The Role of the Reaper

"Get off!"

The sharp voice yanked me from the whirlpool of emotions I was drowning in. A bustling marketplace unfolded before me, teeming with life. Merchants shouted out prices, the scent of spices mingled with the earthy smell of freshly overturned dirt, and the sound of wheels creaking under heavy loads filled the air. My senses were overwhelmed, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

I had been seated on a wagon for… how long? Time was strange here. My head felt heavy, still echoing with the screams of Irina, Arthur, and Mother from the vivid memories that seemed less like a game intro and more like fragments of a life I had lived.

"Hey! Stop daydreaming and move it!" The annoyed merchant standing before me waved a hand in front of my face.

Without a word, I swung my legs over the edge of the wagon and hopped down, the thud of my boots muffled by the packed dirt. The merchant muttered something under his breath—probably a curse—but I paid him no mind. My focus was on my surroundings.

The trading post, labeled "Tatara: Trading Post" by the hovering System Window moments earlier, was alive with motion. People of all shapes, sizes, and races bustled about, their chatter blending into a symphony of noise. Stall owners called out to passersby, hawking wares ranging from shimmering fabrics to gleaming weapons.

I inhaled deeply. The air carried the tang of metal, the musk of animals, and the faint, comforting aroma of baked bread. It all felt so real. Too real.

"Deep Sea Pearl…" I murmured, recalling the developers of this game. "You've outdone yourselves."

The cobblestone road beneath my feet bore the marks of countless wagons, each groove a testament to the life that pulsed through this world. Shadows shifted as clouds passed overhead, the lighting so dynamic it felt like the sun itself was watching.

I flexed my hand, clenching and unclenching my fingers. The sensation was eerily lifelike. I could feel the slight tension in my joints, the faint resistance of my skin stretching. Was this really just a game?

"Move, you idiot!" A passing villager barked, shoving past me.

The interaction jolted me back to my purpose. This wasn't just a sightseeing tour. It was a game—or at least, it had started as one.

I adjusted the sword strapped to my back, its weight grounding me. It was the True Zweihänder of Destruction, a bonus item from pre-ordering the deluxe edition. Its heft was both familiar and alien, a constant reminder of the line I now straddled between reality and fiction.

"Hey! Adventurer!"

A child's voice broke through the ambient noise. I turned, finding myself face-to-face with a kid who barely reached my waist. Their clothes were patched but clean, their face smudged with dirt.

"Are you… the Demon Knight?" they asked, their voice trembling slightly.

The title sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't just a class name—it was a mantle, a role I had chosen during character creation. The weight of it settled on my shoulders, and I realized this was my first real interaction in this world.

"…Yes," I replied, my voice colder than I intended.

The child flinched, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. For a moment, guilt pricked at me, but I suppressed it. The Demon Knight wasn't supposed to be kind. They were a tragic figure, a lone warrior haunted by their past. If I wanted to immerse myself fully, I had to embrace the character.

"P-please follow me," the child stammered, turning on their heel and rushing ahead.

I followed, the rhythmic clink of my sword's hilt against the sheath accompanying each step. The road wound through the marketplace, leading us to a large stone building with a sign that read:

「Tatara: Adventurers' Guild」

The guild was a hive of activity. Adventurers of all kinds milled about—humans, elves, dwarves, and even beastfolk. Some were clad in gleaming armor, others in dark robes adorned with arcane symbols. The air buzzed with excitement and tension.

Inside, the guild was even more impressive. Wooden beams crisscrossed the high ceiling, and the walls were lined with weapons, trophies, and maps. A massive bulletin board dominated one side of the room, plastered with quests and notices.

The child led me to the counter, where a burly man with a thick beard and a scar running down his cheek greeted me with a grunt.

"Demon Knight, huh?" he said, eyeing me up and down. "You've got the look, I'll give you that. But looks won't get you far in this world."

I met his gaze, letting a faint smirk play on my lips. "I'll manage."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Confidence is good. Stupidity, less so. Let's see which you've got more of." He handed me a parchment. "Here's your first quest. A pack of wolves has been harassing travelers on the north road. Take care of them, and you'll earn your keep."

I took the parchment, scanning the details. It was a simple task, a standard tutorial quest to familiarize players with combat. But as I read, the words seemed to blur, replaced by a vivid image of snarling wolves, their eyes glowing with an unnatural red light.

Outside the guild, I prepared for the journey. The child who had led me earlier watched from a distance, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Are you scared?" I asked, strapping on my gear.

They shook their head vigorously. "N-no. Just… be careful."

I nodded, a small, genuine smile breaking through my otherwise stoic expression. "I will."

As I stepped onto the north road, the weight of my sword and the whispers of the past echoed in my mind. This wasn't just a game anymore. It was a world, a story waiting to be written. And I was determined to leave my mark.

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the distant howl of wolves. My hand tightened around the hilt of my sword, and I took a deep breath.

"Let's begin."