I Am A Table [LitRPG Isekai Progression Fantasy]

It seemed as though a lot had happened while Blorbo was stunned.

For once, he'd missed the conclusion of the great magi battle, not due to him being stunned, but due to Lena not being foolish enough to return to the scene. To his great dismay, Anders had emerged unscathed (and to his great joy, Griesa too, though she had slept through the entire thing).

They had regrouped in a surprisingly well-appointed, albeit slightly dusty, abandoned wizard's tower tucked away in a remote corner of their own realm. Moonlight streamed through a gaping hole in the ceiling, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. Rob was meticulously cleaning glitter off his sleeve before cleaning the rest of the tower for no reason, Marin was carefully re-strapping Griesa to his back (she was still out cold), and Lena was happily feeding the highly judgmental Tabby. Master Sensei's gummy ball floated idly near Anders.

Blorbo was, finally, standing on his feet again.

"Honestly, it was barely a warm-up," Anders declared as he dusted off an imaginary speck of dust from his pristine robes. He paced the circular room, and his voice raised increasingly higher with each word he said, "Forty-seven mages? Pfft. More like forty-seven speed bumps."

What are speed bumps? That sounds like a futuristic concepts 1,000 years from now.

"But Dad, there were so many spells!" Lena piped up, her mouth full of candies. Blorbo had no idea where they came from. "And that huge forcewave you did!"

Anders scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Amateur hour, Lena. Their 'barrage' was little more than a mild magical drizzle. My 'forcewave,' as you so quaintly put it, was merely a warm-up exercise. A light stretching of the arcane muscles, nothing more."

Marin rubbed a faint, dark smudge off his cheek. "They seemed rather... forcibly displaced, archmage, if I may. And I distinctly recall several of them performing unintentional aerial acrobatics."

"Exaggeration, my dear knight," Anders corrected. "A slight magical push. A firm suggestion, if you will, to exit the premises. It's about presence, you see. A true Archmage doesn't need to throw fireballs when a stern glare and an iota of concentrated will is enough to send lesser minds scurrying."

Why is he suddenly speaking like this now… Do everyone become obnoxious harlot-buttock as soon as they achieve something mildly impressive in their lives?

Rob finally looked up from his glitter-picking. "You've got a cut on your cheek, Anders."

Anders touched the fresh cut just below his right eye, then pulled his hand away. "This?" he scoffed again. "Oh, that. That was a strategic self-inflicted wound. You see, a truly intimidating Archmage occasionally needs a touch of rugged mystique. It throws off the enemy. Makes them think they're tougher than they actually are, or you're tougher than you actually are. It's all mind games."

Suddenly a bright, glowing exclamation mark materialized. It didn't appear above Anders's head, or Lena's, or even Blorbo's. Instead, it glowed atop the oak-bound door to the hall on the far end of the tower.

Even the door gives quests now?

He willed himself to click on it.

[QUEST RECEIVED: The Whispering Walls]

Objective: Discover the mystery of the abandoned tower. (Current progress: Undiscovered)

Reward:

+15 CP

+1500 EXP

+5 AGI

Prerequisite: Level 4 (You can accept this quest.)

Failure: None. Idiot.

Accept: YES/NO

That's great reward. Though, where exactly are we? Why does this place have giant abandoned towers and no one questions it? He had no idea now, because they'd walked out of the portal into an entirely new town, and nobody'd even asked that question.

"We should see if there are any pursuers," Marin said as he walked out toward the door. As he pushed open the heavy oak door, a long, echoing groan resonated from within the depths of the tower.

"Mooooooaaaaan."

Marin instinctively drew his sword. "Did you hear that? A banshee, perhaps? Or a particularly specter?"

Another sound followed, a faint, rhythmic "clink-clink-thud." It seemed to come from somewhere above them, followed by a muffled, high-pitched "Oopsie!"

Lena, her eyes wide, gripped Blorbo. "Was that a ghost playing hopscotch?"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

[-1 HP]

What?

[You got gripped so hard you bled]

A steaming spectral teacup floated past the doorway at eye level, circled once, and then abruptly splashed its contents onto Anders's robes before vanishing with a tiny, indignant "Hmph!"

Anders spluttered, glaring at the wet patch on his shoulder. "Insolent ectoplasmic crockery! This is a designer robe!"

Wait. What's that? Nobody told me there are ghosts in this realm.

From deeper within the tower, a series of rapid, echoing 'thwacks' and 'boings' reverberated, punctuated by a disembodied voice muttering, "Five, six, seven, eight! Higher, you lazy poltergeists! We need to nail that triple flip for the next seance!"

Anders reached into his sleeve. He withdrew his wand, its tip glowing with an impatient violet light. "This tower, you see, was once home to the Archmage Thelonious 'The Grand Organizer' Grimbles. A brilliant but utterly obsessive man. He succumbed to the whispers of the deplorable hedge-mages—those cursed Maniquists—and developed a highly experimental branch of arcana focused on 'Sentient Domestic Enchantments.' He believed everything could, and should, have a purpose and a personality. Now, I have to deal with the fall." He took one step forward. "In actuality, Grimbles once conjured a spell called 'Legendary Artifact Tracking.' If I could locate him or his grand library of secret spells, it would be no time before my precious knives return to me."

Wait, Maniquists... Those are the guys who make furniture, right? Do they just imbue sentience into everyday objects for fun?

"There are sentient objects?" Lena gasped.

"Of course there are. But it's too impractical to give sentience to objects that can barely move, so nobody bothers."

"That's such a cruel fate!" Lena said before patting Blorbo on his surface. "Don't worry, Blorbo. I won't ever let such a thing happen to you!"

Right.