Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day - Chapter 372: Interlude [I]

Chapter 372: Interlude [I]

I forced my eyes open and realized I was on land.

…I also realized something frightening.

Before me, for as far and wide as my eyes could see, there was nothing but men.

Only these men were not men at all.

They stood on two feet and looked uncannily human, sure. But their flesh was decomposing in putrid patches, and their unfocused eyes were milky white.

Desecrated tufts of hair clung to their heads and tattered clothing hung from their emaciated frames, swaying eerily in the ocean breeze.

The moment they noticed my washed-up body lying on the shore, gut-wrenchingly hollow groans slipped through their decaying teeth as they lurched forward in my direction.

Their movements were jerky and unnatural. But above all, they were extremely fast. In merely a heartbeat, dozens of them were already only just a few steps away from me.

They were not people.

They were something far more sinister, a grotesque mockery of life and everything that was living.

Zombies.

Thousands upon thousands of zombies.

A full army of the undead.

I drew in a shaky breath and tried to stand, but something must have shattered in one of my legs.

I tried to call upon Aurieth, but it would have taken too much time. The zombies would have mutilated me long before my sword could reach me.

…Thankfully, none of that happened.

Before those hungry undead could come anywhere near me, the sky parted open with a deafening roar.

And then a torrent of incinerating fire came raining down upon the rotting dead men walking, immediately cremating hundreds of them on contact.

I did not need to look up to know what had happened. I still did.

High among the clouds, a majestic beast was flapping its wings so colossal that the displaced air buffeted the sky with strong gales. It was a dragon of radiant golden scales that shone like they were made from solid sunlight.

The dragon circled overhead as if to ensure that no creature dared approach his nephew uninvited.

Because whenever they dared, another torrent of fire poured from his jaws in a blazing cascade that reduced hundreds more zombies to nothing but smoldering ash.

And yes, you heard me right. I said he was protecting his nephew — me.

That dragon form was the beast transformation belonging to none other than the Golden Calamity himself, Thorax Kaizer Theosbane.

Uncle Thorax, to me.

I was still breathing hard, my mind was still reeling from the shock of chaos, when all of a sudden, a pair of hands took hold of my shoulder from behind and gently helped me lift myself upright.

Despite the logical part of my mind knowing that I was safe now, I still flinched at the touch.

But a chorus of calm voices immediately began murmuring steady reassurances near my ear in a way that cut through the panic clawing at my chest.

“Easy there, Young Master.”

“Found him! He’s here!”

“No need to be alarmed anymore, Young Master. You’ve made it home.”

I blinked through my worsening bleary vision and twisted around as much as my battered body allowed.

A tall woman was kneeling beside me on the sand, one hand resting firmly on my shoulder to keep me from struggling any further.

She wore polished armor the color of burnished gold, its surface etched with intricate runic patterns that faintly glowed in the light spilling down from the sky.

A white cloak hung from her shoulders, snapping lightly in the sea breeze. Most of her face was concealed by a silky black balaclava, leaving only her eyes visible.

Behind her, several more figures were either kneeling around me or rushing across the shore, moving with the discipline of soldiers who had trained for lifetimes.

It took me no time to recognize them.

They were Zelda’s Guard — an all-female order of elite knights sworn to protect the Theosbane bloodline, serving directly under the will of the clan head and heir, and no one else.

Needless to say, I was relieved… if only for a second.

Because behind me, the coastal waters were still a battlefield.

The Lake of Grief was being stirred into a frenzied churn under the assault of that tentacled monstrosity, sending even more great waves crashing onto the shore.

And from those black waters, I saw them again — writhing silhouettes of dozens of towering tentacles, still reaching upward and still thrashing around.

One of those tentacles shot upward with unnatural speed, curling high above the ocean surface, and in a horrifying blur, it whipped downward to snatch Alexia away just as she was about to reach the coastline.

My heart sank.

In all the mayhem, I could not properly make out where the others were, but I had no doubt they were still scuffling to survive in the stormy havoc behind me.

I turned weakly toward the female knight who was still cradling me, and, with a hitching breath, I croaked, “M-My friends… save them…”

The woman shushed me calmly. “Don’t worry, Young Master. They’re safe now. You’re all safe now.”

I didn’t get the chance to say anything further, because in the very next instant…

—KA–BOOOM!!

A booming thunderclap resounded so loudly throughout the area that my eardrums nearly ruptured. It was then immediately followed by a blinding flash that painted the entire coast in stark white for a split second.

When my vision returned enough to somewhat focus, I glanced toward the source of the sound and saw a man of overwhelming presence standing on the shoreline in the distance.

He stood tall and proud on the wet sand, his muscular physique very much evident even beneath the folds of his luxurious noble attire. He naturally exuded an air of dominance, looking like an unyielding wall of refined masculinity.

Golden curls fell to the base of his neck like a lion’s mane.

A sharply groomed black beard and rugged facial features only enhanced the rough-edged appeal, while his eyes — a shade of yellowish-golden slightly lighter than his hair — regarded the tumultuous ocean before him with cold detachment.

A few flailing tentacles lashed out toward the shore as if to strike him down… but then they froze mid-air.

No, wait…

They weren’t frozen. The tentacles simply could not reach him like they were incapable of doing so, like some invisible law forbade their touch.

The man paid no heed to any of it and simply raised both his arms toward the dark, roiling waters.

In the blink of an eye, two children just magically appeared there, dangling from his hands as he gripped them by the backs of their necks like pitiful puppies.

Those children were Michael and Alexia, both sputtering and coughing, soaked and dazed, but very much alive.

He discarded them aside like one might throw away garbage bags. Then he produced two more children — this time, Ray and Vince. He threw them away too.

At last, he materialized Juliana and Kang from thin air, depositing them as well atop the pile of gasping and vomiting kids at his sides.

Only then did he shift his full attention to the writhing mass of black water in front of him.

In response, the very waves of the Lake of Grief seemed to shrink away, retreating like timid prey before a predator of unmatched power.

Every last tentacle recoiled, coiling and curling back into the depths as if the ocean itself had been warned not to challenge him…

Just like that, it was all over.

You know, I had heard many exaggerated legends about my father while growing up.

There had been a few novels written to chronicle his adventures and more than a few movies that had adapted them.

There were many cults dedicated to his worship and most of the West hailed him as some sort of savior.

So it should come as no surprise that he had a plethora of titles and nicknames, bestowed upon him by fans, peers, and even the Monarchs themselves.

But in that moment, only one title came to my mind — The Anomaly Whom Even The Spirits Feared.

It was no exaggeration.

He really was one of the greatest Hunters to have ever lived.

He was Arthur Kaizer Theosbane.

After rescuing my companions, he threw his gaze in my direction, looking like he was assessing my condition. Though it was hard to tell since I was blacking out.

“Is he alright?” he asked in that signature commanding voice of his.

The knight holding me up straightened a little and nodded her head reverently. “He’s stable, Your Grace. But he may require immediate treatment.”

My father was already walking away. “So does the Zynx girl. Bring everyone to the main mansion after first aid.”

I think there were a lot of healers crowding me after that. Also, a lot of shouting and screaming was going on in the background, while the dragon above kept circling the sky and raining down hellfire.

I tried to make sense of it all, but my mind was so clouded and so overwhelmed that soon enough… I passed out.

•••

[Interlude: Part 1]

A timeless hall was suspended somewhere far beyond the reaches of reality, beyond the reaches of everything that had ever existed, is existing, and would come to exist.

The boundlessly tall walls and limitlessly stretching floors of this infinitely spacious hall were made of parchments stacked together.

Not ordinary parchment, of course.

Each sheet was layered upon another like the endless pages of an impossible manuscript. Ink flowed through the veins of the floor in rivers of black, forming sentences that rewrote themselves the moment they were finished.

Stories lived here and stories were forgotten here.

Stories that had happened.

Stories that had never happened.

Stories that had only been imagined by minds long turned to dust.

Every now and then, a page would meander through the air before settling somewhere into the colossal architecture, quietly joining this ever-growing archive of everything.

At the center of this hall were two figures.

First, there was a charming man, standing with both his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his long dark coat.

Seemingly in his late twenties, with a head full of lush golden hair and deep eyes of matching color, sharp features adorning his perfect visage and an athletically lean build, he looked like a prince of some high fantasy.

…Or he would’ve looked like that, if not for his tired eyes and disheveled appearance, as though he had to fight through an entire war to be here.

Yet, his posture was relaxed in a way that suggested he was waiting for a train rather than standing at the center of a place that contained every story ever told.

His eyes wandered across the never-ending parchment architecture with mild curiosity, like someone idly browsing a local library he had already visited many times before.

But he hadn’t.

It was his first time here.

Where was ’here’? No one knew exactly.

This place existed outside the scope of existence, so to even step foot here, one needed to utter the name of its host and get invited by him inside.

Which was a tricky task because the name of the host was a name that had never been scribbled or spoken anywhere. It was a name that never was.

The man sighed and looked up. His throat was dry from speaking so long.

He cocked his head. “So, how are you liking the story up until now?”

Opposite him was a boy.

Or at least, something that resembled a boy.

He looked no older than thirteen.

And if the mortal man before him seemed like a prince from a high fantasy, then the boy himself was dressed like a prince from a child’s dream.

Mismatched socks on his feet and messy black hair falling over his eyes. A rough crown made of broken quills rested atop his head. His half cape looked as though it had been stitched together from the discarded pages of a storybook.

Sitting on the edge of a floating desk far too large for him, the boy swung his legs back and forth with an amused smile plastered on his youthful face.

That boy was the host of this place.

That boy… was the Lord of Stories.