"Here's your order, madam. One pork fried rice, a bowl of beetroot soup, and lastly, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice."
Despite being smaller than Gael, the girl seemed to have quite the appetite. Her order, while seeming normal on paper–was anything but. A complicated degree of modifications had been done to each dish, such that they almost no longer retained their originality.
Maybe she's got a high metabolism or something.
"Can I get you anything else for the table?"
Throughout their one-sided conversation, Gael made sure to maintain as natural of a smile as he could. One of Pierre's lessons from yesterday had emphasized feigning "interest" in a customer to get them to spend more.
For instance, making them feel comfortable could get them to lower their imaginary wall–thus increasing the chance of them purchasing extra goods.
Gael wasn't sure if it was an actual psychological trick or something Pierre simply made up, but it was working, so he saw no reason to complain.
In this case, however, Gael wasn't aiming to get the girl to spend more. No, she looked far from the type to be easily tempted by honeyed words. What he wanted was information–and not the kind one could just get anywhere.
The girl silently took the tray of food from Gael's hands. Much to her thinly veiled expectations, the person in front of her didn't seem to hold an ounce of negative emotion towards her.
In an attempt to push him away, she waved her hand in his direction.
"Don't talk to me."
Talk about a loner. Maybe she'll let loose a bit if I intentionally pick at her.
"I don't know. It's my first time meeting an elf. Pardon me, I'm just curious."
"And I hope you've sated your curiosity. Now, get out. This is your last warning."
"Is it true? The rumors, I mean." Ignoring her warning, Gael sat down opposite her and continued talking. "You don't look like a witch to me."
"...sahn, ha-yah ba." She replied in an unknown language. Gael assumed this to be elvish, so his senses weren't going crazy.
What? What did she say?
Before he knew it, Gael felt a numbness overcoming him. His head throbbed like there was something trying to escape. He clutched his head in an attempt to resist the pain.
Pop. Just like that. Gael's head was knocked clean off by some unknown force. In the blink of an eye, he had experienced his second death. And in the hands of the witch herself.
Pierre sighed, somehow unfazed by the situation.
"Another one down. These Outworlders are all the same–no self-control. They think that just because they have the power to resurrect they can use it to do whatever they wish."
"Before the newbie comes back, talk to me, Vivian. Has your condition worsened?"
The elf girl, named Vivian, replied. "It's gotten worse… day by day. There is naught a second when I wish I could remove myself from this world. The fear of losing myself in a blood-crazed frenzy is present at all times."
"I'm sure we'll find something to cure you soon. Sera will, she always does. Until then, do your best to keep anybody from seeing you."
"I hope she finds one soon. I worry my hunger will completely overcome me. I've been weaker ever since I left that place, and I haven't had the chance to refill."
***
Back in the same white space, Gael had just respawned. His mind was still in a boggle, and he struggled to piece together the last few moments before his death.
If I'm not mistaken, that was Inveridium, the language of magic. But if Sera and I are the only Outworlders left in Goldenleaf, why does she use it?
If the information Sera had fed Gael was to be believed, every Antorian had a mana core in them, which was what separated them from the Outworlders–the players. But while there wasn't any heavenly law that forbade Antorians from using the language, it would be less effective.
Unlike the Antorians, who could control magic as if it was second nature to them, most Outworlders had to go through a long and arduous period of studying every spell they planned to use.
The matter couldn't be solved by simply knowing the phrases. Gael knew there had to be something more to them, otherwise, what reason could Sera have to charge him for lessons?
Well, other than the fact that she's a money-grubbing scoundrel, that is.
The same respawn message replayed in front of Gael. Shaking his head rapidly to pump himself up, he began to respawn.
He once again opened his eyes to find himself in the same bed he had slept in yesterday. The magic-powered clock in the room told the time as half an hour past twelve, meaning it was well past midnight.
The last time he was awake–err, alive, it was only ten o'clock in the evening. Two hours had passed since then.
Alright, so maybe it does have a punishment? I don't know, I still need to test it.
Seeing as it was past midnight already, Gael knew it was lights off. Pierre seemed to have already closed off the pub and gone home.
Oddly enough, I don't feel that tired. Or sleepy. I need to clear my head–maybe a walk will help.
If his speculations were correct, then respawning meant both the player's physical state and mental state would be restored. As it was his first day, Gael felt particularly overwhelmed by work. But a simple respawn seemed to have depleted all his stress.
Losing himself in his thoughts, Gael ventured downstairs, exiting the pub through the backdoor.
Goldenleaf, at this time, was dead silent. The only sounds one could hear were the incessant chirping of crickets, the subtle woosh as the cold midnight wind flew by, and the occasional thud coming from some of the residential houses.
Ignoring these, Gael made his way to the outskirts of the town, where there were a few guards currently stationed, and on their patrols.
As he passed by, some of them took the opportunity to take a few jabs at him.
"Watch yourself, stranger. Step too far outside of the town, and you might catch your death.”
Har, har. I’ve heard that before. A higher leveled region won’t stop me from poking around. The spirit of exploration, they say, cannot be halted by fear!
The plains at this time of night were still as quiet as they were in the day. The same pattern of bleakness and apathy had long imprinted itself in Gael’s mind, and he had gotten used to it. Still, the open air was refreshing, if not invigorating.
Gael had reminded himself multiple times that he wouldn’t wander off the beaten path. The roads seemed fine near the city, but the same couldn’t be said of the outskirts. The once clear path had begun to fade, until eventually disappearing into the grass. The infrastructure here wasn't secure. The town most likely couldn't afford to care for its less important aspects.
It's quite nice out tonight, hmm. Wouldn't get this kinda view back on Earth. Even the best properties have little to no view of the sky.
The twenty-third century. It was a miracle that humanity was even able to survive this long. But with the constant threat of the population rising, governments had to be a bit more smart with how they built houses.
In today's world, they had foregone design in exchange for maximum functionality. If someone could live in it, the government deemed it a good enough house.
Makes me wish I could live in Antoria. It's so open here.
Gael's eyes frequented the high mountaintops in the far distance. Their snow-covered peaks appealed to him–and he imagined what it would be like to live there, in the mountains. Away from the hustle and bustle of city life.
Of course, the city wasn't so bad, either. It had its charms. Seeing as how Antoria was set in a medieval fantasy setting, most technology here hadn't evolved past the most mundane of inventions.
Now, the floating cities of Antoria? Those were an entirely different story. Gael imagined living atop the clouds, permanently suspended in the air… His eyes naturally drifted to the horizon–only to spot something moving in the distance.
His sight wasn’t mistaken. That figure belonged to a woman.
