NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 8: Reflections.
Kopii lay on his bed, lost in his thoughts, his mind swarming with dark and heavy reflections on what he had experienced, on what had become a part of his life. He was acutely aware that the slightest hesitation, a second of delay in the mysterious and dangerous dungeon, could have cost him his life. A cold, bone-chilling fear slithered down his spine at the mere thought of the dark, twisting labyrinths beneath the earth. His gaze fell on his own hands – they were trembling, like autumn leaves in the wind, restlessly dancing in silent anticipation. "I must become stronger, at any cost," he told himself, like a mantra, like a ritual he performed to keep from going insane. A yawn escaped involuntarily, and he rose from the bed, lifting his spirits. The half-mask, like a faithful guardian, settled on his face, shielding him from unwanted glances. The clothes, carelessly thrown on the floor yesterday due to overwhelming fatigue, awaited their turn, like a lost soul seeking peace.
After tidying up the room, Kopii went out, his footsteps echoing on the floor. Descending the creaky stairs revealed the familiar sight: Naaza, as always, stood behind the counter, skillfully offering her potions, like an artful conjurer.
"Good morning," he said with forced cheerfulness, trying to lend confidence to his voice.
"Good morning," she replied, casting a fleeting and indifferent glance at him.
Naaza was never known for being talkative, especially in the mornings. Kopii had long grown accustomed to her taciturnity, accepting it as the norm. He approached the counter, examining the colorful vials with multicolored liquids, which held magic within. Healing potions, mana potions – indispensable companions in the dungeon, ready to come to the rescue at the most critical moment.
"Need anything?" Naaza asked, not taking her eyes off the ancient spellbook dropped on the table.
"Not yet," Kopii replied, a little embarrassed. "Just looking."
He knew that sooner or later he would have to return there, down, into the labyrinth of corridors and rooms where monsters lurked, ready to strike down anyone who dared to take such a step. The fear had not receded, but now it was mixed with some strange, oppressive premonition. Something had changed in the air. Something was waiting for him down there. And that "something" wasn't necessarily hostile.
Kopii went outside, deciding to start the day with a run to refresh his thoughts and physical sensations. His feet beat a rhythm on the cobblestones, reminiscent of heartbeats – fast, uneven, as if ready to break into a panicked chaos. The cool air burned his lungs, penetrating where it could defeat fatigue, but his body burned, every muscle tense to the limit, like the string of a bow, ready to release an arrow. He couldn't stop. Not now. Not after those dark thoughts that twisted in his head like venomous snakes, hissing about the dungeon, about how he could already be dead.
During his run, he passed "The Hostess of Fertility." Kopii always tried to avoid this establishment, knowing that Syr worked there, who evoked mixed feelings in him. He didn't want to meet her, although she was kind and beautiful, like spring. Something about her repelled Kopii, and he couldn't understand what it was. He lingered for a moment and ran again. "I must become stronger," he told himself, like a mantra, so as not to retreat. "Need to speed up. Right, I have the copying skill…" But the interest in this mysterious skill quickly faded, dissolving in the stream of thoughts. Kopii didn't understand how it worked. He just knew that he had it, that's all, like some shapeless cloud enveloping his existence.
Kopii ran until his lungs burned and his legs became wobbly, as if he had run not a marathon, but an endless distance. Stopping, he leaned his hands on his knees, greedily catching air, like a drowning man rescued near the shore. The world before his eyes swam, and his thoughts again returned to the fact that he needed to train more. "Need to train more," he repeated again and again, "so as not to lose myself."
The thought of the copying skill reappeared in his head. Kopii could never understand its nature, like an elusive vision. He just knew about its existence. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the sensations associated with this skill, but nothing happened. "Maybe it's passive, or maybe it's active? I don't know…" His thoughts again slipped away, like streams of water, leaving no trace.
Kopii sighed and cast aside these thoughts, like unnecessary weeds. Now physical training was more important, energy was primarily important. He ran again, trying not to think about the dungeon, about his fears and strange skills. Just running. Just the sitting sensations of his own strength. Just the desire to become stronger in order to overcome all obstacles.
He ran until the sun rose high enough to scorch his tender skin, like a gentle but insistent friend. Time to go back. On the way home, he unexpectedly went to the smithy to sharpen his sword, which was waiting for this moment. The master blacksmith, a grumpy old man with scarred and burned hands, silently accepted the weapon and immersed himself in his work. Kopii watched sparks fly from under the hammer and felt a determination rising in his chest, like a wave of a powerful tide. He would return to the dungeon. And he would be ready.
Leaving the smithy, he decided to run again, as if this was his only salvation. Lost in his thoughts, he accidentally bumped into someone, feeling a moment of confusion. Quickly bowing and apologizing, he ran on, wasting no time. Kopii didn't have time to see who he had bumped into, but he noticed the girl's long golden hair. However, he quickly forgot about it, again immersed in thoughts about how to become stronger. Kopii ran, feeling the sun scorching his back, warming him. Thoughts of the girl with golden hair quickly vanished, absorbed by his training routine. He needed to focus. Strength. That's what mattered at this stage.
Upon returning home, Kopii decided to meditate as a way to find inner peace. He sat on the floor, crossed his legs, and tried to clear his mind, tired of thoughts. Images of the dungeon, the moment when he lost his vigilance, the girl's shining hair – all this surfaced in his head, preventing him from concentrating. He stubbornly drove them away, concentrating on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. But nothing happened, only silence and growing disappointment. He thought that he could use his skill now, but it turned out to be useless. Kopii guessed what the matter was – perhaps the skill was passive. Disappointed, he stopped meditating. He felt tired and broken, as if he had run not a few kilometers, but a marathon at the limit of his capabilities. "Something needs to change," he thought. Just running and waving a sword is not enough. Something more is needed, something that will give him new strength. Maybe he should talk to Naaza? After all, she was an archer, and she was level 3. He got out of bed, heading towards the exit of the room, but stopped, as if an invisible force had imposed a ban. He didn't want to remind her of what she had experienced in the dungeon. He lay down on the bed again, as if spurred on by his own fears.
Kopii lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling, which seemed to him to be the vault of the world of dreams. Thoughts swirled in his head, giving no rest from his anxious state. He felt trapped, like a fly in a web, unable to break free. Running, meditation – all this seemed pointless, like trying to find meaning lost in the void. He wasn't moving forward, he was treading water, like an abandoned boat in shallow water. He needed a spark, something that would bring him out of this state of deep apathy and hopelessness.
But Kopii thought, where is he rushing, and why does he need strength? He couldn't answer this question, as if all the words had slipped away from him. He came to Orario because he had heard a lot about it in the orphanage, and he was curious. Glory, money… But is this really what he wants? Or is it just a dream that no longer seems so attractive?
Kopii stared at the ceiling, as if answers to his questions that had been troubling him in recent days could be found there. Why did he need strength? Before, the answer seemed obvious – to survive in the dungeon, to climb the levels, to become a hero whose legends would be told. But now… now he doubted. Fame and money no longer seemed as attractive as before, like a glittering coin that had lost its value. He remembered the faces of those he had seen in the dungeon – fear, despair, determination. What motivated them? And what motivated him in this endless cycle of events?
He sat up sharply in bed, as if his heart, pounding with anxiety, demanded action. Something had to be done. Without a goal, without a mission, and without motivation, he would simply turn into one of those unfortunate people who wander around the city, dragging out a miserable existence filled with the heaviness of everyday life. He got up and went to the window. Life was bustling on the street – merchants were calling out to customers, offering their goods, children were playing tag, and adventurers were rushing to the gates of the dungeon, full of hopes and aspirations. Kopii sighed, filling his lungs with freshness. He needed to find his own path in this world.
He decided to take a walk around the city, perhaps a change of scenery would help him clear his mind and find himself in this stream of hustle and bustle. He went outside and headed towards the guild. There were always a lot of adventurers there, maybe one of them could inspire him to new achievements. Passing by "The Hostess of Fertility," he involuntarily slowed his pace, pondering what awaited him beyond the threshold. The thought of Syr flashed through his head, but he immediately dismissed it as inappropriate. Now was not the time for that.
Reaching the guild, he settled in a corner and began to observe what was happening. Adventurers of all kinds – from novice beginners to experienced veterans – gathered here in search of quests, craving novelty and danger. Kopii listened to their conversations, absorbing every word like a sponge. He realized that each of them pursued their own goals, their own dreams, and that was what drove them forward, forcing them to burn their days in training and adventures. He also needed a dream, a real dream, that would make him get up in the morning and train to exhaustion. A dream for which he would be willing to risk everything he had, even his life.