Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

I exhaled softly, lowering my gaze slightly, letting a small, sheepish smile tug at my lips.

"An angel?" I murmured, shaking my head as if embarrassed by the notion. "That's… quite the exaggeration."

Izzar's expression remained stiff, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight twitch of her fingers. Her reddish-blue eyes flickered between uncertainty and disbelief.

"No," she muttered, almost to herself. "It's not."

With a sharp inhale, she forced herself to move, stepping back from the table and rubbing her temples as if trying to clear her thoughts. I watched as she took a seat, her movements deliberate, grounding herself.

"I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you," she admitted, her voice carrying an edge of frustration.

Her honesty was disarming.

I shifted in my seat, my wariness carefully measured. "I'm sorry, I should've introduced myself sooner." My voice carried a faint tremble, carefully applied. "My name is Narcissus. Just a wanderer."

Izzar glanced at me again, suspicion still lingering behind her eyes. "A wanderer?"

"Yes," I nodded, keeping my hands folded in my lap. "I've been traveling for some time."

She leaned forward slightly, studying me. "With a group?"

It was a reasonable question. No one wandered alone in Carcosa—not unless they were suicidal or something far worse than human.

I hesitated just long enough to seem reluctant before I gave a small nod. "A caravan."

Still gazing at me with a twitching gaze with her lower lip bitten, Izzar's fingers drummed against the wooden table. "And where are they now?"

"They left me," I said, voice dropping to a whisper. "Yesterday morning. I… I don't know why."

That part was true. I didn't know why they left me—because they never existed.

Izzar's gaze hardened. "Then how did you survive the night alone?"

The question was sharp, cutting straight to the heart of the impossibility. The Ordeal was relentless. Even the best-prepared bastions suffered losses. A lone traveler would have no chance.

I let my fingers tighten around the fabric of my cloak, shifting my posture as if reliving a harrowing memory.

"There was… a cage," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "A Calamity Object. I stumbled into it. Before I could even react, the bars closed around me." I shivered, lowering my head. "I thought I was dead. I thought something would come for me. But… nothing did."

Izzar's expression shifted as she considered the information. Her lips moved slightly as she muttered possibilities under her breath.

"That's… possible," she finally admitted. "Some Calamity Objects don't kill outright. Some are passive, some act like bizarre puzzles, and some… well, no one really understands how they work. If you were lucky, you might have found one with a survivable gimmick."

I let out a slow, relieved breath. "Then… I really was just lucky."

Izzar sighed, rubbing her neck. "You can stay here for a while."

I nodded quickly. "Thank you. But I won't stay long."

Reaching into my cloak, I pulled out my Mini MSU. The small device flickered softly as I tilted it forward just enough for her to see. "I've been calling for help," I said. "This is a rare Theotech device that allows me to communicate with others who have the same model."

A lie. But a convincing one for someone who tends to overthink like her.

Izzar's eyes flicked toward the device with clear curiosity, but she didn't pry. Instead, she reached into her own pouch and pulled out a small carved totem, placing it on the table between us.

I picked it up, running my fingers over the strange etchings carved into its surface.

The totem immediately infused my mind with the knowledge of those who had the same totem in their position, their location, their state of being, and many more.

Though, it was definitely not powerful and in depth enough to tell that I'm somewhat of a demigod myself.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Protection," Izzar answered. "It's a bastioneer marker that I come up with myself. I imbued it with a protective ward. At the same time, it means you're one of us while you're here."

I blinked, tilting my head. "Are you an Ohrtender?"

Izzar smirked, amused. "Took you that long to figure it out? See these horns?" She gestured. "Most Kilnalan you can find will always have one or two Tending Hands in their arsenal."

I chuckled softly. "It's my first time meeting with another Kilnalan before." Another lie, since I noticed that the Vandasisimos have quite many of them. "I only knew that your kind ages slowly, not that all Kilnalans could do Ohrtending."

Izzar leaned back, sighing. "Yeah… that's true. Despite my look, I'm actually seventy-two."

My eyes widened slightly. "Seventy-two?"

"An expected reaction." She nodded a little awkwardly, though her gaze wandered somewhere else. "Kilnalans live a long time. It's just how we are."

Before we could continue, a loud voice called from outside.

Izzar shot up from her seat. "Ah, they are back."

I followed as she strode toward the entrance, stepping out into the open air.

A group of bastioneers stood near the center of the settlement, surrounding something large and struggling—a massive, boar-like creature, its hide thick with coarse, bristling fur. Ropes and crude harnesses bound its legs, keeping it pinned as a few bastioneers steadied their weapons.

"What is that?" I asked.

"A plains boar," Izzar muttered. "Looks like they caught a big one."

I tilted my head. "What do you plan to do with it?"

Izzar gave me a look. "What do you think? We're going to eat it."

I pretended to hesitate before offering, "I can help."

She frowned. "You? Do you even—"

"I insist."

Izzar hesitated but finally gave a small nod. "Alright. More hands would help."

I approached the massive carcass, rolling up my sleeves. Around me, the bastioneers looked uncertain—until I moved.

My All-Tampering Divine Dexterity flowed into my movements.

My hands blurred. Flesh parted. Bone separated. Skin peeled effortlessly.

In mere moments, the giant beast was completely processed—every part cleanly separated, every organ intact, every cut perfect, all of them sorted and categorized and placed on their respective sections. Not a single piece was wasted.

Silence engulfed those who saw everything unfolding.

I turned to see Izzar and the others staring, their expressions locked in astonishment.

I wiped my hands on a rag, tilting my head. "What's wrong?"

Izzar blinked. "You… How—"

"I've processed animals before." That was the only explanation I gave. It should be enough to give her a harder time to pry upon the lies that I casually uttered back then. "Do you want my help at preparing the food?"

Still dazed, Izzar mumbled, "Can you cook, too?"

I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. "Of course."

She blinked, as if still trying to process what had just happened. Her disbelief hadn't yet faded, her mind still caught up in the absurdity of my efficiency. So when I asked, "What ingredients do you have?" she barely registered the question.

"…Ingredients?"

"Anything edible. Spices, herbs, preserved goods." I gestured toward the settlement's supply area.

She hesitated, then absently waved toward a small, reinforced storage shed. "We don't have much. No traders come through this area."

That was expected. A newly established bastion like this wouldn't have access to the bustling trade networks of a citadel. Their stock would be minimal—whatever they had gathered, hunted, or rationed for survival.

"I'll make do," I said simply.

Stepping toward the storage, I pushed open the crude wooden doors. Inside, shelves were sparsely stocked—a handful of root vegetables, dried grains, coarse salt, a few jars of preserved meat, a scattering of wild herbs. Nothing refined. Nothing excessive.

But that was fine.

My hands moved with methodical precision as I gathered what I needed. Knives, pots, wooden bowls, a worn mortar and pestle. Even the most makeshift tools would suffice.

I stepped back out into the open air, where the bastioneers were still murmuring amongst themselves, stealing glances at the flawlessly processed boar. Their skepticism hadn't faded, nor had their quiet awe.

Ignoring their stares, I went to work.

The first cuts were made with swift, practiced motions. Strips of boar meat were carefully sectioned, marinated in salt and the few wild spices available.

The tougher portions were set aside for long-smoking, while the tender ones were carved with clean precision for immediate roasting.

A simple pit fire was prepared. I arranged stones and embers, fashioning a crude yet effective grill from salvaged metal grates.

The scent of sizzling meat soon filled the air. A sharp crackle as fat dripped onto the flames, a wisp of smoke curling upward.

The bastioneers, once idly watching, began to inch closer.

I paid them no mind.

I moved on to the stew—thick cuts of boar meat simmering in water, the broth deepening in color as root vegetables softened within. With a controlled hand, I crushed the dried herbs using the mortar, releasing their hidden fragrance before sprinkling them in.

Even with such limited ingredients, the flavors would blend—deep, rich, and hearty.

Smoke curled upward from the firepit where thick slabs of meat were left to slow-roast, their outer layers crisping to perfection.

A separate batch of smaller cuts sizzled on heated stones, their surfaces caramelizing under the heat.

And finally, I prepared a preservation batch—thin slices, salted and smoked, meant to last for days. I also cheated by changing the composition of the ingredients using my All-Tampering Divine Dexterity, so the taste should also be stronger than the usual.

The transformation was immediate and overwhelming to them.

What had once been a simple hunting yield had turned into something almost ceremonial—a grand display of abundance in a place that had likely never known luxury.

I looked up.

The bastioneers stood in stunned silence.

Izzar, still standing nearby, hadn't blinked for the past few minutes.

I gestured toward the completed feast, my voice light but unreadable.

"Shall we eat?"

The final reveal of the banquet stretched before them—a spectacular spread of roasted, stewed, and smoked boar dishes, prepared with an impossible efficiency they could neither comprehend nor explain.