A Desperate Struggle

I will become a Hero.

At the exact moment that message flashed before my eyes, my body moved. But perhaps because my stiff body had suddenly unlocked, my feet tangled and I tumbled to the ground. Fortunately, it allowed me to avoid the lunging wolf.

“Ugh!” My knees were scraped raw from the hard fall, stinging with pain. But I couldn't just lie here forever. Get up!

It worked. My body stood up instantly. I recalled the description of Absolute Obedience.

The part I had misunderstood was the concept of the "Player." I had assumed that by possessing Alan Flake, I had become one and the same with him. But I was wrong. This world still recognized me as the Player. That was why Alan's physical body obeyed my commands.

Is that a relief, at least? Now that I knew my body would move no matter what, it was time to make a decision. Run, or fight.

My eyes locked with the wolf's. Having missed its pounce, the beast skidded across the dirt, leaving long drag marks before turning back around. It clearly had no intention of giving up on me.

Even if I run, I won't be faster than a wolf. In that case, fighting was my only option. I moved quickly, snatching up a wooden stick lying on the ground—the one the kid who seemed to be the leader had been holding.

The moment I grabbed the stick, the wolf seized the opening and lunged at me again. But how do I fight? I had a weapon, but I had absolutely no knowledge of how to use it. It made sense; neither the real-world me nor Alan possessed any memories of how to fend off a wolf.

Desperate, I had no choice but to swing the stick blindly at the incoming beast. Thwack! The stick struck the wolf's head, but I lacked the strength to halt its momentum.

“Aaargh!” A sharp, agonizing pain flared in my left calf. It had bitten me. The beast clamped its jaws shut, refusing to let go. The sudden agony nearly made me drop the stick and collapse.

Kick it!

My right foot lashed out. Struck by the kick, the wolf tumbled away, surprisingly weak.

No time to relax. I quickly scrambled to retrieve the stick. I had managed to pull myself together and survive, but I had been a hair's breadth away from death. The throbbing pain in my leg, showing no signs of fading, was proof of that.

Grrr. The wolf leaped again, this time aiming straight for my throat. Desperately, I jammed the stick horizontally into its open maw. I held on with all my might, but as the wolf thrashed, the stick threatened to slip from my grasp at any second.

I couldn't lose the stick—it was my only weapon. I had to survive. Whatever it took, I had to live. To do that, I needed to do something. But what... Just then, something caught my eye through a tear in my sleeve. It was a Stigma. The Stigma! I still had a card left to play. Inherit [Swordsmanship (B)] from [Stigmata of the Rose (Small)]!

A notification popped up before my eyes.

Every second counted. Just do it, hurry!

At that moment, the Stigma flared with a brilliant light.

Instantly, a flood of information rushed into my mind. From how to grip a blade, to footwork, to channeling strength into a strike—the profound knowledge of swordsmanship was being engraved directly into my brain.

I adjusted my grip on the stick. The sensation felt completely natural, as if I had practiced this swordsmanship my entire life. Trusting that muscle memory, I took a step forward. “Haaah!” Pivoting sharply, I redirected the force of the wolf, which had been locked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in a tense struggle against me. Using its own momentum, I unleashed a powerful, sweeping strike. The wolf, still clamping down hard on the stick, was violently flung through the air and slammed into the ground.

Yip! The wolf let out a painful whimper. But it wasn't over yet. I had to finish this cleanly. The wolf, showing no signs of backing down, staggered back onto its feet. Our eyes met once more. The murderous intent gleaming in its gaze was far more vicious than before. Feeling my body freeze up under that raw hostility, I issued another command. Don't freeze up.

The stiffness vanished instantly. Not only that, but a cold bloodlust of my own began to well up against the beast. I could feel it in my bones—this fight would not end until one of us was dead. “Come on.”

The wolf lunged. It charged at an incredible speed. Pointing the stick toward the beast, I stood my ground and calmly watched its approach. My senses are completely different now. The wolf's charge still felt incredibly fast, and the wooden stick was still heavy for my pathetic strength. Yet, I knew exactly how to swing.

Unlike its previous erratic movements, the wolf was charging in a straight line. I could instinctively read its trajectory and the exact timing of its strike. Now. It was still a bit far, but this was the moment. I stepped forward, shifting my center of gravity. It was a sensation I had never experienced before, yet it felt as natural as breathing. Die! Twisting my upper body, I brought the raised stick down. A clean, perfect swing. CRACK!

The sound of the impact was entirely different from before I had inherited Swordsmanship (B). Simultaneously, a heavy shockwave reverberated through my hands, leaving my wrists tingling. The wolf collapsed instantly. Finish it...! Just as I was about to close the distance to deliver the final blow, I froze. The trembling wolf had gone completely limp.

It's dead? A limp body, clouded pupils, a long tongue lolling out. I had never seen a dead wolf before, but I knew for certain. It was dead. But why? It might have seemed like a strange question to ask, but my confusion was genuine. No matter how high B-rank swordsmanship was, my Strength stat was still F. I hadn't expected to kill it in a single blow. Yet, the wolf was undeniably dead.

This guy... I cautiously approached the wolf. I hadn't noticed in the heat of the moment, but now I could see its condition clearly. The wounds covering its body hadn't been caused by me. The only injury I had inflicted with the stick was the blunt trauma to its head. Every other scar and gash had been there before our encounter. Its frame was emaciated, as if it had been starving for a very long time. It was completely malnourished and weak. It had squeezed out the absolute last of its strength on the brink of starvation just to attack me.

I also recalled that wolves were pack animals. For it to be wandering alone in this state meant it had likely been cast out by its pack. But... I froze, my hand stopping mid-air as I unconsciously reached toward the wolf. Why had I reached out? Was it pity for its plight? Or a sense of kinship with another solitary soul? I didn't know. But one thing was certain—these emotions did not belong to me.

Are these Alan's feelings? It seemed what remained of him wasn't just his body and memories. Perhaps a fragment of Alan's emotions still lingered within me. Considering how excessively my body had frozen up in front of the wolf, it was a highly plausible theory. And now, I thought I understood why Alan's survival rate had been so abysmally low.

Now is not the time to get sentimental.

Immediately, the emotional turbulence subsided, and cold, rational thoughts returned. I stood up. My left calf, where the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wolf had bitten me, was still throbbing painfully. I needed to return to the village and get treated immediately.

Just then, a faint rustling sound came from nearby. Rustle. I looked in the direction of the noise. A young girl was sprawled on the ground. It seemed she, too, had failed to escape. If Alan had rejected the quest, this child would have died. Thinking about it that way, I felt a pang of pity. I wondered how many times she had died in the previous playthroughs.

“Are you okay?” I asked, extending my right hand. The only problem was that my right hand was currently holding a wooden stick stained with wolf blood. The girl, apparently thinking I was pointing the weapon at her, scrambled backward in a panic, her clothes getting covered in dirt and dust.

“I'm not going to hurt you, I just wanted to ask for a favor...” “Aaaah!” Having finally managed to scramble to her feet, the child spun around and bolted as fast as her legs could carry her. I had no idea why she hadn't run away sooner if she was capable of moving that fast. “Sigh... I was going to ask her to help me walk.” My left leg was starting to swell. It throbbed with every step, making it difficult to walk. Still, I had to get back to the village, so I began to limp forward on my own.

Come to think of it...

In the corner of my vision, the quest reward notification appeared.

It was a measly reward. Though, realistically speaking, getting 10 SP for killing a single wolf was actually quite generous. But looking back on it objectively, my actions hadn't been very rational.

Damn it. It had been an impulsive decision. Inheriting Swordsmanship (B) was nothing short of reckless. In the first place, a D-rank quest difficulty was scaled to my current stats and environment. I should have questioned it at least once—specifically, whether the wolf was in normal condition. Lost in the heat of battle, I hadn't realized it, but the wolf had been extremely weak. Every single one of its attacks had likely been a desperate, life-or-death struggle. Even if I hadn't fought back to kill it, if I had just focused on stalling and buying time, the wolf would have collapsed from exhaustion first.

Of course, surviving was what mattered. Once I had resolved to fight, I couldn't guarantee I would have made it out alive without inheriting Swordsmanship (B). But if only I had been a little calmer and assessed the wolf's condition... A lingering regret washed over me. Ugh. The bite wound stung sharply with every step. At this rate, I couldn't even tell who had won.

Right now, I was both the Player and Alan Flake. That cognitive dissonance had led to a series of poor judgments. Driven by my instincts as a Player, I had gone to hunt the wolf with a half-hearted attitude, and then, swept away by Alan's lingering emotions, I had impulsively learned Swordsmanship (B). The game world had become reality. The current situation was undeniably grim. I had been thrown into a dangerous world already marching toward destruction, trapped in the body of a trash-tier character like Alan Flake.

One might think, Why not just avoid becoming a Hero and live a long, quiet life in the village? After all, that was the choice most versions of Alan Flake made. As a character, Alan Flake rarely showed any interest in becoming a Hero. He knew all too well how weak he was. But by refusing the quests, he would lose his childhood friends, and eventually, when the entire village was wiped out, he would realize: becoming a Hero wasn't some grand ambition, but a cruel destiny thrust upon him. Though, of course, in most cases, he died long before reaching that realization.

The Alan Flake of the 100th playthrough had been an anomaly. He had accomplished things no other Alan Flake had done before. While he hadn't followed my instructions perfectly, he had walked his destined path with remarkable diligence and autonomy. In the end, however, he had failed, unable to overcome his lack of innate talent. And now, I had become the Alan Flake of the 101st playthrough. What should I do now?

I turned my head toward the barrier. The massive, hemispherical barrier enveloped the entire region of Basil, its faint red glow visible from almost anywhere. The barrier was humanity's final line of defense, protecting them from the corrupting substance known as Chaos. Beyond its borders lurked the mutated monsters known as Chaos Beasts.

It seemed as though the barrier would protect humanity forever, but that was a mere illusion. This winter, a Demon King would tear a hole in the barrier, and Chaos Beasts would pour through the breach. And the village closest to that breach was none other than Alan's hometown. That tragedy would rob Alan of his home and force ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him onto his journey.

Can I stop it? With Swordsmanship (B), I could probably fight off some of the Chaos Beasts, provided I raised my physical stats to a decent level. But if asked whether I could face a Demon King, the answer was an absolute no. Demon Kings were entities that required high-grade Heroes just to match. For now, I decided to put that out of my mind. Rather than dwelling on the impossible, focusing on what was achievable was the priority.

I need to get stronger. Even if I couldn't defeat a Demon King yet. I wanted to make Alan Flake a Hero. That was the very reason I had raised him through a hundred playthroughs. I will make him a Hero. I would show the bastards who had thrown me here to mock me. I would prove that if only he had listened to me, he could have become a Hero.

Investing my SP into Swordsmanship (B)? Looking back, it wasn't a bad choice. I was just annoyed that I had made the decision impulsively. In my current situation, learning Swordsmanship (B) was far better than holding onto Precocious (Small), which offered zero combat capability. I could always acquire Precocious (Small) later once I used ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my swordsmanship to farm more SP. I will become a Hero. I already knew exactly what needed to be done to achieve that. After all, a flawless plan had already been mapped out in my head over the course of a hundred playthroughs.