Chapter 5
Fuuuuh!
'And the most painful part, in the game's own scenario, Ilux kills me without mercy.
The end.
But look at this? This cursed world somehow brought Eshura back—or more precisely, placed me, Theo Vkytor, inside the half-dead body of Eshura.
They don't allow me to die. They only want me to keep living, tormented, as the very character I despise the most!'
Tsuuuuf!
'And what drives me even more insane is that Erietta Bathee always appears out of nowhere, offering a wager.
"Let's bet your life, Eshura," she says. Or, "Bet your honor."
I'm a writer, not a gambler! But that woman seems tireless—every time we meet, she always wants to toy with people's lives!'
Wusssssh!
'Does she think all of this is just entertainment, a gambling ground for pleasure?
Surely, I've reached my limit!
This world has already taken my identity, my name, even my reality—and now I must face a madwoman who delights in making my heart race uncontrollably?!!
If she dares to appear again, I truly will… ahh!!'
In truth, the encounter between Theo Vkytor and Erietta Bathee could never be defined as a beautiful fate—it was more like a curse carved by the pen and the misaligned logic of a digital realm.
For Theo, the girl with lush green hair was the embodiment of coercion—a reminder that the world once confined to screen and imagination had now devoured his entire reality.
He despised every blink of Erietta's eyes, every step that shattered the silence of a world reshaped into his own living scenario.
There is nothing more terrifying than watching one's own creation stare back, alive and breathing in the same world.
Everything that once existed as plot now breathes as life, and Theo is trapped in between—bearing the absurdity of being both writer and character, imprisoned by another's algorithm.
Yet that hatred was not born from emptiness.
Behind Erietta's emotionless face lurked an aggressive will that made Theo both nauseated and fearful.
She was no mere servant of fate, no puppet of Flo Viva Mythology's ordained script.
She was a gambler of destiny.
Every move she made carried a wager, bound by the rigid belief that great gain could only be achieved through great loss.
She was not a character who obeyed the story—she was the one who shook its foundations.
And to Theo, that made her existence more dangerous than anything else in this accursed game-turned-world.
Theo—or rather, Eshura Birtash now—could no longer escape the fact that he had been stripped from the position of observer and writer.
His body now belonged to the very character he had once described as a greedy scoundrel, lustful, and willing to sell anyone for a coin.
Eshura was the emblem of moral decay, a figure who appeared briefly only to remind the world that not everyone who aided the hero deserved remembrance.
Ironically, Theo now wore that face.
He had become part of the very rot others once wrote as a moral warning.
And though he understood the tragedy of that character's fate, Theo could rewrite nothing.
The world had stolen his role as the writer.
He could only live within the script that swallowed him whole.
That alienation grew into a silent despair.
Every time Erietta looked at him with her hollow eyes, Theo saw his own reflection—a man trapped between reality and imagination.
There was no way out, no option to return to writing from beyond the screen.
Now, each step he took was ink flowing without a pen, a story that grew without permission.
The world he once admired had turned into a vast mirror that mocked its own creator.
And Erietta, in her timeless stillness, stood as the cold witness to the downfall of a writer named Theo Vkytor.
'I don't know who to blame—myself, trapped within Eshura Birtash's nature, or this game world that forces his persona into my mind.
The damned part is, ever since I entered Flo Viva Mythology, I've truly acted like Eshura.
Flirting with women, smirking slyly at every passerby, and worst of all—I even targeted Erietta Bathee.
Yes, that green-haired woman, that cold being whose eyes are like twin blades piercing my chest.'
Shuuuush!
'It started as a joke. Just curiosity to see her reaction if I managed to steal her beloved sword.
Her sword is said to be cursed with the hunger of darkness, obeying only those whose intentions are most corrupt.
But of course, Erietta wasn't foolish.
Instead of surrendering her sword, she challenged me outright.
"Defeat me first, then this sword shall be yours," she said—with a blank face, without emotion, yet the words cut straight to the bone.'
Fuuuuuh!
'Naturally, I refused at that time.
I wasn't insane enough to fight a woman who could split boulders with a swing of her hair.
But since that day, every time she sees me—whether in the market, atop the tower, or while I'm simply eating bread—she always appears and repeats the same line.
"Eshura, let's duel." Or sometimes, "Are you ready to redeem your words from before?"'
Wuuffh!
'The more I think about it, the more disgusted I become.
I know Erietta deeply values honor and conviction.
To her, a duel isn't about anger, but proof of one's worth.
But still, must every encounter end with a challenge to fight?
Isn't my life in this new world miserable enough without becoming a sparring partner for an honor-obsessed maniac?'
Wusssh - wusssh!
'That's why I hate her.'
As expected, the beginning of Theo's downfall in this grand game-world wasn't merely about losing his reality—it was about losing his dignity.
When he was first dragged into Eshura Birtash's body, the old instincts written within that character awakened by themselves, driving Theo to commit acts he himself found shameful.
He once tried to flirt with Erietta Bathee, feigning charm to persuade her into surrendering her sword—the sword known as both the symbol of purity and the unyielding resolve of Ilux Rediona's loyal companion.
But, as fate mocked him, his attempt ended predictably.
Erietta responded not with emotion, but with a cold challenge to duel—a challenge that Theo couldn't even consider accepting.
A challenge without hatred, without warmth, yet enough to remind him that his body and identity no longer truly belonged to him.
From that day on, every encounter between them—whether among the ruins of the academy, beneath the shadows of sacred grass, or in places no longer fit for humans—unfolded with eerie similarity.
Steady gaze, calm breath, and a voice that never changed.
She did not hate Theo, nor Eshura.
She merely acted according to a pattern no human logic could decipher.
Yet behind those blank eyes simmered a quiet fury that refused to fade.
Theo could feel it, like a hidden ember beneath deceitful snow.
He knew, for someone like Erietta, honor was never negotiable.
And Theo, burdened with Eshura's past sins, had touched something that should never be touched.
Ironically, for Erietta, every meeting with Theo always ended the same way.
A "duel proposal."
Not out of passion, nor revenge—but a challenge spoken with icy calm, as though it were a sacred ritual within her very being.
To be continued…