Jackal Among Snakes: Book 1, A GameLit Fantasy, page 2
But Argrave’s pleas went unanswered, and his situation did not change.
Argrave fourth sank into the most infamous stage of grief: depression. He had gone from being a college student to a miserable, sickly, and altogether worthless villain. Many people felt a good degree of ill-will towards him. The fact that it was his favorite game did little to curb his mental anguish. Even if he wished to enjoy the world of Heroes of Berendar, he would need to navigate away from the thousand pitfalls the former Argrave had built by his feet.
To his fortune, the worst of the five stages came and went quickly.
Argrave fifth entered a tranquil acceptance. This was his life. He was in a bad position, sure, but in Heroes of Berendar, his future prospects were limitless. That could be said for everyone, of course, but having those prospects and knowing how to take advantage of them was different. Argrave knew more about this world than most of its denizens, after all.
Some would call Argrave in his former life a ‘lore master,’ or perhaps a ‘master of esoteric knowledge.’ Most preferred the term, ‘weird nerd that fills out game wikis.’ Some people had to be martyrs, delving through the game for thousands of hours to fill out wiki articles that future players would use. Argrave was one such underappreciated saint. He was the primary contributor to the Heroes of Berendar wiki.
One might think this extensive knowledge would reassure Argrave. Instead, it only served as fuel for his dread. A game, especially an open-world action RPG like Heroes of Berendar, used conflict to make players have fun. Heroes of Berendar was fun, indeed: it had great wars, foul monsters, ancient calamities and gods, and other such ‘fun’ gameplay. The game was a grim gothic fantasy.
Yet another detail about his situation bothered Argrave most of all. The game had nine premade characters to select from, each with varying styles. The player could make a custom character, too. Their personalities were all different, as were the paths they took to confront the final boss, Gerechtigkeit. Only one thing remained consistent, no matter which of them the player selected.
Argrave lifted the bronze hand mirror on the table. He didn’t see his gray eyes looking back at him. Instead, a familiar sight greeted him: a screen displaying his traits and his skills.
Traits: [Sickly], [Frail], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)]
Skills: [Elemental Magic (D)], [Blood Magic (D)], [Healing Magic (D)], [Illusion Magic (D)]
The bronze hand mirror was how the player viewed their stats. So much had been ripped away. He could not see his attributes, for instance, nor his health, fatigue, or magic. The menu had been stripped of all but the basics. He had not entered a game world—instead, a game world had become a reality.
This simple mirror was the heaviest thing Argrave had ever held. Without fail, this little mirror followed the player through every second of Heroes of Berendar. It was a companion to importance, an unwitting symbol of duty. The player decided the fate of many things in the continent of Berendar through their action or inaction: invasions, civil wars, plagues, monster incursions, and above all, looming like a guillotine, the ancient calamity Gerechtigkeit.
The player decided how this world would end up. And the player always had the very bronze hand mirror Argrave held.
His grip tightened around the hand mirror. When his knuckles grew white, he threw it aside. It bounced against the wall, ringing quietly, and then slid across the floor while spinning. He watched it as it spun, twirling wildly about like some twisted game of spin the bottle. It stopped spinning in a few seconds, its handle pointing at Argrave’s bed.
Argrave leaned against the table, kneading his forehead as he stared at the mirror. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Throwing tantrums like I’m a child, he thought. What is this?
He stood from the chair and walked over to pick up the mirror. He retrieved it with some shame, and then moved to the bed where he cleaned it off with the white bedsheet. He gazed at the simple menu in the mirror, walking to the window where the dual suns still shone outside. He could remember those traits and skills displayed on the menu by heart. He had written many of their articles on the wiki.
Argrave sighed and sat on the windowsill. The former Argrave was not untalented. [Intelligent] was a very good trait: it increased all skill gains by twenty five percent. It was worse than [Brilliant] or [Genius], but such traits were rarer than rare and no original main character possessed it. What’s more, a High in [Magic Affinity] was a godsend for a mage character.
These extreme blessings were combated by the [Frail] and [Sickly] traits. Presuming everything remained as it did in the game, [Frail] was probably fixable if he exercised and ate properly. [Sickly] made doing so difficult—it meant he grew ill very easily. That trait could not be removed by ordinary means. He would never be a warrior. Not for a long, long time, at least.
Fortunately, Argrave had no intention of being a warrior. He disliked touching people, and doubly so touching blood. The path of magic suited him. This was assuming all he knew of the game actually held true. So far as he could tell, the things around him were real and entirely divorced from a simulated game.
I’m considering this, Argrave realized, lowering the mirror and staring outside. I guess this is really happening. Player one’s inserting his coin, getting ready for a flawless, deathless playthrough. A laugh burst from his lips unbidden. Who am I kidding? I’m Valhalla-bound at the speed of sound.
Argrave looked at the hand mirror once more. He studied the handle and the back of it. Then, his hand clenched again—this time, not to throw the mirror, but to hold it tight.
I have to go forward. If I do nothing… everything will fall apart. I want to live, even if the odds are against me. Argrave smiled at the mirror as a joke came to mind, though there was no reflection. Who knows? Maybe there’s a third ‘continue.’ Can’t imagine I’ll have a heavier burden the third go at life.
When Argrave stood, he did so with a vigor he lacked previously. He looked around his room, genuinely taking in his surroundings for the first time. He had already solved a conflict between himself and one of the nine playable characters, Nikoletta of Monticci. An Acolyte had to submit a thesis to graduate from Acolyte to Wizard, and Argrave had possession of Nikoletta’s as part of the royal family’s conspiracy. He had already put that to rest.
Stepping about the room, Argrave found a pair of black gloves in the drawer and pulled them on. There was a symbol on the back of the gloves—a golden snake curling around a sword. It was the symbol of House Vasquer, the royal family. Argrave was a bastard of that family.
And now… I’ll have angered the crown prince of that family by helping Nikoletta, he reflected. I need information. I need to find out how much time I have to plan, and I need to get my bearings. I need to assess the situation and proceed calmly. A well-formed plan is the foundation to success. The one who loses makes but few calculations beforehand.
With a clear direction in his head, Argrave looked around the room once more. Papers were strewn everywhere, books and food were laid about without any care, and nothing was in order.
“First, I should clean. Will help me think, plan,” Argrave muttered. “And then… I act.”
Chapter 3
What now? Argrave asked himself.
It was quite an open-ended question. Argrave juggled the answers as he walked through what was now his room and began cleaning things up. He had already been cleaning for a long time, but the room was not spotless. He dusted with a piece of cloth and organized the books on the lone shelf in the room by size. Judging by the titles alone… the former Argrave had certainly been no scholar of magic.
Perhaps I should just leave. Accept expulsion from the Order of the Gray Owl, he reasoned.
The former Argrave intended on using Nikoletta’s research as his own, and consequently had nothing to submit to the Order to graduate from Acolyte to Wizard. Completing the research would be a tedious thing, and even if Argrave put in a full effort, he was not confident in success. He had read every in-game book and written thorough articles on the magic lore, yet there was still a gulf between fiction and reality.
And despite that… Argrave held up his hand. As naturally as moving an arm or a leg, a spell matrix formed before his hand and sparks danced on his fingers, jumping out into the air. The sight was unnatural, yet it came as naturally to him as any of the other instincts instilled since birth. Certainly, there was something to be said for remaining here in this tower.
At the same time, being in the Order of the Gray Owl was restrictive. Before one received status as a full-fledged Wizard, it was somewhat like a monastic order. One would discard their family name during their stay, and further could not hold lands or receive incomes. They were barred from coming and going freely. Most spellcaster Orders were like that to ensure some semblance of political neutrality, though in this day and age, few existed besides that of the Gray Owl.
No. Leaving would be imprudent, Argrave recognized. Respect lost is difficult to regain—the former Argrave already saddled me with a terrible reputation, and if I make it any worse, it will be difficult to have mobility where I need it. I must stay within the Order. Besides, I might take this month to sort out my strengths, decide my course of action, and identify the various ticking time-bombs this world has left near the royal bastard Argrave. First among them? Now that I made my choice, I have to avoid the crown prince Induen and his wrath.
Argrave preferred well-organized plans that still left room for adaptation. That applied doubly so if the matter involved himself—or, rather, his new self. He would need to identify problems both present and future and decide a course of action to correct them. Boons could be handled in the same way—identify them and decide how to obtain them.
Argrave sat at his desk and began planning for his future. It was not so different from planning for college, he supposed. Only… his brother was the crown prince, and he wanted him dead. A civil war was soon to break out, and both sides despised him. Foreign invaders were coming to the shore of the kingdom, and yet more lurked beneath the earth, waiting for an opportunity. The list went on and on.
If you find yourself on a sinking ship with many holes… all you can do is plug them, right? Argrave thought. Because the alternative… is sinking along with it.
***
After a long day of planning and drafting, Argrave tried to sleep. The height would have been an issue, but the former Argrave had laid two beds side-by-side to accommodate his larger frame and he could rest soundly. Indeed, despite the medieval nature of his environment, things were quite comfortable for him. He could find no issue on that front for sleeping.
The issue was an overactive mind.
As Argrave stared at the ceiling, the questions he had been able to ignore most of the day welled up. What exactly was happening? Had he died—the former person who he was, at least? He remembered nothing of what he had been doing before this, and the days blended together. His memory was clear, but that clarity offered no answers. Questions bred more questions, and yet answers were few and far between.
Argrave tried to suppress his meandering mind and will himself to sleep by staying totally still beneath his blanket in the cool night air. He tried some mental exercises to have sleep wash over him, but it was fruitless. The questions kept coming unbidden. Perhaps his mother was crying over a casket at the moment. Maybe he had simply vanished—would anyone notice if he had? Hobbyist wiki editors weren’t exactly socialites, and he was no exception. Perhaps none of this was real at all. Maybe…
Forget this, Argrave decided.
Argrave sat up and threw the covers off, and the night air sank into his skin at once. He quickly put on his shoes and the neatly folded robe he’d set beside his bed and made for the door. He retrieved a small glass orb attached to a piece of metal from the sconce beside the door. He willed a bit of his magic inside it, and it lit up.
The great room outside his dorm in the Tower of the Gray Owl was well-lit, but there was neither smoke from torches nor warmth from fire. The mages used magic lamps identical to the one he held to light the place. As skinny as he was, Argrave was quite cold. He shuddered as his feet carried him through the room. Longer legs meant longer strides, fortunately.
Despite how late the night was, people were still out. Argrave’s gaze wandered to the window where a giant red moon illuminated the stone in uneven red moonbeams matching the shape of the windows. There was a massive crater in the center of it, making it look like a giant red eye in the sky that watched all that occurred below.
Argrave stopped in his tracks and stared at the moon so unfamiliar to the one he knew. He felt a chill on his spine. Seeing this moon, his mind accepted a fact that he had been subconsciously denying. He was not who he used to be, nor was he where he used to be. This was a different realm—a different world. Maybe it would be stranger if he were not unnerved. Existential questions like these were natural. The fact that he had avoided them for so long was only because he had kept his mind busy.
As the thoughts crept into Argrave’s head, he came to a realization. Business kept me grounded. Then that’s what I need to do now. Keep busy. Keep moving.
After pulling the robe’s hood over his head, Argrave headed for the circular room in the center of the tower. It was host to an elevator of sorts. That circular room was the only way to descend or ascend floors, and he intended to head to the library to gather the things necessary to begin the creation of his thesis.
As Argrave neared the elevator, he heard quiet footsteps rapidly approaching him from behind. He turned in time to pull his shoulders away from a hand, and strong fingers gripped only air. A rather well-built man stood there, correcting his posture after his bid to grab Argrave failed.
The man had short red hair and bright eyes of the same color. His handsome tan face reflected the light from the magic lamp Argrave held. His face had a certain sternness to it—a heavy brow, a strong jawline, a Roman nose. Then again, the sternness might stem from the man’s dislike of Argrave. He was a fair bit shorter than Argrave, but still quite tall compared to most. He was certainly broader than Argrave, the gray robes of the Order clinging tightly to his robust frame. Argrave recognized him very well.
“Elias,” Argrave greeted, taking a step back and illuminating the man with the glowing orb he held.
Argrave had rather hoped to avoid speaking with this man, but it was probably unavoidable. Elias of Parbon was the son of a margrave who had an irreconcilable grudge against Argrave. For good reason, granted. And these weren’t the sort of differences that could be set aside with a change in behavior and an apology.
In the original game, if the player chose Nikoletta as their character, they would hunt down Argrave for vengeance during the story. If not, Elias gave the player the side quest to investigate and consequently slay the bastard Argrave, who had turned to human experimentation. Argrave supposed meeting him now wasn’t so bad—the Order would protect him. Meeting Elias’ father, though… Argrave could not afford to meet the margrave.
“‘Elias,’” the man in question repeated Argrave’s greeting. “Not your typical response to seeing me. What, did I shock you? Catch you doing something illicit?”
“If going to the library is a crime.” Argrave nodded.
Elias tilted his head up, staring at Argrave in the eyes. “The library, is it? At such a late time.”
Argrave sighed, fuse feeling short on account of recent annoyances. “What, perhaps you wish to tuck me in and sing me a lullaby ‘til I fall asleep? Your concern is touching, but stop wasting my time.”
Elias did not break his gaze. “I told you when you came here that I’d be keeping an eye on you. Have you—”
“Fine. Need I remind you that keeping an eye on me is wholly different from bothering me? You can watch as much as you like, though I would prefer it be at a distance… and silently.” Argrave turned around and walked into the central room.
As he walked away, Argrave briefly questioned if he was being rash, but he did not expect to have much conflict or interaction with Elias in the future. Their differences were difficult to set aside. He could only avoid him.
Innumerable stone platforms floated over a very long drop. They had symbols inscribed on the top, and a strange purple light bordered them. If one were to try to jump, they’d find intense winds barring them from moving beyond the door. Instead, one would turn to the right and input where they intended to go into the abacus.
Argrave fiddled with the abacus briefly, a bit perplexed how to operate this ancient counting tool. Elias stood a fair bit behind Argrave, watching with brows furrowed. It took some time, but Argrave got things into what he thought was the right place. He pressed a button beside the abacus. Without so much as a sound, all of the stone platforms in the room began to shift.
If this had been the game, Argrave would have been holding W, pushing his character forward against the barrier while waiting impatiently for the platform to appear. Now, it was all rather wondrous. Within the elevator, thousands of stone platforms moved in logical tandem, not so much as brushing against each other in their path to and from different floors. Many of these platforms already carried people.
As Argrave watched, his stone platform appeared. The barrier barring him from walking forward fell away with an audible pop. Feeling anticipation, Argrave stepped on the platform. His shoes suddenly seized, and he found his soles stuck to the platform. Then, the platform began moving downwards, twisting around the innumerable other platforms—some empty, some containing other students or wizards.
