Bargen Keg.
Yep, that's the name my parents gifted me before they promptly exited this beautiful mess called life.
The name supposedly means "one who never dies." Kind of majestic, right?
Except, turns out living is the hard part.
Dying, on the other hand, seems to be the only thing that works smoothly for me.
Like my last life and the one before that and the one before that and... You know the drill, I never survived more than twenty years in my past lives.
I stared at the iron door in front of me.
It looked like it had survived a hundred angry blacksmiths and at least three zombie apocalypses.
My "room" was small, filthy, and smelled like someone had boiled socks in despair.
Below me? A mysterious black goo that stuck to everything, including my dignity.
It made my sleep feel like I was floating in a thick honey ocean, except the honey smelled like rotten onions. Ten out of ten, would not recommend.
Around me, there was nothing. And I mean that literally. I was caged in the Dungeon of Zelvir, a place so depressing that even ghosts refused to haunt it.
My crime? Existing. Yep. I was born in the wrong patch of dirt and apparently, that's enough to earn a lifetime subscription to hell.
It's been ten long, stinky days since I've been stuck here, and guess what? Today's my big day!
Freedom!
…from life, of course.
You're probably wondering, "What did you even do?"
Well, grab a chair. It's a tragicomedy.
I was born in a tiny village. So tiny it didn't even have a name. If you sneezed while walking through it, you'd miss the whole place. My parents died when I was young, and that's when I realized the universe had it out for me.
Turns out my father was basically a showpiece husband, nice to look at, completely useless otherwise. He borrowed money from the village chief, then he died, and then, to recover his debt, the chief decided to sell me.
What a bargain, right?
"Buy one useless child, get disappointment free!"
Anyway, in this wonderful world, people have Skills. Magical powers. Some can fly, others summon storms, a few can turn invisible… and me?
I can create illusions.
Tiny ones. Like rabbits. Or rats. Or, if I really push myself, two rabbits and a rat doing a conga line.
My illusions can't attack, defend, or even make someone trip. They just… exist. So people called my ability a trash skill.
But my bad luck didn't stop there. The village chief, in all his generosity, sold me not to a farmer, not to a merchant, but to Zelvir, the Great Demon of Fochar.
Yeah. That Zelvir. The kind of guy who probably eats babies for breakfast and washes it down with the tears of orphans.
He was recruiting Skill Bearers for his dark army or whatever. I didn't ask questions, mostly because asking questions gets you killed faster. The middleman told the village chief I'd get food and water, and honestly, that was enough.
So, I started working for Zelvir, doing noble, heroic tasks such as… herding cows using dog illusions. Sometimes I even caught mice.
Truly the stuff of legends.
Life was… okay. I ate, I slept, I even pretended to have hope. Until two week ago, when the demons upstairs decided the place was overcrowded. Their solution?
Kill the "useless" Skill Bearers.
And surprise, surprise, guess who made the cut?
Me! Bargen Keg, Master of Useless Tricks and King of Terrible Luck!
The others got their own cozy cells, but today, we're all graduating together, straight into the Abyss of Jugon.
Who's Jugon? Oh, just a giant monster at the edge of Fochar that eats people like popcorn. Lovely fellow, from what I've heard.
Now, you might be thinking, "Why not just use your illusion power to escape?"
Buddy, I would, if it wasn't for the small issue that my illusions cost me something, something deep, something important.
My life force.
Every illusion I create drains me, like a very slow, sparkly death. So yeah, I could make a big illusion and maybe trick the guards… or I could just die on the spot and save them the trouble.
So here I am, weighing my options:
A) Get eaten by a flesh-eating monster named Jugon.
B) Create an illusion of myself escaping, then die because my soul clocked out.
Tough choice. But hey, at least I'll die doing what I do best, being incredibly unlucky.
Well, enough of the sad and heroic backstory, let's return to the present, where I'm still a certified disaster.
I could hear footsteps echoing down the corridor, the rhythmic clang clang of doom getting louder with every second.
The guards were coming.
And with them came the sweet orchestra of my fellow inmates crying, begging, and doing what humans do best when facing death, embarrassing themselves.
Some were crying so loud you'd think they were auditioning for "Dungeon Idol." Others tried seduction.
Yes. Seduction.
Apparently, that works sometimes.
I even heard that one girl actually managed to charm a guard and buy herself a few extra hours of life.
I swear, she could probably flirt her way out of the underworld itself.
Meanwhile, I sat here, questioning my own gender choices.
I wish I was a girl. Maybe next life. Preferably one with decent luck and not a honey-flavored swamp for a bed.
Soon, I heard the familiar groaning voice of my neighbor, old man Tharos.
Nice guy, bless his unlucky soul. The kind of "nice" that makes even priests feel insecure about their holiness.
We used to live side by side before we both got promoted to this underground paradise.
His power?
Oh, you're going to love this one.
He can vomit flowers.
Yes. Actual flowers. Tulips, daisies, once even a rose bouquet.
A walking romantic disaster.
He used to sell them in the market and somehow made enough to survive.
You think that's weird? Try explaining that to a customer.
"Hey, where'd you get those flowers?"
"Oh, straight from my stomach."
No wonder the man was single.
Anyway, I heard his cries fade out a few moments ago, and when the screaming stops in this dungeon, it only means one thing, congratulations, it's your turn.
I took a deep breath.
"Alright, Bargen," I muttered to myself, "time to use up what's left of that premium-grade life force. No refunds, no second chances."
I could practically feel my soul writing its resignation letter.
Then it happened, the iron door buzzed, rattled, and creaked open.
The guard stepped in.
Not human.
Tall, pointy ears, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, an elf.
And not the beautiful fantasy kind you'd want in your RPG party.
No, this one looked like someone who enjoyed tax audits and kicking puppies.
Elves, the golden children of the world.
They live long, awaken combat skills like it's breathing, and have the collective ego of a thousand peacocks.
Meanwhile, I can make fake rabbits.
The guard peered inside my cell and frowned. Then, like every overconfident boss who thinks he's found a bug in the system, he called for backup.
A second guard arrived, a busty elf woman.
And yes, even in the middle of my imminent death, I noticed.
Hey, dying men have priorities.
But alas, I remembered something crucial from my extensive research (conducted during long nights of boredom and zero female attention):
Elves hate humans.
To them, we're walking garbage with bad fashion sense.
So yes, ogling her was basically like admiring a tiger right before it mauls you.
The first guard squinted at the cell.
"Lura, why isn't anyone here?" he asked, scratching his head like a confused toddler.
The busty elf, Lura, looked inside, her bright green eyes scanning every filthy corner of my cell.
After about two seconds of pretending to care, she shrugged.
"Looks like he's already been thrown out," she said casually and strutted away.
And just like that, miracle of miracles, my luck didn't betray me.
For once.
The guard muttered something under his breath and left too, without closing or locking the door.
If I hadn't been half-dead already, I would've thrown a party right there. Maybe even vomit some flowers in memory of Tharos.
And in case you're wondering why they didn't see me?
Simple.
I had used every last drop of my life force to create the illusion of an empty cell.
It worked beautifully.
Too beautifully.
Because now, as I slumped against the wall, everything felt cold.
My fingers numb, my breath shallow.
The edges of my vision dimmed, and I realized… yeah, this is what dying feels like.
Still, I managed a weak chuckle.
"Guess I really am good at disappearing acts," I whispered.
And for the first time ever, my illusion actually fooled someone important. Maybe not that important to be honest.
Go me.
And after that you can guess what happened. I turned unconscious.