Episode 1. LET US START THE GAME (3)
'What the hell am I even doing...'
Aiden had left the village again and was trudging through some part of the snowfield. If someone else asked him why he was doing this, he probably couldn't give a straight answer. For the past few days, he'd been having strange dreams, and now he was searching for the places he'd seen in them.
They were just locations from his dreams, so he had no idea if they even existed in reality, but he'd decided to investigate as best he could. For reference, the one who'd pointed him in this direction was a woman he'd never seen before. Who could he even tell about this? It was just some bizarre solo quest in his current situation.
Fwoosh.
A modest flame flickered up from Aiden's outstretched index finger. It wasn't dark yet. No need to worry about wild animals. But the wind was picking up, blurring his vision with snow, so he needed a fire that wouldn't go out.
'Looks like I've reached the spot from those rumors.'
Aiden slowed his pace around this area and scanned his surroundings. According to what the woman had said, something should be visible nearby. There was no map or anything, so if either of them had misremembered, it would be a bust—but this was the only place worth checking carefully.
And then, Aiden's eyes caught the marks left in the snow.
"...Found it."
In the middle of a snowdrift, there was an unnatural depression. If he had to compare its size, it was about the shape of an adult man. If that wasn't just a simile but the literal truth, it looked like someone had been lying there, curled up.
By itself, that wouldn't raise suspicions of a person—but from the indentation, footprints began to trail away.
This blizzard. The protruding rocks ahead. The faint footprints left behind. Himself, walking through the heart of the snowfield in this outfit.
It all felt too familiar.
'So it wasn't just a dream...?'
As he followed the cave trail, piecing together his memories, Aiden's headache intensified. Deep down, he'd already suspected it wasn't a mere dream. It was just something he'd seen while sleeping. A dream stitched together from fragmented memories. The idea of dreaming the future was absurd anyway. He'd just been denying it to himself.
"This time, I'll beat you."
"Why do so many resets happen right when I reach the next loop?"
Thousands of memories forcibly replayed. A faint phantom pain washed over him. His stomach churned, his vision shook. Memories surged: his throat slit in one blow, his gut pierced and slowly bleeding out, being toyed with by someone overwhelmingly superior.
Like thoughts always do, he couldn't stop them once they started. But thanks to that, Aiden could be certain. It wasn't a dream. All those 'memories' were things he had endured at some point.
'Footprints...'
Forcing his trembling body under control, Aiden spotted footprints leading into the cave. Human-sized. Steady stride, heading straight for the cave.
'I was worried I had the wrong spot, but apparently not.'
Was that a relief? Probably not. Right now, nothing mattered except the headache from the memory flood.
"Have you awakened? Not too late, I see."
The memories always started the same: Aiden lighting a fire in the cave.
"To be honest, even putting it kindly, you don't look great... Mind telling me what happened?"
He'd found someone collapsed in rags nearby, planned to help them back to the village.
"Wait, hold on! What the hell are you—?!"
But the moment they woke, they attacked him outright. Games, loops, players, tutorials—clueless about it all, Aiden had just lived in this world, dying over and over.
'Do I really have to go in?'
Inside that cave was someone who'd killed him. Someone who'd slain him with a chipped sword and no armor. He couldn't pinpoint who—nameless, appearance varying by memory. One of those hidden experts, waiting to make the 'scripted' events real.
Knowing that, did he still have to go in?
'Of course.'
The answer was set. To uncover the nature of his memories, the killers' goal—he had no choice. Ignore the hallucinations, the phantom pain. Move.
Clack.
As Aiden entered the cave, his footsteps echoed loudly. It wasn't deep—just enough shelter for wind and a campfire, shadowy at best. And ahead, a human silhouette flickered in the firelight.
The shadow seemed startled, staring at something, then calmed, rising and moving... toward Aiden.
As it moved from the fire, the shadow vanished, revealing the figure.
'No clothes, as expected. Face is new, though.'
A filthy wanderer, stripped bare, clutching only a chipped sword. Just as Aiden predicted. Male, scrawny build, face smeared with bizarre makeup. No time or need to question the odd look.
'He's really here.'
Aiden had scanned carefully on the way, checking for any collapsed bodies. If things went as remembered, he'd kill on sight for an easier time. But the path to the cave was eerily empty—no monsters, nothing. Just footprints guiding him here.
Nothing in the world disturbed their meeting.
"Who are you? What's your game?"
Aiden shouted, right hand hovering at his waist. Ready to cast magic or draw his sword in response. Normally, he'd be kind to a stranger—but not now. This one wanted him dead. He was sure.
"Answer me."
He asked, but wasn't confident. Everyone in his memories had been taciturn. Short replies at best, no grunts even in combat. Just a final word before his death.
"I—"
Fortune or misfortune, the wanderer smirked oddly and replied.
"—was looking for you."
"Why?"
"Your weapon. That's the goal."
It didn't feel like talking to a person. Answers clipped, almost arrogant. Memory-Aiden had shrugged it off as quirky, but now... chewing on it, he saw patterns: skill far beyond gear or build, betrayal, silence.
"Not that impressive. Worth the trouble?"
"..."
"Not gonna answer?"
"..."
Most distinctive: that stiff speech. Always curt, preferring gestures over words.
"...I see. So that's it."
Face unfamiliar, but they'd met before. Allies once, fought together, observed each other. Comrades, even. Apparently. When? Did it matter now, with a threat right in front?
Shing—
The man raised his sword. The nightmare he'd dreaded became real. A being from memories alone, gunning for his life.
But the dream-terror was gone.
"..."
Aiden said nothing. He tracked the enemy's motion with his eyes, stepping forward.
'Not the time to hesitate.'
Memory-them were terrifyingly strong, yet clumsily predictable. Power, speed, luck, magic—masters in one, but patterns rigid. Same gestures for spells. Same swings. Like scripted.
For instance, sword raised like now.
'Diagonal slash.'
Aiden advanced, sidestepping the attack. A motion he'd seen kill him countless times—but this time, he dodged clean and counterattacked.
"...!"
Crack. A grim sound from the man's side. Aiden's fist slammed unprotected flesh; the man crumpled without resistance. Aiden grabbed his head with his other hand, smashing it down.
"Answer."
He gave a moment, gripping harder.
"Why target me?"
The man stayed conscious but silent. Eerier: no facial twitch beyond blinking.
Aiden smashed his head into the cave floor again.
"Not talking?"
Blood pooled. Not dead yet. Still glaring, gripping Aiden's arm with his free hand, resisting. No groan, like mouthless.
"Fine. Have it your way."
Sizzle...
Something burned under Aiden's hand. The face beneath charred like burns, blackening from unseen spots. Even then, silent.
His life snuffed without a sign.
"Haa..."
Aiden lifted his hand, gazing at the charred corpse. Dead for real. The one meant to kill him and advance the plot—defeated by Aiden's rebellion.
And then.
