Transcending Reality: When The Game Becomes Life

In The Gods Favor

Apologies for the delay in sharing this chapter. I've been buried in my books, studying up a storm. You see, the end of the school year is fast approaching, which means dreaded regents and final exams. Ah, the joys of being a high school senior! But let's not dwell on that. The important thing is that I'm here now, ready to entertain you all with this chapter. So far, this story has been a wild ride, exactly as I imagined it. I've had a blast creating it, and I hope you'll join me until the very end. Let's embark on this adventure together!

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THIRD PERSON POV

Location: Amidst the wintry expanse of Isadora's domain, a camp stands resolute in the far north, venturing into the treacherous terrain of enemy territory.

Within the confines of the canvas abode, a lone figure was nestled, garbed in attire that bore the scars of battle. The metallic plating adorning his form was marred with crimson droplets, yet despite his physical state, he remained motionless. His unwavering focus was directed towards the parchment that rested within his calloused hands. Positioned before him was a sturdy table, upon which an array of documents lay, each eagerly perused by the figure with a growing sense of elation.

As the moments ticked by, his countenance seemed to radiate with a palpable energy, evident in the widening of his grin and the sparkle that danced within his eyes. His deep voice reverberated throughout the abode as he exclaimed in pleasure, "Ohh, how very wonderful and exciting!" The figure's eyes glowed with even greater intensity than before, as he became more immersed in the documents before him.

With an intensity that rippled through his entire being, he proclaimed, "This land shall soon belong to us!" The promise held within those pages filled him with a deep-seated sense of elation. "Never would I have thought that the divine would bestow such great favor upon us," he mused aloud, as though addressing a higher power. "The catastrophic events that weakened them have made our task far less arduous than we had anticipated."

With a swift movement, he lays the bundle of papers on the wooden surface before him. Just as quickly, his gaze is drawn to the sight of his armor, its once-shining surface now marred with a crimson stain. He stares at it as if seeing it for the first time, a look of bewilderment crossing his features. "Bah," he mutters in a voice heavy with irritation and anger, "these Arvandorians are more trouble than they're worth. Even their blood is a nuisance."

With deftness and diligence, he hastened to remove his armor, his movements precise and deliberate, as if driven by an unwavering determination to keep his underclothes free from any bloodstains that might tarnish them. Methodically, he set each piece of armor aside in a corner of his spacious tent, his keen eyes scanning every inch of the metal for signs of damage or wear.

As he worked, muttering under his breath about the incompetence of his enemies, he marveled at the audacity of those who dared to challenge him on the field of battle. "The very notion of having to cleanse my armor because of their ineptitude fills me with a fury that burns hotter than a thousand suns," he grumbled, his voice thick with anger and frustration.

Despite his rage, however, the warrior remained calm and composed, his mind focused on the task at hand. With a calm and measured demeanor, he inspected each piece of armor, carefully wiping away any traces of blood or dirt with a soft cloth. "But I suppose it's only a matter of time before they all meet their end," he concluded.

As he meticulously polished his armor, a voice suddenly pierced through the stillness of the tent. "Commander Galanar, 'tis I, Cedric, and I bring news," the voice proclaimed with a tinge of self-importance. Galanar, the man who had just finished tending to his armor, turned his head towards the entrance of the tent and responded with an authoritative tone, "Enter then, and speak your news."