I Became a Ranker Before Rankers

Lost in Parallel Worlds

Light blue screens flickered before my eyes, their soft, ethereal glow casting a gentle luminescence on the cavern walls. The screens were adorned with ornate, otherworldly symbols and ancient runes, promising mystical "skills" and "titles" that shimmered with a seductive allure. Each notification floated and hovered in the air like the pages of a forgotten tome, inviting me to explore the enigma of my new reality.

I scrolled through the translucent windows, my fingers brushing against the cool, digital air. The screens moved smoothly under my touch, revealing glimpses of a world that seemed both alien and familiar. Curiosity tugged at me, growing stronger with each flicker of text and image. It was as if I had been thrust into the pages of the novel I had once read, the one that had so enthralled me before my life had been upended.

"The Princess is Escorted to Heaven"—the very title of the book whispered through my memory like a long-forgotten melody. It had been a tragic tale, one that had stirred my heart with its dark beauty and somber reflections. I remembered the protagonist vividly: a young woman of breathtaking elegance, her white hair flowing like silken threads of moonlight, her fair skin glowing like freshly fallen snow, and her eyes—those mesmerizing, blood-red orbs that seemed to hold the weight of her suffering and the promise of her fate. The stark contrast between her ethereal beauty and the harsh reality of her imprisonment had captivated me.

Her life in the cage was a portrait of endless torment. The cage itself was a brutal symbol of her captivity—its bars were thick, rusted iron, bent and scarred from countless battles and the weight of time. The cage had been a feature of the caravan's parade, an unsettling exhibit that moved from town to town, a reminder of the cruelty lurking beneath the facade of the world.

Each day, she had been exposed to the scornful gazes of passersby. The townsfolk had gathered around the cage like a macabre carnival attraction, their eyes brimming with a morbid fascination. They pointed fingers and whispered cruel comments, their voices dripping with contempt and curiosity. Children had pressed their faces against the bars, their wide eyes peering at her as if she were an exotic creature from another realm. The merchants and adventurers alike had been unkind, their jests and taunts a constant backdrop to her existence. The smell of the wagon, a putrid mix of sweat, dust, and unwashed bodies, had been an ever-present reminder of her isolation.

Her days had been filled with the harsh clatter of metal, the jeers of strangers, and the weight of her own helplessness. The cage was a prison not only of iron but of hope, each clang of the bars and every scornful glance a constant reminder of her entrapment. She had been given the barest of necessities—a small, worn blanket, a bowl of water, and a meager portion of stale bread. Each meal was a ritual of degradation, served to her as though she were nothing more than a beast of burden. The nights had been the worst, cold and unyielding, the darkness pressing in from all sides as she lay huddled on the cold, hard floor.

Then came the day of reckoning. The monstrous wolves appeared like dark phantoms from the heart of the mountains. These beasts were like nightmares made flesh, their massive forms towering over the caravan with fur as black as midnight and eyes that glowed with a sinister hunger. Their roars shattered the tranquility of the mountain pass, a primal symphony of destruction that sent tremors through the earth.

The caravan had fought back valiantly, a chaotic clash of steel and fury against the tide of terror. The adventurers, clad in mismatched armor and wielding an array of weapons, had charged into the fray with desperate courage. The sound of clashing swords, the sharp twang of arrows, and the guttural growls of the wolves filled the air, creating a cacophony of battle. Despite their bravery, the adventurers were outmatched by the sheer ferocity of the wolves. Blood stained the snow, and the ground was littered with the remnants of fallen warriors and broken weapons.