Inside the World of the Game (1)

‘...Cold... so cold...?’

A chill that seemed to bite all the way to the bone seeped into me, and I jerked upright. In my memory, my consciousness had been cut off in a fire. Had I survived after all?

That didn’t fit. There ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was none of the stinging peculiar to burns, none of a hospital’s medicinal smell or its noises. The only sound was the wind.

‘What... is this...’

No—was this really Busan? Was this even Korea? Even if I had woken in the middle of Gangwon Province, I didn’t think the cold would feel like this.

And then, as if the chill had been nothing but an illusion, the cold wrapped around my body shifted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all at once into something warm and gentle. I slowly lifted my closed eyelids, and a beautiful field of snow spread out before me.

‘What in the world... is this...’

Grrrr—

Bewildered, I tried to speak, and what came out was not a human voice but the low sound of a beast. It lasted only a moment, yet one fact was unmistakable: I was no longer human.

Coming back to life was certainly a good thing. That this was not Korea, and that I was not human—that was the shock. My body felt far too heavy to belong to a person, and I was moving on four legs. Whatever I was, I was certainly neither human nor ape.

I stretched forward to rise, and what came into view was a limb sheathed in beautiful sky-blue scales. An arm—should I even call it that? If I walked on four legs, wasn’t this a foreleg rather than an arm? And if so, what exactly had I become?

I set the questions aside and began to turn over one very small possibility. If these blue, sky-colored scales were what I thought they were—if the form I wore now was one already familiar to me—then this place would be a world at once far too familiar and utterly shocking.

I turned my head slowly. Frost lay thin over a leg of sky-blue scales, and when I lowered my body a little I saw wings of thin, keen ice above ashen skin.

‘...This is... awfully familiar.’

Rustle—

On a whim I turned toward my waist, and there was a tail, swaying—shaped like a finely whetted three-edged blade. To see myself more clearly, I stayed upright and quietly turned toward the lakeshore beside me.

‘...Ah?’

The figure reflected in the lake was unmistakable. It was the final boss of White Snow’s Guardian Knight, from Icarus Chronicle—the game I had played with such joy, and the very being I had so dearly wished could live.

The Frostflame Dragon, Mircania.

Sky-blue scales, and a delicate layer of ice laid around them with a beauty that was also severe. Wings spread sharp and mighty from the back, keen claws, and a tail formed like a rapier. The reflection was exactly the form I knew.

This world was the world inside the game. And the form before me really was the Frostflame Dragon’s. Which meant that I, right now, had become the Frostflame Dragon Mircania.

‘...Ah. So that’s why... my voice won’t come out properly...?’

A dragon’s body would be nothing like a human’s. I had tried to make a sound the way my old body would have, and of course it felt as if something were caught in my throat.

Still—if I was the Frostflame Dragon, I was a dragon spoken of as fairly strong, capable, and decisive. Then wouldn’t the so-called Polymorph be possible too? Moving in a human shape would be far more familiar to me than moving as a dragon.

‘...But how do I Polymorph?’

Quite a few dragons appeared in Icarus Chronicle, but those classified as ancient dragons amounted, at most, to the Frostflame Dragon Mircania and the Blood Tiger Dragon Zernisha. The rest never really took leading roles, and they were never especially popular.

Zernisha’s Polymorph form was strikingly beautiful and had drawn a great deal of attention, so many people had speculated about Mircania’s as well. But as if to laugh at everyone waiting for that form, White Snow’s Guardian Knight presented Mircania only as a dragon—the final raid boss, and nothing else.

So if I used Polymorph now and changed into a human body, I would be the only person in the world who had ever seen Mircania’s Polymorph form. And by the long tradition of Icarus Chronicle, where there was a male character there was a female one. Since Zernisha took the form of a beautiful woman, people had expected much of Mircania’s appearance too.

What would it look like? Full of anticipation, I quietly let my imagination unfold. Sky-blue hair? Or gray? A sharp face, or—unexpectedly—gentle eyes and soft features? Perhaps a long-haired youth with a markedly androgynous charm. I wouldn’t know until I tried.

Mircania had always been described as a younger dragon than Zernisha, so the form would surely be that of a young man, or even a boy. Zernisha’s Polymorph form had looked to be in the early or mid-twenties, so Mircania’s would be similar, or a little younger. I was considerably curious what that appearance would be. Before any of that, though, not knowing how to Polymorph was the obstacle.

In-game, a dummy buff had merely indicated that the current entity was in a Polymorph state. There had never been a scene of Zernisha actually using it.

‘Haa... Until I figure this out, am I stuck living as a dragon?’

If I could only learn how to use Polymorph, then in this world—no. Among every user who had played Icarus Chronicle in the world I came from, I would be the only one who knew Mircania’s Polymorph appearance. But I didn’t know the method either, so all I possessed was a sense of how Mircania’s body moved.

So I racked my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brain for every method I could think of, turning over how to make Polymorph succeed.

‘Zernisha always treated Polymorph as if it weren’t particularly difficult. Whenever she came to help Icaria, or appeared as an ally in The Verdant Assassin, she came in human form, didn’t she...?’

Then it couldn’t be an especially hard method. Mircania was said to be roughly Zernisha’s equal in both magic and physical power, and even more talented on the magical side. Surely Polymorph would come easily. Then couldn’t I do it just by thinking of it?

‘...Ah. That’s not it.’

Simply calling the magic to mind did not make Polymorph happen on its own, and I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sank slowly into thought. In this world, magic was a highly refined art—and a miracle—wrought by shaping the flow of mana and changing its nature. I had grown arrogant at the notion of talent and thought of it too lightly. Magic was so often described as a miracle that even I, who had known nothing of it, had assumed I could use it easily. That must have been why I failed.

Once more, I turned my thoughts to magic as it existed in Icarus Chronicle. Magic was cast mainly through incantation, like a white mage’s light magic, or through a catalyst, as battle mages did. And a dragon’s voice and soul were an incantation more certain than any other, a catalyst more effective than any other.

I was no longer the ordinary human who had lived in the world outside. The person named Yeon Harang was gone. I had become the dragon Mircania, and however much I missed the past, I pushed that longing to the back of my mind for now and focused.

Flash—!

In an instant my flesh was wrapped in cold, sky-blue mana, and its form began to change with a gentle smoothness. Two arms and two legs I could proudly call human, a complete human body, and soft hair. As that sensation touched my skin and every nerve was rebuilt, I opened my eyes onto the pure-white snowfield and the bright sunlight, and let out a breath.

“Hwaaah...! I did it...?”

Wait a second...?

“...Hweh?”

But this voice... And why was my hair this long... What were these lumps of flesh on my chest that had absolutely no business being there...?