Chapter 15: Fantasy Scenario

The only sounds in my room were the low hum of the heater and the relentless ticking of the alarm clock on my desk. It was already past midnight—well past the time when normal people were asleep, dreaming of boring, safe things like beaches or kittens. For me? Midnight was just when the weirdness started.

I sat on my bed, staring down at the book in my hands—the very same book that had nearly sent me to an early grave. Rationally, I should've thrown it into the nearest fire, sprinkled the ashes with holy water, and called it a day. But of course, logic and my life were currently on separate terms.

No, I couldn't just get rid of it. Knowing what was coming, I didn't have the luxury of fear or ignorance. If I was going to survive—hell, if anyone was going to survive—I had to get stronger. And this book? It was my golden ticket... to what, exactly, I didn't know.

With a sigh, I replayed More's cryptic instructions in my head: "Simply think about it while touching the book."

I looked at the book. The book looked at me—or at least, it felt like it did.

The second I focused, the book sprang to life. Its cover flipped open, the pages rustling like an eager dog wagging its tail. Then it floated out of my hands, hovering in front of me, glowing faintly with that unsettling energy I hadn't missed.

And here came the part I really hated: the pull.

That invisible force grabbed hold of me, dragging me toward the book like I was caught in some kind of cosmic vacuum cleaner. But this time, I didn't resist. 

—

When my consciousness finally decided to rejoin me, the first thing I felt was discomfort—my body itching in places I didn't even know could itch. The fabric on me was rough, coarse, and about as comfortable as sandpaper pajamas. Opening my eyes, I realized I was lying on dirt, under a thin, ragged excuse for a blanket that might as well have been paper.

"Perfect," I muttered, sitting up with a groan. My body ached like hell.

The first thing I noticed was the extinguished bonfire in front of me. Judging by the faint embers and ash, it hadn't been out for too long. I was camped in front of a cave—a weird cave. It jutted out of the vast grassland like someone had dropped it here by accident and decided, Eh, close enough.

Then I looked at myself.

Horns. I had horns. Long curvy devilish ones poking out of my head. And as if that wasn't enough, I was dressed in some medieval adventurer's getup—padded cloth that itches like mad, complete with boots that felt like they'd been stolen from a museum exhibit.

A small pack was slung across my back. Inside, I found a handful of herbs, some suspicious-looking ointments, and—of course—the cursed book. The same one that got me into this mess. At least it had the decency to come along for the ride. Hm… I think I could use it to come back.

I also had a sword strapped to my hip. It wasn't fancy, but it was solid and sharp. I unsheathed it briefly, testing its weight. 

This 'trial' is already quite different. Now I wonder, how does time work here? Is it one to one like the real world, or is it like Tartarus, slower than normal? Well, I'll get that answer soon enough. Tomorrow, well, more like today, is Sunday after all, no worries about school.

The cave loomed in front of me, and torchlight flickered faintly from within. The weirdest part? The torches were already lit. Someone—or something—was home.

I grabbed one of the torches from the wall, and ventured to the interior of the cave.

As I ventured deeper, the smell hit me. It was the unholy trinity of nastiness: rot, piss, and excrement. My nose staged a protest, but I pressed on.

The tunnel eventually split into two paths. Left or right? With no map, no guide, and no patience, I chose left.

Not even a minute in, I heard them—hissing and gibberish. Three figures emerged from the shadows: goblins. Or at least, that's what they looked like, if goblins were on steroids. These guys were bulkier, hairier, and meaner than their game-inspired cousins. Each had horns on their head and blood-red eyes that practically glowed in the dim light.

One carried a stone axe, another a wooden club, and the third—empty-handed but no less menacing—bared its teeth in a feral snarl. They hissed and roared, flinging guttural curses in their gibberish language.

I drew my steel, and prepared for a fight. Tattoos quickly flared through my body, but this time, my weapon is enveloped by it as well. The power coursed through me, sharpening my senses and steadying my nerves. Stronger, faster, tougher—I could feel it all.

I didn't hesitate—I ran straight at them. Judging by their wide-eyed reaction, this wasn't the usual response they got from poor schmucks wandering into their turf. That half-second of confusion? All I needed.

Swinging my sword with both hands, I met the first one head-on. The blade sliced through its neck like a knife through warm butter, the goblin's head tumbling to the ground with a sickening thud. Its body crumpled moments later, a grotesque fountain of blood spraying onto the dirt.

The second goblin hesitated, its blood-red eyes flickering between me and its dead companion. Rookie mistake. With one fluid motion, I brought my sword around and cleaved it clean through the chest. The sheer ease of it was almost disappointing—like cutting through wet cardboard. It let out a strangled gurgle before collapsing, spilling its guts in a messy heap at my feet.

The third goblin? Oh, it was pissed. Its claws flexed as it let out a guttural roar, charging at me with reckless abandon. I sidestepped its clumsy swing and drove my blade straight through its stomach, twisting the hilt for good measure. The creature coughed up a splatter of dark, viscous blood before slumping to the ground, twitching pathetically.

The fight was over as quickly as it began.

The smell of blood—sharp, metallic, and nauseating—filled the air, mingling with the already delightful aroma of goblin sweat and rot. I grimaced, wiping my blade clean with a flick of my wrist. The crimson spray painted the ground like some macabre modern art piece.

The satisfaction of a clean victory settled in my chest. No desperation, no last-ditch efforts to stay alive—just a straightforward fight, with me as the clear winner. After the high-stakes terror of the last trial, this was almost... therapeutic.

I glanced down at the corpses, the faint flicker of their blood-red eyes now extinguished, before turning my gaze toward the deeper shadows of the cave.

Let's see what else this place has in store.