The capital of Aethelgard was a museum of the bizarre.
Elian walked down the main cobblestone street, waving his hand in front of the face of a burly blacksmith. The man didn't blink. He stood with one arm raised, a hammer frozen in mid-swing above an anvil, his mouth open in a shout that made no sound.
"This is deeply unsettling," Sir Kaelen whispered, keeping his shield raised as he shimmied sideways past a frozen fishmonger. "Are they... dead? Is this a spell of mass petrification?"
"It's lag," Elian replied, stepping around a group of children caught in a suspended game of tag. "Or rather, it's a script pause. The cutscene where the King welcomes the Hero hasn't triggered, so the background NPCs don't have permission to move yet."
It was eerie, walking through a bustling metropolis that was completely silent. The only sound was the clanking of Kaelen's armor and the soft thud of Elian's boots. Dust motes hung suspended in the air. A cat was frozen mid-leap between two crates, defying gravity.
"Where are we going?" Kaelen asked, accidentally bumping into a frozen guard. The guard didn't react; he just slid across the ground a few inches like a statue on ice.
"To the Palace," Elian said, eyeing the towering white spire in the distance. "Arthur died at Level 1. That means he never claimed his starter pack. If we're going to survive this broken world, I need an upgrade."
They ascended the marble steps of the Royal Palace without challenge. The Royal Guards at the doors were crossed spears, effectively blocking the way, but Elian simply ducked under them. Kaelen had to squeeze through, apologizing profusely to the unhearing statues as his pauldrons scraped against their breastplates.
The Throne Room was magnificent. High vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows depicting dragons dying dramatically, and a red carpet leading to a golden throne.
On the throne sat King Theoden. He was frozen in a pose of wise contemplation, his chin resting on his hand.
And there, sitting on a velvet pedestal next to the King, was the loot.
It was a set of equipment that radiated a soft, golden glow—the universal visual language for "Quest Reward."
[Target Identified: Regalia of the Dawn]
[Class Restriction: Hero Only]
[Includes: Sword of Light, Vest of the Agile Wind, Ring of Plot Armor.]
Elian's mouth watered. "Jackpot."
He marched up the dais.
"Editor, wait!" Kaelen hissed, scandalized. "You cannot touch that! Those are the Sacred Artifacts of Aethelgard! Only the Chosen One may wield them. To steal them is high treason!"
"Kaelen," Elian said, reaching for the vest. "The Chosen One is currently distinct biomass in a goblin's stomach. If I don't take these, they sit here until the server crashes. Would you rather I die in my peasant tunic, or would you rather I survive to save your King?"
Kaelen opened his mouth to argue, but the logic—however twisted—silenced him. He lowered his head. "Just... do it quickly. I feel dirty just watching."
Elian ignored the class restriction. He was an Editor; restrictions were just suggestions.
[Skill Activated: Annotate - Override]
[Ink Cost: 10 Points]
[Modifying Item Properties...]
[Class Restriction: "Hero" -> Changed to "Editor"]
He grabbed the Vest of the Agile Wind. It was light leather, reinforced with mithril threads. He stripped off his muddy tunic and pulled the vest on. It tightened automatically to fit his frame.
[Equipped: Vest of the Agile Wind]
[Agility +15]
[Defense +10]
The rush of power was instant. Elian felt light on his feet, his reflexes sharpening. He grabbed the ring next.
[Equipped: Ring of Plot Armor (Minor)]
[Effect: Once per day, a fatal blow will be reduced to 1 HP.]
"Beautiful," Elian grinned. He reached for the sword—a magnificent blade with a hilt shaped like a sunburst.
But the moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the air in the throne room shifted. A low hum vibrated through the floor.
[System Alert: Key Item Removed from Pedestal.]
[Narrative Triggered: "The Audience with the King."]
"Uh oh," Elian muttered, pulling his hand back without taking the sword.
Behind him, Kaelen gasped. "Editor! Look!"
Elian turned.
King Theoden blinked.
The freeze broke like a dam bursting. Sound rushed back into the world—the distant roar of the city outside, the crackle of torches, and the shifting of armor. The King took a deep breath, as if he had been holding it for hours. He looked down from his throne, his eyes locking onto Elian.
The King frowned. He looked at the empty pedestal where the vest and ring used to be. Then he looked at Elian, wearing the vest and the ring.
"Greetings, brave traveler!" The King boomed, his voice jovial but his eyes confused. "You have come... early? And you have... already dressed yourself?"
The King's AI was struggling. The script said he was supposed to give the items, but the items were already equipped. The dialogue tree was glitching.
"I..." The King paused, his face twitching. "I was going to offer you a reward, but it seems you have... requisitioned it. A proactive Hero! How... efficient."
Elian bowed low, trying to hide the fact that he hadn't taken the sword yet. "Time is of the essence, Your Majesty. The Dragon is awake."
"The Dragon?" The King stood up, his regal demeanor cracking. "But the Dragon is the Act III conflict! We are still in Act I!"
Before Elian could explain that Act I had been set on fire, a side door to the throne room burst open.
A young woman stormed in. She wore a heavy cloak that hid her face, but the expensive silk dress underneath gave her away. She ignored the guards, ignored Kaelen, and marched straight toward Elian.
"You," she whispered, grabbing Elian by the collar of his stolen vest. Her voice was sharp, urgent, and terrified. "You're not Arthur."
Elian froze. The NPCs weren't supposed to know the Hero's name unless introduced.
The woman pulled back her hood, revealing striking violet eyes—the same chaotic color as the Dragon's eyes.
"You're not supposed to be here," the Princess hissed, pulling a dagger from her sleeve and pressing it against Elian's ribs. "Who are you, and why does your source code look like static?"