Online In Another World-Chapter 281 No Rest For The Wicked

As he raised his hand above his view, he could see the small cuts left from the rodent humanoid earlier still present on his fingers.

This wasn't the usual way things had gone, at least in recent times.

My Undying Blood…It's not working, he thought, Is it suppressed down here like my magic and system? Is it gone? Is this not my normal body? I still don't know anything. I need answers–and now.

Finally deciding to get back up, he found himself in a peculiar room, kept barely illuminated by a single candlestick on the ground, harboring a flickering, orange flame and a note beside it.

A note? He noticed.

The metallic flooring wasn't present in the roomy chamber, instead replaced by grimy, cracked stone that was left with lifeless overgrowth of a black shade.

As he knelt down by the note left in the center of the room, he found three other objects beside it: a rusty dagger, a flimsy bow, and a quiver holding a dozen arrows.

Weapons…? I don't like the implications here, he thought.

Finally picking up the note, he read the straightforward note left for him: "Kill or be killed, Dragonheart. Best of luck."

For a moment, he was left still while knelt, taken aback by the specific usage of his surname by the unknown author of the note.

"…'Kill or be killed'?" He repeated to himself, reading off the ominous note.

While in a sense it was vague, it also couldn't be much clearer than that for the young man: he knew what it meant–a fight was coming.

Though what struck him as odd were the tools to accomplish a victory in battle supplied to him: a dagger and bow. These two weapons were ones he had zero experience with, and without the assistance of magic, felt like a tall order to successfully use in battle without any training.

"Guess I'll have to make do with this," he said to himself.

Keeping the dagger and bow close to himself, he kept the quiver slung on his back before looking around the room for any potential "enemy" coming. It was a completely closed off chamber, about as large as a colosseum with multiple, differing size pillars of metal throughout its space.

There was no way out from what he could see, as the chute's exit was too high, but there were barred off exits on the sides of the chamber.

"…Come on already," he mumbled.

The silence was gnawing; as the warning on the note was in his mind, he could hardly sit still with the suspense in the air.

As he walked over to the other side of the chamber, he tugged on the steel bars of one of the exits, doing nothing to budge it in the slightest. All he could see into the corridor beyond the bars were shadows.

Crap. Am I trapped here? He thought.

It didn't seem like there was any way back out, at least not the way he came in, but he could only assume he was not meant to leave the chamber quite yet.

Left in silence and the emptiness of the room, he held the flimsy bow left for him, trying to get a feel for it as he ran his fingertips against the thin spine of the weapon.

"…Julius never really liked archers. He always went on about how 'bows made people into cowards' and that 'swords were manlier and more reliable'," He reminisced to himself.

The close-minded beliefs of his father when it came to the art of combat was much of the reason he was solely experienced with a broadsword and nothing else. In fact, he couldn't recall ever even holding a bow in his hands, as it felt foreign wielding the projectile-flinging tool between his fingers.

If a fight was coming though, he wanted to at least be somewhat capable of utilizing the bow, even if only at the most novice level.

"Let's see…Is this right?" He mumbled.

Grabbing an arrow and drawing the string back, he focused up as he held the arrow in place with the tip facing towards one of the metallic pillars in the room. It was difficult for him to maintain the draw length, unknowing if his grip was proper or not.

As he released his hold of the string, he let the arrow fly towards the pillar, aiming for the tiny notch in the reflective metal. Sailing forth, the projectile did not follow his aim at all, instead flying off to the right in a completely unpredictable direction.

"Ah…That's not good," he remarked to himself with a sigh.

Without the all-encompassing aid of magic at his fingertips, he felt it necessary to garner any tools he could, trying his best to become at least adequate with the bow, but it didn't seem that he would be able to self-teach himself very well.

He adjusted his grip and the amount he drew the string back, but his aim didn't improve much, leaving him having to collect the arrows multiple times as the arrowheads began to dull from the repeated misses.

What felt like a couple hours passed and there had yet to come any change in the room or the arrival of the insinuated enemy, leaving the young man bored and on edge.

What's going on here? Am I supposed to figure a way out or what? He questioned, I already checked–I can't get out of this room unless those bars come down first.

It wasn't as though he lacked patience, but the paranoia of constantly waiting, having to sit in the room like a meal waiting for whatever unknown predator was awaiting him, forced him to not ease up for a moment. He paced around the room, checking every nook-and-cranny for hints or clues to progress further, but found nothing capable of aiding him.

What made it especially frustrating for the young Dragonheart, grating his knowledgeable soul like steel wool against his pride, was the fact he knew that with his spells, he'd be able to trump such a room.

Yet, there was no benefit to dwelling on such information as he dropped down, sitting against the wall as he kept the bow resting by his side and the rusty dagger held in his right hand.

I'll just have to sit here and wait it out then…I can do that, right? He thought.

Sitting there in the mysterious temple, within the unknown realm, in concealed circumstances, he found a thousand questions swirling in his mind as he looked down at his own two hands.

I died. I'm pretty sure of that much at least, he thought, still…I don't feel dead. I feel out of place in this realm–that's the feeling I'm going to hold onto.

Hours passed by as he sat there in stagnation, awaiting the note's warning, but alas, nothing had yet to come. Those hours soon crawled into a countless amount of time, imperceivable without the concept of night and day to guide him–perhaps only a few more hours had traversed his existence, or perhaps an entire day had leapt.

It was impossible to know, however, what he did know is that he was becoming maddened by the boredom: there was nothing to inspect in the minimalistic chamber, nothing to do, and nothing to occupy himself with besides the countless theories he had of his own circumstances in the mysterious realm.

Somehow, despite being so on edge, he managed to nod off against his better judgment, slipping into a state of unconsciousness.

A buzzing met his ears, like a fly circling his head, growing close to his ears, becoming blaring at some point.

What…is this? He questioned.

It was nothing like normal slumber; he found himself entrenched in a thick darkness, as if trapped in a swamp of accursed waters, clung onto by leaves that gripped onto him like hands. Suffocating it was; air was replaced by smoke, filling his lungs as he struggled, having to choose to drown in the abyssal waters or choke on the void of smoke.

Yet, spending what felt like torturous hours in this nightmarish space, constantly flailing his limbs as disembodied hands reached from the dark lakes to pull him down, he didn't die.

It was a constant state of "dying"; there wasn't a second where he could properly breath, constantly hyperventilating for hours on end.

Eventually, he woke up– 𝙛𝔯𝒆e𝔀e𝗯𝓷𝗼𝘃e𝚕.𝒄𝗼𝗺

"Huuuu–!"

He startled awake, covered in sweat as he immediately sucked a deep breath into his lungs, having to calm himself after realizing it truly was a dream.

His lungs burned, as if he truly had been straining them during the duration of his sleep, having to take calming breaths as he realized his hands were quivering.

What was that…? It was terrible, he questioned.

A bitter cold was left on his body in the aftermath of the horrid dream, forcing him to forgo sleep as he sat there, gathering himself as he attempted to place those experiences in the back of his mind.