The Simulating Sorcerer

"And so this, my dear students," Mr. Kem proclaimed, his voice carrying across the classroom as he continued to lecture, chalk in hand, illustrating and solving equations on the board.

The majority of the students appeared disengaged, feigning interest by jotting down notes or simply tuning out. Mr. Kem's chemistry classes had a reputation for being mind-numbingly dull, and his explanations were notorious for their lack of clarity.

Among these students sat Siarl, a young man on the cusp of adulthood, his short hair and clean-shaven face framed by glasses. He was the embodiment of a true nerd.

As always, Siarl remained intensely focused, but today his attention was drawn away from the chalkboard.

Instead, a holographic screen captured his gaze.

The screen was immaculate, displaying only a few lines of crisp white text:

[Name - Siarl Estrada]

[Age - 19]

[Sanity - 19/270 (enhanced by simulator)]

[Simulation Points - 17 (Minimum 10 points required for a simulation)]

Looking at this screen, Siarl had an epiphany. Perhaps this was the reason he had been transported to this world!

Yes, Siarl wasn't from this world. He remembered being a normal white collar worker at Blue Star and suddenly finding himself in this world as a young teenager.

In fact, everything about this world was the same as his previous one, but there were many changes in the course of history that led him to believe this was a parallel world.

It had been approximately two months since his transmigration, and the previous owner of his current body had been far from socially adept. Introverted, shy, and anti-social were the traits Siarl had inherited, and he had adhered to them faithfully.

And after two whole months, his "gold finger" arrived. But it brought new questions. What did the term "supernatural being" mean? Yet this newfound advantage had raised a plethora of questions. What did the term "supernatural being" entail? Did superhumans exist in this world? If so, why was there no mention of them in the news? Or is the government hiding it?

Furthermore, how did one accumulate simulation points? These inquiries could wait; for now, his focus was on deciphering the simulator.

The sections for name and age were self-explanatory. But what about "sanity" and "simulation points"? How could he obtain them? Most intriguing of all was the requirement of "10 points for a simulation."

He decided to investigate these details later, in the comfort of his home.

"So How do I close this screen?" Siarl ruminate in internal monologue. Almost as though in obedient response to his thoughts, the screen dematerialized.

Convenient!

All he needed to do was think about opening or closing the simulator.

Once Siarl had closed the simulator, Siarl sensed an icy stare briefly alight upon him before vanishing into the ether.

What had that been?

What was that eerie sensation?

"Damn it," Siarl fumed inwardly, his unease mounting. Silently, he commenced packing his belongings, intending to make a hasty escape once the school bell signaled his release.

He glanced at the clock; it was past 3 o'clock. Siarl had meticulously driven around the entire city in his car, ensuring he wasn't being followed. Convinced that he had shaken off any potential pursuers, he finally returned home. After all, he couldn't risk revealing his home address to the owner of that cold, ominous gaze. Despite his nerdy appearance, Siarl's social presence was virtually non-existent.

Huffing and puffing, Siarl's chest heaved as he entered his house. Even now, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He embarked on a thorough search of his entire residence, a task that took a toll on his body given his infrequent exercise.

"Well, I should probably take a break and calm down a bit," Siarl thought to himself.

Twenty minutes later...

"Can't I find any basic information about this simulation thing?" Siarl pondered to himself.

Thirty minutes later, Siarl had resigned himself to the lack of information. Everything he attempted yielded no results. He reluctantly decided to take the "risk" due to the overpowering allure of his curiosity.

[Middle Level Sorcerer World: 1000 Simulation Points]

[Middle Level Martial Arts World: 1000 Simulation Points]

[World of Immortality (Broken): 2500 Simulation Points]

[Search New World: 10000 Simulation Points]

[Randomly Search a Low-Level World: 10 Simulation Points]

[Randomly Choosing Low-Level World]

[World Chosen: Witch World (Fragment)]

[Since there is a lack of simulation points no background selection option is presented ]

"Yes," Siarl replied calmly, well aware that an unknown adventure was about to unfold.

[Starting... Calculating... Locking Coordinates]

[Conscious slowing down…]

[Simulation has begun]

"Ruk, your wife is going into labor! Little Naxal and Naylma have already started preparing the birthing fire!" Sherp's urgent shout cutted through the setting sun, directed at a man toiling in the fields, tending to crops as the spring season took its first breath. This man was none other than Ruk.

Sherp added, his tone filled with concern, "You should hurry and fetch the village chief for the baptism. Nightfall is approaching swiftly!"

Ruk, a strapping young man in his mid-twenties, bore the rugged complexion earned from countless hours spent labouring in the fields under the relentless heat. Without a moment's hesitation, he cast aside his rake and hoe, his face alight with unmistakable excitement as he sprinted toward his destination.

***

Wahh... Wahh...

The plaintive cry of a newborn echoed from one of the many rustic mud-thatched houses in Sama village.

In front of the thatched house, a lively congregation had assembled, illuminating the evening with a crackling bonfire. They chatted animatedly, revelling in the moment while being served a delectable combination of dried meat and wine by Ruk daughters-Naxal and Naylma's. Everyone present was aware that old Ruk's wife had just given birth, and they had come to celebrate and christen the newest addition to their community.

This age-old tradition in Sama village involved lighting a bonfire and indulging in a feast whenever a child was born, giving rise to its name, "bonfire," since its inception.

Upon hearing the baby's cry, the men shared hearty laughter, clapped Ruk on their backs, and indulged in more wine. Meanwhile, an elderly man rose from his seat.

Observing the old man's movement, Ruk quickly made his way towards him, extending a guiding hand. "This way, Village Chief."

***

Inside the thatched house,

"Congratulations, Makalu! It's a boy! The boy has even inherited the strong skin of his father!" The midwives' jubilant voices resounded with joy, mingled with teasing remarks directed at Makalu, who wore an elated smile.

In response to the celebratory announcement, Makalu's smile widened, and she gently extended her hands to receive the baby. This infant, however, was none other than Siarl, who had embarked on his simulation journey not long ago.

At this very moment, Siarl let out cries and wails, much like any ordinary newborn. While he exhibited an awareness of his surroundings, though he observed his surroundings, his comprehension was limited, having just entered this world with his young body had yet to fully adapt.

Then, with measured steps, the village chief made his entrance, cradling a mud bowl containing a mysterious crimson liquid.

Drawing near to Makalu, who held the infant with an affectionate and maternal demeanor, the village chief gently accepted Siarl into his arms. He signaled to a midwife to receive the bowl from his hands.

As Ruk observed this sacred ritual, vivid memories of his daughters' births washed over him. The profound emotions and life-altering experience of becoming a father remained etched in his memory.

The village chief dipped his hand into the bowl, allowing the viscous red liquid to flow between his fingers. With great care, he marked a bold cross on Siarl's delicate forehead, and in an instant, the infant's tender skin reacted with a searing sensation, akin to a torch ignited before his very eyes.

Preserving the gravity of the moment, the village chief began a solemn prayer:

"In flesh, a blessing we possess,

Yet in its frailty, we confess,

To find a deep and stark disgust,

From which new strength we'll truly trust.

Through trials faced, abominations born,

In this journey, our souls adorn,

Devotees, we seek your purity's grace,

To save our kind, in your embrace.

All shall pray when the true abomination descends."

Each word held profound significance, each syllable hung heavy in the room's charged atmosphere. As the village chief spoke the final lines, his hands smoothly gravitated back to the mud bowl, and with a purposeful motion, he poured the entire contents over Siarl's tiny, quivering form.

In that fleeting instant, Siarl felt as though his entire body was engulfed in flames, as if he were immersed in a raging conflagration. Simultaneously, his young body began to absorb the liquid, strengthening itself with newfound vigour.

With the prayer's conclusion, the entire room remained in a hushed reverence. All eyes remained fixed upon the village chief. As the final echoes of the prayer faded, the villagers, united in their devotion, bowed in unison, their actions a testament to the solemnity of the occasion.

Surveying the scene and observing that Siarl had absorbed the entirety of the mysterious liquid, the village chief let out a satisfied sigh, his countenance breaking into a warm smile. He then turned his attention to Ruk, offering his observation, "You have been blessed with a son of remarkable fortitude; his skin is as tough as that of an ox!"

Upon hearing these words, Ruk beamed with pride, his heart swelling with the weight of the moment. The village chief continued, emphasising the finality of the ceremony, "The baptism is now complete. Remember to expose the child to the silver moon for as the moon shall cool the blood of the beasts!"