Chapter 58
Written by Bayzo Albion
A new day dawned, carrying with it the crisp whisper of change on the breeze—something uncharted yet irresistibly alluring. Sunbeams pierced the morning haze like threads of molten gold, weaving themselves into the fabric of unfolding destinies. Each sunrise was a blank canvas, and once again, I gripped the brush of my own fate.
"Woe from wit—that's what happens when you're immune to the opium haze of propaganda. And it's everywhere here: in every glance, every word... even in this cigarette," I mused, exhaling a ring of enchanted smoke that twisted and shimmered into the form of a radiant phoenix, its wings flickering with ethereal fire before dissolving into the ether.
"What else can we improve in this world?" my double asked lazily, lounging on a chaise like an eternal vacationer, his eyes half-lidded with mock indifference.
"The water," I replied without hesitation. "Imagine the sea as soft as down feathers, as gentle as a cloud. Just a tweak to its molecular structure, and swimming becomes pure ecstasy. Go on, test it out."
"And you?"
"I've got bigger things on my plate."
"You're the grown-up, and I'm the eternal kid," he chuckled. "We're different, but still one and the same."
"You could live separately if you wanted."
"Thanks, but no thanks," he laughed, the sound light and carefree, echoing our unbreakable bond.
I lingered in front of the mirror, wincing at my reflection. My current form clashed horribly with the sophisticated image of a magical cigarette connoisseur—the kind who savored each puff like a forbidden secret.
"Changing your looks just for those smokes? Really?" my double raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with amusement.
One by one, I reshaped my features:
Hair—perfect silver strands cascading like liquid moonlight.Nose—a noble aquiline bridge, reminiscent of ancient heroes carved in marble.Eyes—deep, abyssal pools reflecting distant stars, drawing in anyone who dared to meet my gaze.Build—tall and commanding, as if born to rule empires.Physique—harmonious proportions, sculpted to flawless symmetry, radiating an aura of unyielding strength.
The mirror now revealed not me, but a figure exuding confidence and power, an embodiment of regal authority. Only my double remained unchanged—a living echo of my former self, a reminder of the man I'd been before ambition reshaped me.
"I'm not betraying myself," he grumbled, brushing off his shoulder with exaggerated nonchalance. "Unlike you."
"Good for you," I said calmly. "From now on, I'm Cuddly Boogeyman. And you? You're still Gandalf from Rivia."
Activating god mode, I conjured the perfect attire.
> System: Royal uniform created.
> Effects:
> 1) Self-regeneration from sunlight.
> 2) Auto-thermoregulation.
"And that's it?" Gandalf drawled disappointedly, squinting at the iridescent fabric that shifted colors like a living prism. "No fire resistance? Ice? Magic wards? Protection from nosy neighbors? Fine, I'll admit it— this new look does give you an edge of determination."
> Interface: Avatar switch.
> Available:
> 1) Gandalf from Rivia
> 2) Cuddly Boogeyman
"I want to conquer the village," I declared suddenly, taking a slow drag from my magical cigarette, the smoke curling around my words like a veil of mystery.
My double perked up, throwing his arms skyward in dramatic flair. "Now that's what I'm talking about! But let's make it legendary—a spectacle that'll echo through the ages. Future generations will whisper about it in awe and terror, blurring the line between fact and fable until reality itself bends to the myth!"
– – –
We set off for the village on foot. Again.
"Damn, we forgot to set a teleport marker," I sighed, leaping over the mangled remains of yet another monster, its twisted limbs still twitching faintly in the underbrush.
My double clutched his head theatrically and rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Oh, the trials of my weary path! These beasts are relentless—nipping at heels, lopping off heads. And poor me, suffering through it all, composing epic tragedies in my mind..."
He dropped to his knees, hand pressed to his chest, moaning like a performer on a grand stage, his voice rising in mock agony.
"Who are you even performing for?" I asked dryly, not breaking stride.
"For the legends, of course," he shot back without missing a beat, springing back to his feet with surprising agility. "Someone in this duo has to play the victim while you perfect your Cuddly Boogeyman the Conqueror persona..." He paused, struck by a sudden epiphany. "Hey, why not learn to enjoy the walk itself? I've heard some women can reach climax just from strolling—rhythm, sway, the body's awakening."
"That sounds like overkill."
"Fine, then just euphoria. Like a runner's high, but for walkers. Step by step, hips rolling, body tingling deeper and sweeter with every mile..."
I shook my head, suppressing a groan. "You're impossible."
"Alright, new plan," he said with a sly grin. "We watch inspirational videos while we hike. Builds anticipation, keeps morale high—you know, for educational purposes. We'll reach the village in record time." He gave an exaggerated bow. "But enough… motivation for now. What's the real plan for taking that place?"
"Recon first. Then chaos. Finally, triumph," I listed, staring ahead into the thickening forest, where shadows danced like hidden threats.
"I love it when you talk in riddles!" He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Which means we have zero concrete steps and are winging it entirely. Perfection!"
His laughter rang out, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile. In that blend of madness and bravado, true stories were born—raw, unpredictable, and etched into eternity.
Ahead, the village lights flickered like distant stars, beckoning us into our "grand" adventure...
"Brilliant," he sneered, "conquer with cock instead of sword. Too brilliant, like a mockery of history itself." Tell me, has a whore ever toppled an empire? No. But we'll be the first.
He tore through the air with his words, eyes blazing as if he already saw us immortalized in tales: "The Great Cock, unifier of continents! They'll whisper about us in smoke-filled dens, sing in seedy taverns, gasp in beds, and curse on public squares. Not as heroes—as filthy bastards who fucked as fiercely as they killed."
His laugh was low and raspy, not a joke but a declaration of war in carnal form.
"I couldn't have done better anyway," I smirked.
Luck, that fickle mistress, guided us tenderly through the woods. No monsters, no traps—just smooth passage. We entered the village unscathed.
But there was a catch. They recognized me immediately.
Curse it. I'd changed my name, face, even my gait. But in this world, identity wasn't skin-deep; it was magical vibration, the very breath of power.
"Obviously," my double smirked as I fought to keep my composure.
Women gathered around us, their gazes heavy and inviting, like ripe fruit begging to be plucked.
The battle began—not on bloodied fields, but in tangled sheets, amid moans and negotiations where passion wielded the blade.
I was ready.
Deliberately, I drew a gleaming sword from my spatial pocket. Its light flooded the square, the air humming with sacred energy. Under the stunned eyes of the guards, I extended it forward.
"Deliver this to your leader," I said with icy poise.
Their hands trembled as they accepted the relic. The senior guard paled, as if facing death incarnate.
"This... it can't be..." he whispered, his face draining of color. "Th-this is... the Holy Sword!" His voice cracked into a shrill hush. "But no unclean being could even touch it!"
Silence blanketed the village like a shroud. Even the wind held its breath. All eyes fixed on me.
I offered only a enigmatic smile. "I never claimed to be unclean."
"Even so...!" Another guard collapsed to his knees, forehead pressed to the dirt. "Only chosen heroes can wield this blade!"
> Interface: Village successfully captured!
My double and I exchanged glances, exhaling in unison:
"What..?"
"How..?"
> Interface: Accept title of village chief?
> Income: +1000 gold/year
"Of course... yes," I muttered, disbelief washing over me like a cold wave.
"How does this even work?!" my double exploded, flailing his arms.
I scanned the crowd. They stood wary, but hope sparked in their eyes—a fragile flame amid the ashes of despair. I stepped forward.
"So. I'm your chief now. Any objections?"
The crowd roared as one: "Nooo!"
A young man emerged from the throng—lean, weary-faced, but with defiant courage burning in his gaze. "The old chief... was executed yesterday."
"Why?" I frowned, gripping the sword tighter, its hilt warm against my palm.
"The Church of the Holy Blade sentenced him for losing the relic," he said bitterly. "Without the sword, we were defenseless. Monsters raided almost nightly. The last days... were hell."
Silence descended again, laced with sorrow and echoes of lost lives.
I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the sword—and their fates—settle on my shoulders like an invisible yoke. "Luck's a fine thing... but this is ridiculous."
My double smirked and clapped my back. "Remember, brother: for every lucky bastard, there's one even luckier."
> Interface: New status – "Chief of Arcadia Village"
> Duties: Protection from ancient monsters.