I Am A Table [LitRPG Isekai Progression Fantasy]

Sir Archibald swayed meaningfully on his lace-draped perch.

"The choice for me," he said, "is self-evident. This plank and I are bound, leaf and lumber, knight and charger. Upon it I shall ride as destiny incarnate." He stamped a root. The doily fluttered. "Behold: Sir Archiboard, my steadfast steed."

I'm sure he just came up with that name two seconds ago.

Nobody argued, mostly because no one knew how.

Now came Marin's turn. His eyes darted over the Pool of Fate's offerings:

Two warped wooden doors (both groaning like widowed whales).

A jagged slice of canoe (more splinter than vessel).

A mummified atlas (dripping geography).

A soggy chaise lounge (already reclining into oblivion).

He inhaled the swamp mist with the solemnity of a champion. "I could ride any of these. I have ridden in stranger vessels." He turned back to Griesa and she responded with a grin. Blorbo had no idea why he decided to turn back to her after delivering that exact line. "But true mastery," he announced, swiveling toward the most obvious option of all, "lies not in the board you are given, but in the soul of the board who seeks you."

Lena unloaded the table from her back with a sigh.

Marin saluted Blorbo like a brother-in-arms. "Together," he declared, "we surf."

Of course I am the most suitable vessel for this esteemed role. It just makes sense.

"Let the arena be prepared!" Sir Archibald cried, as though a chorus of seraphim waited in the rafters.

The swamp responded in an unsettling kind. Tentacles of root and mud slithered upward, sketching a crooked oval in the water's surface. Two glowing reeds lit themselves on either end, forming what could only be described as the Starting Line of Destiny.

Across the fetid pool, a third reed burned brighter than the rest, its flare casting a nauseous halo over a half-submerged boulder.

"There," Archibald intoned, "is the Crest Stone. Whosoever reaches it whilst riding the Greatest Wave shall be named Champion of the Swampway."

How can there be any wave? He glanced around the still, stagnant mire. The water was flat as old soup, stirred only by the occasional burp of methane. No tides. No currents. No wind. Not even a single fish to wiggle things along.

"Step forward, competitors!" Archibald bellowed. "Upon the signal, you shall paddle forth! When the Swamp stirs, when the primordial wave rises, you must prove yourselves."

Blorbo tried to plant his legs, but Lena and Marin were already positioning him at the start line.

"Not like that," Marin said, squinting. "If you're to serve as a vessel, you need proper grip points."

Before Blorbo could wriggle away, Marin and Lena tipped him over in one fluid motion. WHUMP. Suddenly, the table was upside down, legs pointing skyward like four solemn flagpoles.

Wait, careful—hey—my grain alignment is delicate! Blorbo protested as he got flipped upside down.

At least this helps wash away the corrosive substance on my surface.

"Perfect!" Marin declared, clapping his hands together. "Handles!"

Handles?! Those are my legs! HANDles are for hands.

Griesa jogged over, tugging at her gauntlets. "Wait, Sir! Use these."

"Uh… I don't think your hands fit me, Griesa," Marin said.

"They will." She shoved the gauntlets into his arms. Then, with a soft smile and bleary, dreamy eyes, she announced. "Show them, Good Sir. Ride it like you ride me."

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

"We've never ridden together."

"What? Then, who... Oh. The side-effect of the Chickenator beam is... dreams."

"We rode together in your dreams?" He slid one gauntlet on.

"Uh. You rode on a mount. I rode your mount."

Blorbo promptly erased the memory of this conversation ever existing.

"What does that mean—"

"Put the other gauntlet on, please."

Marin did. Immediately, with an ominous shunk, the metal stretched and warped, resizing itself until it hugged his hands perfectly, like a tailor-made extension of his bones. The swamp-light gleamed along the runes now lining the knuckles.

Griesa crossed her arms, looking smug. "These gauntlets will let you interact directly with the table's legs. Push, pull, torque, and it'll respond. On the molecular level, they'll break down the wood's resistance to pressure, so you can steer him with perfect precision."

Molecular level?! Break down resistance?!

Those words could not be good when coupled with furniture.

[Corrosive Substance Fused with Godly Swampwater]

[Corrosion Removed]

Wait. What do you mean fused?

[Result Achieved: Godly Swampsubstance]

[AGI Boost: 150%]

What?! How does this even work?!

The swamp conch blared again. The water convulsed, rising into a sludgy wall. The conch's blare rattled the swamp to its roots. The mire bucked and frothed, and a cresting wave surged into existence, sludgy and very green.

What. How?

This is not physics. This is not real. I reject this reality. Somebody put me back in a dining room.

Sir Archibald was first. With his leafy composure and doily streaming like a knightly banner, he leaned forward on Sir Archiboard, catching the wave at the perfect angle. He slid along the swampwater with absurd dignity.

The crowd of dubious companions gasped.

Then came Marin.

The second swell heaved itself upward, taller, messier, foaming with fungal scum. He planted his stance atop Blorbo's inverted belly, gripped two table-legs like reins, and shouted, "NOW!"

Blorbo had no time to protest. The wave hit them like a liquefied avalanche, lifting them skyward in a spray of swamp foam. Marin bent his knees, shoved hard on one leg—

—and Blorbo turned.

HOW DOES THIS EVEN MAKE SENSE? Blorbo screamed in his mind. I'm a TABLE. You pushed on my LEG. That's not steering!

He should not have steered and veered, but he did. The shove twisted them into a perfect diagonal, slicing across the wave's face. Marin shoved again, this time diagonally. They spun.

A topspin.

On a wave of swamp sludge.

I don't even have axles…

They twirled like a dinner table in a hurricane, vaulting over the crest and landing miraculously upright on the next slosh of current.

The swamp roared. Or maybe that was just methane.

Griesa clapped wildly from shore. "That's my knight! I mean our knight!"

The swamp rolled with burbling applause, thick bubbles popping in approval. Even the mossy S.W.A.M.P. board gave an approving groooan.

Sir Archibald, still riding his wave with aristocratic grace, glanced back over his leafy shoulder. His doily fluttered like a knightly banner in the breeze that did not exist. "Good showing, knight!" he bellowed across the froth. "But can you handle… the next wave?"

The swamp conch blared again.

From the mire's depths, a full-sized GALLEON tore itself free. Barnacle-encrusted and dripping with algae, it clearly had no business in a swamp. Its cracked masts creaked, sails stitched from moss and shredded tarps.

The wave surged behind it, titanic, carrying the spectral ship like a toy. Chains of kelp whipped along its sides, lanterns glowed with ghostly green fire. A bell tolled from inside the ship.

That wasn't here before. That's not even a nautical biome!

Sir Archibald raised a leafy arm high, voice booming like a herald of doom. "Behold! The Leviathan Swell!"

The swamp roared, methane burps echoing like thunder.

Marin gripped harder on Blorbo's leg, stroking it back and forth until it heated up. "Come on, table. Let's do this."

What are you doing? That's weird.

[Status Effect: Weirded Out]

[AGI -10%]

No, wait. That's not weird. Stroking my legs is a normal thing. I like it. I love getting my legs stroked.

[Status Effect: Weirdo]

[AGI +10%]

Blorbo internally sighed. The things I do for the gains.