Jackal Among Snakes

In the middle of a vast plain, a single, well-travelled dirt road led to a tower. The tower was circular and made wholly of a dark gray stone, and it stood hundreds, if not a thousand feet tall. Stained glass windows dotted its side at points. Its walls were inscribed, giving the stark gray building depth it otherwise lacked. If one were to stare for a while, they could see faint trails of light dancing along the engravings. They were the dim afterglow of enchantments that kept such a piece of architecture standing.

On one of the floors in the middle of the colossal structure, a set of gray eyes stared out the stained-glass window, peering at the sun. Or rather, the suns—dual balls of fire stood high in the sky, partially shielded by clouds. One star was white, the other orange. The white star was the smaller of the two.

The owner of the gray eyes was a remarkably tall man with wavy obsidian-color hair. He sat cross-legged at a window-side table, a bronze hand mirror hanging loosely from his idle hand. He wore drab gray robes that looked to be made of burlap. An owl had been sewn onto the shoulders of his garments. The robes covered his figure well, but his pale bony fingers and gaunt face betrayed a skinny physique. Despite his gauntness, though, he was quite handsome.

The man’s name was Argrave. Staring at these two suns in the sky, he was rather confident he had gone through the five stages of grief in the past few hours: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and then acceptance.

The subject of his grief was himself—or rather, his past life.

Argrave’s first reaction, denial, could perhaps be considered ordinary when awakening in a body wholly unfamiliar to him. These long, skinny legs and these harsh, steely eyes must have been the result of an overactive subconscious, he was sure. Alternate realities were merely theories without evidence. This ‘transmigration’ must be a fever dream induced by… well, fever, naturally.

But reality refused to change, and he was forced to confront a fact; he had transmigrated into a game, namely, ‘Heroes of Berendar.’

In the ‘anger’ phase of grief, Argrave stewed over what he had left. He was just a college student—a college student midway through his studies, at that. His life was just beginning. Now, he was here? He was in a miserable world where most of the cities lack basic sanitation?

But Argrave had always been a calm person in his past life, and his anger faded quickly.

Argrave third tried to bargain in his process of grief. He pleaded to whatever existence had taken him here to take him back—or better yet, to give him a different character. Why had he transmigrated into this game, ‘Heroes of Berendar?’ Why had he transmigrated into Argrave of Vasquer, a person all but universally reviled? Argrave of Vasquer was a bastard of the royal family, not some noble scion. He was but a minor NPC in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ and one who met a very unpleasant end regardless of the player’s interference.

went unanswered, and his

towards him. The fact that it was his

his fortune, the worst of the five stages came and went

Berendar,’ his future prospects were limitless. That could be said for everyone, of

game wikis.’ Some people had to be martyrs, delving through the game for thousands of hours to fill out

reassure Argrave. Instead, it only served as fuel for his

Berendar’ was fun, indeed; it had great wars, foul monsters, ancient calamities and gods, and other such ‘fun’ gameplay. The game was a grim gothic

with varying styles. One could make a custom character, too. Their personalities were all different, as were

see his gray

[Tall], [Sickly], [Weak],

(D)], [Healing Magic (D)],

their stats. So much had been ripped away; he could not see his attributes, for instance, nor his health and fatigue. The menu

ever held. Without fail, this little mirror followed the player through every second of ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ It was a companion to importance, a symbol, unwittingly, to duty. The player decided the fate of many things in the continent of Berendar, through

how this world would end up. And the player always had the

Suddenly, he threw it aside. It bounced against the wall, ringing quietly, and then slid across the floor while spinning. He watched it as it

the table, kneading his forehead as he stared at the mirror. He chuckled to himself and shook his

this?” He stood from the chair and walked over to pick up the mirror. He picked it up, and then walked to the bed where he cleaned it off with the white bedsheet. He gazed at the simple menu in the mirror, walking to the window where the dual suns still stood outside. He could remember those traits and skills displayed on the menu by heart. He had written

character possessed it. What’s more, a High in [Magic Affinity] was a godsend for a mage character. These extreme blessings were combated by the [Weak] and [Sickly] traits. [Weak] was fixable if he exercised and ate properly. [Sickly] made

a warrior. He disliked touching people,