Chapter 22: Unanswered

I woke up expecting pain.

I braced for it—cracked ribs, a fractured shoulder, maybe that pulped knee screaming its return.

But nothing came. No pain. No soreness. No stiffness.

Just... air. Clean. Cold. Crisp.

My eyes opened to a ceiling painted with softly pulsing runes.

Pale blue. Calming, if you didn't know they were low-grade enchantments for mana monitoring and vital stabilization.

An infirmary ceiling. I recognized the type.

I flexed a hand beneath the thin white sheets.

My fingers obeyed—fluid and strong. Not swollen.

Not bruised.

Not humanly possible.

I sat up.

No nausea. No dizziness.

No soreness.

My skin looked unblemished—like I'd never taken a claw to the chest, never dodged blades, never flung myself off that collapsing ridge.

I was wearing a standard Silver Mist infirmary robe—white, loose, breezy.

My clothes were gone. So were my shoes.

My feet dangled off the side of the bed, brushing cool stone.

Somewhere distant, I heard a ticking sound. A clock.

Unmagical. Meant to keep patients grounded.

Then the messages came.

One by one, they burned into my vision like comets.

Congratulations! You just

Congratulations! You Just leveled up.

Congratulations! You just leveled up.

Congratulations! You just leveled up.

"...what?"

I blinked, and the floodgates opened.

Eyes of Horus has upgraded to Level 2

Teleportation range increased to 200 kilometers

Foresight increased to 4 seconds

As the Eyes of Horus grow stronger, the visions become more vivid... but the cost of sanity grows exponentially.

I rubbed at my temple. "...Any time I read it, it still creeps me out"

More messages followed. Each one louder, more intrusive.

I pulled up my full status screen.

Status Screen

Name: Eden Prairie/ Mack Thorne (Synchronising) 35%

Level: 6

Age: 17

Race: Human

HP (Health Points): 300/300

MP (Mana Points): 773/800

Charm: 23% (+10% persuasion chance, +5% NPC favorability)

Luck: -20% (you're fucked)

Class: None

Bloodline: Eyes of Horus (Level 2)

Effects:

- Gain a 4-second glimpse of the immediate future, revealing:

- Shadows of impending doom, foreshadowing imminent threats

- Echoes of forgotten memories, hinting at secrets yet unknown

- Whispers of forsaken souls, warning of dangers lurking in the abyss

- Glimpses of shattered timelines, revealing the devastating consequences of failure

- Teleportation: "Beyond the Veil of Reality" - Instantly transport yourself up to 200 kilometers, leaving behind a trail of distorted reality.

Attributes:

- Strength: 16 (+5 melee damage)

- Agility: 19 (+8 dodge chance, +5 movement speed)

- Intelligence: 18 (+6 spellcasting ability)

- Wisdom: 22 (+2 perception, +4 insight)

• Dexterity: 28 (+6 accuracy, +9 mobility)

Skills:

- Acrobatics: Lv4 (expertise in tumbling, flipping, and dodging)

- Persuasion: Lv2 (charisma and negotiation skills)

- Arcana: Lv3 (basic knowledge of magic and spellcasting)

- Shadow Weaving: Lv1 (ability to manipulate shadows for stealth, deception, and movement) (MP Cost: 500)

- Death's Door: (ability to cheat death, but at a terrible cost) (MP Cost: 10,000)

• Noble's Grace:[Passive] ( clear minded even when faced with death)

Equipment:

- Worn: White infirmary robe

Lightweight. Standard issue. Hides nothing. Dignity not included.

- Inventory: None

Currency: 2500 Aether Coins (AC)

Quests:

- Current: Attend Orientation

- Completed: "Place Top 10 in the Battle Royale"

Artifact Acquired – Ring of the Oathbound King

Grade: Sacred

Bound: Soul-bound to Eden Prairie

Type: Morphic Weapon Catalyst

I hadn't even noticed the ring until now.

There it sat—quietly coiled around my right middle finger.

A silver band, blackened with age.

Its surface rippled faintly, like steel dipped in shadow.

Ancient runes etched along its inner curve pulsed faintly red, as if breathing.

Its presence was undeniable.

Its weight unnatural.

Its energy... hungry.

The description unfurled with agonizing slowness.

(Ring of the Oathbound King)

"He was a king who ruled nothing but ash.

Crowned in blood and forsaken by gods, he bartered his soul to a demon not for life—but revenge.

A blade was forged.

But no scabbard could hold it.

So the ring was born—to bind the blade to his will and his will to death."

.Can transform into any weapon the wielder envisions

.Weapon is soulbound: Only user can summon or wield it

.If disarmed or lost, automatically returns to wielder's hand

.Continuously drains MP while worn

.Cannot be removed once equipped

.The user is permanently cursed until death. Maybe even after.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then I looked at the ring.

Then back at the screen.

Then at the ring.

Then back at the words burned into my vision like a divine punchline.

Cursed until death. Maybe even after.

The ring pulsed once—slow, possessive.

"…Cursed for life?" I murmured.

A laugh almost rose, but I swallowed it down.

"Seriously?" I said instead, voice flat.

"First exam. First win. And I end up with a soulbound death-ring forged by a lunatic king."

The words hung in the air. Empty.

I could almost hear the cosmic silence that followed.

I held up my hand, examining the thing as it gleamed like oil under sunlight—reflecting nothing, swallowing everything. It didn't look evil.

Didn't burn.

Didn't whisper.

But it sat on my finger with the quiet permanence of a shackle.

I flexed my fingers.

No response. No menu. No option to remove.

"…Of course not," I said.

"Why would I get a lucky break now?"

The ring pulsed again. Not in agreement.

Just there. Watching. Listening.

I dragged a hand down my face.

Level 5. Bloodline advanced. Foresight doubled.

A teleportation skill that could now rip me 200 kilometers across the continent—if I wanted brain hemorrhages and personality fractures.

And now this—some ancient, cursed artifact that eats MP like candy and brands me as the successor of a dead king with a vengeance problem.

All this, and I still didn't have a class.

I let the screen flicker shut and exhaled through my teeth.

"My luck was already shit," I muttered.

I turned my hand over, watching the black ring catch the light—or rather, devour it.

"Now I'm cursed by a ring that eats mana and might be haunted by a dead king with trust issues."

I paused. Let the words sink in.

"…I'm so screwed."

And for once, I wasn't even exaggerating.

Just as I was about to slide off the bed, the door hissed open with that too-sterile infirmary hum.

I glanced up, half-expecting some clipboard-wielding staffer to come in and ask if I was still breathing.

Instead, in walked a nurse.

Probably mid-twenties. Clean white coat, clipboard tucked beneath her arm, a name tag I didn't bother reading.

She moved with the kind of practiced efficiency you only develop after dealing with half-dead students on a weekly basis.

But still…

She was beautiful.

Ridiculously so.

Smooth amber eyes that darted over me with just enough intensity to sting, high cheekbones framed by soft curls pulled into a neat braid, lips slightly parted like she'd just been mid-sentence to herself.

Her uniform hugged her frame in a way that was definitely regulation—technically—but still made my gaze pause a second too long.

Long legs. Subtle curves. Confident stride. She looked like she belonged in a commercial, not an infirmary.

My eyes tracked the movement of her hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

And her voice—when she finally spoke—was smooth, low, and laced with just enough boredom to be undeniably real.

"Ah. You're awake."

Of course I was awake. And staring. Great.

Wait—why the hell was I describing all of that?

I blinked. Twice.

I cleared my throat and looked away, pretending to inspect the far wall like it had offended me.

I didn't answer immediately.

Just turned my head slowly toward her, lids heavy.

The kind of stare that wasn't trying to be anything — and somehow still made her forget what she was supposed to say next.

She blinked, shook herself internally, then cleared her throat.

"Good. You're stable. Vitals look perfect.

No fractures. Mana low, but nothing serious. Honestly…"

She glanced at the chart, lips tugging faintly.

"You're healing like a miracle."

I sat up wordlessly, letting the sheets fall.

Her eyes flicked — fast — and then locked back on the clipboard.

"You'll be discharged today. Orientation's tomorrow morning," she added.

"Think you'll be up for it?"

"Yeah," I said.

She smiled again. Still trying to stay clinical. Still failing.

"Oh—and congratulations. Top ten. That's... impressive. You came in fifth."

Her pen tapped the board, tapping just once too long.

"Classless, huh?"

I didn't respond. Just tilted my head slightly, watching her.

She swallowed.

"There's… a lot of talk going around.

Some people are calling you a ghost.

Others, a weapon. I just think—" she caught herself. Smiled again, smaller this time.

"I think you should be proud."

I didn't blink.

"Where's my sister?" I asked.

"Oh." That surprised her.

"She just stepped out to change clothes."

I nodded once.

She lingered by the bed, hesitated… then took a small step back.

"Well. You're free to rest until you're called. Let me know if you need anything."

Her voice cracked just slightly at the end. She turned, hand briefly pausing on the door handle.

She didn't look back, but her smile stayed as she left.

The door closed with a soft click.

Silence returned.

I closed my eyes. Not to sleep. Just to breathe.

Then—

{What was that about?}

A voice chimed in, breezy and amused.

{She was clearly trying to flirt with you, but you—oh my circuits—you ruined it with your blunt caveman replies.}

My eyes snapped open.

'Oh. Look who decided to show up. The Judas herself.'

I didn't even try to hide the bitterness in my tone — not from her.

'You ditched me, Echo. When I needed you the most.

That wasn't cool at all.'

{You missed me?}

'Don't flatter yourself. Where the hell were you?'

{Offline.}

'Why?'

Another pause. One of those empty seconds that made silence feel like it was thinking.

{I don't know.}

That made me look up.

Her voice had always carried a touch of sarcasm — sometimes smug, sometimes lighthearted — but now it was flat.

Like static wrapped in honesty.

'You're telling me… you just shutdown mid-battle, and have no idea why?'

{That is correct.}

A faint flicker of sound behind her tone — like code trying to settle into place.

{I experienced a forced shutdown. The reason… is outside my accessible data.}

'You expect me to believe that?'

{You don't have to believe it. But it's the truth.}

I leaned back into the bedframe, eyes narrowing.

'Fine. Then tell me this — who brought me here?

Why this world? Why me? Is there a way back?'

{…}

{Those answers are currently inaccessible.}

My lips twitched. Not a smile. Just disbelief wearing a familiar mask.

'Of course. Of course.

That's what they always say in every damn cliché fantasy story.'

I pitched my voice up mockingly:

'"You're not ready yet." "You'll understand when the time comes."

Yeah, heard it before. Always the same line of crap, Echo.'

{I understand you're upset.}

'Do you?'

I stood slowly, legs stiff but functioning.

My feet hit the cold floor. Still no shoes.

Still no proper clothes.

Still no clue what the hell I was doing here.

'Oh come on, you can't just help me out? Just—pull one of your magic code strings and give me something?'

{It's not that I won't help, Snowflakes. It's that I can't.}

Her voice lost all traces of humor there.

{I am limited to the framework I was programmed within. Wherever you are… whatever brought you here… it lies outside that framework. My reach ends where that knowledge begins.}

I stared out the window, at nothing in particular.

'Fine. Then let's get to what matters. What's my reason here? My purpose? Surely you've got that programmed somewhere in that pretty little interface of yours.'

{…}

{I don't have access to that answer either. Not yet.}

'Great,' I muttered. 'Then what can you do?'

{I can stay. Advise you. Alert you. Help you survive this place. I can't give you the key to it all, Snowflakes… but I can help you last long enough to find it.}

'Fantastic. A tutorial fairy with amnesia.'

{Excuse you — I have an excellent memory. Just... not for the stuff that matters, apparently.}

I dragged a hand down my face, the weight of this world pressing into my chest.

'Whose fucking idea was it to bring me here, huh?

Some bored god? A mad scientist? A roll of dice across reality?'

{…I don't have access to that either.}

'Seriously?'

{Seriously. Whatever purpose brought you here… it's beyond me.

That truth lies outside my parameters.}

She hesitated.

{It wasn't part of what I was given.}

I chuckled — low, bitter.

'Who gave you to me, then?

Who programmed you and dumped you in my head like some glorified voice assistant with cryptic commentary?'

Another pause.

A deeper one.

{I don't know.}

Her voice was… quieter.

{Whoever created me… hid themselves well.

Their signatures are encrypted, fragmented, buried beneath system barriers even I can't reach.

I was placed in your mind with specific functions, but no origin trail.

No memory of who I belonged to. Or why I was meant for you.}

I stared blankly at the window again. As if somehow, staring hard enough would burn a doorway through it.

'So I'm not just lost… I've got a mystery parasite in my head with no memory of where she came from.'

{Technically, I'm a classified quantum-bound sentient assistant, not a parasite}

I felt something twist in my chest. Not pain. Not anger.

Something closer to exhaustion.

{But you'll get the answers you seek, Snowflakes. You will. Just… get strong. Survive. Grow. And when the time is right, it will all make sense.}

That made me laugh — a bitter, humorless sound.

'But that's the thing, Echo.'

I turned from the window, voice low, jaw tight.

'I don't want to get strong. I don't want to survive. I don't want to fight.'

I pressed a hand to my temple, as if I could somehow wipe the weight off it.

'I just want to go home.'

A beat.

'I'm not cut out for this shit.'

My voice cracked a little. Just barely. But it was there.

I sat back on the bed.

Ran a hand through my hair.

Then let it drop.

'Ahh… I'm truly screwed.'

{Not screwed. Just… incomplete.}

I snorted.

'That supposed to be comforting?'

{No. Just honest.}

'Okay,' I muttered, voice dry. 'I know you won't have an answer, but I'll ask anyway.'

{Try me.}

'When I checked my stats… I saw it. A quest.'

{Yes. "Attend Orientation." Scheduled for tomorrow morning.}

'Right. And another one… was already marked completed.

"Place Top 10 in the Battle Royale."'

I turned slightly, gaze narrowing as if that could help me see the strings behind it all.

'So here's the part where it gets weird — I didn't accept any quests.

They were just… there. Embedded. Auto-triggered.'

A pause.

Then I asked it straight:

'Was that you?'

Echo didn't respond at first.

Then her voice came in — soft, precise.

{No. It wasn't me.}

'Didn't think so.'

I ran a hand through my hair, slow, dragging my fingers across my scalp like it might stir clarity from somewhere under the skin.

'So who did assign it to me? You don't just spawn a full-ass RPG questline in someone's head without someone pushing the button.'

{I don't know.}

'Of course you don't.'

I let out a breath. Bitter. Tired.

'Fine. Then what about the skills? The cursed ring?

"Eyes of Horus"? "Beyond the Veil"? All those freaky powers I never asked for?'

Echo hesitated again — the second her silence stretched, I already knew the answer.

{Those… weren't from me either. They were already integrated into your system when I came online.

I have no logs of their installation. No data on their origin.

They're classified as "locked-source imports" in your core structure.}

I blinked once. Hard.

'Locked-source… what the hell does that even mean?'

{It means… someone placed them there. But whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.

They scrubbed every trace. Buried the access rights. It's as if those abilities were built outside the system, then manually embedded with admin-level clearance.}

'So not you. Not the world. Not the Prairie Family.'

{Not me. Not this world. Not anyone I can trace.}

'Great,' I muttered. 'So even the cursed crap in my head has trust issues.'

Echo didn't respond. But I could feel her presence quiet — not gone, just… listening.

I pressed two fingers against my temple.

'This whole setup… it's like I'm the main character in a game no one's watching anymore.

A quest line assigned by a ghost.'

{That… might not be far from the truth.}

'What do you mean?'

{Whoever placed these things inside you, Snowflakes… didn't just want you to survive.

They're nudging you somewhere. Guiding. Testing. But they don't want you to know yet.}

'And you're okay with that?'

{No. But I was designed to adapt. And until more data surfaces… I have no choice.}

I fell silent for a moment, letting the weight of that settle in.

Then quietly:

'…I hate this.'

{I know.}

'Every second of it. The silence. The lies. The feeling that everyone's three steps ahead of me in a game I never signed up to play.'

{Then get stronger. Not because they want you to.

But because one day, you'll break through every one of their stupid locked barriers — and I'll be right there when you do.}

I didn't respond.

Not right away.

I just sat there, arms resting on my knees, mind slowly unraveling thread after thread of this twisted knot I'd found myself in.

'But wait a minute, why would whoever — or whatever — brought me here… put me inside the same game I used to play back on Earth? Eternal Realms.'

{...}

{Maybe… so you can change the course of some events.}

'Change the course?'

{You played it before. You know how some things unfold — the cities, the factions, the wars, the betrayals.

Maybe the point isn't just to survive it… but to rewrite it. Reprogram fate with foreknowledge.}

I exhaled through my nose. It wasn't satisfying.

'Echo.'

{Yes?}

'I didn't finish the game.'

A silence.

'And those who did — those poor souls — they knew how hard it was.

Eternal Realms wasn't some casual fantasy romp.

It was known all over the gaming community for its brutal difficulty.

No mercy. No shortcuts. Every decision had a consequence.

Every battle could end you. One misstep, and you'd lose hours… days… weeks of progress.'

I paused, letting that truth settle in the pit of my chest.

'I'll be honest with you, Echo…'

I swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

'I'm fucking scared.'

There was a beat of silence from her.

Then softly — not chipper, not teasing, just real:

{Good.}

That caught me off guard.

{Fear keeps you alive, Snowflakes. It sharpens your instincts.

Reminds you what's real. The people who walk into this world thinking they're invincible?

They don't last long. But the ones who fear it… they learn to respect it. They learn how to fight back.}

I blinked slowly, eyes unfocused.

{You're not weak because you're afraid. You're dangerous because you are — and you move anyway.}

I didn't say anything.

Couldn't, really.

Echo continued:

{Besides… I'm here now. You're not facing this alone. And if the world wants to play unfair? We'll play smarter.}

My lips twitched, just a little. A crack in the wall.

'Smarter, huh?'

{Well, let's be honest. I do most of the thinking.

You're more of a "pretty face with punching potential" kind of guy.}

'Wow.'

{It's called balance. Look it up.}

I was about to fire back — something sharp, probably smug — but the sound of the door creaking open cut through the air like a blade.

Reflexively, I turned my head.

I was expecting Glory.

It made sense. The nurse had said she'd stepped out.

But the person standing there…

My mind stalled.

My breath caught.

The sarcastic retort never made it out.

And at the exact same moment, two voices echoed in perfect unison.

'Justin Bridge?'

{Justin Bridge?}