’ll need half a day to prepare.” Almost said ‘log out’ there… did these NPCs know this was all a game, or was that strictly a player thing? They must be ignoring it hard…
“The Duke’s fleet will pass through the village tomorrow. Meet us at the temple, and we’ll be ready. Here, your promised compensation.” His tone finally shifted to something more like a proper mentor than a medieval creep. About time.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[You received 1000g]</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
“Thank you!” I managed a quick smile at Teorn before practically bolting out of the building. I felt at the place like it could explode any second, and I sprinted away, leaving that creepy atmosphere behind me. Once in the familiar alley, I logged out without hesitation.
Back in reality, I fumbled for my old shirt and pants, only to stop and stare at my smaller hands. Damn, every time. I sighed, settled for a white shirt and skirt instead, and checked the clock. Midnight. Perfect timing, since the game had just started a new 16-hour cycle, which meant I wouldn’t be getting much sleep.
And then, out of nowhere, a loud, mechanical roar filled my ears—a propeller plane starting up? What in the world? Was this some kind of simulation glitch?
The scene changed suddenly, and I found myself inside a plane, fully dressed in skydiving gear. I wasn’t alone, either. Next to me, a younger version of Lucas was grinning, looking thrilled at whatever insanity was about to happen.