Chapter 4: An Adventurer

The afternoon sun hung in the sky. Elara, a trembling mess in the oak tree, watched the goblin below with eyes that burned from lack of sleep and endless terror. Exhaustion gnawed at her, a dull ache that started in her bones and spread through every part of her being. It wasn't just physical fatigue; her mind felt raw, scraped clean by the relentless cycle of death and rebirth. Thirst, a familiar, unwelcome guest, began to creep back, its dry tendrils tightening in her throat. The goblin shifted, its beady eyes unwavering, a silent, grotesque guardian of her purgatory.

Then, a new movement. Not the goblin, which remained ever watchful. This was larger, a ripple in the suffocating stillness of her world. From the forest’s edge, where a barely-there path snaked through the thick grass, a figure emerged. He was impossibly tall, broader than anyone she knew, his frame filling worn leather armor that bore the scars of countless encounters. A longsword, its hilt a dark promise over his shoulder, was strapped to his back. He moved with a quiet, almost predatory grace, the kind of easy strength that spoke of familiarity with wild, dangerous places.

He walked slowly into the field, his head turning, eyes sweeping the landscape. They seemed sharp, knowing, even from this distance. He stopped, a puzzled frown carving lines between his brows. His gaze landed on the tree, then on her, then on the goblin. Elara’s breath hitched. Hope, a fragile, trembling thing, fluttered in her chest. A human. A different human. Perhaps he held an answer, a way out of this nightmare. She dared not move, dared not breathe too loudly. The goblin, surprisingly, also held still, its beady eyes fixed on the newcomer, a flicker of bewilderment in their depths. It looked almost… caught off guard.

The man remained motionless for a long moment, taking in the bizarre scene: a woman in a torn dress, looking like a forgotten scarecrow, perched awkwardly in a tree, and a goblin patiently waiting below. It did, indeed, resemble a macabre staring contest.

Then he moved. Not a panicked lunge, but a fluid, practiced motion. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. The blade whispered free, a soft shiiing that sliced through the suffocating silence. It gleamed, a cold, dangerous light in the fading afternoon.

The goblin let out a surprised, chittering sound, a small yelp of alarm that snapped Elara back to the present. It hadn't seen this coming.

Before the goblin could even twitch, before its rusty dagger could be raised, the man was there. A swift, brutal strike. Too fast for Elara’s eyes to follow. The heavy sword arced down.

A soft thud.

The goblin crumpled to the grass, motionless. Dead. Truly dead. After a few seconds, the motionless body disappeared. Elara stared. The man slid the sword back into its sheath with a soft click. He turned, looking up at her. His face held a strange blend of kindness and a deep, unyielding seriousness.

"Why are you up in that tree, ma'am?" His voice was deep, calm, and unsettlingly clear. So unlike Gary’s slurred, repugnant whispers.

Elara blinked. The goblin was gone. Really gone. The constant, gnawing threat, the relentless, sickening cycle, had simply… stopped. The sudden, violent shift in reality was almost as disorienting as her first breath in this terrifying field. Her mind, still reeling from countless deaths, struggled to grasp this simple, final act. "I… I don't know," she stammered, her voice a reedy whisper. She started to climb down, her legs trembling, stiff from days of rigid stillness. Her fingers, cold and clumsy, fumbled on the rough bark. A new fear, insidious and chilling, curled in her stomach. Fear that this fragile peace would shatter if she moved too quickly. She lowered herself, one painful, hesitant step at a time, until her feet finally touched the solid ground.

The man watched her, his expression softening as her distress became undeniable. "Easy now," he said gently, taking a step closer. "Take your time."

When her wobbly legs finally held her upright, he introduced himself. "I'm Kael. A seasoned adventurer." He said "adventurer" as if it were a perfectly normal profession, like "animator" or "baker." The casualness of it deepened her confusion.

He glanced at the empty spot where the goblin had been. "So," he began, his voice patient, almost amused, "you seem a bit… lost. What were you and the goblin doing? Did I interrupt something?"

"No! No," she blurted, raising her hands in a desperate, defensive gesture.

A flicker, a bare hint of a smile, crossed his face and vanished.

"Where am I? What is this place?" The words were thick with frustration, an ache that started in her chest and spread through her entire body. How had she gotten here? What was happening?

"What do you mean? This is Hatting field. Well, one of them. The biggest field in Hatting, actually." He truly looked confused, yet intrigued.

She threw her arms wide, a raw cry tearing from her throat. "What is this world?! Why am I here? This isn't my world!" The tears came then, hot and stinging, blurring the sun-drenched field. She collapsed, covering her face as the sobs wracked her.

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"Not from this world?" he mused, a thoughtful note in his voice. "I’ve heard about this. Long ago, I met someone who said he was from another world." He leaned closer, a gentle hand settling on her shoulder. "This world has its ways, you see. Rules." He paused, as if weighing his words. "You should check the help files. It’ll explain everything you need to know."

Elara blinked, looking up through tear-filled eyes. "Help files?" The words were a bizarre echo from her old life, a computer program, a game. She sniffed, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "What are those?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's the rules of the world. Histories are written there, spell ingredients, and monster types. Everything." He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He helped her up, his touch firm but kind, as she continued to wipe her face. "How can I read it?"

"You just need to use the menu button. Then select the documentation you want to read."

"Menu button?" This was it. This was like a game. What in the world was happening?

"Yes, the menu button. Use it. It’s right there."

She didn't know where to look. A menu button? Was it real? He said, "Use it"? But where was it? Panic, cold and sharp, began to prick at her.

"I can't. Where is it?"

Kael sighed. Not an angry sigh, but one laced with exasperation, like explaining the simplest concept to a particularly dense child. "The menu button," he repeated, gesturing vaguely into the air around his head. "Everyone knows about it. Even babies manage it eventually."

Elara squinted. She looked where he pointed, past his head, through him, trying to perceive some invisible interface. She even stumbled slightly, straining her eyes, trying to focus on something that wasn’t there. Nothing. Just air, shimmering faintly in the heat.

Kael chuckled. A warm, rumbling sound that made her jump, sending a fresh wave of humiliation through her. He clearly found her efforts amusing. "Seriously," he said, shaking his head, a smile playing on his lips, "it's not that hard. Just… think about it."

A hot blush crept up Elara’s neck, mirroring the mortification she’d felt at the party. She was supposed to be smart. She had designed intricate characters! Yet she couldn't even see an invisible button that "even babies knew." The embarrassment was a physical sensation, a burning wave. "I… I don't know how to open it," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't see anything."

Kael’s eyebrow rose, a hint of genuine surprise in his expression. "Huh. That's… unusual." He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharpening. "What level are you, anyway?"

Elara just stared blankly. Level? He might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

He seemed to pick up on her confusion. "Okay, look for faintly glowing numbers at the top edge of your vision," he instructed. "Up there." He pointed again, this time higher, towards her forehead. "Those are your stats."

Elara squinted. She focused, willing something to appear. And slowly, impossibly, something did. A faint shimmer in the air, a tiny, translucent display. At the very top of her vision, glowing faintly, were numbers.

She read them aloud, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking them would make them vanish. "Level… 1. Stre… Strength 3. Agil… Agility 2. Intel… Intelligence 10. Spir… Spirit 5."

Kael winced. "Oof. Level 1. And those stats… abysmal." He shook his head again. "Well, you're certainly no fighter. Intelligence 10? I don't think you'll be learning anything but the simplest spells." He looked at her, then rubbed his chin, a thoughtful gesture. "Can you… Share your personal stats?" He showed her how, a strange mental projection that felt like pushing a thought out of her head, something that flowed from her awareness into his.

Kael leaned in, reading something she couldn’t see. His eyes, which had been serious, widened. Then they got even wider. His jaw dropped.

Then, he burst into laughter.

It wasn't a kind chuckle. It was loud, booming, raucous laughter that echoed across the quiet field, bouncing off the distant trees. He clutched his stomach, bending over, tears starting to stream from his eyes. He laughed so hard he almost fell over.

Elara just stood there, mortified. Again. What was so funny? Her stats? Was she really that pathetic?

Kael finally managed to straighten up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He was still chuckling, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "That's… that's quite a number," he gasped out between laughs. He pointed at what only he could see, his finger hovering in the empty air beside her. "Your… your death count."

Elara looked at him, bewildered.

"That's… not good," Kael finally managed to say, catching his breath. He shook his head, still smiling, but a hint of genuine concern had entered his eyes. "I've never seen anything like it. It rivals the most legendary heroes, but… usually they do the killing. Not the dying. I'm not sure what happens if you die many more times." He looked her over, his gaze assessing, then rummaged in his pack. He pulled out a few dried, hard rations and a small, but very sharp-looking dagger.

"Here," he said, pressing them into her hands. The cool metal of the dagger bit into her palm, an alien weight. "You'll need these. Keep the dagger close. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Elara clutched the rations and the dagger. The solid weight of the knife felt strange, unfamiliar, almost menacing, in her hand.

Kael gave her a curt nod. "Well, I wish you luck." He turned, his broad shoulders squared, and began to walk back towards the faint path he’d emerged from, continuing on his way as if leaving her alone in a strange, dangerous field was perfectly normal. He left her standing there, the sun dipping lower, the vast silence of the field settling around her once more.

Silence. And a strange, desperate thought, illogical and terrifying, began to take root in her mind, blooming in the quiet space he left behind.

What if? What if all these deaths, this horrifying, endless cycle, were leading to something? What if enough deaths would send her back? Back to her own world. To her quiet apartment. To her drawing tablet. The thought, flimsy as it was, ignited a spark of something fierce and reckless within her.

Fueled by this desperate, illogical hope, Elara clutched the dagger Kael had given her. She started to walk. Not towards any path. Not towards any safety. She walked towards the edge of the forest, towards the lurking shadows, towards the unknown. Towards where she instinctively knew other monsters would be hiding, waiting.

She was going to find them. She was going to throw herself into dangerous encounters, into the maw of uncertainty. She was going to die. Again and again. She was going to die her way home.