La Tarantella

Iselle's heart raced with self-directed frustration.

"I'm an idiot!"

Yes, you are an idiot.

"I'm such an idiot!"

The weight of her fear and the pressure she was under felt immense as she sprinted through the forest. She didn't want to regret her decision, but facing the possibility of death can shatter even the strongest resolve.

A glance over her shoulder revealed that nothing was pursuing her. Iselle had managed to put some distance between herself and the stampede, but there was no time for rest. Her chosen path had taken her roughly west, maybe a touch northward judging by the sun's position.

Eventually, her body demanded a pause to catch her breath. While she needed to cover more ground, at least she had gained a lead over the stampede. The sun beat down, and her body was drenched in sweat from both the heat and exertion.

"Woah! Ahhhh!"

Luck, it seemed, was still not on her side. A tree root jutting from the ground tripped her, sending her tumbling down a short incline. She managed to brace herself with her arms, but not without paying a price as cuts marred her exposed skin from contact with bushes and soil.

Exhausted, she came to a stop against a tree, gasping for air and wincing from her fall. "Ow…"

"Heh, I actually did it…" She could barely muster a sarcastic thought, her body yearning for a respite.

Her moment of rest was abruptly interrupted by sounds echoing through the forest. "Are those... wolves?"

Growls, aggressive bites, pained whimpers, and chilling howls carried the danger of an ongoing attack or a fresh confrontation.

Iselle fought against her fatigue, forcing herself to climb a nearby tree. She moved carefully, each leap and observation designed to navigate the forest terrain. Eventually, she identified the source of the commotion—a pack of wolves engaged in a fight.

"They're fighting... and there's a person!"

Below her, three wolves clashed with another trio. From what she could tell, none of these wolves exhibited any sort of magical evolution. Engaging them would be unrealistic in her current state, but she knew she could wait for the right moment. The wolves tore at each other with claws and teeth, seemingly focused on their internal struggle.

Her attention shifted to the lone human figure, now lifeless. The sight was gruesome, his skull crushed from the left. A young man in his early twenties, his arms still clutched an unfamiliar weapon. But what struck her were the remnants of a cloak. It dawned on her that she could use it to appear larger to the wolves, potentially deterring them.

"Be loud, be large, and be a threat," she silently reminded herself.

As the confrontation continued, she sensed an opening to intervene. Jumping down from her perch, she held her sword at the ready, its point extended. The wolves paused, injured and exhausted, as they assessed the new threat.

"OOOOO A-A-A-A! AAAAAAA OOOOOO! AAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The aggressive ape noises she made were a blend of banshee-like shrieks and warrior-like vocalizations that rent the air. The vocal strain was intense, but a combination of high-pitched screams, jumps, and sword thrusts did the trick. She was embarrassed to be making such a spectacle, but her focus was on success.

The wolves fled. Iselle had successfully demonstrated her dominance. "I hope I don't have to do that ever again."

Her eyes tracked the retreating wolves as they melted into the forest, and she let out a relieved sigh. Turning her attention back to the deceased figure, the gore before her was stomach-churning. Suppressing a wave of nausea took all of her willpower.

"...Damn. Okay... Iselle, think of something else... like pies! No, wait! That made it worse!"

She shook off her momentary distraction, cautiously keeping her distance from the corpse. "Was he a noble? The cloak, the small bag, and that weapon... he seems so ill-prepared... not that I have any room to judge."

The face that remained on the corpse reflected fear. Iselle's lips tightened at the thought of a man meeting his end in such a state. "Poor man, he must've fought bravely. The wound is large, not something a wolf could've done; they must have found him like this."

…

"But then what could've done this to him?"

…

A beat from her heart leapt to her throat.

Something within her stirred, tugging her towards the lifeless body. Her stomach plummeted as if she were falling from the sky. The sensation was disconnected from the gruesome remains; she was certain her mind had tuned them out by now.

Her mana surged, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. "What… is this…?"

Exhaustion seemed to leave her at the moment, replaced by an inexplicable urge to approach the body.

Closer…

And closer.

Her arms extended toward the corpse, driven by a compulsion she couldn't comprehend. She justified it as an attempt to search for personal items that might reveal the body's identity.

But deep in her heart, she sensed that destiny was aligning with her mana's call.

"I'm so sorry about this…" she murmured.

Her hand was poised to lift the cloak, hoping to find some form of identification.

But then...

Like a spark igniting tinder…

A blaze erupted from the depths of her soul...

A flood of memories surged into her consciousness as soon as her hand made contact with the man's body. They were intertwined yet distinct, weaving into her mind as if she had always harboured them.

Memories of a man in his late 50s, withering away in a cubicle, typing incessantly as exhaustion claimed him. Feelings of aching loss— of a child and a marriage ripped apart by divorce.

Iselle tried to resist, to halt the torrent, but curiosity dragged her deeper into this unknown realm.

The man led a life that many could relate to: mundane work, soul-sucking routines, and fleeting moments of escape through his passion for shooting. He wasn't extraordinary, his accomplishments were common. He had friends, but not many; he experienced romantic interests, but they never blossomed. His job was just that—average. Dreams of a richer existence paralleled Iselle's own, with occasional wishes to be transported into a fantastical realm.

Then, something in his memories shifted Iselle's perception.

A deity— unexpected, and different from what she had anticipated—came into view. A female figure radiating pure, blinding light answered the man's call after he succumbed to the toll of continuous all-night work sessions.

With actions that were neither saintly nor malicious, the deity offered him a chance to bring forth anything he desired, within the bounds of his virtues and sins. As an average man, he summoned the one thing that brought him joy: a Benelli M4 shotgun with a collapsible stock, enchanted with near-invulnerability, paired with a pouch capable of generating various ammunition types he was familiar with. All he brought from his world were the clothes he died in and a cloak, a memento from a video game.

Iselle could feel the man's excitement through his recollections— an escape into fantasy and adventure. Though the books and games he cherished were nothing extraordinary to Iselle, who herself inhabited a world she considered a living 'fantasy.'

And then, the stream of memories came to a halt.

"Ah!" Her eyes snapped back to the present, her vision clearing as she blinked away the lingering traces of the past. The memories had ended.

Staggering back from the mental onslaught, she gradually regained her bearings. Her hands sought the gun in the man's possession.

"The Razorspine! It's the one who killed me!" She corrected herself. "Him!"

In synchrony with her revelation, the echoes of howls penetrated the underbrush once more. Swiftly, her sword found its scabbard as she retrieved the shotgun and pouch from the deceased.

"What do I load in again? Right, slugs!"

Armed with the fragmented memories she had gleaned, she plunged her hand into the darkness within the pouch. Recognizable shapes greeted her touch, and she extracted four shots, loading them one by one into the weapon.

Though her movements should have been those of a practised enthusiast, her hands trembled as she fumbled with the shells. Time was limited; she had to load four shells before wolves burst through the undergrowth.

However, a troubling revelation struck her— rather than attacking her, the wolves ignored her presence.

"No... they're fleeing. That means..."

As the wolves passed her, she noted that two out of the original six were missing. Her anticipation turned to realization as a deep, ominous squalling echoed through the forest. Trees bowed under the onslaught, a chorus of panicked whimpers heralding their fall, followed by a chilling silence.

Quickly loading more shells, she readied a total of seven in the tube and one in the chamber. All of them were slugs— she recalled how the man had perished. It was a desperate, futile stand against a magic-enhanced Boar.

Solid thuds signalled the approach of the great boar.

Her legs quivered, hands shook, but she assumed her stance without hesitation. In the face of certain death, a manic grin crept across her face. Adrenaline surged through her veins, her thrill uncontainable. Fear coexisted with a sense of exultation; she was terrified, yet she was finally living her own 'fantasy.'

As the boar reared back, preparing to charge, Iselle let out a fierce taunt, lined with nervous bravery. "Let's dance, Mr. Boar!"

The formidable Razorspine earned its name due to the pointed and incredibly tough material forming its back, extending all the way to the edges of its head. This particular boar stood out— unlike other Razorspines, this one was abnormally large. Iselle would guess it was due to the random chance for the growth of wild animals to be influenced by magic.

Iselle, not exactly short in stature, had already surpassed her mother in height and was only a bit shorter than her father. The boar before her was a colossal presence, standing as tall as she did and boasting a width akin to a small shed.

Worst of all, Iselle didn't even know what ability it had.

As the massive creature lunged into a charge, Iselle swiftly evaded its path. At this distance and speed, she was agile and confident. "Big and less dexterous, hard to change direction once you commit," she taunted.

The boar zoomed past her, crashing headlong into the surrounding trees. A resounding crack… and then a snap followed, prompting Iselle's attention. A lump formed in her throat as she exclaimed in disbelief, "Holy Biscuits."

A towering tree, easily a story high and of decent girth, had been toppled. It took a lot of effort from the boar but the tenacity it showed to a stationary object was difficult to digest. Branches snapped and the trunk fell with considerable force, eventually getting caught by other trees.

It was a sight that demanded attention. Iselle noticed the way the boar struggled to recover its balance after the collision, she could potentially use that as a way to kill it.

Following the first shot, she flinched at the deafening sound. "...Loud!" Iselle thought, but she would soon become accustomed to the jarring bangs— figuring she'd find a solution later to dampen the noise.

Seizing the moment, Iselle showered the boar's backside with slugs from her shotgun. Each round struck with precision, embedding hot solid projectiles into its flesh before Iselle ran out of shells and quickly reloaded. With each hit, the boar howled and squealed, its already-red eyes seemingly darkening further.

"Uh oh."

Iselle managed to reload only about four shells before quickly assuming another stance to dodge. With gritted teeth, she watched as the boar yet again barreled towards her.

This time… she might've underestimated how fast it suddenly became.

"Woah! Aah!" She let out a yelp.

While she narrowly avoided a direct hit, she wasn't entirely out of harm's way. Her shotgun whipped around to the side, only to be met with tusks that threw both her and the gun to the ground. Instantly, she reacted by dashing for it and quickly taking aim.

The boar didn't slam with a tree this time; it braced itself against the ground, using its legs to halt its momentum. Iselle cursed as she aimed her shotgun, only to have her shot hit the boar's head.

"Damn!" Iselle yelled.

Hitting the head was a misstep— it caused blood to spurt, but the creature remained alive. Once again, Iselle saw the boar's eyes grow darker. "So it has abilities that trigger when hit. An active enhancer type with a common berserk speed variant."

Curiously, Iselle noticed similar shapes of embedded ammunition on the boar's skull. "Seems like the previous owner of this gun tried to shoot it too but couldn't find a way past its tough skull."

Exhaustion surged through Iselle's body, her adrenaline-fueled endurance teetering on the edge. Amidst her mental fatigue, she realized the gravity of the situation

What happened next, she knew she could've died.

The boar charged with unimaginable speed, propelled by a spring from its hind legs that reverberated through the ground with a thunderous thud. Iselle's eyes widened, her legs rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the impending danger.

The gap between them closed with alarming rapidity, the boar hurtling forward inch by inch. Iselle's arms instinctively twitched, raising her gun in a feeble attempt to shield herself.

At the last second, she jumped, ensuring her body was not hit centre mass by the heavy weight of the boar.

In an instant, her legs were no longer in contact with the ground. The sensation of weightlessness gripped her as the air was driven from her lungs and an excruciating pain surged from her torso.

The impact launched her skyward, a breathless gasp escaping her lips before she plummeted back to the unyielding ground below with a brutal thud. "Ah… ah! ARGH!"

Iselle could feel the impact she received; if not for the fact a God blessed the shotgun with near-invulnerability, she might've gotten worse wounds from the pointed segments of the boar's back as she got hit.

Her gaze darted toward the boar, fully expecting it to seize its opportunity to devour her. However, what she encountered instead was a glimmer of hope— a chance of salvation. The boar's tusks were ensnared by a pair of trees, deeply embedded, leaving it immobilized.

A surge of determination coursed through Iselle. The odds had shifted, granting her an opportunity she couldn't afford to squander.

But with most of her body in pain and her eyes shaking from the impact, she questioned herself "W-w… what should I… do…?"

She could only buy a few seconds at the most, not in time to go for the side and kill it right then. Iselle needed an idea, fast.

From the periphery of her vision, Iselle caught sight of the cloak lying nearby. A realization struck her like a powerful blow to the head. "It's the eyes! I'm such a moron!" Every word she uttered was punctuated by pained yelps.

Summoning every ounce of determination within her, Iselle briskly walked over to the cloak, snatching it up in her hands as she fixed her gaze on the spectre of death before her. The boar wrested itself free from the tree trunks, its attention now fully on Iselle. It responded with a resounding snort, the force of its breath creating a gust in the air.

"Come on you ugly pig!" Iselle retorted, her voice laced with a mix of defiance and adrenaline.

With a screech, the boar charged toward her once again, its velocity reminiscent of a deadly avalanche. Yet this time, Iselle was prepared. She flung the cloak forward and lunged to the side, narrowly evading the beast's onslaught. Luck intervened, saving a portion of her leg from being crushed.

Caught off-guard by the sudden darkness as the cloak enveloped its face, the boar skidded in its charge, slipping and floundering on the ground. Panic gripped the creature, and it thrashed its head wildly in a futile attempt to free itself from the obstruction. However, the evolutionary rigidity of its neck hindered its movements, rendering it almost immobile.

Iselle took the opportunity to reload her shotgun, her fingers felt like they were on fire. As she waited, the boar spun in frantic circles, its furious actions revealing its desperate attempt to clear its blinded state.

With her heart pounding, she took aim. Iselle squeezed the trigger, the sensation heavier than ever. The echoes of the Benelli M4's report reverberated through the air, mingling with the boar's cacophonous cries.

This time, it was the perfect spot; right at its side near but just before the head. Each passing second seemed to stretch infinitely as Iselle heard a progression from yells to yelps, and then… silence.

Her legs gave way, the tremors coursing through her body finally subsiding as she collapsed onto the ground. Her breaths came in ragged repetition, while her heartbeat pounded in her ears like the drums of war.

"The eyes... I should've gone for them from the start. It was a mistake to use slugs... well... at least I'm alive," Iselle mumbled, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

The temptation to surrender to the inviting embrace of sleep was strong. Her body yearned for rest, but she knew she couldn't succumb to it just yet. Mustering the last vestiges of her strength, Iselle forced herself to stand, loading a shell into her shotgun and firing at the boar once more, just to confirm its demise.

"It's actually dead... It's actually dead! OW!" She winced as a sharp pain shot through her side, reminding her of her own injuries. "...Huh?"

The metallic tang of blood invaded her senses, and she glanced down at her gloved hand, now stained crimson. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she realized that she had been grazed by the boar's tusk, an injury she hadn't even noticed amidst the chaos of the battle.

"Merda... I need to get to a town," Iselle muttered to herself.

Making her way to the boar, she takes the cloak away. It was brown, roughed up from the fight. Yet, it was clear that the cloak was of high quality, having withstood the boar's thrashing.

Iselle looked back at the lifeless body of the otherworlder, a solemn expression on her face. "You saved me, even if you did not know it... may you rest in peace, whoever you are. I'm sorry I can't give you the proper burial you deserve."

Iselle took one last breath before turning towards the west. "For you, I'll see your dreams come true in my place. Hopefully, we find both of them come true. I have a hunch that your shotgun and cloak are also important to me too." Part of her received memories reminded her of some lost attachment to the items.

She draped the cloak around her shoulders and affixed her shotgun to her back using the strap. Iselle was going to readjust the length later but for now, she needed to move further from the source of the fight; predators and scavengers would soon descend upon the scent of a carcass.

"So, it turns out I had powers all along. The Manograph was wrong about me, my parents were wrong about me... though inheriting the memories of the deceased isn't combat-oriented," Iselle mused to herself.

Iselle smiled. "But it's only a matter of time before I improve upon them. I'll prove to the world what someone like me can achieve. Where do I go now?"

With a sense of purpose, Iselle mentally weighed her options. She considered the paths that lay before her;

Going south risks crossing paths with family or acquaintances, Iselle knows many of her mother's friends lived around that region— Proceeding west, staying in Italia, was the most obvious and easiest path to traverse— Heading east towards unknown territories and barbarian lands held little appeal, Iselle would prefer staying within the I.C.R.— North, crossing the Alps into Germania would be likely dangerous, filled with dragons and not to mention the low temperatures. But, it would be a choice no one would think anyone would take.

"Let's pull a Hannibal!" Iselle jovially announces to herself.

"First, I need to find a town for medical attention. If I continue heading west, I'll hit a road that leads north. Carriages might pass by, but I'll need to watch out for brigands, highwaymen, and wildlife. There should be adventurers and sellswords patrolling the roads, likely employed by local guilds or lords. Maybe I could follow them to town?"

With a sigh, Iselle brushed aside the complexities of her decision for the moment. "I'll worry about that later."

[~&~]

Amidst pants of relief, a servant of the Revona family emerged from the tree line and approached Silas. "Sir, we have failed to track her whereabouts..."

"She always was good at escaping people," Silas replied with a hint of pride. "It's regrettable. Instruct the carriages to turn around and head back. I'll take a horse on my own to return. I need to personally inform my wife about what transpired as fast as I can."

Curious, the servant inquired further. "What will you do to retrieve the young miss?"

"I'll dispatch carrier birds to send messages to our acquaintances all across Italia. It's time to initiate a manhunt. Given that she'll need to access both public and private services, she will have to register her mana signature for verification. From there, we can follow the trail."

"Understood, sir," the servant acknowledged, bowing before directing the others to prepare for the return journey.

As the sun beat down on a hot day, Silas made his way back to the carriage to get a horse, a faint worry gnawing at him. 'I'll give you a head start, my daughter. Show me that my decision to let you go wasn't a mistake, even though it pains me. I only hope you stay safe.'

[~&~]

Hours later…

"Achoo! Ow ow ow!" Iselle sneezed and winced from pain shooting from her body, huddled in the night's chill. "Urrgghh… why do nights have to be so cold."

(A/N)

Fun Fact: You can only apply a force on an object as hard as it can resist that force. Try punching a floating balloon as hard as you can, it won't burst but when you place it on a wall and then punch, it'll pop.

Though I don't exactly know the survival rate of being flung by a boar at that size, so take Iselle's survival as 'fantasy'. So if you can mathematically prove that she dies or lives, I'll give you a cookie.