Episode 2. Tutorial (1)
[Player defeated.] The second one.
It was right after Aiden had killed the man waiting in the cave, during the moment of bewilderment triggered by that voice.
Thud thud thud! A man who looked strikingly similar to the one he'd just killed rushed into the cave. The rags, the worn-out sword—this identical appearance was a reminder that he, too, was a Player.
So Aiden gripped his sword first and cut off his breath before the man could act.
'Player?'
But every time he killed an enemy, an inexplicable voice echoed in Aiden's mind, like applause at a tennis match.
Player defeated.
It reverberated as if spoken within the cave itself, or like a voice distorted by magic.
'Not magic, though... then who the hell is it?'
Aiden was confused. None of the events from the past few days had been normal.
He'd gained memories of deaths numbering in the tens of thousands without reason, avoided death based on those memories, and now this bizarre announcement of defeating a Player rang out.
'Participant [Player]?'
Player—the word spoken by the voice the moment Aiden slew the two men. It was a term he'd heard plenty before, an ordinary one referring to participants in games like chess.
But the voice was calling these two men Players.
'Is there some meaning I don't know?'
Player was undoubtedly a commonplace word. Yet an inexplicable emotion surged within him. This phenomenon, the reason behind it, and even his own swept-away feelings—all of it was incomprehensible.
"What the hell do I do with this..."
Above all, the biggest problem was that he could no longer dismiss everything as mere personal delusions or dreams.
Memories of tens of thousands of deaths obtained through dreams, battles unfolding exactly as remembered, and now Players. No matter how optimistically he viewed it, this was a dangerous situation.
"Haa..."
Aiden's vision darkened. Perhaps because just hours ago, he'd been convinced it was all his imagination. Anxiety swelled about what lay ahead.
If everything floating in his memories was what would happen next, then what the hell was he supposed to do? If it was an incident in some nameless place, he could avoid it forever by never going there. Even if it was a familiar spot, he didn't have to take quests by force—he could steer clear.
Could he stay safe forever by avoiding problems like that?
'No way.'
As obvious as it was, that wasn't solving anything. He knew nothing about this incident. There was no guarantee of answers later. The voice might reveal something, but he couldn't trust it fully.
Now he was like an explorer facing the unknown with zero knowledge. A real explorer might discover something and earn praise, but if he spoke of this, he'd be branded a "fool who believes hallucinations from magic are real."
'And I'm already doubting if I'm not crazy.'
He couldn't easily seek advice from anyone. Even if it came someday, he might not trust it. This could be an intensely personal matter.
So he needed to figure it out himself.
"Hey, mister, you're back? And you've picked up even more weird stuff around you."
As he walked slowly, lost in thought, a woman's voice reached him near the village outskirts. An utterly ordinary voice, acting as if she knew Aiden well.
When Aiden turned to guess the owner, there she was—the same woman who'd helped him earlier, crouched down.
Silver hair and sky-blue eyes. A villager whose appearance suited the snowfield more than anyone.
"What are you doing here?"
"Ah, uh... well? Just sitting and resting, obviously. What's weird about it? I'm not some outsider like you, mister."
A villager crouching in a corner of the village wasn't unnatural at all. But Aiden couldn't fathom why she was here. The issue was this was the village outskirts, and she was clearly hiding behind a rock, body concealed.
"I'm asking if you're not cold."
Frankly, her outfit was far too thin for the weather—that was the real problem. This was a snowy plain with wind mixed with flakes every day. Would anyone believe she was wearing such light clothes there? Yet the silver-haired woman was.
"That's none of your business, mister. You're heading back now, right?"
"Yeah. Want to come with? Honestly, that getup worries me."
"No, no. Do me a favor. If some priest-types from the village ask if you've seen a little silver-haired kid—no, a girl—just play dumb and say you don't know. Got it?"
"Pardon?"
She's an odd one, Aiden thought, and voiced the question that sprang to mind.
"Are you being threatened by someone?"
"Hmm... not quite that serious."
"Then why ask for that favor?"
Aiden pulled out his spare cloak and handed it to her. He didn't know her deal, but she'd helped him find the cave, so this repaid the favor.
"Don't dress so sloppily just 'cause you're used to it."
"No, I'm fine? Really? I mean—"
She seemed about to say something odd, covered her mouth briefly, then corrected herself.
"Sh-Shoot, even strangers treat me like a kid now. Don't worry. I've lived here 19 years and nearly frozen plenty of times."
Nineteen years meant she was barely an adult. Standards wouldn't differ here. Aiden looked down pityingly at the woman clutching the cloak he'd given her, grumbling.
She scowled, clearly displeased by the gaze.
"Ugh, fine, I am hiding, so go already. Thanks for this, though."
"Sure, sure. Whatever it is, come back alive and return the cloak, yeah?"
As Aiden walked away, she donned the cloak to fend off the cold. Glancing back, he vaguely saw the sleeves dangling far too long for her.
"What a weird person."
Aiden headed toward the village, pondering the woman he'd just reunited with. The cave she'd mentioned was farther from the village than expected, with animal tracks nearby. Yet she'd casually shared that she'd seen it days ago, and her memory was spot-on. Despite being an untrained, newly adult ordinary villager.
"Hey, you there!"
As he neared the village, a man perfectly timed to interrupt Aiden's pleasant thoughts appeared. Even more exquisitely, the man addressing him looked like a priest.
"What's the matter?"
Then the priest's words were probably...
"Seen a silver-haired little—no, a girl about this tall?"
Bingo. The priest described her in detail, hand at chest height, matching the 19-year-old woman perfectly.
"No, haven't seen anyone like that passing by."
But Aiden didn't sell her out. He knew nothing of her circumstances, but if she got caught, getting his cloak back would be tough.
"Tch, figures. Sorry for wasting your time."
"No help, my apologies."
Thankfully, the priest didn't press and dashed outside the village. He'd done what he could; now she could hide cleverly on her own. Aiden needed to find an inn to fulfill his purpose here.
A village nestled in the relatively warmer part of the snowfield. Warm enough for fruit trees to bear, its people enjoyed fruit wine to forget the cold. He wasn't interested, but that was the gist.
Creeeak...
The inn door—tall and grand for the village size—opened to reveal the first-floor dining hall greeting Aiden. Tables and chairs sat somewhat empty here and there.
A few apparent locals drained wooden beer mugs, while mercenaries with weapons at hips or backs glanced at the newcomer Aiden with sighs and smirks, as if another victim had arrived.
"New today?"
The innkeeper—a man who seemed to fit the role—sighed inexplicably. Aiden countered with a question.
"You memorize every face coming here? Heard it's been busy lately."
"Gotta. Easier to stop 'em smashing the place if I know 'em."
"Hm?"
"Ah, should start from there."
Saying so, the innkeeper plunked a fruit wine in front of seated Aiden without asking.
"Just drink. On me, sorry."
Aiden stared in confusion, but the man just muttered oddly and forced the glass down. Aiden took it meekly.
"Everyone seems on edge. Weirdly so."
"Here for the quest, right? Bandits raiding the village, their boss a wanted fugitive called the monster thief, blah blah."
"Wouldn't everyone?"
The innkeeper sighed again. Aiden's mood soured to match, but luckily, the man explained why he and the mercenaries pitied Aiden.
"That's a scam quest lying about the difficulty. Whole village cooked it up."
"Haven't heard that term in ages."
Scam quest. A rarity these days. Deliberately leaking false info on quests to cut costs while drawing crowds—a cheap trick.
"Bandit extermination request: Individuals aren't strong, but no one in the village fights, so damage piles up. That's all you know, right?"
"Pretty much."
"Bull. Church here's got fighters. They handle rowdies fine."
The full story from the innkeeper: Recently, bandits basing in nearby ruins had been plundering villages. Villages could fend off raids but not eradicate them, so they hatched a shady plan.
Too poor for top talent, but enough reward for mid-tier mercenaries to lure scrubs en masse. Then, bound by "can't abandon accepted quests without cause," mercs would be stuck. Once enough gathered, they'd do the job cheap just to escape.
Hard to believe in this era, but here it was.
"Ha, how do they plan to deal with the fallout."
Only after hearing it all did Aiden grasp the mercenaries' odd attitudes. More curiosity than anger about how they'd pull it off in modern times—but other mercs wouldn't see it that way.
"Plenty opposed. Me too. Just more yes votes."
The innkeeper spouted platitudes to prevent mercenary rage, but Aiden waved it off, signaling he was fine. His own fault for not researching in a scam-free era.
Come to think of it, why had he taken this remote quest? Aiden couldn't recall. He'd have spotted the trick just reading it.
"Guess solo's tough then. Need to recruit."
"Tell everyone new, but sorry."
The innkeeper apologized with a sour face. His habit of explaining and sorry-ing to new mercs earned some goodwill; nearby mercs eyed him sympathetically.
"I'm good. Can't afford to care about that."
"Quitting your livelihood over it? Crazy."
"Drop it. One question."
No intent to argue further. Emotions must've piled up endlessly here; everyone exhausted. No need for new conflict. Not his style.
"Convent, church, cathedral—whatever it's called, where is it?"
Now, gather people needed for the job.
