The cool night breeze, the crescent moonlight, and the sense of death all whispered at the same time.
The tyrant Mafia boss was hell-bent on expanding his territory. Since his opposer wouldn't give it freely, he planned to take it by force.
"Drive faster," he said, feeling uncomfortable as he burned cigarettes inside the black car.
He had ordered his men to bring the dead body of his opposer's son. In the morning, he'd send the boy's head to his father.
"We've reached the warehouse, sir," the driver announced.
"I see that," he rudely responded. Despite Alfred having served his father, it was now his turn; Aslan gave no one respect.
He claimed the biggest territory was created through fear, taking respect rather than earning it, but he would soon realize how wrong he was.
Before entering the warehouse, two of his men were stationed just in front of it.
As he walked past them, they followed suit.
"Alright, where's the body?" he demanded, exhaling a load of carbon monoxide.
Little did he know that smoking was gradually sniffing the life out of him, reducing the oxygen in his blood.
Inside the warehouse, three more of his men carried the dead body in a body bag and dropped it in front of him.
Aslan squatted beside the bag and slowly zipped it open. To his shock, it wasn't his opposer's son. Aslan stood up.
He chuckled. "That's my fucking brother," he said, bewildered.
Obviously, these were his men, but now they weren't saying anything.
Soon after, he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. When he turned around, he saw it was his rival—the opposer.
"Ah, Mr. Aslan, so glad you could join us," the opposer said warmly.
He walked past, and the two men who had stood adjacent to Aslan earlier accompanied the opposer.
It was obvious now—Aslan knew he was screwed.
"Let us play a game, Mr. Aslan." The opposer stretched out his hand, and one of the men handed him a silenced pistol.
But Aslan remained unfazed; his gaze was emotionless.
"When I say green light, you run. When I say red, you stop."
The game was simple: if Aslan could make it through the exit of the warehouse without failing, he would live.
However, when the game started, he didn't bother moving; instead, he kept smoking.
"Nah," he said. "I ain't dying like a dog. You want me dead, you do it now while you've got the chance, 'cause if I walk out of here alive, there'll be no room for negotiations," he added.
The opposer smirked; he expected nothing less from a mob boss, especially this one.
He had heard rumors about how cunning and strategic Aslan was, but overall, he admired one trait—his pride.
His ego was too big; he'd rather die than play a game to beg for his life.
After a silent shot was fired, Aslan fell to his knees, clenching the spot where blood kept flowing profusely.
He coughed out blood as the cigarette fell into the circle of blood formed by every drop from his body.
"If I could start again," he sighed deeply as a sharp pain shot through his body, his lungs no longer functioning.
"Why do I feel like I've always wanted to die?" Those were his final words before he gave up. Aslan fell to the ground.
Aslan died.
---
Aslan's mind floated in a vast sea of unconsciousness. Though he was dead, he could hear sounds...
These unclear voices were guiding his unconscious self toward the light ahead.
"Commander Jacob!" Aslan heard a strange scream.
"I said advance, goddamnit!" The scream of this other person was awfully louder than an MP4 bass speaker.
"What the hell—argh!" A sharp pain shot through his rib.
"My liege, are you alright?"
It was a beautiful woman with blonde hair. She was clad in silver armor stained with blood from the battlefield.
A woman he had never seen before.
"Who the fuck are you?" he groaned as he tried sitting up; another unusual pain shot through him.
"Hurry," was what he heard her say. "My liege, please stay with me."
Her blonde hair was pulled back slightly, and her piercing blue eyes looked down at him with worry.
The pain felt so immense that Aslan couldn't keep his consciousness steady, which made him collapse as he asked quietly,
"Liege?"
. . . . .
At most, an hour had passed after Aslan passed out. When he opened his eyes, he was by himself inside a dimly lit cave.
Adjacent to him was a burning fire and a plate of armor; obviously, they belonged to him.
"A knight's armor?"
He noticed his lower rib was bandaged as he sat up. Unlike the first time when he heard noises, it was quiet now, though he could still hear faint chatter from outside the cave.
"Shouldn't I be dead?"
In his moment of discombobulation, a blue interface suddenly appeared in front of his peripherals.
---
-[Mission Report: The Fool's Negotiation]-
Quest Name: The Negotiation
Objective: Your troops have been captured by the Orc Dungeon King; release them before the full moon.
Time Left: 6 hrs 38 mins 25 sec
Status: In Progress
Summary:
Your soldiers accompanied you on a royal hunt. They were captured; however, you managed to escape.
Now, due to direct orders from you, Emperor Horus, you brought the families of the captured soldiers—their wives and children—to plead for the release of your troops, but now all of them are captured. It is your duty to save your people.
---
Aslan, or rather Horus, blinked.
First, he fled when the orcs attacked. As if that wasn't enough, he brought the families of the captured to plead for their release.
And now they were all captured. The girl he had seen earlier before he collapsed suddenly walked into the cave.
She saw Horus staring at one spot and knelt in front of him.
"My liege, are you alright? You seem awfully quiet," she asked, her brows furrowing as she feared the worst.
But for Horus, he only had one thing to say.
"I reincarnated inside the body of a fool."