“Go back to your world,” Fynlo’s pleading falls on deaf ears for the tenth time. “Okay? Please? Go back to–”

A flying tunic lands on his face to silence him.

“Look at me, I’m a penguin!” Rando waddles around in breastplate and sollerets too heavy for his joints to move, and inevitably falls on his face.

“You can find nobler attires in this armory,” Sansum scans through the stacks of armor and weapons until something catches his eye. “Now these gauntlets befit a hero.”

Rando catches the ornate pair thrown at him, but they disappoint him quickly.

“Level 60. That’s 20 higher than these boots. No wonder I can’t move in them.”

“By level, do you mean status or ability?”

Rando chuckles. “You hear that, Nora? A level 99 NPC has no concept of levels.”

Sansum cocks his head in curiosity. “Were you mad from the beginning, or did you hit your head? Who is this Nora you keep speaking to?”

Nora whispers directly into Rando ear so as to keep the microphone from picking up her voice.

“Stop talking to me! I don’t know what’s going on anymore, but these are still your quests. Talking to me could cause things to spiral out of control.”

“The game is that sensitive to input?” Rando asks, puzzled at what she means.

Nora hisses. “What part of life-like NPCs did you not understand in our briefing?”

Fynlo sighs. “Your Highness, please do not entertain the ravings of a lunatic. He must return to his world.”

“Nora, why does the game not want me to play–?”

“Shh!” She shushes. Shushingly.

Unfazed by the judgmental glances of the knights before him, Rando looks at the gauntlets in his hands and tells himself, “Well, at least It’ll be helpful in the future.”

Grinning, he opens his inventory to transfer the loot into storage. The gauntlets, breastplate, chausses and sollerets vanish instantly in a trail of glowing pixels, leaving him bare-bottomed once again. This astonishes the two knights.

“Did you just… destroy those objects?” Fynlo asks.

“Oh, you mean these?” Rando transfers the gauntlets back into his hands. “Nah.”

This startles Fynlo once again, which Rando does not fail to notice, now grinning mischievously from ear to ear.

“It’s just magic. Watch closely.”

Rando hides the gauntlets with his forearms and makes them disappear by transferring them back into storage, after which he reveals his empty hands. He then shows Fynlo his empty back, turns to face him once again, puts his hands on his back and pulls out his sword. Then, after doing a few elaborate sword movements, he places his sword into an invisible sheath on his waist, turns around to reveal that the sword has disappeared. Lastly, he does the old thumb trick by pretending to take it apart and putting it back into place.

“Ah, we have a magician in our midst!” Sansum shifts his fingers through the array of fabric before him until he pulls out a robe and tosses it to Rando. “A magician’s attire, perhaps?”

Rando examines the robe and shakes his head. “Still too high level for me. But I don’t mind taking it anyway,” he grins and the robe disappears into his inventory before he sees Fynlo grab a pair of simple breaches from the ground like it was filth needing to be discarded. “Those look just right though! Perfect fit!”

Fynlo tosses it to Rando, while Sansum groans. “A peasant’s attire? Really?”

Rando, now fully dressed, stretches himself in satisfaction. “Eh! I’ll just earn my right to wear the higher stuff later, no biggie.”

“We have ourselves a nouveau riche right here,” Sansum chuckles as he turns to Fynlo and back, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Not unlike my low-born noble friend Fynlo. I’m certain you will go places, Mr Rando. Now then, shall we be off? I look forward to hearing of your adventures, Sir Hero of Legends.”

Sansum and Fynlo walk away leaving Rando puzzled by himself. The thought of what transpired before he met them fills him with dread, so without thinking he runs to catch up to them, clinging to their presence. If he could convince them to make him a Paladin like Fynlo, he would no longer have to deal with this again.

“Wait!” He yells. “Take me with you! Don’t leave me alone like this!”

Sansum and Fynlo don’t bother slowing down their pace.

“Sir Fynlo, our brave hero of legends fears too much.”

“Your highness, his presence annoys me just as much.”

“The nerve of these NPCs,” Rando mumbles under his breath before trying to convince them. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the game’s tutorial? Don’t you want me to liberate you guys from the Dark Lord or whatever?”

“He can’t handle horned wolves and he seeks to defeat the Dark Lord,” Fynlo snickers.

“Tell me, hero,” Sansum rolls his eyes. “Why would the savior of the world need protection from us lowly mortals?”

Rando inhales then speaks his mind, “That’s coz I’m still a NOOB! But once you help my MO for this MMO and get me EXP to increase my DPS, and I’ll be OMW to PvE the MOB so hard they’ll BTFO even if I’m AFK. It’d be 2EZ coz I’d be too OP. Ya with me?”

Rando hears Nora audibly cringe and suddenly cringes at his own words himself. Sansum, however, laughs.

“I don’t know what he said, but I agree.”

Fynlo turns to his prince, miffed, “Your highness, whose side are you on?”

“Don’t you see, Sir Fynlo? There is a reason the Goddess-sent outworlders are so special. You can always count on the inane to recklessly charge into danger where those with a few more marbles wouldn’t dare.”

Seeing Fynlo’s approving smile, Rando wonders if they just called him stupid.

He hears Nora chuckle and mumble to herself as if in agreement. “Meaning this… child, if not a man… can hardly be relied upon to protect himself, let alone anyone else.”

“Nora, whose side are you on?” Rando growls, and all it does is elicit laugher from all three. He runs back to keep pace with them and asks, “At least make me a Paladin like Fynlo, then I’ll be on my way.”

Rando smirks at the thought of being as powerful as Fynlo, slicing and dicing monsters in a blink of an eye before they can touch him. He would look so heroic in front of the ladies. But instead of approval, all he gets is more mocking laughter from Sansum and Fynlo.

“Oh, you hero, you,” Sansum wipes a tear from his eyelid trying to control his laughter. “Not everybody can be a Paladin. There can only be 12 Paladins chosen by the King himself, and beyond their might alone, all of them are nobility with their own responsibilities towards the realm. An outworlder like yourself especially isn’t fit to be one. Sir Fynlo here may be among the lowest of the nobility, but he is still a noble chosen by the King, and his prowess and achievements is what makes me respect and trust him.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Rando mumbles. “How is an overpowered class like a Paladin exclusive to NPCs?”

“Our savior believes he deserves everything on a silver platter,” Fynlo scoffs softly.

Rando struggles to resist the urge to punch him as the last thing he wants is to lose his wrist. All he can really do is helplessly flip the knight a bird when he isn’t looking. Unfortunately, the knight saw it, and so Rando is now stuck in an awkward position of pretending he was doing something else with his middle finger. He chooses to pick his nose with it.

Minutes pass as they traverse through the decrepit castle. The knight and his prince barely pay attention to Rando interjecting awkwardly as they busy themselves in their own chatter about politics, events of the past and their analysis of what they’ve found in the castle itself. Yet, none of that information was meant for him, let alone help him understand the situation. This whole scene feels so bizarre to him. This was a game, and he was meant to be a hero of this world. The entire world was meant to revolve around him. And yet here are two NPCs that barely care about his presence instead of showering him with adorations and pleadings. It’s almost like real life, and it makes him shudder.

“I’d hate to interrupt your lore-dumping,” Rando interjects, “but is there a reason we’re still here in this rundown place?” As soon as those words leave his lips, however, he sees Fynlo’s irritated and disapproving expression as if silently saying it’s none of his concern.

“Well, since you would have to be fending for yourself,” Sansum chimes in, “perhaps we should educate you on the matter before you dance with death and trip over yourself.” He pauses, choosing carefully how much to divulge before finally continuing, “I suppose you know nothing about this world that you seek to protect, do you?”

Rando nods. “All I know is what a friend told me earlier. This castle was supposed to be a lively place to welcome players… I mean, Heroes like me, providing us with training, guides, weapons, potions, EXP and all that Jazz.”

“And you heroes let these poor souls down,” Fynlo whispers in contempt while his hands respectfully dust off the remains of the deceased, observing the skulls and attire to determine their identity before moving them to a safer corner and praying for their souls.

Astounded by this claim, all Rando can ask is, “….What?” He turns to Sansum. “What happened?”

“The Apocalypse happened,” Sansum explains, his words laced with a hint of disdain. “Not just here, but the entire world. Sir Fynlo is right. When push came to shove, our Goddess-sent ‘Heroes’ failed to protect the very people who aided them, guided them through thick and thin. I believe you could understand why we are reluctant to believe that a hero such as yourself is good for nothing. But anyway…” Sansum shrugs.

Nora gasps softly, while Rando stays silent to process the information. A part of him laments not discovering the game sooner, missing out on major story events like this one. So he does something that’s quite out of character for him. He stays quiet and listens patiently.

Sansum takes a deep breath, his eyes distant as he recalls the horrors, “I was quite young when the darkest time of our history happened. In the west, we were under assault by the Dark Lord’s army, but in the east, we were attacked by heathens… who might as well be demons themselves. They slaughtered innocents without mercy, burning villages and towns to the ground. Even the denizens of this castle, who were born to help the Heroes, were all killed. And the Heroes? Only a handful bothered to defend them, while the others either vanished or died, either due to their foolishness, recklessness, or selfishness. In fact many stabbed the very people they swore to protect in the back. Since then no hero ever showed up to defend us, which I can only assume is out of shame.”

Sansum walks towards Rando, towering above the him with a stoic expression masks his inner turmoil. “And now, you stand before us, claiming to be our Goddess-sent savior like all the rest of the Outworlders. But I wonder, are you truly worthy of that title? Or are you just another one of those who will abandon us when the going gets tough? Or even worse, one who gets off on the glory and admiration before stabbing us in the back?”

Chills run down Rando’s spine, and he forces a smirk. “Or maybe I could be the chosen one. You never know, right?”

For a moment, the prince glares at Rando as if preparing to behead him for his arrogance, making Rando gulp in anticipation. Instead, Sansum bursts into laughter and pats Rando on the back. “I like you. I think I’ll take you to back to the Empire. You’ll be a great court jester.”

“Those bastards,” Fynlo’s voice penetrates the air while he is seemingly lost in his own investigations. “Why? Why did this have to happen?”

Hearing Fynlo’s grief-stricken voice alert both Rando and Sansum to his direction. They stride to him, eyes darting, surrounded by broken skeletons of the deceased, armed and armored. Many appeared to belong to formidable warriors. But some of them…

“Children,” Sansum muttered.