Playing God 14
Charlie Foxtrot
I ducked beneath a spear thrust and parried with my own. My eleven spears turned out to be something of a hit with House Martell’s men-at-arms. Andrey got pissy about how it wasn’t fair, but Daemon challenged me a few days later, claiming he’d never get the chance to practice breaking a spear wall like this. Ever since, getting me to use as many spears as possible became something of a challenge.
I had a feeling Oberyn set his former squire up to it. It was probably his way of making sure I was accepted among his men, or that Andrey wasn’t too ridiculed. There was a difference between being told to ignore the magic fox by their prince, and being given a reason to include me amongst their number.
I appreciated it, even if I didn’t plan to stick around much longer. The day of my departure was drawing near. Well, that made it sound like I had a deadline to keep, but that wasn’t strictly true. I was just feeling antsy so I decided to leave at the end of the week after taking care of a few last minute tasks.
Daemon kept his shield at an angle, taking two spears and making them glance to the side. He deflected a third with his sword as he stepped into my guard.
I allowed a gasp of surprise to leave my lips. A second tail curled between us, parrying his retaliatory thrust in turn. With the spears in my hands, that made four, higher than anyone but Oberyn had ever managed. All around, men cheered as they pressed him on towards “victory.”
I made him work for it for several more minutes before letting him have his win at four tails. Though this was a bit like playing an extra-slow game of patty cake for me, there was no denying that Daemon was a fantastic swordsman by any mortal metric.
It became a bit of a game on my end. I didn’t know if they noticed or not, but I’d been slowly nudging my sparring partners into practicing better forms by positioning my attacks to slip through holes in their guard. Not to mention, this kind of slow, methodical spar was an excellent way for me to get used to moving my tails in tandem.
“You’re quick, Ser Daemon,” I praised as we put our weapons back on the racks.
“You’re holding back,” he accused with a rogueish grin that masked his stung pride. He was a handsome man, with a close-cropped beard and an attitude that reminded me of a younger Oberyn.
He was a bastard, much like the Sand Snakes, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike Oberyn’s daughters, the Bastard of Godsgrace was not nearly so beloved by his lordly father. He was therefore a man who built his reputation on his sword arm.
“I cannot help having more tails. You are doing well, better than anyone but Oberyn.”
“Tell me, Master Fox. Are there greater warriors than you in your homeland?”
“Many. I have never claimed to be the greatest of warriors, or mages for that matter.”
“Truly? Tell me of a great warrior from your home.”
The two of us sat to the side as we watched Obara and a man-at-arms square off. I called a jug of ever-refilling water and handed it to him. “Well, there was Touch Me.”
“Touch Me? Are you joking with me?” he asked. He took the jug and his eyes lit up at the chill. He took a swig and looked disappointed that it was just water.
“No, I am not. He was one of nine great Champions, a man so strong that even if there were three of me, I do not know if I could defeat him in a contest of martial skill.”
I wasn’t lying, either. As a World Explorer, my greatest strength was in my versatility and elusiveness. Touch Me, who was said to be stronger than the Floor Guardians of Nazarick put together, was on a whole different level of PvP min-maxing. That was true of all the World Champions.
“Why is he called Touch Me? Surely that is not his true name.”
“It is not. It is a name he chose for himself as a grand challenge. ‘Come touch me. If you think you can stop me, come try it.’”
“Is that so? He must have been arrogant beyond belief.”
“Hah, that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Oh? And what other way could there be?”
“I did not know him well so I can’t say why he chose this name. But, I do know that he was a man with a strong sense of justice.”
I wondered about that. Touch Me had been a cop. And, though he personally wanted to do the right thing, the government was laughably corrupt and he was nothing more than its lapdog. He, having a nice house, wife, and daughter, could do nothing to resist without putting them all at risk.
Knowing that about his life, I wondered if he chose that name as a way to thumb his nose at his bosses. YGGDRASIL was an escape, after all. Maybe it was his way of daring the authorities to get him, a boast that he’d live this life, the one in YGGDRASIL, the way he pleased.
That was not arrogance. That was rebellion, however petty.
“Is it customary to pick a name like that?” Daemon asked.
“Where I come from, yes. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is no House Foxtrot. My true name is not Charlie.”
“Why? Here, the name of your house is the most important thing a man can have. Yet, in your home, you throw it away so casually.”
“There are many who would prefer to make their own mark on the world, to be remembered for their accomplishments alone. You are a man who rose high with your sword alone; surely you can understand the appeal.”
“Perhaps… You come from an interesting place, Master Fox.”
X
“Sarella Sand, do you solemnly swear to uphold this duty to the best of your ability? To learn the contents of this sacred tome and to live out its lessons?” I asked, both hands clasped firmly on the young girl’s shoulders. I stared deep into her eyes, pools of brown gazing uncertainly back at me.
“Um… Yes…? It’s just a book about farming beans, right?” she stammered. The sudden intensity caught her off guard, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Nay! Soybeans are serious business, Sarella! They are sacred!”
“Are they?” Arianne asked mirthfully. I’d brought a wicker basket full of them for the Martells to see. “Are they truly?”
“Well, I am a god and I have declared tofu to be my sacred food. As such, soybeans are sacred.”
“Of course… I’m sure my cousin shall study this tome well.”
“She shall be permitted to farm a small section of my garden. If she produces a good yield when I come back, I will give her any knowledge she desires.”
“Any knowledge?” Sarella asked, far more excited about the prospect now. It was clear that what she really meant was “all” knowledge.
“Provided that it is not likely to harm you or cause a catastrophe beyond mortal means to correct, yes. There are some tomes that will kill you for simply opening them.”
She snatched the how-to guide to soybean farming with an eager grin. “You’re on, Charlie! Wait… I’m allowed to have help, right?”
“You are,” I said magnanimously. “No one will be able to enter the forbidden section of my garden anyway so it’s not an issue. And don’t worry about the soil or humidity. I’ve taken care of that already."
“I don’t see why you like this… tofu… stuff so much,” Nymeria said wryly. In her hand was an off-white, wet cube of the most delicious ingredient known to man. “It’s just mashed up beans…”
“Careful, sister, he might curse you for blasphemy,” Tyene giggled. “Ooh, can you make her nose hairs long enough to braid? I want to tie her to a post like a horse.”
“Shut up, Tyene.”
I laughed as the two siblings began to tussle. No doubt Nymeria was holding back, but Tyene could be surprisingly scrappy for someone who looked like an innocent septa.
“It is a heavy burden you have imposed upon my daughter,” Oberyn said solemnly, lips twitching upward.
“Knowledge is a heavy burden,” I agreed. “And if I’m not back by harvest, feel free to give them away or eat them yourself.”
“And what of me, my friend? Have you no ‘divine challenges’ for me?”
“Not unless you want to acquire a valyrian steel blade for me.”
“That is considerably more difficult than growing beans.”
“So don’t worry too much about it. I’m just curious from a metallurgical perspective. I don’t really need it as a weapon so even a small sample of the metal will do.”
“A small sample… Are you suggesting that you can replicate the metal?” he asked, a greedy gleam in his eye.
“How would I know? I’ve yet to try. I have dabbled in blacksmithing, and magical blacksmithing, before. Truthfully, I have stronger metals. I’m just curious and want to add it to my collection, that’s all.”
“Then I shall strive to get it for you, provided that you don’t mind forging a few things for me, of course.”
“Of course.” I doubted it’d take him long. I asked for a blade, not a sword. Surely daggers of the stuff existed and could be purchased with enough coin. They lacked the same prestige as full swords.
It was time to go. The night prior, I provided the Martells with Rings of Poison Purification. They were simple, iron bands, unadorned save for a few runes. But given the propensity for poisons in Dorne, I figured this was a wise precaution.
They were junk. In YGGDRASIL, they were marked as low tier items, the kind of accessories dropped by the earliest dungeon sub-bosses. However, they did have the power to purify poisons at or below the second tier, which covered every mundane poison and then some. They’d also warm near poison, acting as crude detectors.
I’d also bestowed a summoning tag upon Tyene Sand, my favorite Sand Snake. It was, in essence, a self-contained prayer, not unlike the ones attached to sacred trees in Shinto shrines. Much like the prayer that summoned me to Louise, it would call me to her side, regardless of where I was.
I impressed upon her that it was to be used as a method of last resort. Her safety, and the safety of her family, was my only concern. Should I be called for any other reason, I would turn her into a bird and toss her from up high until she got over her fear of heights. Judging by the mutinous look in her eyes, I got my point across.
Tyene leaned forward and placed a relatively chaste kiss on my lips. Ever since our trip to Planky Town, she and Arianne had been far more affectionate. They certainly tried their damnedest to give me a reason to appreciate Dornish beds.
I didn't dare tell either of them, but I truthfully still loved my pillow fort more.
X
I didn’t hop into a new world right away. The Explorer’s Refuge was still my home, and I had much I wanted to do. I played with my mecha collection, read grimoires and novels alike, cooked all my favorite foods, and even tried my hand at alchemy and blacksmithing.
Results were… middling. I wasn’t about to forge Excalibur or brew the Elixir of Life anytime soon, but I didn’t burn down my temple and my products were reasonably magical.
The only problem was that nothing I made could be considered worthy additions to my regular kit. Weapons and armor? I already had far better. Potions? I was a maxed out cleric and monk. My buffs were stronger and lasted longer. And, being a kyubi, it wasn’t like I would run out of mana anytime soon and be forced to settle for lesser variants.
I comforted myself with the simple fact that I enjoyed these activities. And, if I ever wanted to, I’d return to Westeros and sell my trash items in exchange for refilling my pantry. Heroes’ Feast was nice, but cooking was another thing I enjoyed.
Most of all, I practiced magic. I wasn’t Momonga. I didn’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of every spell in YGGDRASIL. For that matter, even he kept only a few dozen “hotkeyed” to cast with a moment’s notice despite his supposed repertoire of seven hundred spells.
In my case, I had about a dozen spells I used consistently, including my World Penetration Gate and Foxfire, my racial bread and butter. It was fine in Westeros. Truthfully, it was probably fine in most other settings, too. Power Word: Kill was indeed a cleric staple. That said, I didn’t want to be the idiot who got handed literal magic and never bothered to learn about it.
I even checked in on Louise, discreetly. She seemed to be doing well enough. The grimoire I’d left for her had been attuned to her and she was now able to cast magic of the second tier. It was respectable progress for a girl who’d never touched tier magic before.
I saw her using Thunderlance, a second tier spell, to defeat a large, troll-like monster she called an orc. It looked different from what I remembered, but that was probably a quirk between worlds. She seemed quite happy with herself, something about lightning being triangle-shaped. I had no idea what she was talking about, but from what I gathered, lightning magic was very highly regarded in her culture.
She also bragged to her classmates that she had a special familiar she would show off for some kind of exhibition later that week. Given that she was a second tier mage, I assumed she’d be using Summon Angel or Summon Monster at that tier to call a lesser familiar. Nothing special, but I supposed an eagle or stallion would be impressive enough for schoolchildren.
I considered showing myself then, but decided against it after watching her for a while. She seemed to be doing well enough and she wasn’t abusing the power I gave her.
More to the point, the time didn’t quite line up right. I’d spent a little over two months combined in Westeros and the Explorer’s Refuge. I had no idea when this “familiar exhibition” was supposed to take place in their culture, but it sounded like she’d experienced less time than had passed for me.
It wasn’t anything to panic over, but I’d have to remember that. This was proof that each place I visited was its own reality, and that time would flow independently of the others. Was it possible that I’d return one day to Westeros, only to find that centuries had passed and my existence had become a bedtime story?
Or, could I “aim” the World Penetration Gate? Maybe not to go back in time from when I last saw them, but into the timestream nearest in their future? After all, I was “outside” of time, from a local perspective. It was something to think about, and would probably differ from world to world.
Finally, after three more weeks of seclusion, I felt ready to step into the unknown once more. Spear in hand, I summoned the torii gates and stepped across.
X
I found myself about halfway up a mountain. There was a dirt path, barely more than a goat trail, that wound around its face.
The air was cleaner here. For a moment, I considered this to be a product of the mountain and rural vista, but that couldn’t be right. Dorne wasn’t exactly industrialized and it didn’t feel like this. In fact, the air felt a little like the Explorer’s Refuge.
It was mana, or something close enough for me to draw intuitive parallels. Whatever it was, it was present in a density that reminded me of my refuge. Which meant I could expect some sort of supernatural influence, and likely at a far greater level than could be found in Westeros. I drew my World Item and made sure to equip my best gear, just in case.
Looking down, I spied a rural hamlet. There were scarcely twelve buildings, each made of dirt and wood and capped by roofs of thatched straw. The village clearly made its living off rice. I could see rice paddies and people tending them.
I let out a quiet sigh as I hovered into the air. I made myself invisible and began to descend the mountain. It seemed I’d yet again stepped into the past of some sort. On the plus side, I was at least somewhere in Asia if the rice paddies and building aesthetics were anything to go by.
I soon floated just above the nearby treetops. As I approached, a boy ran out of the nearby forest, screaming bloody murder. He had a wicker basket strapped to his back and a deathgrip on the wrist of a smaller girl, probably his sister, and was pulling her along.
“Monster! Demon!” he shouted as he ran down the road. He then immediately stumbled into a coughing fit. He could run, or he could scream warnings, not both at the same time.
I did a double-take to make sure he wasn’t screaming about me. I didn’t know what I would have done had my stealth spells been pierced by a child.
But no, I wasn’t the source of his terror. Behind him, ambling along at a pace that made it clear it was playing with its food, was a centipede-like creature. It let out eerie giggles that sounded far too human.
The monster had spiky, strong legs like a mantis, with a burnt-red carapace reminiscent of dried blood. Its body, almost twice as long as an American school bus, could have easily caught the children. And though its body was red, its head was white like bleached bone. Its appearance tugged at my memories, though I didn’t have the time to ponder.
The alarm was sounded. The men and women in the paddies rose up, pointing whatever they had at the monster. It wasn’t much. Their arsenal was made up of farming tools, hoes and rakes and sickles, most not even capped with metal. Being such a tiny village, and obviously far from seats of power, they didn’t even have a blacksmith among them.
Still, they gathered. Almost as one, they ran towards the fleeing children. A bare few of the women were sent off to corral the rest of the children, but the rest came to stand as a single unit. Their faces were grim with the determination of those ready to die.
The monster let out a delighted shriek. Its jaw opened, not just the mandibles, but horizontally as well, to form a fanged grin. Now that the children had called all the villagers to one place, they’d served their purpose. It lunged with jaws that could swallow a bull moose whole.
With the rustle of the wind, I was there. I caught its mandibles, each as long as one of Oberyn’s spears, against my own spear. It shrieked in surprise as its momentum was halted unceremoniously. Though it was undoubtedly strong and heavy, there was nothing it could do against a World Item. However, the impact was enough to shatter the rudimentary illusion I’d woven around myself.
To my surprise, I was not the only one who appeared. At the same moment I caught its mandibles, I felt an immense pressure fill the village airspace. My tails lashed wildly in agitation. A barrier spell was on my lips to shield myself and the children, far higher than I’d expected to need, but we were not the target.
A black-clad samurai appeared, katana drawn and barreling down upon the beast with a speed none but I could see. He had a chonmage, a traditional Japanese topknot, and a magnificent mustache with each half as wide as his face.
His eyes widened in surprise as well. So he hadn’t seen me before, just as I’d missed him. I saw his eyes narrow, assessing me in the fraction of a second, before he dismissed me as an immediate threat and carried through with his original strike.
His sword passed through the giant centipede like a hot knife through butter. Now that I was looking, that was exactly what this was. His sword had a shimmering heat haze, as if his willpower alone was enough to scorch the world and burn away this demon.
He landed lightly, with the ease of a man accustomed to tremendous violence. Turning, he eyed my ears and tails with suspicion. His sword wasn’t quite pointed towards me, but I could feel his killing intent.
It was a heavy, scorching thing, yet disciplined and focused. Not only were the children behind me completely ignorant of this pressure, there was a sharpness to his presence. It made me feel as if a white-hot blade was pointed at my throat, ready to immolate me at the slightest show of hostility.
“Your name, creature,” he spoke gravely. He was a man who was used to being obeyed.
Seeing how I was in some variant of fantasy-Japan, I opted to go with my old name. I clasped one hand over the other and bowed politely. “Asahina Rui is my name. I see that my assistance was not required. Might I have your name in turn, mighty warrior?”
“Yamamoto Shigekuni.”
That name was enough. The trickle of familiarity I felt at seeing the centipede-like monster now became an irrepressible geyser.
The monster was a hollow. The black-clad samurai was a shinigami. The man who stood before me was perhaps the greatest of his kind, the founder of the Gotei Thirteen.
Yet, I heard what he didn’t say. He wasn’t “Genryusai” at this time. He had no beard, just a thick, black mustache. His shoulders were not yet bent with the weight of time and responsibility.
I was in Bleach. Everything I knew about the story burst to the forefront of my mind. In my first life, it hadn’t just been a TV sensation for a few years like Game of Thrones. It was big, big enough to be called one of the “Big Three” of the entire shonen genre alongside Naruto and One Piece.
And, judging by that ridiculous hairdo Yamamoto was sporting, I’d have to wait quite a while if I wanted to meet one of my childhood heroes.
Author’s Note
Yes, he fucked Tyene and Arianne. No, I’m not writing smut still. It’d be funny, but I don’t think it adds anything to the story.
Louise is doing fine, guys. Don’t worry about Halkagenia’s other problems. Charlie knows nothing and Louise will probably do some void-fuckery.
There, lightning magic is the domain of “triangle” mages who can stack multiple air affinities on top of each other. Thunderlance, despite being a second tier spell, would look damn impressive from their perspective.
Yes. Bleach. As for when this is exactly, I don’t know. The Bleach pre-canon timeline is very ambiguous, but more than two thousand years ago, enough to see a youthful Yama who’s yet to take on the “Genryusai” name.
Animal Fact: Eusociality is the highest level of sociality among animals and is defined by overlapping generations, division of labor, and cooperative brood care. The two most common examples are ants and bees, but there is a type of eusocial shrimp as well.
Synalpheus regalis, a species of snapping shrimp, is about the size of a grain of rice. They form colonies inside the canals of a sponge with hundreds of members and a single queen. The queen is the only one who lays eggs, and guards have bigger claws than their siblings, satisfying the “division of labor” requirement.
Unlike bees and ants, most of these shrimp never step foot outside the sponge. This is because the sponge naturally filters marine detritus into its cavity, providing them food and shelter. In exchange, the colony defends it against predators.
Individual members will leave the sponge to breed, but this process has not been studied.