I open my eyes.
Yet what I found wasn't anything I was used to.
Around me was a cottage-esque room.
It was worn down, ruined even. The floorboards were creaking, and dust filled most crevices.
"Where am I?"
I analyzed my surroundings closely. I walked around, running my fingers along the dust-covered walls.
"Clearly aged."
Just a moment ago, I was bleeding out.
My hand touched my chest.
"I'm fine now, all of a sudden?"
How long has it been since that night?
I continued to walk around the room until I got to the front door.
My hand touched the doorknob.
Bam!
I was sent flying backward, landing on my back with a now bloody nose.
The door had been kicked open.
I looked upward, seeing 2 men before me.
They both held swords, and their outfits were fairly tattered and tactical.
"You two look like nice men," I said.
They looked at each other, raising an eyebrow each, before they began to laugh.
"The kid must have had a screw knocked loose!"
The laughter stopped.
My hair was grabbed, as I was now forced to look in the eyes of one of the men.
"Listen up. You were brought here to do one thing, and one thing only. Go polish the camp's swords, and shut up."
"Let me handle him, brother."
The man behind him stepped forward, now in place of his brother.
My head snapped to the side, blood shooting from my mouth at the punch to my face.
That hurt.
"What is this about...?" I asked in a mellow tone.
"That bullshit you pulled yesterday. Don't let it happen again. Try, and you'll die, understand?"
What might he be referring to?
Is this hell?
It couldn't be heaven.
But it seemed too nice to be hell also.
I smiled at the man.
"Sorry," I said.
Blood between my teeth as I showed all thirty-two.
I was punched again.
"Haha!" I only laughed.
"What's so fucking funny?!"
I was only struck more and more.
Soon, my entire face was swollen.
"HAHAHAHA!"
"T-This little..."
"Damn Psycho... Come on, bro, let's leave this sick bastard to it."
The brothers then left, leaving me to myself.
My laughter died down.
I touched my swollen face.
It hurt.
I could tell that the place, the world I was in now, wasn't like before. Violence was normal here; men carried swords, and slaves like me existed.
I smiled again.
The pain was real.
The violence was real.
"Ha...ahahaha!"
Real laughter came out of me.
It was excitement for the future.
I stood up, patting the dirt off my worn linen shirt and pants.
Here, I could express myself.
***
"What's up with that guy?"
"The Lucas brothers must have put the idiot in his place."
"They sure did a number on him. He's stumbling around like an undead. Did they really have to beat up on a thin kid like him?"
I walked around, stumbling a bit from the pain catching up to me.
I stopped before a short man. His body was stocky, and he was hairy.
"A dwarf?"
The blacksmith, a dwarf, stopped mid-slam of his hammer on the hot metal. He shook his head, focusing on his craft.
This world is incredibly weird.
My eyes then went to the small town before me.
It was very grim; the clouds were like an accessory to the town. The roads were muddy and rocky, and the homes were all wooden and visibly aged.
"Hey, kid! What are you daydreaming about? Didn't the Lucas brothers tell you to come polish our weapons?"
I was now grabbed by a tall man and dragged to a camp of mercenaries.
It was like the word 'rough' personified. Weights being moved, scarred men sitting around tables drinking cheap ale and eating meat, swords being clashed against swords, and just out further, sat a man in robes, a staff to his right.
"This is.... amazing. I can feel the strength, the grit, the power, just radiating from everyone here."
I'm sure I would smile brightly, killing some of these men.
"A mage, swords, dwarfs... this world is pure fantasy! This can't be heaven or hell."
My head was now smacked.
"What the hell are you even spouting on about?" The tall man with a long scar across his eye said, snarling at me.
"Get to polishing our weapons, you idiot!"
I nodded. "Right away," I told him.
I didn't know a damn thing about polishing, so I just scrubbed hard and called it a day.
Meanwhile, I snuck away to watch the duels between the mercenaries.
I hid behind a closed tent, eyes wide with curiosity and riveting excitement.
Two men stood before each other. Their feet were quick, and their swords were even quicker. They clashed, moved, and clashed swords again. Their styles were sloppy and unrefined, yet they both wielded incredible power.
'They kill people like that. They train their swords, and their bodies, and they kill others.'
I smiled.
'If I can learn how to do that. Won't I be able to do the same?'
There I was, behind the tent, wielding a non-existent blade.
My body moved like a seasoned warrior, and yet all I was doing was copying the movements of one of those mercenaries.
I got the strike patterns, foot techniques, and evading times down to a T. I had basically perfected the style instantly.
I heard something drop behind me.
The tall, eye-scarred mercenary saw all of it.
"You... how did you just do that?"
I remained rigid, with an unassuming expression on my face.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb! I saw you watching those guys! And then all of a sudden, you perfectly copied one of their movements. That's... impossible."
'Talent. Overwhelming talent that can blow anybody's mind. And you're telling me, this bone-thin kid, with no known past or surname, has that?'
The tall mercenary pondered.
I just stood there, eyes narrowed, wondering what he might be thinking.
Woosh!
A dagger nearly pierced my eye.
I evaded at the last second, my heart racing.
"You dodged that?"
Woosh!
A second thrust came.
I evaded it just as quickly, if not faster.
"You dodged that, too."
The tall mercenary seemed to be testing me.
He chuckled under his breath, sheathing his small dagger.
'Incredible. What kind of monster has been born in this world?'