It’s called that, but there are no books here.
“Before the Admins introduced the Navinet, we used to get all our info from places like this,” Tamara explained as Alan consulted a system screen.
“So, there’s an Engineer Class, huh?” Alan muttered. “What do they do?”
“Is that the Class you're interested in?” Tamara moved closer, reading over his shoulder. “Look, it's divided into three subclasses. One specializes in crafting their own custom weapons and armor, one acts as a support, creating healing and boost devices for their team, and one allows the User to build robotic minions to fight for them.”
“All of them sound interesting,” Alan said, tapping the screen until Marissa’s loud groan made him cringe.
“Are you seriously going to waste all day here?” Marissa moaned, upside down in an armchair. “This is your first day in Londorus! You should do something fun instead!”
Tamara shook her head. “Um, Marissa...”
“You know what? I’d love to take a walk around the city,” Alan said, looking expectantly at Tamara.
“Londorus is a Safe Zone, Tammie,” Marissa insisted.
Tamara pursed her lips, as if battling internally. “F-Fine! But we have to be back before Astrid returns, okay? Remember, you’re having dinner with her tonight.”
“Yay!” Marissa beamed, jumping out of her seat. “Where should we go first? Maybe we could hit Jack Robins? I’m craving a milkshake.”
“I don’t know what that is, but sure! Count me in. But before we go, can I copy this Engineer info to my User Interface?” Alan asked.
“You can store it in a book instead!” Tamara chuckled. “There’s a ‘print’ option on the top right corner of the screen. Tap it.”
Alan did, and a blue leather book emerged from a slit in the desk. “Cool,” he said, snatching it and saving it to his inventory.
“Let’s go, then!” Marissa sang, marching toward the exit while pulling Tamara by one arm.
It took them a couple of minutes to reach the front gate. It was easier to ignore the curious gazes of other guild members with Marissa by his side. The young woman marched as though she were the true Guild Master, confident and proud, with Tamara seemingly insignificant beside her. Alan glanced at her; she walked cautiously, as if danger lurked at every corner.
Before they reached the gates that would open up to the bustling city, a familiar redhead blocked their path, appearing as if she had come out of nowhere.
“Hey, guys! Where are you going? What’s the hurry?” Amelia asked with a wide smile, taking Alan off guard.
“We’re just going to show him around,” Marissa replied, giggling. “Would you like something from Jack Robins, sis?”
“Oh, Marissa, you don’t have to go that far to get ice cream. There’s plenty in the kitchen. Or you could have one of the servants get it for you.”
“That’s no fun! And the kitchen’s ice cream doesn’t hold a candle to Jack’s!”
“Fine, you have a point,” Amelia said in a soft voice before her gaze shifted to Alan. “By the way, weren’t you curious about seeing the abilities of a high-skilled warrior?” She tilted her chin, locking eyes with him. “We’re about to start a friendly match at one of our gyms. What do you say?”
“That sounds fun, but I promised the girls that--”
“Marissa!” a faint male voice interjected from behind a proud valkyrie statue. Looking back, they saw a nervous Matthew Berstein. “Come. I need to talk to you.”
Before Marissa could react, another person approached quickly. “Tamara. Can I have a word with you?”
Alan immediately recognized William, the one who had led him to Marco the night prior. One could never forget someone as huge as him.
“What’s wrong?” Tamara asked, walking toward William, seeming tiny in comparison. “Do you need my assistance with something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” William crouched and whispered something in her ear.
“That’s wonderful!” Tamara said, clapping her hands. “Alan, why don’t you go with Amelia and watch the match? I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”
“I second that,” Marissa added. “Sorry, but I have to… It won’t take long, okay? We’ll meet at the gym. What gym exactly?” she asked Amelia while Matthew insistently pulled her by the wrist.
Amelia waved them off. “Don’t worry, take your time. We’ll have plenty of fun in the meantime.” She suddenly grabbed Alan’s arm. “Isn’t that right?”
And just like that, the group split.
“Later, guys,” Alan muttered as he watched them take different paths.
“This way,” Amelia demanded, letting go of him and returning to her cold demeanor.
As expected, Alan thought, following her while keeping a modest distance.
“Does Marco want to show me something?” he asked with a sigh.
“You’re not as dumb as you look.” Amelia snickered. “The answer is yes. We even got you a front-row seat to see one of our brightest members’ abilities.”
“Can’t wait,” he muttered as they walked toward a white dome with a large red number 3 on it.
The moment they crossed the entrance, Alan sensed a change in the atmosphere—a heavy, intoxicating air around him.
Numerous signs greeted him with motivational catch phrases about becoming stronger and being the best version of yourself. Mannequins wearing athletic outfits with the logo of a shooting star across their chests lined the walls. The red walls and floor only intensified his senses.
“Come on, people are waiting,” Amelia said, abruptly turning into a corridor.
Alan glanced back at the double doors they had left behind, thinking they should’ve entered there. It read ‘Entrance A’.
The narrow corridor curved sharply, the carpet muffling their steps. In the distance, Alan could hear a collective murmur, growing louder. A bluish light marked the end of the road.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” Amelia said with a mischievous grin as a stage widened in front of Alan’s eyes.
They entered a semi-circular ring surrounded by occupied stands. A crowd of more than thirty people cheered as soon as Alan became visible.
He absently kept walking forward, mouth agape. “This place sure is popular, huh.”
“What did you expect?” Amelia said, facing him. “They all came to watch their new First Officer in action.”
“What was that?”
The voice of Jason Foreman suddenly resonated through the speakers: <
What in the hell is happening? Alan thought, looking around in confusion. The announcer, easily identifiable in his tacky orange suit and monocle, moved between the rows, dancing and enticing the crowd. Alan’s eyes then landed on the woman who had brought him here, standing proudly in her spot. No way…
<
Ghost?
“Wait, there’s a mistake,” Alan said pleadingly, but the crowd erupted in cheers.
“Don’t underestimate Amelia or you’ll regret it!”
“Show us what you’ve got! Don’t hold back!”
Alan finally understood what he had felt at the entrance. It’s the smell of blood, sweat, and competition.
“A-Amelia…” Alan stuttered, lifting his palms. “I thought we were just going to watch a friendly match. Not getting me into one!”
“It’s just as you said,” Amelia said softly, already equipping a pair of gloves with gems encrusted on the backs of her hands. “This is just a friendly competition.”
She’s not kidding!
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Goddammit!”
Realizing he had no other choice, Alan began issuing a loud voice command to equip himself, but Amelia was quicker.
“Fire Crafting, Dragonbreath,” she intoned calmly. Flames burst from her palm, engulfing Alan in an instant, scorching him from head to toe. The fire reached the audience, but an automated force shield withstood the attack.
Surprised groans and laughs echoed through the dome, turning into cheers when Alan reappeared in the ring, completely intact.
“What the—?!” he gasped.
He fell on his back. A moment ago, he had been engulfed in excruciating pain, his vision blinding red. But now, here he was, revived by the system.
Trembling, Alan glanced at a giant screen to his right that showed his name and a score: Amelia - 1 / Alan - 0.
“Get up,” a voice commanded, jolting him. It was Amelia, poised and ready to strike again.
“Wait a—” Alan lost his voice as a raging fire slammed into his face. Moments later, he gasped and fell to his knees. His hands hit the floor, confirming that he had died and been resurrected again.
But the pain…
The pain was still there.
The score updated immediately, followed by cries from the audience.
“Easy, Amelia, give him a chance!”
“Why did he just stand there like an idiot?”
“Come on, Ghost! Show us a real fight!”
“HE CAN’T!” Amelia roared, making the whole place fall silent. “Take a good look at him! His level? A complete farce! It might show danger to us, but it’s a lie! Jason, why don’t you give the microphone to one of the NPCs so they can tell us the truth?!”
Jason Foreman grinned and obeyed, gesturing to an NPC servant to approach. Alan squinted and recognized the male NPC from the dorms.
<
Jason snatched the microphone back. <
“He’s a fraud!”
“What are you playing at, Ghost?!”
Amelia smiled after hearing the complaints. With a sudden, chilling motion, she pierced Alan’s chest and drove her fingers through his heart. The scoreboard updated as she spoke, her voice booming, "Do all of you see this? While we were working our asses off to make this guild a top contender, what was this loser doing, huh?! Nothing!" Her words echoed, not waiting for Alan to reform, as she casually burned him once again. "And what does he do when he finally decides to show up? Steal Marco’s position? Did you think you’d get away with this, Ghost?!"
Once revived, Alan gazed up at the redhead, his voice breaking. “I never…”
Before he could finish, Amelia swiftly decapitated him with a single, decisive motion. Alan’s head separated from his body with a sickening snap, turning into pixels the instant it hit the floor, censored by the system. When he respawned, the phantom pain from the decapitation clung to him like a heavy, invisible wound.
The crowd, which had been cheering for Amelia as both judge and executioner, began to quiet. The scoreboard ticked up—eight… nine… ten.
Then, a powerful voice rang out from beyond the arena. "That’s enough, Amelia!"
<
“Cut it, Jason,” Marco Souza interjected, his voice stern as he approached. “This isn’t a spectacle.”
Jason’s enthusiasm deflated as he shut off the microphone.
Amelia bowed slightly as Marco entered the ring, her right hand still stained with Alan’s blood. "Marco."
"Were you punishing him on my behalf? How cute," Marco remarked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Amelia blushed, her voice soft. "I could keep going all night if you ordered me to."
"No, sweetheart, it’s my turn to deal with this… guy."
Alan, still covered in pixels, locked eyes with Marco, now standing before him. Look who just makes his entrance.
"It seems your little stunt has come to an end, Level Five," Marco said, addressing Alan while the guild members in the stands clamored for more blood.
"Yeah! Show him, Lord Marco!"
"Make him pay!"
A sweaty, ragged Alan managed a tired snicker. “Hey, Marco, what’s up? Tell me, why is this gal telling everyone I stole your job?”
Marco raised his hand, silencing the crowd. The giant screen overhead zoomed in on Marco’s calm expression. "Playing dumb? I stopped being First Officer the moment you showed up."
Alan’s lips barely curled into a sneer. "Are you saying I did it?"
"That's what opportunists do when they get the chance," Marco said coolly. "They usurp, lie, steal… Did you think you could waltz in here and everyone would just bow to you? That you'd take command like it was nothing, when all these people here have worked to rise through the ranks, paying in blood and sweat?"
Alan squinted, returning to his fighting stance. "Pal… I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Marco studied him for a moment, then smirked. "Explain this then."
The screen flickered and a new scene appeared: Alan, sitting arrogantly in a red faux-leather chair, a smug smile on his face.
<
Alan’s mouth went dry. He recognized the room—it was the Trophy Room. Was that recorded from last night?! But I never said those things!
The crowd’s reactions were immediate and harsh.
“How dare he talk to Marco like that?”
“So, that’s how he really is? What a joke!”
Alan’s heart raced as he returned his attention to the recording, where Marco responded, his voice soft but firm, <
The other Alan sneered. <
The crowd’s anger was palpable.
“He’s been gone for three years, and this is what he comes back with?”
“What the hell! Marco’s earned his place, unlike him!”
“Astrid knows about this?! Disgusting!”
Alan’s blood boiled. Seething, he lunged at Marco, fists raised. “MARCO! I NEVER--!”
But Amelia, moving faster than Alan could track, intercepted him and knocked him aside effortlessly, sending him crashing to the floor.
She then armlocked him and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t we hear what your beloved Astrid has to say first, hmm?”
“It is prohibited to record our peers inside the facilities,” Marco began in a deep, measured voice. “But from the moment this man entered our boundaries, I knew something was off. So, I ask for your forgiveness in advance for what I’m about to show you. But believe me, it was necessary.”
The screen flickered again, revealing a tidy office with a desk at the center. Marco sat behind it, looking uncharacteristically nervous. <
A recorded Astrid stood up and answered in a deep tone, <
<
Everyone in the room could feel it. That was a private matter, something that was not meant to reach the general guild, but it mattered for the future of Shooting Stars.
<
When the recording ended, Alan realized it must have taken place before Astrid had flown off on her winged lion.
Conflicted, he clenched his teeth, still trapped by Amelia’s hold. That last recording felt off in a completely different way, as if it had been deliberately edited to favor Marco. And yet, he did not doubt those words really came out of Astrid’s mouth.
Did she really mean what she said? About me being the new second-in-command? That’s not the issue right now, though. All of this is a farce—Amelia bringing me here, the fake me talking nonsense, and then this… Why is this happening?
Alan focused on the man he suspected had orchestrated it all. “Marco…” he groaned, his voice low. “Why are you doing this?”
“Let him go, Amelia,” Marco said, loosening his tie. Alan seized the opportunity, quickly equipping his Beginner’s Sword. Marco smirked at the sight. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“I know I can’t win,” Alan said through clenched teeth, “but if I can at least cut your stupid face...”
Marco chuckled. "All right, I’ll entertain you. Sadly, I don't have proficiency in elemental magic, like my colleague here. I can only cast the most basic fire spells, like this one... Lesser Fire Crafting, Blaze.” Alan’s body was consumed by fire in an instant, despite his efforts to dodge. Then, as the system began rendering Alan’s new body, Marco turned to Amelia. “What’s the name of the most basic ice spell?”
“It’s ‘Chill.’”
“Oh, right. Let me help you fight that heat, Alan,” Marco said, amused. “Lesser Ice Crafting, Chill. And now something that’ll really shock you. Lesser Lightning Crafting, Zap.”
Alan’s body was scorched once more, collapsing before being reborn. The guild members stood silent, no longer bloodthirsty but watching, as if it was their duty.
"That son of a…" Amelia whispered, watching Alan rise again for the thirtieth time.
Marco laughed, raising his hand as a dark aura enveloped him. “As I was saying,” he boomed, “I’m not an elemental mage. I specialize in dark magic. I’m a warlock, you see. We like to mess with our opponents’ minds and inflict pain that even the best armor can’t stop. Allow me to demonstrate…” Marco began channeling mana.
That looks like it’ll take him forever to finish!
Lifting his sword, Alan lunged forward, but Marco vanished from his sight. The next thing Alan saw was Marco’s palm.
“Mayor Dark Conjure…”
“Stop it!”
“Slumbermare…”
* * * * *
* * * *
* * *
* *
*
* * * * *
* * * *
* * *
* *
*
A scene unraveled in Alan’s mind—a picture of something he desperately wanted to avoid.
Please don’t!
The Santa Maria’s pristine white corridors, now stained with blood...
I don’t want to see it!
Small drone units mopping the floors, erasing every visible trace of ruin. But the stench lingered…
I refuse to believe it!
Automatons carrying bodies…
Please, just stop!
And tossing them into the cold, endless void of space.
Don’t show me this! You think I haven’t thought about it?! Of course, I have! I’m not stupid! But I refuse to believe it happened like this!
Another vision—an automaton, engulfed in shadows, its red electronic eyes glowing as it entered the cryo-chambers.
No, no, no, no, no!
It stepped in front of a sleeping pod, where a blonde teenager rested. Was that… Astrid’s pod?
Then, the automaton stepped into the light, revealing a knife in its grasp.
It was wearing Ashley’s face.
Marco, are you seeing this?! I hope you’re enjoying the show, asshole! This is what I’ve been dealing with for the last eight real-life months! While you sat here playing mafia boss, I was out there making sure your asses stayed attached to your backs, you prick!